Siren Ch 04

Hello again lovely readers. I was hoping to upload this sooner but I have been inundated with family who descend like a swarm and leave so much to do when they finally leave.

So without further ado...

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Three days. Just three days? That couldn't be right. She held the small spoke of the comb in her fingers. She was sitting on the floor, carving small lines to mark the passage of time. It felt impossible it had only been that long and yet...

She dug the small point of the ash into the softer wood of the bed frame. Only three. And he'd taken her at least that many times. She felt a shiver run down her back as she remembered what she'd been pushing away all day. It was wrong, how he made her feel. There was something so perverse about how here the act sacred between man and wife could be so pleasurable where it had been so horrible during her actual marriage.

Kenna lay down on the floor by the bed. She'd positioned herself as far from the bucket he'd left for her but the indignity of her circumstances was sobering. The long shirt he'd given her to cover herself was more than enough to reach her knees but she felt terribly vulnerable in only the flimsy cloth. The layers of dresses and stays and aprons had been like a protective barrier; a terrible one, but something more significant than the loose shirt that hung open at her neck despite all her attempts to keep it shut.

But there was nothing for it, she thought, sitting up and ripping away a small strip of the cloth from the hemline. Surely the loss of a scant few inches of fabric could not make her any more pathetic a picture than she was already. She used it to wrap around the coarser parts of the shackle. The skin at her ankle had begun to chafe at the constant rub of the metal as she moved and the blisters had burst and begun to bleed. She didn't relish losing more fabric but the pain was far worse than pretending she had modesty left. She tore another strip. The end of the day was edging into the cabin and she had to work before the light went completely.

Three days and she'd managed to keep her secret despite his use of her body. How much longer would she be able to? She shut her eyes, determined not to despair.

Footsteps beyond the door alerted her to his approach and she scrambled up, pressing her back to the wall. His dark eyes fell on her as soon as he entered the room. The lantern in his hand threw the cabin into relief in the rapidly darkening evening.

Kenna felt her stomach drop with his look. He would take her again, make her feel things she shouldn't. The fear knotted itself in her gut, her breathing increasing incrementally as he approached her. By the time he stood before her she was trying desperately to gain some control over the wash of panic stirring inside her. He would touch her again and she would be lost.

His hand was in front of her face, palm up, expectantly. She cringed slightly as she realized his intent, to get her to initiate contact. She silently cursed his manipulations and her own capitulation as she reached her shaky fingers to his callused palm. His fingers closed over hers and he pulled her up. She moved to stand but pressed herself back against the wood at her back once more.

He didn't release her hand but his other slid across the skin of her neck. His touch was gentle but the gesture was threatening all the same. His hand rested on the base of her throat, his fingers spanning the skin from the column of her neck to the beginning of her shoulders. Kenna kept her eyes fixed on his chest, her breathing was by no means controlled and she didn't want to see the glint in his eye as he relished her fear.

She pressed further into the wall and a splinter stabbed a tender spot on her back making her flinch away from the wood. Her eyes flew to his, afraid he had seen her reaction, that he'd see what she didn't want him to. That was her mistake. His eyes caught hers, trapped the fleeting look and held her pinned with the intensity of his understanding. He'd seen it, and he'd seen how afraid she was that he had noticed.

Had she been less afraid Kenna might have cursed herself a million times over for being such a fool. Three days she'd spent as this man's prisoner and still she couldn't gather herself to hide from him. Every day she was worse than the days before. Her entire life she had been playing dumb, hiding her parent's background, her mother's ideas, her education. And then this; the precise moment when she needed those guards she had practiced her entire life she came apart and wrote every thought she had on her face. Idiot.

His large hand moved from her neck to her shoulder, his eyes never leaving hers. His fingers pushed the loose neck of the shirt off her shoulder and gripped it, pulling her body away from the wall, turning her so her back was to him.

Her logical mind told her it was inevitable, she should submit quietly and hope it would spare her the worst of whatever was coming next but she'd lost control a long time ago. "No!" she shouted and she wrenched her arm from his grip, pulling away from him and slamming her back into the wall again. The pain shot across her skin and for a moment she couldn't breathe. His hands were back on her person before she found the strength to inhale. But would it have mattered? There was no room to fight, no way to slip past him.

Her body was too small to be cause for any real trouble for him but the look in his eyes did not bode well for her. He took her wrists as she struck out at him and gripped them in one hand, turning her body so that her back was pressed to his chest. He lifted her as she twisted desperately, terror making her stronger. Her legs kicked him and he barely made a sound as she landed blows with her heels against his shins. The chain dampened her efforts with the weight on her leg and she couldn't seem to manage to hit him with it.

He pushed her over on the bed, controlling her wild flailing with infuriating ease. He pressed her body down, releasing her wrists only to place a heavy hand in the center of her back, pinning her down. She moaned in fear as the other hand grasped the neck of the shirt, ripping it from the top and exposing her shame to him.

The fight left her, her limbs grew heavy after her exertions. Tears ran over the bridge of her nose and onto the bed below her. He pulled the two ruined halves of the shirt off her, the controlling hand now between her shoulder blades, fingers around the back of her neck, holding her in place.

Kenna flinched as his fingers stroked slowly down her back, the callused tips soft against the uneven skin. She gasped in pain when he hit a sore spot, running his fingers across the ridges of her scars. The room was eerily quiet now. Kenna submitted to his perusal of her body, this somehow worse than anything he'd done to her up until this point.

"Was this before or after you were widowed?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Whatever she'd been expecting him to ask, that was not it. He would figure her out if she explained. He was smart and she was stupid around him. Once she answered it was only a matter of time before he would figure out the rest of it. Better to be quiet, to let him assume what he wanted to. It couldn't be worse than the truth.

His fingers continued running along the uneven skin but she didn't make a sound. She felt his body pull away from hers though his hand was still at her neck. "You can't hide from me, Kenna. I will work it out with or without you."

But her silence was all she had.

He released her and she scrambled away from him, drawing the ruined shirt over her shoulders. She folded herself against the far end of the bed, against the wall of the ship, and felt a small measure of safety with her back once again pressed to the wood. She understood the futility of hiding what had already been revealed but she couldn't help herself.

His sharp eyes were on her as he stalked across the cabin and picked up the crumpled mess of black fabric that had sat out of her reach in the corner of the room. Her eyes went wide before she could stop herself. He began to search the fabric, his fingers running along the seams, searching the skirts. He stared at her the whole time, his face blank as he continued.

"Where is it?" he asked at last. She shook her head in disbelief. He should not have been able to figure this out so fast. "I suspect you had been warned about the dubious reputation of your captain so I find it hard to believe that a woman who killed her husband would get onboard

that

ship without something to protect herself."

Kenna's eyes went wider, her mouth fell open at his declaration. How? How on earth did he do it? Roland threw the dress on the floor and made his way back towards her, an evil smile just touching his lips. Her body locked in place when he drew near, as if she might draw herself further into the wood behind her by sheer force of will.

Roland removed his shirt and boots and climbed onto the bed after her. Her body vibrated with fear and he seemed to drink it up, crowding her in, looming above her threateningly. His eyes caught her wide ones once more and she looked away, ashamed and terribly afraid.

"Well, Kenna," he said, his large hand coming to her cheek, causing her to hold her breath-- waiting for a blow, or a threat, something that made sense. But instead he continued his gentle caress. "Was it punishment for killing him? Or did he do it himself?" His fingers were still gentle as they drifted down her shoulders and across her folded arms. "Come now, there can be no punishment for evil here. We are all condemned by the law. There is nothing to fear in confessing to another wicked soul." There was a smile in his voice that was unkind and Kenna found her sight blurred by unshed tears. This was not something she wanted to confess to him or anyone else. She had locked it away inside her and she would keep it there.

She shook her head, her jaw tight. His hand clasped her wrists and drew them away from her chest, forcing her to relax her arms or be pulled into him. He tugged the shirt from her body, the ripped pieces easily coming apart.

"I think he did it to you." Roland's voice rolled over her, the truth of his statements made her shiver. "And I think you killed him for it." Tears dripped down her cheeks, shame burning her as he picked apart her secrets. "I wonder why he did it in the first place though," Roland began to run his hands over her nakedness, uncaring at the macabre conversation as he touched her intimately. "What did you do to bring upon yourself such a fate?" She closed her eyes and turned her face from him only to have him grasp her chin and bring it back. "Look at me Kenna." But she wouldn't, she couldn't. "A guilty conscience. Perhaps you did deserve it." A small sob escaped her; tears spilled out below her lashes.

She was numb when he laid her down, his hand holding her wrists above her head, his large body covered her easily as he continued touching her, ignoring her distress. Her body ignored her mind again and she felt that dark need unfurl inside her as his fingers manipulated her flesh. The shivers of fear and of anticipation molded into one. The intensity of her shame and regret seemed to flow too easily into her skin as excitement.

He felt it too, saw it in her face as she struggled internally. Why did this happen? One moment she was afraid and the next wanton and aroused. How could he pluck the chords of her deepest sorrows and still elicit these feelings from her? She turned her face into her restrained arms, unwilling to look at him. He continued unperturbed, his lips on her bared throat, his fingers on her breasts, trailing fiery lines of touch down to the apex of her legs.

She tried not to respond as his thick finger penetrated her moist channel. The slick feeling of his fingers told her that her body was still willfully ignoring her brain. She tried to squirm away from him but it served nothing but increasing her contact with him. His mouth found one of her nipples and she gasped through her tears, her back arching as a second finger joined the first one. She shook her head, trying desperately to deny the rising heat inside her.

His thumb began circling the small nub he had so lavished with attention the last few days. She groaned pure dismay as she felt the heat settle inside her, the pressure she had come to recognize rising in her spine.

"Why?" she gasped as his teeth closed around her pert nipple. Her breath caught in her throat.

He released her breast though his thumb narrowed its path and she began arching into his touch as the mindless pleasure seeped up from her core. His dark eyes hovered above her face as he watched her come apart in his hand, watched her eyes darken with lust before clouding again with confusion and, finally, shame.

"Because I can," he said as he settled between her legs. She tried to fight again though her watery muscles were more useless than ever. It wasn't fair that he should be able to do this to her, to pick her apart and leave her nowhere to hide. She hated him but she hated the way she felt more. Hated herself, her traitorous body, the most.

She looked up into his face as he sank into her. Why should she shudder and moan at his entrance and he remain intent but impassive? Why when he surged inside her did she clench around him but he simply kept his pace? She held nothing over him, retained no power as he methodically broke down all of her defenses.

The pressure rose inside her again, driving her thoughts of his motivations far away. Kenna grit her teeth, as her body arched off the bed and into his rocking chest. The rub of the hair on his chest against her sensitive skin felt like millions of pin pricks, all chorusing along with the spasming of her pussy. She kept from crying out even as her body betrayed her again, jaw locked around the sounds she so desperately stifled. He came at the same time, his rutting uneven until her pressed himself deep inside her.

That night Roland woke to an empty bed. He sat up silently, listening for her. She had managed to sneak from the bed even with the chain of her shackles still attached. He must have slept more heavily than usual. She was curled up on the floor where he'd found her earlier in the evening. With the small glimpses of moonlight he could see her eyes were open wide and staring into the darkness of the chamber. The ripped shirt hung from her shoulders and he could see the thick scars running across her upper back through the gaping neck.

Quietly he followed her onto the floor and crouched so their eyes were even. She looked back at him as though he were just another part of the room. For a long moment he wasn't sure she was aware of him until she spoke.

"The priest would have had him do it again." Her voice was hushed in confession but it did not waver, this she wasn't ashamed of. "I wouldn't have survived another beating." She looked past him, into the darkness of the room where her dress lay. "The belladonna is sown into the stays of the corset."

"You've given up any plot to kill me then?" he said, the question redundant after her words.

She shook her head. If she were ever to end him, poison would not be the way. "Will you remove the shackle? It hurts a great deal." There was a brief change in his facial expression that she couldn't read in the dark.

He held his hand out to her. "We will see what we can do in the morning." She stood and the iron fell on the open sores it had created across the top of her foot. She tried not to flinch as she climbed back into the bed with him. This time he turned her so her back was pressed against his body and his arm held her close, keeping her still as she stared into the dark of the cabin.

Hours trickled by, the room unchanging even as the sea rolled around them. Kenna was soothed by the motion for the first time since beginning this journey. She drifted into her memories, feeling the water flow over her skin as it had when she swam in the frigid waters back home. She smelled the cold rocks and the dark caress of the tides, her arms striking out across the surface, drawing her away from the village and their stares, back to the East where her mother had told her she belonged. And somehow, lost in those thoughts, she slipped back into sleep.

When she opened her eyes again the sun had crept into the chamber, warming the corners with yellow light. Her dress was gone, deadly corset and all. Her right ankle was bare but for a bandage covering the multitude of scrapes and sores the chain had inflicted.

Her left leg was now adorned with a rope, looped twice around her small ankle, a bandage underneath it to save her skin from the rub. The knot at her ankle was almost beautiful. She ran her fingers along the intricate loops, testing its tightness and finding it quite secure. The other end was attached to the post of the bed with a similarly woven knot she didn't bother to check. She did notice that the rope between the two was much longer than the chain had been, greatly increasing the range of motion she had in the room.

Kenna was confused how to feel about this. She was at first delighted with the change, and grateful that he had done it. But that quickly cooled. How easy it was for her to feel grateful to a man who chained her and ravaged her. Was it so easy for her to think well of him for changing the nature of her imprisonment?

She sighed and slipped the tattered shirt from her shoulders. He had not seen fit to give her something else to wear so she would have to make do with what she had. Her practiced fingers tied a small knot with the two ends of the torn cloth and then again halfway down. The bottom had remained intact but she secured the end of the rip with a loop to keep it from tearing further. She slipped the shirt back over her head, despairing to feel the gaping over her scars.

She tested how long her leash was and found she could make it to the far end easily though not to the door. Roland had left her a bit of food, which she nibbled on as she paced the room, grateful to be walking around after so many days spent sitting. She cursed herself again for thinking well of him. She should be pleased with what she had, not grateful to the motherless cur who made her feel as if walking was a privilege.

She eyed the rafters on the walls. There was a restlessness inside her that sent her to them, placing her hands against two of the thick pieces of wood as she found toe holds in the wall to push herself up and off the floor. She wished for another inch of height as she shimmied up a little, straining to keep the pressure of her limbs greater than the weight of her body. She reached up to the top of the low wall, her hands flat against the floor of the crawlspace there and she kicked her legs to send her toppling gracelessly into the cramped space between the rafters and the ceiling.

Her height no longer a disadvantage, Kenna found that she could lay back comfortably in the compartment, hidden from the main room. The pitch of the sea was calming as she burrowed in her private space, glad to feel a moment apart from the chamber.

She hummed a tune from home, a simple children's song full of nonsense. But soon she turned to a longer ballad about a man lost at sea. It was comforting to hear the familiar words again and she closed her eyes, imagining the voice was her mother's as she and her sister lay together in their bed.

It made her ache for them, but it was better than the crippling apprehension that threatened her if she turned her mind away to less pleasant things. She chose nostalgia over worry and slipped into another of her mother's songs. She was so lost in the smooth notes and wistful lyrics that she didn't notice her audience.

When the song reached its inevitable tragic end there was a small tug at the rope around her ankle. Kenna started and nearly smashed her head against the wood of the ceiling in her little crawl space. She looked down to see Roland standing in the middle of the chamber, his amber eyes fixed on hers, the long rope draped casually in his fingers.