"Get up and get dressed. The Master wants to see you."
Maureen peeled one eye open and sorted out the blurry shadows into Padric leaning over her with a towel. "Go 'way. Le' me sleep."
The towel cracked like a whip, and her ass caught fire. She rolled, groggily, and another snap lit pain in her right breast. She kept rolling until she cowered under the iron bunk, whimpering and shivering and curled into a ball with her butt pressed against the cold stone wall.
"Get up and get dressed, I said! The Master invites you to dinner."
"Fuck you," she muttered, but her mouth betrayed her by watering at the thought of food.
"Eat with him or starve. Your choice."
"Gimme back my clothes."
Something green landed above her, and she focused on it. He'd pulled the thin mattress off the bunk to see her through the metal springs and strapping. Velvet. It was a velvet dress, green with golden trim. Damn thing would go well with her hair and skin.
Not too good with bruises, though. Levi's and her white blouse would set those off better. She reached around the edge, tugged the dress down, and threw it into the filthy puddle in the corner. The cold gnawed at her: velvet was warm.
She glared out at Padric from her hole, baring her teeth. Something warmed, deep in her belly, at the sight of a ragged scab and bruise across his left cheek. At least she'd given him that much back.
"Then you go to him naked," he growled. "Save time when he beds you."
He reached under the bunk and grabbed her wrist, jerking until she banged her head on the iron frame. By the time the stars cleared, her butt was dragging across the stone flooring of the corridor outside. The rough edges and surface sandpapered skin off her ass.
Something roared and then formed words. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Maureen shook pain out of her eyes and found Dougal looming over her. Something cracked like a rifle shot, and her arms dropped to the floor. Another crack and she saw the short whip flash across Padric's face. A savage joy boiled up in her belly as the whip sounded again and again, driving Padric down into a cowering huddle.
"How dare you treat my lady like this?"
"She refused to come, Master," Padric whimpered.
"Of course she refused to come, you idiot! Are you too stupid to see she's naked?"
Padric kept his head covered and muttered to the floor. Dougal hit him again, the whip drawing a line of blood across the protecting forearms.
"Speak up, fool!"
"She refused the dress you sent her," Padric spat. "She threw it in her own filth."
"Then . . . get . . . her . . . the . . . clothes . . . she . . . wants!" Dougal punctuated each word with a blow of the whip.
Padric scuttled away down the corridor like a frightened crab. "She demands those man-things she wore when she came here."
"Then bring them before I take every inch of skin off your miserable carcass!"
Dougal reached down as if to soothe her, and Maureen twisted away from him, huddling against the wall. She didn't even try to cover her breasts and crotch: modesty was the least of her problems, right now. Besides, she had the perverse idea that if he raped her, she'd win at least a moral victory. She wouldn't have surrendered.
Padric scuttled back, cringing, blood oozing from whip-cuts across his face and arms. He carried her jeans, her shirt, and clean underwear draped over one arm. His other hand held a dry towel.
Dougal flicked his whip again, pointing. "And get those stupid chains off her, you idiot! All we need is the iron rings, to control her Power until she learns how to do that for herself. She's the Lady of this castle now! Act like it!"
Locks clicked and the chains rattled to the floor. Maureen snatched up her clothing and turned her back to the men, mopping herself dry and regaining some poise along with her pants. It was amazing how helpless nakedness made her feel. She'd always wondered why people thought it was sexy.
Padric followed like a humbled ghost as Dougal led her down the hall. He opened the door and waved her into a large room, dark like a cavern and lit with candles. It felt warm and smelled like heaven: a bakery with charbroiled steaks and flowers. She lost the petty details when her eyes locked on a long table.
Standing roast of beef. Potatoes. Steaming rolls. Sweet peas. Her stomach wrenched, and she nearly drooled down her shirt at the thought of food, hot food, good food, endless quantities of food. Wine, red wine sparkled in crystal goblets.
She grabbed the wine and gulped it, eyes closed in bliss. God, she'd needed a drink. She didn't even care if they'd drugged it. The fire of the wine sent golden warmth through her body and splashed a rosy glow over the room. It ironed the kinks out of her bones and made the bruises seem less urgent. It even made Dougal look good for an instant.
He smiled and refilled her glass. Wine. Would booze, by any other name, smell half as sweet?
A plate materialized in front of her, a slab of roast and potatoes swimming with butter, and her hunger took control of her body. She didn't eat, she inhaled. In mere seconds, her plate gleamed as if she'd licked it clean of every scrap and drop of red meat-juice. Maybe she had. She couldn't remember. All she knew was that she'd only stopped when her stomach couldn't take another swallow without puking.
She had a knife in her hand, a sharp
