Icy moonlight glinted off the yellow tresses that hung in a curtain across Shane's face. She lay face-down, wrists and ankles bound and fastened under the big horse. The leather of Jill's saddle was pressing into her stomach, further inhibiting the breathing already hampered by the gag. Her head ached miserably from hanging upside down, and Jill's occasional taunts served only to underline her complete helplessness.
After an hour of riding, Shane felt the horse come to a stop. By her estimation, it must have been around midnight.
"Going to get you off the horse for a bit, here, marshal. Behave yourself, you can stretch your muscles and have a drink. Make trouble, and it'll be your friend there that suffers."
Shane heeded the warning, though she doubted she could have made much trouble anyway: she could barely feel her hands and feet, numb from being bound, and her body was one enormous ache from having been strapped over the saddle for hours.
Still, her captors were taking no chances: Shane heard them unload Maggie from Lorraine's horse, with dire warnings of the consequences for misbehavior; the gagged whimpers that came in response sank Shane's heart even further.
Finally, she felt Jill reach beneath the horse to sever the cord joining her wrist and ankle bonds. Lorraine's powerful hands gripped her waist and hauled her down, tossing her casually to the ground like a sack of meal. Shane gasped into her gag as breath flew from her lungs, dizzying lights exploding in front of her eyes.
"Ugggh!" Shane winced in pain as Jill's fingers threaded into her tangled golden mane, and her face was yanked around to see Maggie: the frightened editor was still bound, her wrists and ankles now fastened together in front of her. The gag that had been removed to allow her to drink was back in place, distending the brunette's mouth, and her breathing wasn't helped any by the lariat that had been looped in place around her neck: Shane could see the indentation where the rope abraded the pale skin. Lorraine was smirking at the marshal as she held the other end of the noose in her hand. One toe of her boot was casually nudging Maggie; Jill couldn't see the woman's other hand, but she suspected that Lorraine was planning to take a few liberties when the opportunity arose: the big cowgirl was regarding her captive with an interest that revolted Shane as much as it frightened her.
"Best behavior, marshal," Jill purred. "One tug from Lorraine, and your friend's neck snaps faster'n you could even think about jumpin' me."
Jill produced a small knife, severing Shane's bonds, and the marshal rolled painfully over and up to her knees, waiting for enough feeling to return to her fingers to try and rub away the pain on her chafed wrists and ankles. Her captor stood over her, a few feet back, with one of Shane's pistols pointed at her.
"Stretch a bit, if you like," Jill told her, then nodded to a tin cup resting atop a small rock nearby. "And you can take out the gag and have yourself a drink." Shane undid the knot at the back of her head, feeling more resentful than grateful. Before she could discard the kerchief, though, Jill admonished her.
"Just keep it round yer neck, marshal. You ain't done with it yet."
For Maggie's sake, Shane stifled a growl and left the cloth, damp with her sweat and saliva, coated with dust from their journey, loosely around her neck. A few minutes of working the kinks out of her muscles and sipping slowly at the cool water had some of her energy returning, but she still felt too worn-out and exhausted to contemplate resistance, even were Maggie not hostage.
Finally, Jill indicated that it was time be moving again. She handed the guns to Lorraine, insuring that Shane would have no chance to gain an advantage even were she to overpower Jill, and ordered the marshal to put her hands together in front of her; under the circumstances, Shane thought that a position of prayer might actually be no bad thing.
Jill gathered up the strips of leather and wound the cord around Shane's wrists again; the grooves in her flesh were still raw and painful, making the return of the numbness that accompanied her bondage almost welcome.
As she was tied, Shane had been watching Lorraine. The big cowgirl was evidently waiting until the marshal was secure to place Maggie back on her horse, but in the meantime, she continued to taunt Shane by casually running hands along Maggie's bound form, and chuckling at each horrified squeal and whimper that came from the poor woman's stifled mouth.
Jill reached for the cloth at Shane's throat; Shane swallowed a lump, and spoke in a murmur she hoped wouldn't carry as far as Lorraine's ears.
"Can we talk for a minute first?"
Jill paused and raised an eyebrow. "What about?"
"Your… your friend over there." Shane hated the note of deference, of vulnerability, that had crept into her voice; she hated even more Little Jill's smug, satisfied recognition of it.
"What about her?" Jill glanced over to where Lorraine lay back against the rock, idly toying with Maggie who was breathing raggedly around her gag.
"Look, I know she… she…" Shane gritted her teeth. "I know she has an eye for Maggie, there… and I know she'd like to do some downright unnatural things to her."
Jill bit back a dozen responses, refusing to fill in any of the blanks: she wanted to hear her captive enemy spell it out. Instead, she simply raised an eyebrow. "So?"
Shane shuddered, and lowered her face, staring at the ground, trying to hide behind the lush curtain of her hair; her voice was a dull mutter. "Don't let her have Maggie. She can have me."
"What's that?" Jill reached over and used her fingers to rake back Shane's mane of blond hair, so she could see the bound marshal's face more clearly.
"God-DAMN you," Shane snarled. "I said she can have me instead!" She swallowed bile and shame and went on. "Tell her to leave Maggie alone. She can take me instead, and do… whatever she wants with me."
Jill felt a thrill that started in her chest and buzzed all the way down to her loins. She kept her face straight, staring blankly, until Shane reluctantly went on.
"I won't resist. I promise." The marshal flushed madly, fear and disgust eating at her. "She can… use me."
"Ah, hell, marshal, where's the fun in that?" Jill smirked. "Ta be honest, I sorta doubt Lorraine's ever taken a woman 'tweren't by force, nohow. I don't think she can get herself off any other way. No, that's not much of an offer, really."
The blood drained from Shane's face, leaving her already pale beauty a ghostly white. Jill savored the look for a moment, then broke out into a chuckle.
"Anyway, marshal, you got nothing to fret about. I've already reminded Lorraine that we're bein' paid to deliver the goods in tip-top shape, and… well, she does have a tendency to get a little rough on her toys. She's just funnin' with ya now. She'll behave. Hell, that rope around yer girlfriend's neck ain't even tied all the way."
Shane felt the color return to her cheeks as shame suffused her. She had practically groveled at the woman's feet, offering herself as carnal appeasement to the loathsome Lorraine, and for nothing.
"Still," Jill laughed, "Rusty is surely gonna get a laugh when I tell her how you begged to be treated like one of her sluts… I'm only sorry she didn't make you beg that old coot Prudhomme for the same thing!"
She had no idea how she would manage it, but with that disgusting image, Jill had cemented Shane's resolve: whatever else happened, she would have a reckoning with this strutting little bandit before she was through.
"Anyway, enough palaver," Jill went on. Before Shane could object, Jill had lifted the kerchief from around Shane's throat, and jammed the thick knot, redolent of sweat and the dust of the journey, between the marshal's white teeth. She undid the knot at the back and wrapped the bandana around Shane's head.
"Ugggh!" Shane gave a despairing grunt as the cloth was pulled tight, trapping her long hair against her head, and yanked into a fierce knot at the base of her skull. Lorraine came over to assist, and Shane was once more thrown bodily over the horse, face-down, as Jill secured her ankles, then passed more cord under the horse to join ankles and wrists again. Shane could hear Maggie being served similarly, and in a moment, Jill was up in the saddle again, and the last leg of the prisoners' journey toward their fate began.
***
The sun had been up for an hour or two when Shane noticed the change in landscape, hardscrabble brush giving way to greener shrubbery, and even the occasional copse of trees. Still hanging head-down, with the gag this time fastened over her long hair, she had a better view of their surroundings, though she saw the shadow of the hacienda before she saw the building itself: a huge sprawling red adobe ranch, with an assortment of stables and outbuildings. The horses slowed, and Shane heard a gruff voice call out in Spanish.
["Who are you? What do you have there?"] Even without the gag, Shane would have lain quiet: whatever lay ahead, keeping her knowledge of the language a secret might prove a valuable advantage.
["We bring woman slave your Master for."] Jill's Spanish seemed barely functional, but it was enough that Shane heard the large iron gate swing open, and soon the horses were clopping over clay brickwork.
"Halt!" Another male voice spoke, this time in heavily-accented English. "You leave women here. Take money."
"Suits me." Jill hopped down from the horse, and in a moment, Shane was standing barefoot on the rapidly-warming bricks, hands still tied in front, mouth still gagged, head still reeling from the rush of blood from her head back down where it belonged. Through her swimming vision, she could see a half-dozen hard-looking men, dressed in gaudy blue uniforms, each with a rifle slung on his back and a sword at his side.
The Alcalde's men, she thought. Like all these tinpots, keeps his own private army. As she regained her balance, she saw Maggie removed from the other horse, while saddlebags, presumably filled with gold coin, were attached to the two bandits' horses. She idly wondered whether Rusty would have made a mistake, trusting these two to bring her share of the loot back to Rio Bondo, but couldn't see what difference it would make to her and Maggie.
Lorraine had mounted up, and Jill turned back to smile at Shane.
"Guess this is goodbye, marshal." She twirled one of Shane's pistols, triumphantly. "From now on, Little Jill ain't gonna look so little to folks-- I'm the one captured and defeated the great Shane McQueen!"
Not without help from a bunch of two-faced vermin, Shane mused. But there was no question that Little Jill had got an almost ecstatic pleasure at lording herself over Shane, something Shane planned to address if… no, when… they met again.
With Jill and Lorraine gone, Shane and Maggie were now in the care of the Alcalde's rough-looking men, who were clearly enjoying the sight of the bound, gagged, barefoot and bedraggled women.
The tallest of the men stepped closer, to inspect the two; his uniform was wildly bedecked with medals which Shane figured he'd designed himself. Probably what passes for an officer around here.
Casually, the officer reached to one of the buttons still holding Shane's shirt together, and the marshal instinctively brought her bound hands up in front of her chest, intercepting the lewd paw. He made a move to brush her arms aside, and Shane, instinct making her heedless of danger, swung both hands back the other way, slamming her fists against the side of the man's head, rocking it sideways. Anger flickered in the man's eyes, then he laughed and called to one of the others.
["Her hands are full of mischief! Better get them where they won't be in my way!"] He produced a knife, and dug into the knot of the leather strips at Shane's wrists, then untied them. Before she had a chance to even massage her aching wrists, rough hands grabbed her arms and yanked them hard behind her back. The rawhide was once more passed around the crossed wrists, red and raw from her continuing bondage, looping over and around and back, and she felt the knot as it bit even more tightly than Jill had bound her.
The men weren't done, though: one of them had gone to a building that appeared to be a stable, and returned with a fistful of items: the first was a wide strap of leather. He snapped it once or twice, then slapped it sharply against Shane's buttocks. Startled, she yelped into her gag, to a round of crude laughter from her captors. The officer gave a nod, and the strap was then passed around both of Shane's upper arms. The man behind her pulled at it, drawing it into a loop that constricted more each second, until the bound lawwoman's elbows were nearly joined together in the middle of her back, sending racking pain through her torso. Another leather strap was then passed through the first, and cinched around her waist, adding even more pressure to her shoulders and arms The ensemble was completed when a third strap belted her waist, and joined to the other two in a kind of leather yoke; she heard buckles and fastenings, and she grunted into her gag as her shoulders were forced back, her chest thrust forward.
Maggie was crying into her gag, now, held by one of the soldiers, as the officer regarded Shane, who struggled to try and stand straight in the grip of grimy hands and painful leather bondage.
"You don't like my hands, puta gringa?" Shane didn't have to know a lot of Spanish to bristle at being called a whore, and she yanked furiously at the hands that held her; even that slight movement caused the leather to bite through what remained of the fabric of her shirt. The officer smiled, and used a careless hand to savage what remained of the cloth over her chest, ripping open the shirt, exposing the perfect breasts.
The collective gasp that came from his men was followed by whoops of delight and encouragement. Never taking his eyes from Shane's, he began to casually run his fingers over her breasts. Shane bit down on the gag, refusing to react, as the man massaged and squeezed, every movement driving home that she was once more powerless, in the hands of this filth.
"How about now? You start to have fun?" He leered as he continued to fondle the bound marshal, inhaling her scent, savoring her helplessness. Shane suspected that he, like Lorraine, was only really capable of enjoying a woman if he took her by force.
"No fun?" His grin was savage. "Maybe you need nice big kiss." His hand went to Shane's mouth and he yanked the kerchief down around her throat.
"Damn you…" the marshal began to curse, but the officer buried a strong hand in her hair and forced his mouth down on hers. She raged beneath the obscene kiss, squirming uselessly against her bonds, the cheering from the onlookers redoubling. Finally, ignoring the pain in her scalp, she moved her head just enough to get some purchase for her teeth, and dug them into the man's upper lip.
"Ahhhh!" His head flew back, he released his grip on her hair, and he delivered a savage backhanded slap to the panting captive.
["Muzzle this bitch!"] he shouted to his men, and from behind, Shane felt her hair pulled hard, back and down, and she was looking nearly upside-down at one of the soldiers holding a thick pad of leather in his hand. Her gaping mouth, stained with the officer's blood, was an easy target for the hand that prodded the thick pad between her teeth. Shane gagged and choked at the sour taste of the leather as it was worked deeper into her mouth; when the grip in her hair was released, it was only to allow a set of straps to be drawn around her head, one strap above her ears, the other anchored underneath them, digging painfully into her tender flesh This, too, was buckled behind her head, the pressure causing the pad to crush her lips against her teeth, and gouge her cheeks.
The man behind her grabbed her shoulders and stood her up again, while the officer, licking the blood from his mouth, prepared to resume his assault. Before he got his hands on his captive again, though, one of the other soldiers called out.
"Hssst! El Senor!"
The officer gave Shane a look that left no doubt that he was far from finished with her, then straightened up to something resembling an insolent version of "Attention" as they were joined by what she presumed was the Alcalde.
The man was certainly well-dressed, in an expensive suit, silk shirt, and cravat, but the entire outfit was askew and sloppy. The Alcalde had a bearing that might once have been regal, but was now stooped, not with age, but with neglect. His silver hair was arranged carelessly, his moustache raggedly trimmed… and as he drew closer, his breath-- indeed, his entire person-- positively stank of the distillery. Shane had to fight down an urge to vomit as he thrust his boozy face into hers.
["My wife will be most pleased with such healthy-looking slaves"]. Shane held her gaze steady, trying to appear uncomprehending of the man's slurred speech. ["And I see that one of my naughty rascals has already begun helping you change your clothing."]. His bleary eyes were fixed on the marshal's exposed breasts, still red from their mauling at the officer's hands.
The man's shaking hand began to paw at Shane's chest, and she reflexively tried to pull her hands forward for protection; the futility of the action brought snickers from the guards as Don Pedro's fingers sloppily imitated the officer's pawing of Shane's breasts.
["Lovely! So firm and fine. I do love the taste of nice, ripe fruit!"] Shane's stomach turned over at the revolting imagery, when the air was split with a voice that might have been the crack of a whip.
["Pig! Get away from her!"]
The voice came from behind Shane, who turned to see a tall woman in a spotless white mantilla striding towards them. If she was Dona Pedro, then the Alcalde had a clear preference for younger women, as this woman was not long past thirty, her glossy hair still jet black, and the face that was twisted into a fierce snarl was smooth and unlined. Her dress was that of a pampered Mexican noblewoman, stiff white shirt and expensive riding pants, with gleaming black leather boots and a riding crop dangling from her waist. Her hair was piled high on her head, held in place with an elaborate, jeweled, comb.
With no break in her stride, the woman interrupted Don Pedro in his molestations, slapping his hand aside. The man tried to draw himself up to full height, but one look from his wife wilted him like a dying flower.
["These are my slaves!"] The woman went on, her black eyes moving from her husband to the soldiers that stood at meek attention under her gaze. ["They are not here for your amusement. I pay you well enough to satisfy your filthy urges in town once a week. I will not have you acting like beasts in my home! Now get back to your duties!"]
While the Alcalde attempted a conciliatory excuse, the soldiers quietly melted away, eager to be out from under their Mistress' wrath.
["Shut up,"] the woman snarled at her husband. ["Either go get cleaned up, or crawl back into your bottle, but get out of my sight!"] The man nodded distractedly, as though used to this treatment, and staggered off as the woman turned to survey Shane and Maggie.
Shane sighed with relief at the absence of the disgusting, probing fingers, and was about to offer the woman as much thanks as she could manage through the gag, when she felt a blinding pain in her scalp. She was yanked nearly off her feet as the Mexican woman's fingers tangled in her long hair, and forced her to stare into the blazing black eyes.
["Slut!"] The woman gave a sharp tug on Shane's hair, and as their eyes met, she realized that the woman knew perfectly well that the marshal was understanding every word.
["You keep your mind off my husband! He may be a worthless old fool, but until goes and leaves his estate to me, there is only one woman in his life! You're here to serve ME, not him--"] and the eyes narrowed as the fist in Shane's hair tightened ["and if I ever see you so much as LOOK at him again, I'll flay that pasty skin right off your bones!!"]
Her other hand pulled the riding crop from her waist, and she caught Shane a vicious slash across the tops of her bare breasts, evoking a muffled shriek of pain. She delivered a second blow, then turned Shane by the hair to face Maggie.
["This goes for you, too!"] The captive editor understood none of the words, but had no trouble with their meaning. ["You are my property, here to work, not romp with my men or my husband!"] . Maggie's eyes brimmed with tears, and she was sobbing into her gag; the fact that Shane, too, was crying from the pain of the breast-flogging seemed to have crushed her last hope that they might somehow fashion an escape.
At a shout from the Dona, two of the soldiers returned, and under their Mistress' careful eye, dragged the two captives to one of the small stables. Inside, the two women were herded into a stall lined with straw.
A metal shackle was snapped around Maggie's left ankle, and the chain fastened to a wooden post. She was pushed down into the straw, and Shane thrown down on top of her; the marshal, still leather-bound and gagged, was also shackled in place. Clearly unwilling to risk their Mistress' wrath, the two men then left without a further glance back at their captives.
Shane tried to get to her feet. She had no plan, no idea of what to do; she only knew that they wouldn't beat her, that their bonds and gag would only… only…
And at last the accumulation of horror, misery, and exhaustion caught up with marshal Shane McQueen, and she collapsed, unconscious, into Maggie Ross' lap.
To Be Contiued...