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whore got paid!
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Chapter Seven
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    â€˜Wake up, my pet,’ said Alice, shaking Jane’s shoulder. ‘This is no time to lie abed. We must break our fast and be off. We have another day’s ride ahead of us.’ Certain that her charge was now awake, she bustled off to see to the ordering of food and drink.
    Jane sat up, groggily wiping the sleep from her eyes. It had been a bad night. As Alice snored beside her she had lain awake, her body aching with unfulfilled desire, staring into the darkness, starting at every sound, terrified that Fletcher and Cooper would return to drag her from her bed and repeat their foul attack upon her.
    When she had slept it was only to dream about what they had done. Dreadful nightmares in which she gloried in their base attentions, urging them on to further excesses, shamelessly revelling in the sinful pleasures of the flesh. She flushed as she remembered the explosion of heat that suffused her loins in her dreams, bringing both humiliation and satisfaction before, sated, she had finally fallen into dreamless oblivion. She shuddered. Perhaps her stepfather had been correct in his assessment of her, for surely only a slut could have such perverse feelings?
    â€˜Still not up?’ demanded Alice, bustling back again. ‘Come now, slugabed! Rise and dress yourself before the day is any further gone.’
    Reluctantly, Jane rose, pulling her night rail about her to hide the dark marks on her breasts, where the soft flesh had been bruised by demanding fingers. There was an ache between her thighs that tormented her as she moved; a strange mixture of pain and pleasure. She bit her lip and moaned inwardly. It was true. She was a whore!
    Sharp-eyed Alice caught the slight wince of pain. ‘What ails you, girl?’ she demanded. ‘You walk as stiff as some old gammer with the bone-sickness.’
    Jane forced a smile. ‘And so should you, old woman,’ she said lightly, ‘sleeping on such an ill mattress. I think I preferred the fleas to this poxy damp.’ She turned her back and began to dress quickly.
    â€˜There now,’ she said, once fully clothed. ‘Satisfied? Now, let us go and eat. My aches and pains will vanish once we begin to ride again.’
    â€˜And mine will return,’ grumbled Alice. ‘Damned donkey! All bones and bad temper.’
    â€˜Just like you,’ teased Jane. ‘But I love you anyway.’ Mollified, Alice grinned and led the way downstairs.
    Fortified by bread and cheese, washed down with a tankard of small beer, Jane braced herself to face her tormentors, and was relieved to find that, the false bravado of drink having worn off, it was they who avoided her eyes as they busied themselves about the tasks of saddling the horses and packing the bundles. Fear of the consequences of their actions had instilled caution.
    There was much respectful nodding as they handed her into the saddle - and if there was the occasional lecherous sideways smirk between them, then she didn’t see it. Gazing straight ahead, she ignored their clumsy attempts to ingratiate themselves and the small company set off.
    Thankfully the rain had stopped and the countryside was green and fresh in the early morning sunshine. Alice ceased her interminable complaints and jogged along in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth, and even the donkey seemed less fractious.
    As they passed, workers planting in the fields stopped what they were doing to watch and touch their bonnets in respect. There was even the occasional feeble cheer.
    Jane smiled and nodded back, thinking that this must be how King Henry himself must feel when he went on procession. For a few hours she could forget their destination and the fact that she was to be incarcerated for God knew how long in some bleak convent and simply give herself up to the enjoyment of the moment, the countryside spread in front of her like a tapestry. Yet all too soon the sunny