“You will remain still until I tell you that you may stand up. You can make as much noise as you please, as I have taken the precaution of asking Mathilde to ensure Clare is out of earshot. Do you have any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Then for the sake of clarity, tell me why I am punishing you.”
“Because I did not tell you why I was unhappy. I should have told you all about Sophia. I should have trusted you.”
“And in the future?”
“I will always answer honestly any questions you put to me. I swear that I will, but I need you to punish me anyway.”
“Why is that, Tally?” I step closer, and trail the switches across her quivering buttocks, from right to left.
“Because I wronged you. This will make it right.”
“If ever you so much as consider lying to me again, you will remember this moment, and those that are about to come, and you will think better of it. Yes?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Breathe in, Tally.”
I wait a moment as her body shifts, then I deliver the first strike, hard and sharp across her right buttock.
She lets out a short scream, and I pause for a few moments to allow the three perfect stripes to ripen across her pale skin. She is gasping, shifting from one foot to the other but managing to remain in place.
“Breathe in again, Tally.”
She does, and my next stroke is directed at her left buttock. It leaves three deep red lines, in beautiful symmetry with those adorning the right side. She is whimpering now, and I know I will not be able to maintain this for long. She is receiving the equivalent of three strokes for every one I deliver, and has thus far not offered any complaint.
I shift my stance, and strike her on the right side again, below the marks left by my first stroke. This time she does scream, loud. Now, we are getting somewhere. I repeat the blow on her left buttock, drawing another shriek of agony from her. If she were to beg me to stop I would not blame her. Neither would I stop. We are not yet done here.
The next two strokes are laid across the backs of her thighs, in that spotthat will ensure she does not sit in comfort for the next several days. She is whimpering between the strokes now, but managing to remain in position.
I land two strokes across the centre of her bottom, in quick succession, catching both buttocks. Her whimpers are now groans. She is hurting, really hurting. The crimson marks of my discipline now crisscross her bottom, glowing, livid, etched into her tender skin. I lay the palm of my left hand on her buttock and feel the heat radiating. We are almost there.
“Two more strokes, Tally, then we are done.”
She does not answer me, but I discern her slight nod and I know she is still with me in this. I see no merit in delay so I drop the remaining two strokes across her thighs, hard and fast. I am determined to deliver a memorable lesson and I am satisfied with my work.
I drop the switches to the floor and move round to crouch on the other side of the chest, beside Tally’s head. I lift her hair, which has been trailing on the floor in a thick, flaxen wave. Her face is ashen, still contorted in pain. Her tears are flowing, her sobs soundless now.
“We are done. You may stand.”
She uses her hands to attempt to push herself up, but to no avail. I will not watch her struggle now. I shove my arms under her shoulders and ease her up. Sliding my other arm around her waist, I help her to her feet. She wobbles, and I know her knees are about to give way under her. I scoop her up in my arms and head for the bed.
I lie on it, and arrange Tally on top of me, face down. Her breathing is rapid, jerky, and I lay my fingertips on the side of her neck to feel her pulse there racing too. But it is slowing, steadying as I hold her. I murmur words of comfort into her ear, soft whispers intended to soothe, to reassure. She says nothing to me, but I know she hears me. She kisses me, her lips soft in the crook of my neck.
I wonder, not for the first time, what I did to deserve this most exquisite of women.
* * *
The first shoots of spring are poking through the hard earth, little green buds sprouting optimism and hope for the future. Karl and I turn our steeds back in the direction of Richtenholst, leaving the men who came out to hunt in the forest with us to strap our kill to the back of a spare mount. Two roe deer and a wild boar, sufficient food to ensure full bellies for a while. Helena and Otto will butcher the carcasses and salt up any meat we will not consume at once.
Tally too has developed some skill in the art of household management. She informs me that she was taught the craft as a child, but never had any opportunity to practice it in her previous marriages. The first time she wasbut a child and her mother-in-law held the reins of their domestic arrangements. The second time she married a man whose housekeeping had run like clockwork for thirty years in the capable hands of a formidable bailiff. Tally lacked the confidence to challenge for her position, and in any case, the count de Chapelle wanted a pretty young thing to warm his bed, not a chatelaine to warm his hearth. It seems to me he achieved neither, though his loss is my gain.
Tally has been my duchess for three months, and for the most part I would say she was born to it. Clare adores her, and is rarely far from her side. Under Tally’s gentle encouragement my little ward has flourished into the happy, outgoing child she should have always been. Alex and Fabian are fond of their stepmama too, though they insist on pretending otherwise. Aloof and preoccupied with their studies and training by day, they gravitate to Tally in the evening as she entertains them with stories or music. She is an accomplished player of the lute, and often strums a song or two for us after our evening meal. Her singing voice is perhaps less impressive, but none of us sees any reason to take issue with that.
It is in my bedchamber though that her finest skills and qualities come to the fore. She is submissive to the core. She will drop naked to her knees, a radiant smile upon her face, at the merest lift of my finger. Her occasional lapses regarding the use of my given name are, I suspect, deliberate as she craves the rough edge of a punishment spanking as much as she loves the sting of a more erotic one. She spends a great deal of her time tied to my bed, a circumstance we both find most satisfying.
