"Wh-what are you doing?" Isleen squeaked as his hands tightened about her hips.
"Has no man ever gone this way, Isleen?" he demanded. "Are you a virgin in your bottom hole?"
"Yes!" she gasped, feeling him pushing himself slowly into her body. "Yes, damn you!"
"How perfect," Merin ap Owen said, and then he thrust himself deep into her, smiling as she screeched her outrage. "Ahhh, you are delicious," he complimented, drawing himself out, then driving back in once again. "Cease your caterwauling, my pretty bitch, and let your body speak to your mind. There," he complimented her as she stopped her struggles. Then he began a rhythmic motion against her, and was pleased when within moments her bottom was pushing back against his groin. "Good! Good, my pretty bitch! You are enjoying this, aren't you, Isleen? This is wicked, and this is forbidden, and you like it!"
"Yes!" she half sobbed.
He laughed aloud, his cock flashing back and forth until his lust erupted, and he flooded her body. "You'll get no brats from me, Isleen," he said into her ear.
"You bastard!" she snarled at him angrily as he moved away from her, and she collapsed facedown upon the straw pallet. Her back channel ached with his unaccustomed invasion, but damn him, it had been exciting! Yet she was still boiling with a hunger that was going to consume her. She rolled over to glare up at him, and Badan fell upon her once again. She wrapped her legs about him, and encouraged him onward to his best efforts. He did not disappoint her.
"How fortuitous," Merin ap Owen purred as he watched the pair. "A bitch who cannot get enough cock, but the night is yet young, my friends."
Still, when the long night was over, Isleen had not been broken, nor was she apt to be, the lord of the region thought. While she slept surrounded by his three men, Merin ap Owen rearranged his clothing so that it had a semblance of order, and left the small chamber to seek Clud, the whoremonger. He found him seated outside of his house upon a bench, drinking, while he fondled a young whore who sat on his knee. Reaching into the purse that hung from his girdle, Merin ap Owen drew out two silver coins. He was not of a mind to argue or haggle with Clud. He held out the coins, and Clud’s grimy hand opened greedily.
Still retaining possession of the coins, Merin ap Owen said, "I am taking Isleen with me when I leave this morning." It was a statement of fact. He then dropped the two coins into Clud’s outstretched hand.
The whoremonger’s fingers closed swiftly about the silver. "She’s yours, lord. She would have been trouble for me. You, however, know how to tame a bitch."
"She is not tamed, nor ever likely to be," Merin ap Owen said. "That is why I want her. She’s greedy, venal, I suspect, and as dangerous as a mad dog. Yet she suits my fancy for now. Fetch a tub of hot water into her chamber, and bring her her own clothing and a new chemise. First tell my men to return to the castle, and then see to her."
Clud got to his feet, dumping the girl in his lap to the ground. "Aye, my lord, at once!"
"I'll be back at noon," Merin ap Owen said. "Let her sleep for a time, but see she is ready and waiting for me when I come."
"Yes, my lord!" Clud bowed obsequiously several times.
With a sardonic smile upon his lips, Merin ap Owen turned from the whoremonger and walked away. "At noon," he repeated.
"At noon, my lord," Clud called after him.
Isleen awoke as the tub was dragged into the chamber where she slept. She groaned, tired and sore. Lifting her head, she rolled over. The men were gone now, and only the frightened-looking little wench who was the servant girl in the brothel was there. "What is the hour?" she demanded of the girl.
"Almost two hours past Terce," the servant replied. "Master says you are to bathe. Lord Merin will return for you at noon. He bought you from the master. Your clothing is there. I repaired your chemise. Hurry, lady! You dare not keep the lord waiting."
Isleen smiled a feline smile. So the bastard had bought her from the whoremonger. Why? To be the castl whore for his men? That would be just like him, for Isleen had quickly learned Merin ap Owen was a cruel man. Or did he want her for himself? Pray God that was it. She had not given quarter last night. She would not give any now. The Welsh lordling was her chance to have her revenge upon her meek little sister-in-law, the holy Eleanore. If it hadn't been for the little nun, Saer de Bude would now be lord of Ashlin and she, waiting in the wings, would have soon again been Ashlin’s lady. She had wanted to be her cousin’s wife since she was a child. It was Eleanore de Montforts fault she was not, nor was ever likely to be now. So she would revenge herself upon the little bitch, and she would use this Merin ap Owen to accomplish her goal.
Isleen bathed herself carefully with the primitive accoutrements provided by Clud. She washed her long golden hair, drying it by the charcoal brazier the servant had brought her to warm the room. Slowly she combed through her hair, freeing it of tangles, combing, combing, combing until it was almost dry. Parting her hair in the center, she wound it into a thick coil at the base of her neck and affixed it with her hairpins. "Find me some scented oil," she told the servant.
"There is no such stuff in this place," the girl said.
"Your master does not know how to run a proper brothel," Isleen said irritably.
" 'Tis the finest brothel in Gwynfr."
" 'Tis the only brothel in Gwynfr," Isleen sneered. Then she dressed herself in her sky blue skirts and blue and gold tunic top.
"Ahhh," the girl said admiringly, "I have never seen anything so fine, lady. May I touch it?"
Isleen nodded, amused by the girl’s naivete.
The girl fingered the fine material, then she said, "You are surely the most beautiful lady I have ever seen. If you go with Lord Merin, you will need a serving woman. There are none at Gwynfr Castle, I swear it! I can sew, and do your hair." Her plain face was hopeful.
"Are you a whore?" Isleen asked.
"Nay!" the girl denied vehemently. "Clud is my uncle, and when my mother died, he took me in to serve, but I am no whore. I will swear it on the Blessed Virgins name!"
Isleen was thoughtful. The girl was plain enough to attract no attention. She was clever enough to want to advance herself, yet meek enough to be controlled easily. She was familiar with the region and all the people. She could prove a useful ally. "Are you freeborn or serf?" she asked the girl. If she was a serf, Isleen would have to wheedle Merin into purchasing her.
"I am freeborn," the girl said, "for all the good it has ever done me, lady. I will serve you well."
"What is your name?"
"Arwydd."
Isleen laughed. The wench was a sly thing. "Gather your things, Arwydd," she told the girl.
"I'm wearing them," Arwydd said wryly.
Isleen looked scornfully at the girl’s soiled and sweat-stained garments. "This will not do," she said. "Go and fetch your uncle."
Arwydd ran out, returning a few minutes later with Clud.
The whoremonger looked Isleen over appreciatively, licking his lips as he did so. "Perhaps I am selling you too cheap," he said.
"Whatever Merin ap Owen paid you was too much," Isleen said dryly. "Now, I am taking Arwydd with me, for I must have a servant. Get her some clean clothing, you tightfisted old bastard. She stinks of a year’s worth of slave labor, labor you have undoubtedly not paid her for at Michaelmas. Now you don't have to pay her. Just clothe her decently, and I will take her with me. It cannot hurt you to have your niece in service at Gwynfr Castle."
"I have fed her and housed her," Clud whined.