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The next day, on her way to the kitchen for the noon meal, Julia passed her Master in the hall. She bowed but did not meet his eyes.

“Stop,” he said, and she halted her steps. “Look at me.”

Julia raised her eyes to his. Again his face captivated her. His nose was strange but exotically beautiful, his mouth looked soft. The pain of her banishment the night before swelled up in her again; she felt shame that she longed so for his company.

“So, is my pleasure slave still angry with her master today?” he asked, mirthlessly. “Answer, Julia.”

She struggled to choose words, ruing that he chose the worst times to make her speak. “You may punish me for my emotions if you so choose, my Lord.”

He took a step closer and cocked his head, looking less stern. “You tell me what I know, when I wish to find out what I do not know.”

There was nothing for it. “Yes, I am angry, my Lord.” She lowered her eyes to the floor.

“You shall not be punished for your honesty,” he said in his warm, resonant voice. “But you know this lack of love for your master is intolerable. Come with me.”

He led her to the back entrance, opened it with a key, and then took her by the elbow as they walked to the stable. Julia was in a frenzy of terror, but at the same time oddly grateful for this attention, whatever it might come to. They entered the stable through its broad heavy door and crossed the dusty floor, strewn with bits of straw. Marcus took a short riding lash from a hook on a post. He braced it under his arm, then used both hands to stand Julia facing against the wall, and pulled the tie on the back of her dress. He lifted the fabric from her shoulders and pulled it down, not roughly, until her back was bare and she had nearly fallen out of the front of the gown.

“Place your hands on the wall,” he instructed.

The plain fact that he was about to beat her appalled Julia, even though it had been inevitable. I must be brave, she thought. I must not give him satisfaction. She leaned, placing her palms against the rough wood of the stable wall, and waited.

She heard the lash cut the air a half a moment before it struck her. She could tell he had not put much force into the blow, but it stung sharply anyway. The second lash was worse for it struck the wound from the first, and this she learned was the problem: each blow intensified in pain. He gave her ten lashes and by the last she was unable not to twist away from the leather weapon, nor to stifle her grunts of pain. Tears welled in her eyes, and with a blink ran down her hot cheeks.

She felt Marcus pulling up her dress again. He did it carefully and with no indication of anger whatsoever. Julia did not wish to turn her face to him but when he was done fastening the tie, he took her shoulders and pulled her to face him.

For the first time she saw clear emotion on his face. It was tenderness. His fingers brushed the tears from her cheeks. He looked deep in her eyes and said softly, “You must learn to love your master.” Then he lowered his chin a little and leaned to her and kissed her forehead. His soothing, spicy scent rose all around her, his lips were gentle on her skin, gentle and warm. He withdrew and said, “Go now, and take your meal.”

Julia was dizzy with emotion and stood paralyzed for a moment staring at him. Then he spoke again, “I punish you because of your anger, Julia. Nevertheless I was pleased by the cause of it. Now go.”

She turned and hurried from the stable, with Marcus close behind, and when they were back in the house she heard him lock the door. When she arrived in the kitchen the other slaves looked up at her but only for a moment; they were quick to resume eating and talking.

It was only then that Julia realized how tightly her master had bound her dress in back; tight enough so there was no gap to show the welts. The others couldn’t tell she had been beaten. Had he truly meant this as a kindness?

She could form no coherent thoughts at all during the meal, but afterwards, retired to the sleeping quarters, she had settled enough to make sense of her feelings.

To her dismay, she realized Marcus had made her love the beating.

Not the pain, nor even the twisted logic behind the punishment. But she had loved the feeling of him pulling off her clothes, touching her face, kissing her. She had loved that her anguish made him feel compassion; in fact, it was worth the pain. The welts on her back felt hot and tender but the fact that he had placed them there was somehow thrilling. What she loved most of all was the knowledge that she had pleased him by wishing for his company.

Is this how they make a slave? Julia asked herself, horrified.

But she prayed to the gods that he might call for her that night.

* * *

 

©2008 Romance at Heart Magazine.

Book ©2004 by Diana Laurence.

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