Crimson's Captivation by LLC Melange Books Page A

that her world would become one tormented night after the
other.
    “Kieran,” she whispered, “are you still
here?”
    Sena whispered back, “You should keep quiet.
Their patience runs thin on these nights.”
    “Kieran?” Crimson tested the darkness once
again with no response.
    Kieran, swiftly and quietly, rushed to her
side, kissed her cheek, “You be good, Crimson. This will all be
over soon. If you’re ever recaptured, I will save you. I will take
you for my own.”
    “Do so now.”
    Her request was never answered. Kieran had
simply disappeared.
    The hallway was filled with the patter of
bare feet and leather soled shoes on stone, denoting the tornado of
activity among the chambermaids, caretakers, guards and prisoners.
Crimson’s steps were timid behind the blindfold, she felt as if she
were a walking a ledge in total darkness. People Crimson couldn’t
see were darting all around her attending to other captives and
they brushed against her. The feeling was surreal, exciting, and
Crimson couldn’t help but wonder if their eyes were examining her
nearly naked body? Did the men’s mouths want her pink nipples,
their hands her flesh? She secretly hoped that at any moment Kieran
would steal her away, escort her to a secret room, but he never
did, and soon they were on the march.
    Walking blindfolded proved difficult. Many
times Sergen would suddenly stop and Crimson would run into him,
his firm butt delightfully plowed into her soft stomach. His
presence was like the stone statues she had viewed all her life,
and his muscular frame consumed her imagination.
    Soon everyone in the hallway was on the move.
They exited the castle and were led outside. The coolness of the
night air draped their bodies, and the night's wind rumbled through
the bows of the trees. The stone floor of the castle had given way
to a well-worn path of wooden planks. Horses clattered and snorted
among the bluster of captives being loaded onto carriages. Someone
draped leather cloaks over them and sat them on the bed of the
carriage, their legs dangled over the edge.
    The carriage ride to the banks of the Dnieper
River was long and bumpy along a heavily furrowed road. A hard dip
in the road and Crimson’s blindfold slipped and fell around her
neck. The first thing she noticed was the sky; it seemed to be in
mourning. The sky was a sinister black with dark, dreary gray
clouds. She could see the distant outline of the castle
disappearing on the horizon. She wasn’t sure of the style. It was
similar to the Romanesque architecture in Sweden, but this castle
looked gothic with its brick walls and tall spires.
    To her left Sergen sat quietly. To her right
Sena’s head darted about as her breast bounced against the soft
fabric of her peignoir. Crimson turned to see Kieran and a guard in
the carriage driver’s seat. She wanted to say his name but didn’t.
The river came into view and she saw Lord Tor waving the carriage
toward a moored boat.
    Tor instructed, in an excited, high-pitched
voice, “Here, Kieran! Here! This is my Trekschuit. I had it built
on a Netherland model.” The carriage came to a stop. While Kieran
and Tor were in conversation, the guard collected the rope, pulled
the captives from the carriage, and they followed in unison behind
Sergen. The currents of the Dnieper wrenched at Tor’s boat, causing
it to swell and creak against the plank. The creaking boat only
added to the dreary drab of the black sky.
    Crimson whispered to Sena, “We’re on the
shore of a river. There’s a covered boat moored in front of us, and
Tor is here.”
    “Yes, transport to Kiev,” Sena responded as
her head darted about trying to fix on the distant conversations
around her.
    Another carriage pulled up and stopped.
Crimson saw the young man who was escorted from the bathing room.
He was being manhandled by a guard and was pushed toward them. The
choker around his neck was pulled tight and had been looped around
his waist, forcing him to bend