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The Inquisitors Of Aragon (Bruce McLachlan)


The Inquisitors Of Aragon by Bruce McLachlan

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Letitia has fallen foul of the dreaded Inquisition, who have snatched her from her home in the dead of night and carried her away in a cage. She knows nothing … but the Inquisitors have little regard for that. For them she is another body to make suffer, another soul to torment.

Letitia witnesses many horrific scenes and suffers much herself, before finally agreeing to what they really want, to become the submissive abject slave of one of the chief Inquisitors!

Reduced to nothing more than the level of a household pet, the once proud and beautiful Letitia learns that giving way sometimes … only sometimes … helps her to avoid even more suffering!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 4 / 2019

No. words: 37200

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Historical Bondage/BDSM

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt


Chapter 1

The city of Aragon sprawled across the emerald green hills, the white stone walls and buildings bathed in the golden rays of the midday sun. The occasional wisp of cloud was strewn across the blue sky, seemingly added as final touches by the Almighty to this most splendid canvas of firmament.
Letitia listened to the churning roar of the city, and watched from her balcony as the people flowed along the streets. It was a wonderful day to be alive, no more so than because of its significance. Her stomach was still unsettled with apprehension, for today she was to visit the Countess Attaras.
Leaving her elevated perch, she returned to her dresser and continued to arrange her hair, scrutinising every detail, intent on making as good an impression as she could.
Their chance meeting at the theatre had allowed the two women to talk, followed by an invitation to tea. If she could behave flawlessly, there existed the pleasing possibility of gaining entrance to the elite social circles. Her meagre funds would not serve her long under such taxing demands, but if she could find a husband from the noble caste, a marriage would ensure her secure welfare for life.
Letitia assessed her reflection in the mirror. She was attractive, her long sable hair shone with radiant health and wreathed her elegant features like a midnight halo. Her form was fairly small, but curvaceous and well proportioned. At seventeen she was desirable enough to attract affluent suitors, and should she succeed in merging with the noble echelons of Spanish society, her virginal status would surely gain her the husband she sought.
Straightening the folds of her white dress, she left her apartment and made for the villa of the Countess.
The villa was a true reflection of the aristocratic stature, bedecked in finery and sumptuous works of art. Even the furniture was of the most luxurious design, each piece a magnificent aesthetic sight.
A valet escorted her up to the veranda, where the Countess sat beside a low table. The woman was not alone either. Opposite her sat a rigid form, a complete contrast to the hedonistic ambience. He was approaching thirty, with handsome features which made him an alluring sight save for the black hair and dark robes that marked him as a holy man.
“Ah, Letitia, how nice of you to come. Please, sit down and join us for chocolate. This is Don Francisco Tirregon, my confessor, and second Inquisitor of the Holy Office. Don Francisco, this is a new acquaintance of mine, Letitia Rochus.”
She knelt and kissed the signet ring he extended. The man regarded her with a stern eye, his very presence intimidating. Was it merely a sub-conscious reaction to his standing, or was it an actual aura that he himself generated. She had heard the dark rumours concerning the Inquisition, but she paid such lies little heed, for it was God’s work they performed in their eradication of heretics and witches. Several times she had attended the Auto da Fe, the mass burnings where the Inquisition paraded those who had been found dabbling in the dark arts, before expiating them for their blasphemous crimes, and never had she felt cause to fear the righteous officers, or feel pity for the condemned.
Mundane pleasantries were exchanged between the Countess and herself, but all the while she could feel Don Francisco’s rigorous stare boring into her. It was disconcerting, and several times she lost track of the conversation as her thoughts strayed to the foreboding spectre.
When he joined in the conversation, his deep voice brought both women to silence. He asked Letitia her age, her confessor’s name, and many intricate questions about religion. Such was the intense nature of his quizzing, Letitia soon began to feel uneasy, the severity of his look making her thoughts whirl in panic.
Having noticed this angst, he told the Countess to inform her that he was not as fierce as he seemed, and leaned forth to caress her in an obliging manner, to reassure her that his banter was nothing save benign. With a stifled sigh of profound relief, she kissed his presented hand with great reverence and modesty, and watched with no small measure of mental turmoil as he left. The confusion in her head was further kindled by his last words, “My dear child, I shall remember you till the next time.”
It was a remarkable expression: however, she was inexperienced in matters of gallantry, and could see no significance or menace in the words.
The rest of the audience with the Countess went well; she avoided talk of the Inquisitor with almost fanatic verve. The noble lady was much taken with the youthful girl, so much so that she was invited to shop with her the following day in preparation for a dinner party, which she could also attend as the Countess’ guest.
Letitia was in high spirits as she returned home, and it seemed that the sun celebrated with her, filling the horizon with a crimson hue. The blazing sunset had her enthralled, and with a glass of wine, she watched the sight from her balcony. The sun slipped behind the horizon, the streets began to clear of people, and dusk settled into a star speckled night.
With darkness approaching, and a chill breeze lifting to strip away the warmth of the day, she went to bed after giving thanks in her prayers. She was exhausted by the day’s events, and most eager to be fresh and vibrant for those that awaited her tomorrow. But, because of her excitement, it took all her efforts to calm her raging thoughts and fall asleep.
A resounding volley of thuds had her jerk upright in bed with a start. She swept her hair from her eyes and listened to make sure that it was not a noise in her dream responsible for stirring her so sharply.
The metallic clatter and booming thump of an impatient knock upon her door echoed up from the street. With a vexed murmur, she slipped from her soft bed and took a gown from her door. She hurried down the stairs, pulling the garment on and fastening it. She paused before opening the locks, for brigands in the city were not unheard of. She opted for caution and asked who it was paying a visit at such a late hour.
“The Holy Inquisition!” came the terse reply.
“What is it you wish of me?” she stuttered, scarcely able to believe her ears. She was pious and God fearing, she attended church and gave as generously as she could, surely they were in error.
“Open the door in the name of the Holy Office,” demanded a strident voice.
“Again Sir, I ask, who is it you seek?” she responded, her heart pounding in her chest.
The brittle crunch of wood being punished by a blow, reverberated in her ears, and the door bucked in its frame. Letitia gave a shriek of shock, put her hands to her face in horror, and began to back away. The door jolted under another impact, and the next blow was joined by the splintering of timber around the hinges.
Her resolve crumbled and she turned and fled, every nightmarish whisper she had overheard about the Inquisition suddenly polluting her thoughts.
She had barely reached the top of the stairs when the door burst inward, smashing onto the floor, fully torn from its mounts by the assault of the guards.
Charging for her balcony, she hoped to shout pleas for help onto the night, but even her gown was against her in this matter, and snagged her legs with its length, sending her tumbling to the floor.
The cold grip of gauntlets snapped onto her body like metal teeth, and a trio of armoured soldiers hoisted her into the air. She squirmed in their grasp, seeking to break free while screaming with all the volume she could muster. She demanded to know her crime, what it was they sought, but they ignored her every word, seemingly engrossed with their duty of carrying her out into the street, where she was manacled and hurled into the rear of a caged wagon. Undaunted, she continued her cries as the vehicle took off, the two steeds thundering down the street under the eager whip of the driver.
Clutching the bars of her prison for stability against the lurching cage, she wept for her soul.
“What is to become of me? I am ruined,” she whispered, wiping away her tears with the torn and dirty hem of her only sparse garment.
She was expecting to die this very night, so numbing was her fright. Her surprise was all the greater when instead of the stake or executioner’s block, she was delivered to an apartment near the grim fortress of faith which served as the Inquisition’s bastion. The home lay in the castle’s shadow, swallowed up within the sheet of darkness cast down by the towering structure, its battlements manned by armoured forms, bright banners fluttering in the breeze. From this fortress the Inquisition spread out into the surrounding area, making it the centre of a web of zealous persecution, and perhaps the most feared structure in all Aragon.
The armoured driver descended from his post and pulled her from the cage, his metal form towering over her as he drew her to the door. She resisted as best she could, pulling away because she feared what unspeakable hell might lay beyond.
“Where am I being taken! I am innocent of any crime!” she exclaimed, and gave a yelp as the driver tugged up her arm and then lashed his whip across the backs of her thighs.
The treatment left her too stunned to react, never had she been so demeaned by another. Her shock served as intended, allowing the officer to open the door and shove her in before closing it behind her.
Rubbing the angry stripe he had inflicted, she looked at her new surroundings with astonishment. The apartment was no dismal cell, but decorated with all the elegance that taste united with opulence could bestow.
As Letitia stared, she realised that she was shivering from the effects of her near naked passage through the night. Her skin was numb to the touch; with caution she approached the blazing hearth so she could warm herself. The heat swiftly reached her body, for her gown was now ragged and split, the thin material barely covering her.
A figure moved from the shadows, and the stress from her experience caused her to jump like a timid hare. She knocked a low table over, causing a vase to fall, it shattered into tiny fragments and sent flowers and water across the rug.
She cowered instinctively, but rather than a vengeful persecutor, a maid-servant stood before her bearing a silver salver of sweetmeats and cinnamon water. The woman was in her late twenties, with a slender frame. Her thin features were almost feral, the paleness of her skin was accompanied by neck length blonde hair and pale blue eyes like polished ice.
“What do you want of me?” Letitia implored, watching the woman with suspicion and trying to hold her gown together as best she could.
“Only for you to take some refreshment before you retire, Mistress,” she replied meekly.
Letitia looked down upon her soiled dress, wondering what was going to happen to her.
“Please, I would be most grateful if you could inform me ...” She whispered, afraid her words would provoke something she did not want to experience. “Am I to be put to death this night or not?”
“Put to death!” the girl seemed shocked. “You do not come here to perish, but to live as a princess, you shall want for nothing in the world, save for the liberty of going out. Don’t be afraid, go to bed and sleep easy, for tomorrow you shall see the wonders within this house. My name is Mary, and I am chosen to be your waiting-maid. I hope you will be kind to me.”
Letitia began to mumble and stutter the start to her most pressing flurry of questions, but the woman hushed her to silence with calm serenity.
“All will be revealed soon enough, but first you must rest - what you have gone through is most taxing on the strength. There is water in the bedroom by which you may cleanse yourself, and if I may, I will take you there.”
The maid set down the tray and offered a hand, which Letitia took, simply to try and seek comfort.
The bedroom was no less extravagant in design than the rest of the apartment, and was much better than her old home.
As she bathed, she meditated on this bizarre turn of events. Was she a prisoner? What schemes had ensnared her? Who was the villain behind this affair?
With her mind full of unanswered queries, she lay down on the soft sheets and in moments was slipping into blissful slumber, her mind all to ready to shut itself off from this most strenuous night.



Chapter 2

The rays of the sun crept across the floor and ran along her bed until they touched her face. The light stirred her from sleep, and for a brief moment she thought perhaps it had all been a dream, a reaction to her encounter with Don Francisco. But as she stretched her limbs and opened her eyes, it was not her own room which greeted her, but the one in which she had found herself the night before.
She would like to have basked in the sun’s radiance for a while, but Mary came in, carrying a meticulously prepared breakfast. She set the meal down, ignored Letitia’s questioning look, and departed in silence.
The tempting odours soon prompted Letitia to eat, but first she gave a testing sniff to see if she could find anything wrong with it. She realised the notion was foolish, and dismissing it from her mind, started to eat.
Only then did she notice the envelope in the corner, almost hidden from view. She hesitantly opened it and read the curt note.
‘I trust your accommodation is to your liking. I sincerely hope that you respect my wishes until I am able to divulge the nature behind this situation’.
The signature and seal was that of Don Francisco. She now knew who had brought her here, but not why.
She complied with his wishes, trusting in the benevolent desires of the holy man. She found, although she was trapped within the extensive home, she was kept occupied with a steady stream of gifts and valuable presents, beautiful clothes, and personal messages, both polite and endearing, from her mysterious gaoler.
Then, almost three days after her abduction, Mary presented Letitia with an invitation to dine with Don Francisco, and subtly urged her to accept.
Taking this advice, she worked on her appearance and made sure she wore the gifts he had lavished on her. The wait for his arrival was tense. Mary was in the kitchen, toiling over the dinner, leaving her alone to contemplate what was in store for her.
Every time a coach rumbled past, her heart fluttered and she edged to the window, only to see that it had not lingered. Then, without warning, a heavy rapping struck the door. With frenzied speed she checked herself for any trace of dishevelment, and then scurried to open it.
Pulling open the portal, she bowed and kissed the Inquisitor’s hand as he entered, leaving his two platemail armoured guards outside.
She followed him to the table, and pulled his chair out for him, doing her best to be a gracious host. He asked about her health, and her wants, to which she said she was quite content. No more was said until the meal had been finished and the cutlery taken away by Mary.
Don Francisco dabbed his lips with a napkin, and then settled into a more relaxed pose.
“Now, to the crux of the matter. You are puzzled as to your being here, and I shall endeavour to explain.”
After folding the napkin and placing it on the table, he scratched his chin as he arranged his words in his mind, and then spoke.
“Certain accusations have been made against you in connection with matters of religion. The Inquisition had already pronounced sentence of burning alive ‘in a dry pan, with a gradual fire’. However, out of pity for you, my child, I have managed to stop the execution of this terrible sentence, for the time being anyway. But, if I am to protect your flesh, I expect unreserved use of it.”
Letitia gasped, she never expected to hear such words from a supposedly chaste man of the cloth. She had taken care to maintain her honour, and such a dissolute fate offended every fibre of her being.
“I ... I cannot acquiesce. I will not,” she said, in shock.
“You have very little choice, my child.”
“I cannot, with God as my witness I refuse to submit to such injustice. Conduct my trial, I fear no judge save God. I will be found innocent.”
“And why is this?”
“For it is the truth!”
“We of the Inquisition manufacture the truth as we manufacture fear. You think you can gain justice via trial. Your time for hearings is long past. Your fate has been decreed. Your only hope is to assent and spare yourself the flames of your precious justice.”
“I ... I ..” she stammered, trying to find a retort to aid her plight.
“Think well about your decision before you make it, for do not think that your sentence will be altered should you decline,” he warned, and then bellowed for the maid.
Mary hurried in and bowed before him.
“You called, my Lord?”
“I am leaving, you will show me to the door, you charge has more important matters to weigh.”
He reached forward for Letitia’s cheek, but she shied away, the disturbing advances of this iniquitous and decadent clergy causing her to recoil from his touch.
“I shall return tomorrow, should you spurn me then, I will know which path you have taken.”
Mary escorted him to the door, and once he had gone, she returned and sat beside Letitia, who was in shock.
“You should not reject him, Mistress.”
“Why, what he asks is shameful and sinful! I cannot believe that the Inquisition has the power to swallow up innocents without being opposed.”
“You are foolish to doubt their might. Should the Holy Office carry out your sentence, none would dare question it. Their work is good, but they have vices which have entangled you. Is it not better to relent, and support these righteous powers? They are only human, they have weaknesses, but they do so much to further God’s will.”
“I cannot agree. What they are doing is no will of the Almighty, it is Satanic.”
Mary grabbed her. “Never speak those words again, should they hear you, heedless of your actions you will be condemned!”
“I am doomed anyway, let them execute me. Better to die a martyr than live at the whim of licentious devils.”
The house-maid looked furtively about, and addressed the defiant girl with terrified apprehension.
“I must have your sacred oath of secrecy before I say anything else.”
“What do you mean?” asked Letitia, uncertain of swearing to a subject she knew nothing about.
“Please, what I will tell you will mean your life or death, but should anyone know I have done this, I will suffer unspeakably for it.”
There was a tremulous edge in her voice, a churning fear that added strength to her words. It was this, more than any degree of curiosity, that made Letitia agree.
“I swear.”
“Then follow me, and keep as quiet as the grave or we shall both be damned.”
The woman took her hand and covertly led her into the cellar. Like some thief in the night, she drew open a curtain, displaying the roughly hewn tunnel of stone drilled into the impenetrable darkness beyond.
“This leads us to the Inquisition’s dungeons. At this hour, the main chambers should be empty, and I can show you what I must show you.”


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Aliens, strange worlds, fetish based writing.

 

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