Master of Pleasure (4 page)

Pulling out a stained handkerchief, Bissette swiped Rafael’s blood off his hand. He folded the handkerchief so the blood wasn’t visible and tucked it away. “As always, Thayer, you do nothing but disappoint me.” Picking up the razor from the floor, Bissette snapped the blade back into the ivory handle. “I was supposed to approve your upcoming release, but due to your continued penchant for violence, your stay has officially been extended by another year.”

Malcolm almost choked. “
A full year
?! But I wasn’t even the one who pulled out the razor!”

“And yet somehow
he
ended up bleeding.” Bissette glared. “You know full well why you were sent here. You are no different from any of these boys. So cease pretending that you are.”

A suffocating sensation tightened Malcolm’s throat. “My only sin is enjoying pain.”

“And I assure you, Thayer, you will.” Seeing Nasser, Bissette paused. “Forgive this chaotic display of inhumanity, Your Royal Highness. I wish to assure you, neither will be allowed near you or your studies again.”

Malcolm froze. Nasser was…royalty?

Tossing aside the blood-spattered cloth, Nasser angled closer to Bissette and announced in French, “In the name of my father’s crown, you cannot punish my new friend,
Monsieur
. He was only protecting me. That razor should have been locked away. I am holding you responsible.”

It was rather endearing having a Persian prince come to his rescue. Malcolm eyed Bissette. “I concur. Why wasn’t the razor locked away? I find that incredibly irresponsible. I could have been hurt.”

Bissette narrowed his gaze. “Go into the corridor for further instruction, Thayer, or your extended year will turn into two.”

“But I already served a full year. You cannot—”

“Your father entrusted me to cleanse your soul and permitted me to decide on the length of your penance. It is done. You are staying. Unfortunately, the additional year will cost your father another thousand francs. Which I will remind him of.”

Malcolm’s chest burned in disbelief. The man only wanted money. Which his father barely had. The son of a— “How dare you take money for what is supposed to be God’s work?” he breathed. “My father already paid you well beyond what this pit of hell is worth.”

“You wound me, Thayer.” Turning toward the gathering luminaries, Bissette boomed, “Take him out! Lest I bloody the very halls of this sacred space!”

Dried blood crusted sections of the tall grass and some of the surrounding stones, whispering of the penance that had been issued to other boys earlier in the day.

It left nothing to the imagination as to what was about to happen.

Several young faces peered down at Malcolm through the latticed windows of the old library. Their noses and cheeks touched the glass in an effort to better see. Shadows loomed behind the boys as they were ushered away from the windows by several luminaries in black coats. One of the luminaries, whose face was stern and pale with severe lines around his sunken eyes and mouth, lingered before paging through his bible and turning away.

The courtyard became eerily quiet.

Malcolm’s throat tightened. He veered his gaze to Bissette. “Rafael almost raped him.”

“I know. And that is being addressed. His father and I will be discussing the possibility of castration. But as I have repeatedly told you, you are not in the position administer justice. You are here for the same reason he is: to be molded into something more.” Bissette watched him with a hard, stoic expression reserved for those who disappointed him. “You will write a detailed letter to your own father explaining why I extended your penance by another year. Be certain to include the costs involved. Am I understood in this? Or would you rather I write the letter?”

It was pointless to even argue. His father would only take the side of the luminary. God before son. “I will write to him,
Monsieur
.”

“Good.” Bissette pointed to the slab of stone set before him on the ground. “Let us now focus on your soul’s perpetual need for restraint. Pray for the forgiveness only God can give.”

Malcolm grudgingly knelt on the stone, his knees long accustomed to the ache of a hard surface penetrating his bones. Bringing his hands together and folding them in prayer, he lifted his gaze beyond the man, beyond the old tree and beyond the stoned walls of the garden that were too high to climb. “O Lord, prepare my soul for the punishment I deserve. Amen.” It was the only prayer he could muster.

“Stand.” Bissette wagged his fingers, demanding it.

Malcolm rose to his feet.

“Remove everything, including your boots.”

Sometimes, he wondered if the bastard enjoyed whipping naked boys. Stripping his linen shirt with the shrug of both muscled arms, Malcolm tossed it aside onto the grass. Kicking off his boots and wool stockings, he unbuttoned the flap of his trousers and shoved them down along with his undergarments. The cool air tightened his bare skin.

“Gather them and set them aside.”

Malcolm neatly folded his clothes and set them aside.

“Face me.”

Squaring his bare shoulders, he faced the luminary and placed his hands against his cock for the sake of protecting it against blows.
Help me, Lord. I have stupidly gotten myself into a situation I cannot get out of. I thought my time here would be spent in Your presence and in prayer. Not this. This is not what I want to be.

Bissette snapped up the leather and metal strap laid out at his booted feet and approached, crushing the tall grass with solid movements. Wrapping its end around his hand, he whirled the length of the thick strap, forcing the air to whistle around it.

Malcolm closed his eyes. The first lash was always the worst.

The blow of the leather strap bounced off his back and made him gasp. The metal sewn between the leather spliced into his skin like a blade, but he defiantly remained standing.

Grunting to keep the blows steady, Bissette struck downward with a full arm swing from over his head and down, skidding and dashing the strap into flesh and bone. “Four…five…six…”

Blinded by tears he could no longer control, Malcolm staggered beneath each skull-penetrating impact of metal and leather, his legs growing unstable and weak. His heart responded by pounding so fast and so out of control, it made him lightheaded. Glimmers of euphoria found him only to remind him it was nothing but pain. He choked and gasped for breaths, unable to hear the count and eventually stopped fighting it. He let that dark, dark morbid part of himself, the one he’d always shoved away, enjoy the pain.

He was now his brother.

A loud crack shook his core as the metal snapped in half against the flesh of his upper thigh. Everything whirled white beneath his eyelids as the taste of blood filled his mouth. Malcolm staggered forward and back, no longer feeling a part of the world. It was beautiful. In a pulsing void, he watched his own blood slowly finger its way down his arms and legs.

“
Enough
!” someone boomed, sending an echo throughout the courtyard. “
How dare you go against what I commanded? You were not supposed to touch him!
”

The air seemed to thicken. It was Nasser.

A flurry of blurring words were feverishly exchanged between Bissette, Nasser and all of Nasser’s servants who grabbed the blood-soaked strap from Bissette. Malcolm couldn’t focus long enough to decipher what was said. He slumped onto his hands and knees, the grass cushioning his fall. His trembling fingers dug into the thick grass, blood smearing over its green as he savored its unexpected softness. He drew in shallow half-breaths, reveling in the lull from all the earlier pain.

A quick movement rustled through the grass. Sensing someone stood before him, Malcolm edged into a kneeling position. Everything swayed. He squeezed his eyes to steady himself. It was so nice to feel numb. It was so nice to feel nothing after feeling so much.

“Upon my life, you will
never
be beaten like that again,” assured a familiar voice.

Malcolm slowly shut out the darkness he had let in and returned to being who he wanted to be: himself. He opened his eyes, willing each breath. Standing before him against the vast blue valley sky was Nasser dressed in flowing silk garbs of blue and gold. They flapped freely against the wind.

He stared down at Malcolm with intense, dark eyes, his jet-black hair hanging around his young, vibrant face. “The luminaries refused to tell me where you had been taken.”

Feeling his wounds oozing, Malcolm gasped between breaths. “I…I’m fine.”

“You most certainly are not. Do not move.” Yelling something in Persian to his servants, Nasser tossed the bible he held, causing it to thud open. “If this is the God who is supposed to save me, I return my faith to Allah. We leave within the hour and head to Paris. My offer is not negotiable.”

Surprise flitted through Malcolm as he squinted through stabbing breaths. “
Paris
?”

Nasser removed his long flowing shawl, leaned in and gently draped it around Malcolm’s nakedness. “I am buying your freedom,
Dalir
,” he said in a low voice. “Monsieur Bissette is willing to release you for fifty thousand.”

Fifty thousand
? Malcolm choked. “I wouldn’t even be able to repay you. My father isn’t worth that much. He isn’t worth anything anymore. No. I cannot accept such grace. I cannot—”

“I am
not
leaving you here another year knowing I was the reason for it.” Nasser hesitated. “I welcome you to travel with me to Persia and see a bit of the world at no expense to you. Allow me to show you what a brother should be.”

Malcolm swallowed. “I happen to love my brother.”

“’Tis obvious you do.” Nasser leaned in closer his lean face sharpening. “But the world does not need a martyr who disappears for one brother and one cause. It needs a hero who appears for every cause. While I admire your devotion to your brother, it is crippling you. Allow yourself to be more. What you did for me today can be replicated on a far greater scale. I have
never
seen anyone take on a blade with no fear like that. Do you know what you can do with a gift like that? My country is on the brink of war with Russia and needs true fighters. We need someone willing to swing a sword at those who only seek to make the world suffer. You can be that someone and help worthy people. But not if you feel your brother needs you more.”

God was speaking to him through this young man. After too many years of carrying the burden of being responsible for an unruly, tempestuous brother incapable of being responsible for anything, God was finally offering him a greater cause. One worthy of his mind and heart. For although, yes, he stupidly gave into temptation and kissed Miss Silverthorn, thereby damning himself to a situation he wished he’d never been a part of, he did not deserve to continue to punish himself for the sins of his brother. If he returned to England, he would never be his own man. Even if his brother forgave him, he would be nothing more than what his twin had always wanted him to be: his shadow, but even darker and more twisted. “I’m tired of Wiltshire and London. I want to be my own man. I want my own life. Separate from my brother.”

“I can give you that.” Nasser’s voice softened. “Do you enjoy being at sea, Malcolm?”

A breath escaped him. “Very much so. Yes.”

“Good. Because we have a long journey ahead. I will ensure you are knighted into the Persian Court by my father. You will be granted the new name of
Dalir
. It means…brave.” Nasser’s features softened. “I am honored you chose to protect me in the same way you chose to protect your own brother.” Nasser knelt beside him, pushing his garb away from the movement of his legs. “My servants went to fetch salve and cloths. They will tend to your wounds.”

Malcolm tightened his hold on the shawl that barely covered him. He could feel it sticking to his wounds. They were a little too deep for his liking. “No. I will do it.”

“There are too many. Let them help you.” Nasser leaned in and touched Malcolm’s face with trembling fingers. “Are you all right?”

He had almost forgotten what brotherly love was supposed to be like. “I am now.”