Read Online Household by Florence Stevenson - Free Book Online

asked the man in the middle.
    “It is enough, Brother,” the other two repeated in unison. “Very well, Richard Veringer, Earl of More, you are admitted to our circle and may partake of all the joys therein—for as long as you remain under our roof.”
    “I am indeed honored,” Richard said with a touch of sarcasm he could not quite conceal.
    “You are, and more than you imagine.” Sir Francis threw back his cowl and clapped his hands. “Ahriman, will you escort my Lord More to the Corridor of Delights?”
    The boy who had led Richard into the room moved to his side. “If your Lordship will follow me...” he said softly.
    A few minutes later, they returned to the hall, and the servant led him into another passageway. Once more Richard heard that sibilant merriment, muted giggles and beguiling feminine tones merging with the deeper voices of men—men and women together, but where? When his guide held up a candle, Richard saw doors on either side of him. Little grills were set into them, not unlike those in a prison, Richard thought with shock, but it was from them that the voices issued and, he noted, each of the rooms, or rather cells, was lighted. Again he followed the boy called Ahriman down the corridor to a door nearly at its end. Stopping in front of it, he motioned Richard to go inside.
    As he entered, he heard a gasp of fright. In the dimness of this darkened chamber, Richard saw a figure huddled on a large bed. The only other furniture in the cell was a night stand on which stood a tall candelabrum. Extending his taper, the boy lit its seven candles and left the room. To Richard’s amazement and subsequent anger, he heard a frightened female voice.
    “Oh, help me... help me...”
    He whirled. Thanks to the illumination provided by the candles, he finally beheld the beautiful but tear-stained face of Catlin O’Neill. Compunction stirred. She must have been badly frightened, kept here in semidarkness and not knowing why she had been spirited away to this strange place. How, he wondered, could he soothe her fears and put her at her ease. Words sprang to his lips and died as on glancing down, he found that, in common with himself, she as in religious garb—a nun’s habit, complete with coif and veil though neither headdress nor gown hid her charms. Both were fashioned from a gossamer fabric and, again in common with himself, beneath that transparent material she was naked. He flushed, as inadvertently his eyes strayed to her small but perfectly shaped breasts with their rosy nipples inviting his kisses.
    “Do... do not look at me,” she whispered and shrank away, pressing her body against a mound of silken pillows. He wondered why she had not reached for the coverlet and saw, then, that her hands and feet were tightly bound.
    “Good God,” he exclaimed angrily. “Let me remove those ropes.”
    “Do not t-touch me, F-Father...” she began and paused. “B-But you’re no priest nor monk, neither, to be in such a place. Oh, where am I and why was I forced to don this unholy garb? Please, sir, if you have any pity, help me. Get me away from here.”
    Her pain and distress were, he decided, real enough. The poor little wench was unused to such unorthodox methods of seduction. He never would have agreed to such proceedings, himself, he thought crossly, beginning to loathe these psuedo-monkish trappings. They could only give rise to horror in a person who had any religious leanings, which she obviously did. Sir Francis was more of a fool than he had believed and he, Richard Veringer, was an even greater fool to have countenanced her kidnapping! If he had realized what it entailed, he most certainly would have refused to lend himself to such a scheme!
    “Please, you must let me free you,” he said gently, soothingly. “Those ropes must be hurting you.”
    “They are that.” She sounded a shade less frenzied. “My fingers are numb. Could you... would you help me to get away?” Her beautiful eyes were