The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 07

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Misfortune and frustration follow Marissa on her task.
4.7k words
4.57
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Part 7 of the 15 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 06/21/2014
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The night thus far had been a decidedly cruel mix of frustration, fear, and fury that had left Marissa on edge. After Isolde had so punished her and humiliated her, the young redheaded woman had not wished to stay one more second under the roof of that accursed manor. Even the squirming, pleading man still bound to her bed could do little to take her mind off of the night's events.

Indeed, the thought that she had no time to release her pent up frustrations on the stable hand only drove her fury to new heights. As she had slipped a fresh dress over her hastily stripped and cleaned form, she fixed her cruel gaze upon Thomas, watching as his muscles clenched, tugging at the bonds which had held him secure for hours now. She was impressed at his persistence, but disappointed when she saw his arousal had long since faded.

The young noble tried to make a show of dressing, though she didn't have the time as it was to make a proper job of it. Even as she rolled her new stockings up her legs one by one, and smoothed the simple, forest green dress she had tugged on over her generous curves, his manhood barely stirred. As she finished tugging the laces of her dress tight about her waist, her expression darkened.

In Thomas's eyes there was no desire, only terror.

"I will be damned," Marissa hissed as she stomped on a pair of soft soled boots, then stalked toward him, "If I will be rejected by a peon like you."

Hafred's obsession with Jenrea, the Prince's rejection, even the Squire's seeming dismissal of her feelings had her blood boiling with indignation. And now this servant, this peasant had the gall to not react to her beauty. She let out a growl of rage, then lashed out one hand toward the bound man.

"You will keep this ready for me at all times, or I will have you whipped and exiled." Her words were a sharp, venomous hiss as she gripped the man's cock.

It pulsed and grew under her hand, but rather than pleasure, a visage of pain twisted Thomas's features. His body arched up against the bonds that held him secure, as he screamed into his gag.

The stable hand's reaction had her releasing his manhood and backing off swiftly. She didn't think she'd been gripping him that hard, and while she certainly wanted to inflict pain, she knew he would be worthless to her if his body was trained to associate her with agony. She stared down at her hand, then went wide eyed. Little white-hot sparks danced from her fingertips, only to fade away as she watched.

Her jade eyes drifted to the rigid member of the stable hand. It was harder and longer than she remembered it ever being. Thicker too. He arched his hips up as if meeting some unknown lover, and whined into the gag. This time it was not in fear or agony, but rather raw desire. His eyes clouded over, and she could see little white sparks dancing here and there along his naked body, coursing over the commoner's flesh to center at the root of his shaft. The sparks soon faded, but the effects did not.

It was Marissa's turn to let a terrified squeak escape. With no idea what had happened, whether it was Thomas or something else bringing such unnatural effects into being, she did the only thing she could think of. She fled.

It was only through sheer luck that she had remembered to put the vial Isolde gave her into the pouch sewn into the waist of the dress she wore, for by the time Marissa's wits returned, she was outside. She leaned on the outer gates of her father's estate, chest heaving and out of breath. The cool night air did much to calm her racing heart, but not her fleeting mind.

What had happened? It seemed almost like magic.

Perhaps Thomas was some manner of warlock, but if he were, then surely he would have used his powers to take vengeance upon her long before that night. With a shake of her head, Marissa turned to step back away from the estate. For a moment, just a moment, she thought of running back to warn her father and Isolde.

Then she recalled the torment they had put her through, and decided against it. If he was a warlock bent on using his foul magic to bring the estate down, then she could only hope he took them with him. Or at least Isolde.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and made her way down the worn path toward the cluster of buildings that made up the center of the village. They wanted her to retrieve Jenrea, so she would retrieve the bubble headed bitch. It would keep her far away from any sort of magic, for at least an hour or so.

It was not yet midnight in the Village of Ingley, yet the dirt streets were already deserted, save for the distant twinkling of the lone watchman's torchlight. Marissa knew the way like the back of her hand, though, and feared no man nor bandit. None there would care to pick a fight with the Squire, certainly. She made her way past the shrub-strewn switchback where the path descended acutely, then off through the darkness toward the Tepid Toad.

So focused was she on her goal, that she did not notice the pit in the road until her foot was in it and her ankle twisted. With a shriek, Marissa pitched forward, and fell face first into the muck and grime. Pain lanced up through her ankle, and she immediately withdrew her foot from the sunken hole. As she sat up and rubbed her twisted ankle, she glared into the darkness in the direction of the hole. There was nothing but pain and rage, and no one she could immediately punish for such a thing.

For a moment, moonlight illuminated the hole. It wasn't large, just a deep rut from a wagon's wheel, which must have cut its way through during the last heavy rain. She was certain that if she wasn't so distracted by the misery everyone was heaping on her, she certainly would have noticed it.

Filthy, injured, and alone in the dark, for the first time Marissa felt uncertain. A quick pat down, however, informed her that the vial tucked away at her hip had not broken. She could still proceed with her task, however hobbled she might be. It was with some effort that she got to her feet, and every limping step was an agony, but she continued on her way. She focused all her rage and hatred and frustration together, letting it fuel her, fighting the pain with the red haze it called to mind.

As she limped along, things became easier to see. She wasn't certain whether it was because her eyes were finally adapting, or because somehow the dim shafts of light streaming from the Tepid Toad's windows were helping to illuminate things even at that great distance. It was enough, eventually, to make out a black cat she hadn't noticed before, pacing along beside her.

"Hsss, shoo!" She hissed and waved her hand, trying to frighten the thing off. It only managed to unbalance her on her one good foot, and almost send her down to the ground again.

The thing stared back to her with a strange intelligence, as if it were studying her, or judging her. It was enough to quiet her attempts to send it away. She felt as if she surely didn't wish to be found lacking by a mere cat, such would only complete her degradation that day. So she silently bore its company as she went into town.

By the time Marissa pushed her way into the common room of the Tepid Toad, things had quieted down substantially. Although some of the Prince's men still sat about drinking, there was no sign of the Prince, nor of Garn or Hafred. Fortunately, there was also no sign of that bastard knight that had been hovering about the Prince like a protective hen.

With a heavy sigh, she moved toward the bar with a heavy limp. As she passed, one of the soldiers pushed away from his table, and backed into her. With only one ankle still firm enough to make her way, Marissa began to fall face first again, this time toward an unyielding wooden floor.

She never hit the floor. Instead, something soft and warm muffled her shriek of surprise. Arms slipped about her frame to steady her, and Marissa clung to the slender shoulders of the one who had caught her. When the noblewoman lifted her eyes from that bountiful cleavage, her worst fears were confirmed.

"Are you alright, Lady Marissa?" The concern in Jenrea's voice was validated by the genuine worry in her eyes.

The squire's daughter had never wanted anyone dead more than the barmaid, right then and there. She carefully steadied herself, and forced a smile, "I'm fine, thank you."

She cringed as she apologized to a commoner.

"You look hurt, Lady Marissa. Come, let's see what we can do for you." Jenrea plucked a cloth from her apron, and began to wipe the dirt and mud from Marissa's face. Her other arm was surprisingly strong, wrapped about Marissa's frame as she helped the redhead to a seat.

Jenrea was beautiful, she was warm, she was soft, she treated Marissa more kindly than anyone else in the village, and twice that night she had saved the young noble from her own misfortune. There was no reason, save for station, that the two shouldn't be the closest of friends. Marissa couldn't explain the unreasoning hatred she felt for the dark haired barmaid. It was as if some sort of instinctual revulsion governed her every action.

Still, for the task she had been given, she could swallow her unease and put on an act.

After lowering Marissa carefully into the chair, Jenrea stooped to one knee, and began to loosen the redhead's boots. It offered a view down Jenrea's dress that many a boy in town would have killed for.

Jenrea winced as she noted how tender Marissa's ankle was. She bustled off to collect a wet towel to help cool the area and some cloth to bind it. Marissa watched her work, remaining silent all the while. Jenrea's touch, her soft humming and cooing words were soothing to her, despite the rage that had built up in her gut the whole night.

"Jenrea?" Marissa finally broke her troubled silence, "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Why wouldn't I be, Lady Marissa? Everyone deserves a bit of kindness." She beamed a smile up to the redhead that made Marissa feel just the slightest twinge of guilt. "Besides," she continued, "I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but with your father being how he is, I don't imagine you get much kindness at home."

Marissa's first impulse was to backhand the innkeeper's daughter for her insolence, but instead she just clenched her fist at her side and bit her lower lip until she tasted copper. She wasn't certain what hurt her most, the insult to her father, or how close to the truth it was.

When she finally regained her composure, Marissa reached down to lightly touch Jenrea's hair. She was startled by just how soft and silken it felt. She had been under the impression that commoners were all as course as the brutes she entertained in her bed. That gentle touch turned to an almost caress, as she ran her fingers through the raven haired beauty's locks.

Her wonder soon turned to rage again, as the image of Isolde sprang unbidden to her mind. Perhaps that was the source of her unreasoning hatred. Jenrea reminded her, at least physically, of her father's lover.

Jenrea looked up as she finished securing Marissa's ankle. She shot another smile up to her, then spoke softly "Just try not to put much weight on it, Lady Marissa. I'll get you something to use as a crutch.

The squire's daughter smiled gently, putting on as much of an act as she could muster. "You must be so proud, having caught the Prince's eye like you did."

The barmaid's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean? You think... Oh no, I hope I didn't lead him on. He's nice enough, but he certainly isn't anyone I would be interested in."

If she wasn't propped up in a chair, Marissa would have fallen over at those words. The naive little tramp seemed sincerely unaware that the Prince himself had been mooning over her like some lovesick schoolboy. And to make matters worse, she wasn't even interested!

Marissa's hand shook with the effort not to slap Jenrea. Not only had the girl foiled the redhead's earlier assignment, but she'd done it without meaning to. The young noble began to feel as if the room were spinning, but she kept control of her temper.

"Well, I'm certain that he will understand. Who is it that you would be interested in, if not for him?" Polite conversation was a strain, but she managed it. She had to find some way to befriend the girl, and lead her back home.

The blush that crept across Jenrea's cheeks was sickeningly adorable. She glanced here and there, as if afraid of being overheard, before she spoke as if confessing to a dear friend, "Well, Garn's apprentice Hafred has always been kind to me, and is a good, honorable man. And handsome as well. I just wish that I could catch his interest."

It was too much for Marissa. She started to her feet, only to fall back into her chair with a cry. Pain flared up once more from her ankle. The innkeeper's daughter had done such a good job soothing her pain that she'd forgotten about the injury.

She was so distracted by the results of her own failed attempts to rise that she didn't notice the way the armrests of her seat smoldered where her hands had braced for her upward rise. The ghost of her handprints was lightly scorched into the wood there.

"Oh no! Lady Marissa, please. Just relax, I'll help you wherever you need to go." Concern and reassurance were offered with every syllable. Jenrea carefully adjusted the wrappings about Marissa's ankle.

The squire's daughter lay her head back, and just stared at the ceiling. Nothing could ever go right for her, it seemed. "Jenrea," she spoke deliberately, she had to keep herself from snapping at the other woman. "Do you consider me a friend?"

"I don't know, Lady Marissa. I would like to, but I mean, I wouldn't wish to presume that a woman of your stature would wish to associate with someone like me." That inky hair spilled down to conceal the barmaid's features.

It was the first sensible thing Marissa had heard the girl say all day. But saying that wouldn't accomplish a thing. Instead, Marissa reached down to brush her fingers over Jenrea's cheek.

"I certainly consider you a friend," she lied through her teeth.

"Really?"

"Really," There it was again. The slight twinge of guilt. Perhaps it was the eagerness with which Jenrea seemed to accept her words. Still, it was an alien feeling, one which Marissa had never felt when manipulating others.

She was pretty certain she didn't like it.

"Would you like to see the manor?"

"I- I'd be honored, Lady Marissa, some day."

The noblewoman smiled, "How about tonight? I do need help getting back. After all," she rocked her foot back and forth, wincing at the stress to her sprained ankle, "I won't be able to get there on my own."

Doubt crept across Jenrea's features, "I don't know, Lady Marissa. It's awful late, and father doesn't like me going out and about. He says there's wolves out there, that snatch women and children away into the night."

Marissa smirked despite herself. How true such words were, though in this case she didn't feel all too lupine, with her injured ankle.

"Maybe you could stay here tonight, and I could go with you tomorrow?"

It was certainly a start, but Marissa felt that sooner was better, in that regard. She had no idea whether waiting until morning would incur Isolde's wrath. She leaned forward a bit in her seat, and asked in as kind a tone as she could, "Well, share a drink with me? And we can discuss it as friends."

Jenrea rose and beamed another smile at that. "Oh! Of course. What would you like?"

After suggesting wine, Marissa watched the barmaid bustle off. She had to admit, the girl had her good points. She toyed with thoughts of the other woman stripped down and chained to her bed, in naught but stockings.

She wondered if Jenrea's skin would take the whip well. She could take out all of the frustrations and rage that had built up within her on those lush curves. Maybe she would put Jenrea in one of Isolde's dresses, and pretend the barmaid was that hated bitch.

Then again, after the whole farce with Hafred and the Prince, Marissa was fairly sure she'd just enjoy whipping Jenrea raw just for being Jenrea. Perhaps the potion Isolde provided would offer enough control to find that all out before she was forced to deliver the other woman up.

When her unwitting rival returned with wineglasses in hand, Marissa reached to take both from her. "Pull up a seat, dear." She smiled as Jenrea turned to retrieve a nearby seat. It was just enough time to open the vial she'd palmed, and let those few drops escape down into one of the wine glasses.

She offered the glass to Jenrea with a crocodile grin.

"Thank you, Lady Marissa, I hope that you'll always be my friend." The barmaid smiled sweetly, then took a sip of her drink.

The noblewoman held her breath. She stared at Jenrea, studying her, searching out any sign that the concoction had taken effect. Jenrea certainly didn't seem to notice any taste, for after her drink, she set her glass aside and giggled. Marissa wasn't certain what that was supposed to mean. Did it work? Did it fail?

As Jenrea's tongue darted across her own lips to gather the taste of the wine, Marissa found herself staring at the other woman for other reasons. Just watching those soft, full lips was intoxicating. She felt torn between revulsion and desire. She knew that she should feel neither for the barmaid, but there was no denying it.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Finally, Marissa cleared her throat, and spoke with just a hint of authority, as if she were addressing a reticent servant, "Jenrea. I would like you to walk me home tonight." She tensed instinctively, ready for anything. All she got in return was a giggle. And then, just when she was certain that the potion had somehow failed, Jenrea nodded.

"Alright, Lady Marissa."

Relief washed over the redhead's form. Perhaps, for the first time that day, she would not fail. Marissa lifted her hand, seeking help up out of that chair. Jenrea offered that help, then began to lead her toward the door. Their unfinished glasses were set aside on one of the tables en route to the door.

The longer Marissa stayed in such close proximity with Jenrea, the more conflicted she felt. Two different, deep seated responses warred with one another in her heart. One desired Jenrea's warmth, her beauty. It wanted to protect her, to truthfully befriend her and make her happy.

The other wanted to maim her, to make her suffer. It wanted to see her destroyed. It was something beyond her usual pride, wounded as it was. No, it was as if something monstrous had been awakened, and would not stop until satiated by blood.

As they passed through the door and into the cool night air, Marissa was increasingly conscious of the woman who supported her. She was soft in all the right places. Hip bumped to hip, occasionally, with her arm draped over Jenrea's shoulders as it was, the other woman's bust would press into her side. The noblewoman curled her fingers against Jenrea's opposite shoulder, and drew her in closer as they walked.

A gentle breeze tossed the barmaid's silken hair against Marissa's own scarlet curls. Red mingled with black, and the simple, clean scent of the raven haired beauty surrounded them both, contrasting with her own expensive perfumes. It reminded the noblewoman of the fields, or the forest after a fresh rain.

The effect was almost enchanting.

As the pair stepped out of the welcoming glow of the Tepid Toad, and were swallowed by the darkness beyond, that black cat from earlier prowled up to pace beside them. Marissa found her night vision was already acute enough to see the feline, and to see the road before them, all within a few seconds of having left the light.

Jenrea, by contrast, seemed to bumble about as if night blind. Her pace slowed, especially when the moon ducked behind a cloud. She certainly didn't seem to pay heed to the cat as it shadowed them.

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