Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (полная версия книги .TXT) 📗

"My beautiful wife!" He slurred a little. "My little darling." He toasted her with the steaming bowl. He was not yet so intoxicated or gullible that he did not realize there would be some price to pay for this unusual kindness. There always was.

Kneeling in front of him, Katinka looked up at Sukeena, who hovered close at hand. "That is all for tonight, Sukeena You may go." She gave the slave girl a knowing smile.

"I wish you sweet sleep and dreams of paradise, master and mistress." Sukeena gave that graceful genuflection, and glided from the room. She slid the carved oriental screen door closed behind her, and knelt there quietly with her face close to the panel. These were her mistress's orders. Katinka wanted Sukeena to witness what transpired between her and her husband. She knew that it would tighten the knot that bound the slave girl to her.

Now Katinka moved behind her husband's chair. "You have had such a difficult week," she said softly, "what with the affair of the pirate's body being stolen from the scaffold, and now the new census and taxation ordinances from the Seventeen. My poor darling husband, let me massage your shoulders for you."

She removed his wig and kissed the top of his head. The stubble prickled her lips, and she stood back and dug her thumbs into his heavy shoulders. Van de Velde sighed with pleasure, not only with the sensation of the knots being eased from his muscles but because he recognized this as the prelude to the infrequent dispensation of her sexual favours.

"How much do you love me?" she asked, and leaned over him to nibble at his ear.

"I adore you," he blurted out. "I worship you "You are always so kind to me." Her voice took on that husky quality that made his skin tingle. "I want to be kind to you. I have written to my father. I have explained to him the circumstances of the pirate's demise and how it was not your fault that it happened. I shall give the letter to the captain of the homewar&bound galleon, which is anchored in the bay at the moment, to hand to Papa in person."

"May I see the letter before you dispatch it?" he asked warily. "It would carry much weight if it could accompany my own report to the Seventeen, which I shall send on the same ship."

"Of course you may. I shall bring it to you before you leave for the castle in the morning." She brushed the top of his head with her lips again, and slid her fingers from his shoulders down over his chest. She unhooked the buttons of his doublet and slipped both hands into the opening. She took a handful of each of his pendulous dugs and kneaded them as though they were lumps of soft bread dough.

"You are such a good little wife," he said. "I would like to give you a sign of my love. What do you lack? A jewel? A pet? A new slave? Tell your old Petrus."

"I do have a little whimsy," she admitted coyly. "There is a man in the dungeons" "One of the pirates? "he hazarded. "No, a slave named Althuda."

"Ah, yes! I know about him. The rebel and runaway! I shall deal with him this coming week. His death warrant is already on my desk waiting for my signature. Shall I give him to Slow John? Would you like to watch? Is that it? You want to enjoy the sport? How can I deny you?"

She reached down and began to unlace the fastening of his breeches. He spread his legs and lay back comfortably in the chair to make the task easier for her.

"I want you to grant Althuda a reprieve," she whispered in his ear.

He sat bolt upright. "You are mad," he gasped. "You are so cruel to call me mad." She pouted.

"But but he is a runaway. He and his gang of thugs murdered twenty of the soldiers who were sent to recapture him. I could never free him."

"I know you cannot release him. But I want you to keep him alive.

You could set him to work on the walls of your castle."

"I cannot do it." He shook his shaven head. "Not even for you."

She came round from behind his chair and knelt in front of him. Her fingers began work again on the lacing of his breeches. He tried to sit up but she pushed him back and reached inside.

All the saints bear witness, the old sodomite makes it difficult for me. He is as soft and white as un risen dough, she thought as she grasped him. "Not even for your own loving wife?" she whispered, and looked up with swimming violet eyes, as she thought, That's a little better, I felt the drooping lily twitch.

"I mean, rather, that it would be difficult." He was in a quandary.

"I understand," she murmured. "It was just as difficult for me to compose my letter to my father. I would hate to be forced to burn it." She stood up and lifted her skirts as though she were about to climb over a stile. She was naked from the waist down and his eyes bulged like those of a cod hauled up abruptly from deep water. He struggled to sit up and at the same time tried to reach for her.

I'll not have you on top of me again, you great tub of pork lard, she thought as she smiled lovingly at him and held him down with both hands on his shoulders. Last time you nearly squashed the life out of me.

She straddled him as though she were mounting the mare. "Oh, sweet Jesus, what a mighty man you are!" she cried, as she took him in. The only pleasure she received from it was the thought of Sukeena listening at the screen door. She closed her eyes and summoned up the image of the slave girl's slim thighs and the treasure that lay between them. The thought inflamed her, and she knew that her husband would feel her flowing response and think it was for him alone.

"Katinka," he gurgled and snorted as though he was drowning, "I love you."

"The reprieve?" she asked. "I cannot do it."