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the bystanders over to hold her other
ankle.
    "Keep her legs wide open. If the sly
wench gets her thighs together she'll come. Look at her rose-red
cunt! It begs for release, but she won't have it until we say she
can, eh? I'll spank the sauce out of her first."
    Unable to close her legs, her private
regions displayed for the unobstructed viewing of those who
gathered, Jeanne could only curse under her breath and groan. Each
slap of his hard hand jerked her body. Splayed over his lap she
felt his cock stiffen in his chausses, pressing against her groin,
but oddly enough it did not frighten her or disgust her. She
wriggled, pushing herself down on it, grinding against the lump in
some attempt to get relief from the heavy ache inside her, until
she heard him exhale a taut hiss.
    "Take your belt to her, Ram. The wench
needs it. I think she enjoys my hand too much."
    Oh no, they would not take a belt to
her! Jeanne finally decided she'd had enough, and she sank her
teeth into Salvador's thigh.
     
    * * * *
     
    His brother howled and pushed her off
his lap. Ram didn't even know what had happened, but he saw her
take off running, so he gave chase and caught her before she
reached the ring of the crowd. He swept her up in his arms and took
her into the fortress.
    The poor girl's arse was bright red,
and she probably would not be able to sit for a few
days.
    "Put me down," she squealed as he
carried her onward.
    "Stop wriggling. I'm helping
you."
    "Helping me?" She laughed
hysterically.
    He frowned. "Does your arse
hurt?"
    "What do you think, beast?"
    So he carried her to the women's
solar, where they often sat during daylight hours to sew. Only
Princesa, the heavily pregnant first wife, was there at that
moment, and when she saw Jeanne she quickly set her embroidery
aside.
    "Well, for pity's sake, what have you
done?"
    "She had to be punished for a
disrespectful tongue," he replied and then admitted begrudgingly,
"Sal lost his temper."
    "What is wrong with Salvador lately?
He's like a bear with a thorn in his paw. Come. Follow
me."
    Princesa led them down to the
stillroom where the nun who came to tend Guillaume kept all the
herbal medicines she brewed. Lately she'd been teaching the wives
her skill and the shelves were stacked with powders, ground horn,
oils and various cordials in a myriad of colors. The thick scent of
so many herbs and spices reminded Ram of his mother. She had died
when he was very small so he had only one clear memory—of a time
when he was ill with a fever. He remembered her scent and warmth
surrounding him while she held him tight and sang songs to take his
mind off the bad taste of the medicine she made him drink. It was
more than twenty years ago now, of course, and in time the memory
would fade. It had already begun to fray around the edges, and that
saddened him.
    Gently he set Jeanne on her feet. She
would not look at him. He offered to apply the soothing cream to
her backside, but Princesa politely suggested he'd done enough for
the time being, so he left them alone.
     
    * * * *
     
    Jeanne lay across one of the benches
on her belly while Princesa carefully applied the soothing oil on
her buttocks.
    "I called them beasts, and I told
Salvador he was a foul, disgusting pig," she murmured. "So they
spanked me. In front of everyone."
    "Poor dear!" Princesa cooed softly,
but Jeanne wondered whether the other woman even listened. She was
a daydreamer, and since she was in the last term of her pregnancy
she didn't seem to think about very much else but the imminent
birth of her baby.
    Resting her chin on her hands, Jeanne
glared at the shelves of dried herbs and medicines. "I hate this
place."
    There was a pause while Princesa wiped
her hands and replaced a jar on the shelf. When she turned to face
Jeanne again she had placed both hands on her high, round belly and
she was smiling. "How can you hate this place? I think perhaps your
life must have been luxurious and very grand before
this."
    Jeanne frowned.