Black Dorn [submission/punishment/bondage]

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Black Dorn

A Medieval Novella of Love
and Submission

By

Daryl Devoré

Copyright © 2011 Daryl Devoré

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

"Stop that crying or by all
that is powerful, I will beat you."

"Do not yell so. You will
frighten the poor child."

Through tears, Branwyn
stared at her uncle and aunt. "I…I do not understand. Why must I
go?"

Her aunt sat next to her.
"It is your time, child. A husband has been chosen. You must leave
us to join with him."

"About time it is!" Her
uncle’s face grew redder with each word. "One year shy of a score
she is, and still unwed. She must fall to her knees to thank God
someone wishes to marry such an old spinster."

Branwyn slapped the arm of
her chair. "I decline. It is my right. I shall not marry this
man!"

"How many men do you think
you can refuse?" Her uncle paced about the small room. "This is the
fourth suitor to ask for your hand. You cannot. It is done. Your
things are being loaded as we speak." He jerked back a curtain in
the window and pointed.

The door opened and in
stepped a tall broad-shouldered soldier. "The carriage
awaits."

"Branwyn." Aunt Selda patted
her hand. "You have no dowry. This is a good match. He is a rich
man. He will give you babies."

Suspicion gnawed at
Branwyn's stomach. "And what did he give you?"

"Gold." Uncle Egbert picked
up his purse and dropped it, with a rattle, back onto the
table.

Branwyn dried her eyes with
the edge of her sleeve, stood, kissed her aunt on the cheek and
strode out the door to face her destiny.

A carriage with two strong,
brown horses stood at the entrance. Two guardsmen on horseback
waited. The driver offered his hand to help her mount.

Branwyn paused and turned.
No one waited to say goodbye. The door of her uncle's manor closed
with a determined firmness. Warm tears gathered at the corner of
her eyes. She blinked them back, then settled herself, pulled a
blanket over her legs and snapped the curtains closed. If the
family she’d grown up with refused to cry and wish her well, she
would not shed a tear or turn for a final glance at her adopted
home. With a shout and a shudder, the carriage pulled
away.

For three days and nights,
the horses pounded across the land. Her body ached from the
incessant shaking. The driver allowed her allowed brief intervals
to exit the carriage. A guard, always on hand, escorted her to an
inn. As much as she tried to converse with her escort, no one spoke
to her.

While she ate a quick meal,
fresh horses, a new driver and soldiers relieved the tired ones. A
rough blanket was Branwyn’s refuge into sleep—no bed, no soft down
pillow, no gentle breeze billowing through her curtains, just the
constant movement of the carriage. Branwyn’s eyes would begin to
close when a sharp jostle would snap her awake.

When the coach stopped,
Branwyn’s trial was over. Her patience had worn thin and exhaustion
weighed heavily on her. The door opened and she stepped down the
stairs and onto the land of her new home.

Two torches, held by guards,
broke the darkness. A woman stood just outside the doorway. "Dune
Branwyn. Welcome to Black Dorn. I am Duna Trea."

Branwyn smiled. Years of
training surfaced through her exhaustion and she curtsied. "It is a
delight to meet you, Duna Trea."

A girl near Branwyn’s age
stepped out from behind Duna Trea. "This is Leah, your serving
girl. She will help you to your quarters, bathe, feed and prepare
you for bed. You must be exhausted by your long
journey."

Branwyn nodded and sighed.
"From the bottom of my heart I cannot thank you enough. My bones
are truly weary."

Through the fog of near
sleep, Branwyn felt herself being helped to walk, undress, cleanse
and eat, but she needed no help to fall asleep.

"Good morning, Dune
Branwyn." Leah pulled open the heavy bed curtains and let in the
light of a new day.

Branwyn yawned and
stretched. Leah helped her sit up and settle back on her pillows
then she placed a tray over Branwyn’s lap, whose stomach rumbled at
the sight of the bowl of fresh, ripe strawberries and cup of hot
sweet tea.

Nibbling some berries, she
glanced at her surroundings. Comforted that the colorful tapestries
hinted at the wealth of future her husband, Branwyn smiled as she
ran her hand along the linen sheets. On a table, to her right, sat
a silver bowl filled with fresh apricots and plums. Near the
window, a white washbasin and pitcher rested on a small bench. A
fur rug covered part of the grey stone floor.

A large screen blocked the
fireplace and she puzzled over the sound of water pouring into an
exceptionally large basin. A soft scent floated across the air and
mingled with the scent of her breakfast. Leah folded clothes and
prepared the room for the day. A tall girl, with light brown hair,
wrapped in a white scarf, Leah's dull brown dress hung loosely on
her thin body.

"Is the dune ready for her
morning bath?" Leah lowered her eyes as she waited
nearby.

"What is a dune? What does
this word mean? I do not know it."

Leah bit her lip. "You are a
dune."

"It is my rank?"

"It is your
position."

"Do you have a
position?"

"I am Leah, your serving
girl."

"Are you a dune,
Leah?"

"I serve a dune." Leah
indicated with her hand. "Your bath is ready."

"You may bring me a bowl and
basin."

"Respectfully no, my dune.
You must go to the bath."

"I am sorry." Branwyn
smiled. "I forgot that customs might be different from here than at
home." Home. She had not thought about her aunt, uncle or six
female cousins since she'd left. I will banish them from my
thoughts as they banished me. She threw back her covers, stood and
walked to the basin. "It is empty."

"The bath is here." Leah
pointed behind the screen.

As Branwyn neared, a warm,
sweet smelling mist engulfed her. Near the fireplace hearth, a
large bronze object sat, filled with water. Leah tugged on the hem
of Branwyn’s gown. "I must help you undress so I may cleanse
you."

Pointing to the object,
Branwyn asked, "What is that for? I have never seen such a sight.
It is like a small lake has been brought into the room." Her hand
skimmed the surface. "The water is warm. And oh, so sweet smelling.
It smells as fresh as spring air. Is this magic to make the air and
water fragrant as one?"

"This is your bath." Leah
pointed to the large basin. "This is where I shall cleanse you,
Dune."

Branwyn's brow crinkled.
"Explain."

"I help you undress, you
step into the—"

"That? You expect me to go
into…I shall drown. Besides, it is unsanitary. Many sicknesses may
linger in the water."

"Dune, this is most clean.
The water was taken from the freshest stream, boiled in a large
cauldron, then mixed with cool water. Rose petals, from the
castle’s garden, were used to fragrance it."

"I refuse! Hand me that
cloth." Branwyn snatched it from Leah. She picked up the pitcher
and basin, placed the basin on a nearby table and commanded Leah to
fill the pitcher.

Branwyn poured some water
into the basin, then rinsed her cloth and wiped her face and hands.
She used a corner to wipe her teeth. "You may pour the rest over my
hair."

Leah did as requested and
held a towel to her hair to catch the water. She combed Branwyn’s
long red-brown tresses, wrapped them into a tight bun then secured
the hair in place with gold pins. She selected a soft-brown gown,
trimmed with white lace and silver beads and handed it to her dune.
"I will return and escort you to Duna Trea."

Dressed in her gown and a
pair of white sandals, Branwyn stepped to her window to see some of
her new home. Her room overlooked a courtyard. Leah walked toward a
man. He held something in one hand while he pointed to a strange
chair. Leah faced and bent over the chair.

The man lifted her skirts
and tossed them over her head. Branwyn gasped and closed her eyes.
Leah’s bare bottom was exposed for all to see. She steeled herself,
opened her eyes and immediately snapped them shut. The man paddled
Leah’s naked bottom!

The courtyard was silent,
except for the crack of wood on bare flesh. Where were Leah’s howls
of pain and protestation? This was never done in public, and
certainly not to a grown woman. Only a young child was spanked, and
yet Leah accepted her treatment.

Branwyn placed her hand on
her chest. Her heart pounded. She felt warm and dizzy. Was she
suddenly ill? Holding the window ledge, she peered back
out.

The spanking had ceased and
the white flesh of Leah’s buttocks glowed a ripe rosy pink. Leah
turned to face her beater and dropped to her knees. She appeared to
be repeatedly asking for forgiveness as her head bobbed up and
down. He must not be impressed, as he grabbed the sides of her head
and shook her harder. With a loud grunt, he forgave her. Leah
stood, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, adjusted her
skirts and walked back across the courtyard.

Fanning herself, Branwyn sat
on the edge of her bed and calmed herself. The air is very warm. I
feel as if I may swoon. Why would Leah allow that to happen? She is
not a child. And to have her…her…for all to see. It should not
be.

Leah knocked on her door.
"Are you ready dune?"

Curiosity is a hard thing to
contain, but Branwyn knew her duty. It was time to meet her
hostess. She would question Leah later.

The castle was large and
quiet, and they passed no one in the torch-lit halls. After
trailing behind Leah up a long curving staircase, Branwyn paused as
Leah opened the door and indicated the way. Branwyn stepped into a
vast room with a wood floor. She looked about. Many tapestries hung
on the walls. One displayed heroic soldiers crushing an enemy and
another portrayed a mother suckling a child by a stream. Others
confused Branwyn. On the floor, mounds of pillows were scattered
about and a few chairs.

Duna Trea appeared, as if
from nowhere. "Good morning Dune Branwyn. I trust you slept well
and have recovered from your journey."

She dropped into a deep
curtsy. "Oh yes, Duna Trea. I am quite rested."

"Leah serves you
well?"

"Yes, though we struggle
with confusions over language and customs."

"Sit down, Dune Branwyn."
Duna Trea pointed to a smaller chair as she settled onto a
velvet-cushioned one. She ran her hand down the sides of her dress
smoothing out the wrinkles. In her youth, the blackness of her
dress would have matched the color of her, now speckled with grey,
hair. "We must converse. It is time to explain to you why you are
here."

"I know I have been given to
a man. I understand my duty to my uncle and aunt. They raised me
and I have been a burden to them. It is time I—"

Duna Trea raised her hand.
"That is not why. It is because of your wondrous beauty. Are not
your cousins of a plainer state? It is most simple. You were gotten
rid of. With your smooth, fair skin, bright green eyes, long, thick
hair and full, healthy breasts, your uncle saw no chance for a good
match for his daughters. "

Branwyn started to speak but
stopped. She bit her bottom lip to cease its trembling. Duna Trea
continued, "A very rich man purchased you and he demands that you
be trained to satisfy his specific tastes."

"I served my aunt. I was a
dutiful niece and learned to cook, sew, play the spinet, read and
embroider. People have told me I have an enchanting voice and I
know many songs. I am an accomplished young lady."

"Those are not the skills
your master wishes."

"I…I understand there are
needs of the bed, but those my husband will teach me." Blood rushed
to Branwyn's cheeks at the vaguest mention of husband-wife
relations.