“That question won’t be asked again. Do you understand me!” he screamed, drawing a golden dagger from his belt and waving the blade about. “Your sight isn’t needed to give birth to a son. Nor your hair!”
With his free hand, Gunther slapped her again, then slammed his fist into her stomach. Caught by surprise, Krysty doubled over, gasping for breath. “Do you understand?” he asked, his voice silky soft as he stroked her crimson hair with the flat of the blade.
Shivering from the touch, Krysty did understand and tried her best to cower, to appear helpless and whipped. This was a threat that nobody else had ever made.
Encouraged by the silence, the man fondled her for a while with his free hand. Her skin crawled from the touch, but she gave a little gasp of pleasure, her sight riveted to the handles of his blasters only inches away from her chained hands. Just a little closer, fool…
“Yes, oh yes,” she murmured. But as Krysty raised her smiling face to the madman, her true feelings were betrayed by her hair, which fanned out in a wild corona of unbridled hatred.
With a snarl, Gunther stepped back quickly. “So, I see you are indeed kin and will never submit willingly. No matter. A baroness would be desirable, but not necessary. I was even willing to use the new med kit to ease the pain of childbirth. But so be it, bitch. Guards!” the man shouted abruptly.
The door slammed open and sec men rushed into the room, weapons at the ready.
“Yes, Baron?” A bearded private saluted.
Strichland rested a leg on the table again. “Kill all of the other prisoners. I have no need for them anymore.”
“At once, your liege.”
Then he rapped the wood with his knuckles. “And replace this table with a birthing bed. I’ll mount this bitch until she becomes pregnant, and then she’ll give birth still strapped to the bed, and die some day when she can no longer give birth.”
He turned to face the woman. “Your cooperation isn’t necessary or desired. Fight me, scream and rage. It will fuel my son, make him strong! A true heir to rule my ville after me!”
The first guard seemed puzzled. “But, Baron, I thought that Leonard—”
“Will be regent until my son is of age, then he’ll step down willingly.” The lies came so easily to him, they almost seemed the truth. Leonard’s death had been sealed the moment Gunther found this woman. “I have already taken steps to ensure that no one ever rules this ville without my blood in their veins.”
The baron gestured. “Get the bed. I wish to start immediately on my dynasty.”
Krysty strained against the chains, and for a moment debated calling on Gaia for strength and breaking free to kill these men before exhaustion claimed her. But for all she knew, he could be a match for her.
Conflicting emotions raged within the woman, and she hesitantly eased her stance. The proper chance would come some other time.
Misreading the acceptance as surrender, Gunther smiled lustfully. “Obey my whims and life can be very good. How good, you have no idea.”
“Mercy!” she cried, throwing herself against the chains and rubbing against the man, her manacled hands clawing at his clothing. “Mercy, please!”
With a snarl, he punched the prisoner in the chest and backed away, grabbing for his blasters. The ivory-handled pistols were still in their oiled holsters, but one was angled halfway out.
Krysty blinked innocently and smiled sweetly like a virgin on her wedding day.
“You are dangerous,” the baron snarled through clenched teeth. “Iron, pure iron. A most worthy mate.”
“Guards! Bring in the bed for her to see. But come no closer than this stool.”
“Yes, Baron.”
“And no food,” the redheaded man added thoughtfully. “After a few days, she will be too weak to try such tricks again, and there will be no trouble binding her to the birthing frame. Will there, my sweet bride?”
Pivoting on a heel, Krysty kicked at the man’s throat, the chains stopping the silvered toe of her Western boot a fraction of an inch from the vulnerable flesh.