Tamsin Beech Ch. 01: Lindisfarne

AUTHORS NOTE: TAMSIN BEECH continues the story that began with JESSAMY BEECH. If you haven't already read that, this is going to seem very confusing indeed.

Leonid kneeled in front of her, looking up at the glorious sight of Tamsin Beech's half naked body from a vantage point just below her pink, glistening vulva. He breathed in deeply, his nose just inches away, inhaling the musky scent of her arousal over the smell of damp carpets and wet concrete.

If he'd been less patient, he'd have already been burying his face between her legs. As it was, he could at least enjoy the aroma from her, and perhaps even kiss his way teasingly around a little as he applied the antiseptic cream to her wounds.

"That stuff stinks. Pay attention to what you're meant to be doing," Tamsin warned.

"I am paying attention, but there are just one or two distractions down here. I didn't expect you to strip completely," Leonid said, defending the point. He smoothed the homemade cream into the stinging razor wire cuts on her thighs and upper legs, then applied gauze dressings to the worst, "you should have let me help you."

Tamsin scoffed, "I wouldn't be much of a resistance leader if I couldn't climb one little twelve foot fence on my own."

Leonid leaned forward and kissed her flat belly, just above the little strip of soft red hair on her mound, "You'd still have everyone's respect."

"I've got a lot to live up to Leo," Tamsin countered, trying to ignore the exquisite sensations the young Russian's attentions were awakening in her body, "my aunt was Jessamy Beech after all."

"I know that," Leonid answered, though his words were somewhat muffled as he kissed his way down to the secret places between her legs, "Jessamy Beech the bounty hunter. The legend. But you will be as much a legend as her one day."

"With your help ... maybe," Tamsin groaned as her second in command finally reached his goal and she felt the pressure from his tongue. This wasn't how she'd envisaged spending the night. In a draughty, dilapidated council house on the edge of Lincoln, bruised and lacerated after their desperate flight from General Volk's forces. But she had other needs as well as medical attention.

If the Coalition discovered their hiding place they were done for. But hopefully her comrades spread throughout the neighbouring houses might give them the few minutes warning they'd need to escape.

Tamsin gasped again, louder this time, as Leonid began using his fingers. And to think that only months before she'd almost put an arrow through his face. Now, the defector was not only her second in command and most trusted adviser, he was her lover and most importantly of all ... her friend.

CHAPTER ONE: LINDISFARNE

Northumberland, May 9th 2055. Seven years earlier ...

PART ONE: THE GILDED CAGE

Tamsin Beech took a tiny sip of the single glass of champagne she'd been allowed, savouring the way the bubbles fizzed on her tongue. Once it was gone she guessed it would be strictly soft drinks for the rest of the evening. As tasty and refreshing as some of the specially imported fruit juices and cordials were, she doubted they'd elicit the same thrill of being given alcohol for the first time in her life.

General Volk caught her eye from across the room and gave her a curt nod, looking resplendent in his neatly pressed dress uniform with new gold epaulettes. Despite what they'd told her about this being an eighteenth birthday party in her honour, Tamsin knew perfectly well that it was to celebrate Volk's promotion.

She looked around the long candlelit room, the so called Ship Room. Cleared of furniture to allow space for mingling. Every guest was either a senior Coalition officer or their wife, or else someone from the village brought in to make up the numbers. There was absolutely no-one her own age, the closest being Mr Stanhope, the landlord of the local pub. But even he was in his forties. The villagers stayed in their own little group, as if huddled together for protection against the Coalition officers roaming the castle interior like sharks, desperate to curry favour with Volk.

General Volk. Commandant of the Northern Colonies. And Tamsin's jailer. It had been four years since he'd invaded their peaceful community of Berwick Upon Tweed only a few miles to the north with his horde of Reekie cannibals. Four years since she'd been bundled onto a rigid inflatable boat in the harbour there and brought to Holy Island, to be kept prisoner in what was essentially the most luxurious jail cell ever.

And four years since she'd last seen either of her parents or her brother John alive.

Tamsin had asked Volk time and time again. Pleaded with him, begged him to tell her where they were and if they were safe. But every time he'd fixed her with the same cold stare and refused to answer. Almost none of the castle's staff even spoke English so it was pointless even approaching them. Her mother Merida, father Ross, brother John and little six year old cousin Ada might as well have never existed.

She'd stopped eating in protest but soon came to realise that if she was ever going to escape and track down her family she would need all her strength.

Holy Island, or Lindisfarne to give it its proper name, was no larger than a couple of square miles. A tidal island just off the coast of Northumberland at the end of a narrow causeway that completely submerged twice a day. The once world famous castle stood isolated on a rocky outcrop at the south eastern tip of the island. Built around 1570 and accessible only by a long sloping ramp and two sturdy gates it would have been virtually impregnable to the warmongers of the time. Each room was cosy and small, rather than grand and imposing. The low stone ceilings and feet thick walls more than a match for anything the North Sea or a Northumbrian winter could throw at them. It had even survived Thanatos.

Tamsin's quarters were situated on the north side, with a narrow balcony looking out across featureless scrubland to Emmanuel Head rather than the view to the south towards the Farnes and to where Bamburgh had once stood before being destroyed in a meteorite strike. She had to admit that she was well cared for. The tiny castle had a staff of around a dozen. Cooks providing a balanced and nutritional diet, cleaners, a fitness instructor and a tutor. Though the latter seemed more concerned with matters of etiquette rather than useful skills such as hunting or field stripping an SA80. With the language barrier also an issue, every lesson became an ordeal.

Around twice that number of guards patrolled the castle and its surroundings in order to protect Volk and presumably prevent Tamsin from escaping.

With a garrison in the village across the island, checkpoints at both ends of the causeway and all boats kept on the mainland unless required, the only possible means of escape would be across the treacherous mud flats at low tide. Tamsin was well aware of the quicksand, fast moving tides and even rip currents waiting to catch out the unwary traveller who tried to cross.

With the best food, best recycled clothing and the castle staff fulfilling her every need, the only things Tamsin lacked were news of her family ... and companionship. Why was she being held prisoner? And for how much longer?

From the old sound system, an ancient band that had called themselves Lady Antebellum sang about owning the night, as Tamsin edged her way around the room. The villagers who'd no doubt been coerced into attending looked uncomfortable wearing suits and posh gowns and Tamsin had to admit that she preferred Craghoppers and a fleece to the sequinned green dress Volk had chosen for her. The material clung to her slim figure, sparkling as she moved, the colour complimenting her hair perfectly. She'd inherited her mother's thick red curls and had refused point blank to tie it up or tame it in any way.

A few of Volk's lackeys regarded her as she sidled past, eyeing her up and down before quickly shifting their gaze elsewhere. It wouldn't do to be seen ogling the General's charge. Mr Stanhope tipped his glass, nodding a silent greeting as Tamsin passed. The warm air inside the castle coupled with the fug of thick cigar smoke turned the atmosphere stifling. She had to get some fresh air.

Tamsin felt, rather than saw, the eyes of Volk's bodyguards on her as she moved through into the wide entrance foyer. The main door had been left ajar, letting in a cool evening breeze laden with the aromas of seaweed, mown grass and the sea.

Tamsin was usually allowed free rein of the island, with the proviso that there would always be at least one of Volk's guards in attendance. She enjoyed exploring the old priory ruins in the village, long ago sacked by other invaders called the Vikings. She enjoyed spending long summer days seal watching or sprawled on a blanket, simply reading while her bored escort watched her silently and struggled to stay awake.

Even the Coalition guards were all old men and Tamsin did her utmost to make them feel as uncomfortable as possible. Tiny acts of rebellion like jogging everywhere, smiling to herself as her escorts struggled to keep up. Kindly offering them cold drinks on warm days in the knowledge that they would be unable to turn their back on her long enough to pee. Wearing short skirts and trying to catch them staring at her bare legs. Tamsin was damned if she was just going to sit back and be a model prisoner.

The compact flagstoned courtyard or Lower Battery, between the main door and outer gate was deserted, save for the ever present guards. Two on the gate, their Kalashnikovs held at the ready as if expecting trouble and another who appeared to be leaning over the parapet taking in the view.

At a little after nine PM it was almost dark. To the south lay utter blackness, with just one or two pinpoints of light indicating the presence of isolated farms close to the shore. Above the castle, the Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon across the clear night sky, like a billion twinkling diamonds strewn across a piece of dark blue velvet. Despite being kept prisoner against her will, Tamsin couldn't think of a prettier backdrop for her incarceration.

"I don't suppose you speak English do you?" she asked casually, leaning against the wall next to the guard.

He had his weapon slung across his back, his scuffed uniform jacket appearing a little on the large side despite his broad shoulders. He looked down at her blankly, at least six inches taller than her five foot two, then the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, "Mne zhal. Ya vas ne ponimayu."

"You know? English?" Tamsin repeated. She supposed that this one had to be one of the new intake. Fresh off the boat. She hadn't seen him anywhere on the island before. And realised with a sudden quickening of her heart that surely she would have noticed. He was not much older than her. Close cropped blond hair, square jaw and kind blue eyes with crow's feet, revealing that their owner spent a good deal of his time smiling or laughing.

Tamsin glanced back to the main door. Would it be such bad manners to leave her so called birthday party and head off for an evening stroll? She doubted she'd even be missed.

"Come on," she gripped the guard's arm, feeling the solid muscle there through the coarse material, "it's my birthday and I want to go for a walk. You're escorting me."

. . .

At the foot of the castle's entry ramp, Tamsin was faced with a choice. Turn right and walk past the remains of the old jetty into the village, or left towards the headland and the old lime kilns.

She shivered. A cool breeze was gusting in off the sea and her thin green dress was hardly practical attire for a nighttime stroll, "I don't suppose you'd be a gentleman and lend me your jacket would you?"

The young guard cocked his head on one side and shrugged, uncomprehending, "Ya vas ne ponimayu."

Tamsin mimed hugging herself to keep warm, "Jacket? To keep me warm?"

"Oy. Tebe kholodno i ty khochesh' moyu kurtku," he clutched his Kalashnikov with one hand while he shrugged out of his khaki goretex, "Eto ono?"

Tamsin gratefully accepted the jacket and wrapped it round her bare shoulders, "Thankyou. You're very kind."

The guard smiled. He really was quite nice looking. Tamsin turned east and started down the rough track towards Lindisfarne's disused lime kilns. She'd walked the uneven path hundreds of times so there was little danger of twisting an ankle or stubbing a toe.

Even after four years of occupation, little was known about the invaders. When the barricades had been broken down on that awful day in Berwick Upon Tweed, her mother Merida had whispered something about them being Russians. But after watching so many of the soldiers going about their business on the tiny island, Tamsin had come to the conclusion that they weren't all the same nationality. Around half of them had strange eyes, a subtly darker skin colour and different uniforms. Those ones never smiled and sounded angry even when engaging in a normal conversation.

Whoever they were and wherever they'd come from, the Coalition forces were better equipped and more organised than anyone, in what had once been the United Kingdom, who tried to oppose them. They had spread like a virus, with rumours in the village of colonies being established all down the coast from Wick in Scotland as far south as Bridlington.

The sounds of music and the forced laughter of Volk's cronies faded as Tamsin and the guard approached the lime kilns, a massive stone structure separated into several cathedral like chambers inside. She often came here on rainy days. To sit in shelter while still being able to watch the seals resting on rocks just offshore. Always with a guard present.

Wildlife was finally making a comeback. Birds and flowers. Trees with real leaves were becoming more abundant as the climate grew warmer and the freak weather conditions caused by Thanatos became less frequent. Tamsin often wondered if her Aunt Jessamy had succeeded in stopping the madman Captain Aubrey. She assumed so, as their town hadn't been vapourised. But if she had, why hadn't Jessamy Beech returned to Berwick to help fight off the Coalition?

"I like it here," admitted Tamsin to the guard, as she stepped through into the damp smelling gloom of the lime kilns' interior, "it's peaceful and out of the wind ... and I can think."

"My dolzhny ostat'sya snaruzhi," said the guard, "eto mozhet byt' nebezopasno."

"You really don't have a clue what I'm saying do you?"

The guard shrugged.

"You know what I'd like for my birthday?" Tamsin purred as she moved closer.

"My dolzhny vozvrashchat'sya," said the young soldier, looking nervously around.

"I'd like to be kissed."

Without any further preamble, Tamsin wrapped her arms around the guard's neck and drew his lips down to hers. She'd kissed boys before, back in Berwick Upon Tweed, but only in order to get extra food rations or useful favours from them. Boys could be manipulated so easily. It was only over the last couple of years in captivity that she'd begun yearning for something more than just kissing ...

Perhaps her eighteenth birthday would be the perfect time. The champagne had gone to her head. Tamsin wormed the tip of her tongue between the guard's lips as he set his AK47 down on the broken wall and snaked his arms around her waist.

Mmm. Was it her imagination or was he already getting hard? She had no experience herself, but certainly something was beginning to press against her stomach, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

The guard said nothing, but slid his strong hands down over Tamsin's soft round buttocks sending shivers coursing through her entire body. As she began unbuckling his belt, Tamsin looked him in the eye, their noses almost touching, "I want you."

"Ya vas ne ponimayu."

That again. This was frustrating. The first half decent looking man to come on to the island in four years and he didn't speak any English. Maybe he'd understand actions rather than words, thought Tamsin. She shrugged off the borrowed goretex jacket and let it fall, then slipped one of the dress's shoulder straps down. Braless, the aureole of one nipple peeked out. The guard licked his top lip and responded by hooking his fingertips under the hem of her dress. Gently but firmly pushing Tamsin back against an upturned rowing boat.

"Hey, easy tiger," she giggled, "I appreciate that you're eager, but if you're going to fuck me I wouldn't mind at least knowing your name first."

He watched her, his forehead creasing in a puzzled frown.

Tamsin patted her chest, speaking slowly and clearly, "Name. What is your name?"

It was like a quintessential lightbulb moment as the guard finally comprehended something. He pointed proudly to himself, "Name ... Timur. I, Timur."

Tamsin nodded, "Pleased to meet you Timur. I'm Tamsin. Tamsin Beech."

In the space of no more than a moment, Timur's demeanour changed. His expression transformed from an easy lustful smile to a mask of sheer terror. He backed away, snatching up his goretex, "Niet, niet. Mne zhal'. Ya ne ponyal, chto eto byl ty. Prosti menya."

"Hey it's okay. It's my first time too," Tamsin tugged her dress hem down and held out a placating hand, but Timur was inconsolable.

He grabbed his Kalashnikov, "My nikogda ne dolzhny byli prikhodit' syuda. Ya tak trakhan."

Lantern light cast leaping shadows up the walls as both of them turned at the sudden sound of voices outside, "ONI MOGUT BYT' V IZVESTKOVYKH PECHAKH!"

"Oh shit," Tamsin murmured.

General Volk, still dressed in his finery, and a squad of his troops appeared in the tall arched entryway. Her absence from the party had been noted after all. It took him only a second to interpret the situation, "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, in thickly accented English.

Tamsin noticed one of the soldiers smirk behind his hand, and self consciously pulled up the strap of her dress. It was blatantly obvious to even an idiot what they'd been up to. Or at least what they'd intended to be up to.

Volk moved closer to Timur, his face contorted with fury, spitting his words, "Ty glupyy malenʹkiy derʹmo. U vas yestʹ idei, kto ona?"

Timur shook his head, unwisely pleading ignorance.

Volk's voice grew louder, snarling as he ground his teeth together, "Ona dochʹ Merida Zakhvatchikov!"

Tamsin had never seen anyone look so scared. Timur trembled, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish but no sound came out. Perhaps it was up to her to try and rescue the situation, "General. I-it was my fault. I ..."

Volk took one contemptuous look at her, then drew his handgun and calmly shot Timur in the head.

BLAM!

PART TWO: THE WHIPPING BOY

Tamsin was kept under house arrest for a month. Not permitted to go any further than the courtyard of the castle's Lower Battery. Timur was dead. And despite Volk having pulled the trigger, she held herself responsible. A young man's life just snuffed out as if it meant nothing. For weeks afterward she awoke almost nightly seeing Timur's terrified face in her dreams, wondering what could possibly scare a person that much.

And what was it Volk had said to Timur before he'd pulled his weapon? Merida Zakhvatchikov? Merida, her mother's name. Surely that couldn't be a coincidence. It was about time she found out once and for all why she was being kept prisoner. Or start planning how to escape.

. . .

After years of watching the castle's routine, Tamsin knew that General Volk would be in his office that morning, on the castle's top floor overlooking the wide courtyard of the Upper Battery. She didn't bother knocking, but just stormed in ...