Read Online The Merchant's Daughter (Dubious Consent, Historical Erotic Romance) by Dalia Daudelin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dalia Daudelin
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the same time, I felt angry that I had so wrongly judged his character.
And below all that, buried so deep I couldn’t articulate it, was the jealousy that he thought he could have this beautiful woman who I knew I could never have. It was a dark, animal thought and even though I knew no one could see inside my thoughts I felt deeply ashamed. I knelt and prayed for the Lord’s forgiveness. I was surprised to find the young lady Dempsey beside me when I had finished my prayers.
“Did he hurt you, mistress?” She opened her eyes and looked at me, with an expression I’ve seen too many times from boys coming back from an ugly battle, when they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. “Are you alright?”
Her voice was soft when she replied, “I will be, sir. Thank you, for…” she paused. “Thank you.” She rose and was away, facing away from me, from my men. I suspected she might be crying, and I chose to let her be. I wanted her to feel okay again, not wanting the fear to get deep-set into her like I’d seen many times before. I knew that I couldn’t provide any solace for her that would last.
I thought of Brigid back home, large with child, and I knew fear for the first time in a long time—thinking back to that winter before we were wed, and the state she was in when I found her. I shivered and leaned into the fire that was just starting to pick up, alone with my thoughts.
I heard from the broken carriage, the sounds of Richard fussing against his restraints, almost worried he would snap the bounds he’d been left in—but he hadn’t much in the way of muscle, and when I thought it honestly through I decided he didn’t provide anything to worry about. I set Seamus to guard duty and told me to wake him for four hours, or should things should go sour. I woke to the moon in the sky, visible barely between the thick tree branches. The young mistress was awake, sitting on a trunk, staring almost unblinking at the stars. She didn’t look over at me so I don’t know how she knew I was awake.
"You know, I received a boy’s education in Dublin, sir. They taught me about these stars."
She pointed at a cluster.
"That there's Orion. Mighty warrior, he is. He's got a club in one hand, and the other hand is holding a lion at bay, strong and fierce and protective."
She looked down, looked at me.
"You protected me."
I didn't know what to say to her.
"I was just doing the Christian thing, mistress. Don't know what I need to be thanked for."
She stood, laid in the grass. If I watched closely I could see her breasts straining just so against the bounds of her dress: lying flat, and yet at the same time, only accentuating their softness. She spoke softly, and I could only just hear her.
"Do you know your bible, sir?"
“Some, but not so well as some might, mistress.”
"Do you know the story of the good Samaritan?"
“I’ve heard the Father tell it at mass.”
"A Samaritan—a heretic and a gentile—was more Christian than so many Christians, in the story. Just because you were doing the right thing doesn't mean you shouldn't be thanked."
She got real quiet at the end, like she was just saying it to herself. She looked up, like a lost child, and I almost lost my arousal for her altogether, seeing her so fragile. I turned to the fire, warming my hands in the cold.
It was a surprise when I felt a warmth against my back, arms encircling me. I turned, ready to tell young Dempsey off, when I saw her face. She'd been crying again, quietly enough that I hadn't heard it over the sound of the fire popping and crackling. She looked afraid again, as afraid as she'd been after she was attacked, and lonely.
"Sir, I need help. I just..."
She trailed off and hiccuped, crying again anew.
"I don't know what I need. It all feels so awful and I can't make it go away. Make it go away, Orion. Save me."
I took her in my arms and I held her like a child to my breast, sang her a lullaby I'd learned from my
And below all that, buried so deep I couldn’t articulate it, was the jealousy that he thought he could have this beautiful woman who I knew I could never have. It was a dark, animal thought and even though I knew no one could see inside my thoughts I felt deeply ashamed. I knelt and prayed for the Lord’s forgiveness. I was surprised to find the young lady Dempsey beside me when I had finished my prayers.
“Did he hurt you, mistress?” She opened her eyes and looked at me, with an expression I’ve seen too many times from boys coming back from an ugly battle, when they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. “Are you alright?”
Her voice was soft when she replied, “I will be, sir. Thank you, for…” she paused. “Thank you.” She rose and was away, facing away from me, from my men. I suspected she might be crying, and I chose to let her be. I wanted her to feel okay again, not wanting the fear to get deep-set into her like I’d seen many times before. I knew that I couldn’t provide any solace for her that would last.
I thought of Brigid back home, large with child, and I knew fear for the first time in a long time—thinking back to that winter before we were wed, and the state she was in when I found her. I shivered and leaned into the fire that was just starting to pick up, alone with my thoughts.
I heard from the broken carriage, the sounds of Richard fussing against his restraints, almost worried he would snap the bounds he’d been left in—but he hadn’t much in the way of muscle, and when I thought it honestly through I decided he didn’t provide anything to worry about. I set Seamus to guard duty and told me to wake him for four hours, or should things should go sour. I woke to the moon in the sky, visible barely between the thick tree branches. The young mistress was awake, sitting on a trunk, staring almost unblinking at the stars. She didn’t look over at me so I don’t know how she knew I was awake.
"You know, I received a boy’s education in Dublin, sir. They taught me about these stars."
She pointed at a cluster.
"That there's Orion. Mighty warrior, he is. He's got a club in one hand, and the other hand is holding a lion at bay, strong and fierce and protective."
She looked down, looked at me.
"You protected me."
I didn't know what to say to her.
"I was just doing the Christian thing, mistress. Don't know what I need to be thanked for."
She stood, laid in the grass. If I watched closely I could see her breasts straining just so against the bounds of her dress: lying flat, and yet at the same time, only accentuating their softness. She spoke softly, and I could only just hear her.
"Do you know your bible, sir?"
“Some, but not so well as some might, mistress.”
"Do you know the story of the good Samaritan?"
“I’ve heard the Father tell it at mass.”
"A Samaritan—a heretic and a gentile—was more Christian than so many Christians, in the story. Just because you were doing the right thing doesn't mean you shouldn't be thanked."
She got real quiet at the end, like she was just saying it to herself. She looked up, like a lost child, and I almost lost my arousal for her altogether, seeing her so fragile. I turned to the fire, warming my hands in the cold.
It was a surprise when I felt a warmth against my back, arms encircling me. I turned, ready to tell young Dempsey off, when I saw her face. She'd been crying again, quietly enough that I hadn't heard it over the sound of the fire popping and crackling. She looked afraid again, as afraid as she'd been after she was attacked, and lonely.
"Sir, I need help. I just..."
She trailed off and hiccuped, crying again anew.
"I don't know what I need. It all feels so awful and I can't make it go away. Make it go away, Orion. Save me."
I took her in my arms and I held her like a child to my breast, sang her a lullaby I'd learned from my
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