"And eventually cheat the unsuspecting Clud out of his half," Merin ap Owen said, chuckling darkly.

"Of course, my lord," Isleen said in a hard voice. "You don't expect me to go to all that trouble just to enrich that creature?"

Merin ap Owen laughed heartily. "Evil!" he chortled. "You are pure evil, my beautiful Isleen. We shall make a perfect couple. I may even marry you someday."

"No, thank you," Isleen said. "I've had a father, a husband, and a lover or two along the way. I don't intend to be any man’s possession ever again, my lord! I shall, however, revenge myself upon my late husband’s family, and then settle down to being the richest whoremonger in Wales. And I shall not be unmindful of your help."

He laughed harder. Every word out of her mouth pleased him. As a rule he didn't like women. They were sly and deceitful creatures. Until today there had been no woman in his castle since his bitch of a mother had died. His first wife, a girl of fourteen, he had killed with his depravity. His second, seventeen the day she wed him, had fled to a convent a month after their wedding. He was notified that the marriage was legally dissolved by the church. Her family had not asked for her dower portion back. He later learned that his second wife had been pregnant with his child when she ran away. No sooner had she birthed his son, than she drowned him; but fortunately for her family, she killed herself also. No, women were not to be trusted.

And here was Isleen. Every bit as wicked as he was himself. She made no secret of it, either. She was, he decided, the first honest woman he had ever met, although he would not be fool enough to trust her, either.

"Do you like beating women?" she asked him frankly.

"Just enough to increase their pleasure… and mine," he admitted.

"Do you always use that strap?"

"I like a nice thin and whippy hazel switch, too," he replied. "It cuts sharply, but if plied carefully doesn't leave scars."

"Can a woman whip a man, my lord?"

"Yes. There are men who enjoy being beaten, but I am not one of them," he answered her.

Isleen nodded. "Could you teach me? That might prove an interesting diversion for my whores. It would give us a uniqueness."

"You have a head for business," he noted.

"I have an instinct for it, it is true, but no real head for it. I cannot read or write."

"Neither can I," he said quietly, "but I think you must learn, for it would not do to have some scribe cheat you. Or me."

"You want a part of my brothel?" she said, surprised.

"Of course, my pretty bitch," he told her. "If I help you, and I will if you continue to please me, then I must certainly have some part of the rewards. It is only fair."

Isleen pouted a moment, and then her common sense overcame her greed. "Very well," she agreed.

They had reached the castle now. The street had wound up a hill to where it was located. It was small and, from the look of it, not in particularly good condition. The drawbridge and the portcullis, however, were in excellent repair. Inside the courtyard he drew the horse to a halt, and dismounted, lifting Isleen down.

"I will take you to your chamber," he said.

Gwynfr Castle had but two towers. They were connected by the great hall. He led her into one of the towers, and up three flights of stairs. Her chamber, she discovered, was at the top of the tower. It was light, but scantily furnished. There was a fireplace for warmth.

"Where do you reside?" she asked him.

"In the apartment below you, my pretty bitch."

She nodded. She must remain faithful to him unless he chose otherwise, for to get to her, a man must go past his chambers. "If you desire me to entertain a favored gust, my lord, am I to bring him here or elsewhere?"

"I house my guests in the other tower. You will always be sent to await the visitor. You may explore tomorrow to your heart’s content, Isleen."

"And when you desire me?"

"I will come here, of course," he told her. "My chambers are for me alone, Isleen. No one enters them but me."

"Who cleans and changes the linen for you?" she demanded.

"It is taken care of. How, is not your concern."

"And what will my exact position here be? Am I your mistress? If so, what are my duties? Do you desire me to oversee your servants? Your cook? I want no misunderstanding between us."

"I have a steward, an old man, who has been in the castle all of his life. He oversees everything, and is quite capable. His name is Harry. You are to do nothing but keep yourself in readiness for my lust, and be an amusing and charming companion when I so desire you to be. Harry will give you whatever you desire to keep you content."

"I want a promise from you right now," Isleen said. "Arwydd is not to be accosted by you or your men. She is no good to me with a big belly. As Clud’s niece, she is invaluable to me in more ways than just that of a serving wench. I need her, my lord. She is a clever girl. Promise me she will be left alone."

"Lift your skirts," he commanded her in reply.

Isleen did not hesitate. She raised her skirts high, revealing her naked body beneath. He knelt before her, and using his fingers to open her, began making love to her with his tongue. Isleen closed her eyes, and breathed a deep sigh of pleasure. When he had brought her to a tingling peak, he stood up and pulled his manhood from his disarranged clothes. Isleen knew what was expected without any command being made. Dropping her skirts she knelt before him and, taking him in her mouth, roused him further with her lips and tongue until he commanded her to stop. Pulling her up, he pushed her back upon the bed and, thrusting her skirts up, drove himself into her. She wrapped her stockinged legs about him, her heels beating a tattoo upon his buttocks as he pistoned her. He was a tireless lover, slowly bringing her to her crisis. Then to her amazement, for he had done so last night to her surprise, though she thought it coincidence, peaking exactly as she did. Immediately, however, he arose from her, pulling her skirts down and offering her a hand to arise.

"Tell your wench not to flirt with my men. Not even to look them in the eye, for they are a randy bunch. If she obeys you, she will be safe from my men. The only man in the castle she may trust unwaveringly is old Harry, the steward. Remember that, my pretty bitch."

"What of the three who were with you last night, my lord?"

"They will never make eye contact with you, Isleen. They know if they do they will be killed. They spent a night in paradise. Now they must forget that paradise ever existed. Did any of them please you? Was there one who stood out among the trio?"

"Only you please me, my lord," Isleen murmured softly.

"Especially when I strapped you, and took your bottom," he said with a wicked smile.

"Yes," she admitted. "It was exciting. Will you do it again?"

"When it pleases me, Isleen. You must learn to give pleasure to a man in as many ways as you can. And you must be completely obedient to your lord’s wishes, but I think you already are dutiful in matters of the flesh. Are you not?"

"Aye," she said.

"Raise your skirts up again," he said.

She obeyed.

"Bend over," he commanded, and again she obeyed. Taking her beneath his arm, he spanked her bottom several hard, stinging blows. Then his fingers delved between her nether lips, and he smiled a wicked smile. "You are very dutiful," he murmured as his wet fingers came about and pushed into her fundament.

Isleen squealed, and wiggled her bottom lustfully. "Oh, yes!"

"I have always told myself there is no such thing as a perfect woman, my pretty bitch," Merin ap Owen said as the two fingers thrust back and forth within her narrow channel, "but I think you may actually be perfect, Isleen."

Her body shuddered with its new release, and she sagged against him, panting. "Ohhh, that was good, my lord, but tonight I want your hard cock there!" He was a wonderful lover, she thought. Much better than her cousin, Saer de Bude. Still, she would not give up her plans for revenge against Eleanore de Montfort. She would enslave Merin ap Owen with her body. Perhaps he would even fall in love with her. And then she would cajole him into attacking Ashlin, into destroying everything that the little nun and her knightly husband had built up. She knew of Ashlin’s prosperity. Her father had pointed it out enough to her.

"Ranulf de Glandeville has managed to make Ashlin thrive. If you had concerned yourself with helping Richard instead of lusting after your cousin, things might have been different," Baron Hugh had grumbled. "Why they actually made a profit on their wool at the Lammas Fair. But no! You could not be bothered to be a good wife. To give your husband children. Perhaps you are barren like Saer says, you useless bitch! Now you have brought shame upon the family, so much so, that the king has ordered you punished. Well, I've finally found a convent that will take you in York. They understand the situation. You will be locked in a chastity belt, you wretched bitch, and you will work and pray without ceasing for the rest of your life! They have brown woolen robes they wear year-round. Without chemises, Isleen, in order that the itching of the wool mortify the wickedness of the flesh. You will be fed but once a day, at noon. The food is simple and wholesome. There is no wine, and little meat or cheese. And once I have left you there, my daughter, I hope never to see you again!