No Ransom For Miss Baldwin
by F.E. Campbell


I 

Faith without Freedom 

For the hundredth time Faith Baldwin allowed her gaze to rove around the 
tiny hollow in the hills which, for today, encompassed her imprisonment. For 
the hundredth time, too, she fingered the iron band around her ankle and its 
pendent padlock which stood between herself and freedom. Her eyes followed 
the long lengths to where they were joined to a giant ring within the chunk 
of ancient stone no one could move. She sighed and kicked irritably at her 
iron tether but was nonetheless grateful to Johnny Catlin for fastening her 
this far from the camp. It made a break and gave her a chance to think. 

Faith Baldwin had been prisoner to The Cause for more than a month and 
seemed likely to remain so for the rest of her life. She had become 
accustomed to the "hit and run" existence of the tiny group of rebels 
everyone called The Bhoys in an admiring Irish brogue. She had expostulated 
with Ratigan. their leader, to no avail. "There's no need for you to drag me 
around like a camp follower or a bundle of baggage. The government's offered 
an outrageous ransom for me, why don't you take it and let me go?" 

'"Cause you're English, love, that's why. Every ransom offer is loaded with 
traps. We don't need their lousy ransom money and they won't give us guns 
for you." Ratigan had laughed at her sulky face. "How many guns do you think 
you're be worth, love?" 

"You can buy guns with the money. Please take it and let me go." 

"We don't buy guns, they're given as a gift to the Holy Cause, you know 
that. Sorry girl, you're going to stay with me a long, long time." 

"As your personal possession. Can you take pride in using me the way you 
do?" 

Ratigan was a fugitive from wealth, he had done Oxford and the London School 
of Economics but frequently employed a bit of Irish raillery. "Would ye be 
Catling yourself a whore, lassie? Come now, 'tis an honorable estate, so it 
'tis." He chuckled, "Ye don't get paid a penny for your pretty pussy. By 
rights I should share ye with m'boys. Maybe ye'Id be liking that." 

Faith ignored the implied insult. There were a great many things to ignore 
about her present condition. Doggedly she propounded logic, "What girl wants 
to be a camp follower to a ragged bunch of rebels who can never win the war 
they fight. I sometimes think you just shoot people out of perversity. This 
Cause of yours doesn't really exist." 

"Careful, lass, you're cutting close to the bone." 

Faith bit her lip. She had been whipped once for inserting a barb tongue 
beneath Irish skin to touch Irish sensibilities. True, it had by no means 
been a flogging but Faith had been bitterly humiliated by the exposure to 
the pain. She was careful now to treat everything Irish with lip service to 
The Cause. "I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I don't mean to offend. But, 
Ratigan, please, tell me why you keep me here and how long I must remain 
your prisoner?" 

There had been no satisfactory answer, there never was. She remembered the 
ambush under which her escort had died under a hail of rebel bullets and 
being dragged, fighting and screaming, from the car to be bound and gagged 
and tossed into the back of a truck. She had been marched in front of 
Ratigan as a prize of war, facing him in her full fury of shock and 
indignation. Her kidnappers had been none too careful of her clothes and 
Faith was well aware of a bare breast proclaiming itself proudly from a rent 
in her blouse. 

"What is it you want of me?" she had asked bluntly, "Rape or ransom?" She 
tugged savagely at wrists tied behind her back. "Surely you don't have to 
bind me like an animal ready for slaughter!" 

Ratigan had laughed at her dramatics. He had laid her on the floor and raped 
her with a competence to command respect. Faith constantly remained herself 
of bound wrists which technically made it rape but otherwise was none too 
sure. Ratigan had the charm of the Irish along with a fascinating disregard 
for hypocrisy. "I fucked you because I wanted to," he told her with a smile 
as he helped her to stand. "I'll do it again whenever I feel like it. It 
puts me even with the daughter of Hilary Baldwin, that mealy-mouthed bastard 
cabinet member. I'll make you wish you had some else for a father. 

Ratigan's use of her body had been clear cut and understood from the 
beginning. Faith knew herself a prize of battle, a captive maiden to assuage 
her captor's lust. It was no more than she had expected when pulled from the 
bullet riddled car. It was almost a relief to have it over and done with. 
She now fought a rear-guard action. 

"There's no reason to keep me bound or chained up or any of that silliness. 
I'm sure I can't escape so there's no need for story book restraints. Untie 
my hands." 

For answer Ratigan had put a rope noose around her neck, trailing a rope 
tether to the ground. He had also tied her elbows painfully together in what 
Faith knew to be an emphasis of authority. 

"Things can always get worse for you, Miss Baldwin," he assured. "Any more 
complaints?' 

Miss Faith Baldwin had complaints aplenty but choked them back. Roped elbows 
were a new experience and they hurt terribly. She knew they were intended to 
hurt so did not ask for them to be untied. Ratigan read her thoughts. 

"There's a girl who will look after you. Her name's Jinny Riley, she's one 
of us so don't bother trying to seduce her, she'll report to me any 
tear-jerking stories or offers of bribes and you'll be appropriately 
punished." 

"That sounds as though I'm to be constantly tortured." 

"Don't be ridiculous." Ratigan's voice was suddenly close-clipped Oxford. 
"You need suffer nothing but the restraints I order put on you, anything 
else you get will be your own fault." 

She had said a sardonic thank you for his candor but still insisted, "I 
don't want to be tied up all the time! Can't you be more civilized. 
Handcuffs for instance?" 

"I'll see about it, it's not a bad idea. We're a mobile force so convenience 
means a lot. In the meantime you'll stay tied." 

"My clothes are torn, I'm not even decent." 

"Jinny will look after that." He barked a short, swift laugh. "But I'll warn 
you about Jinny, she's more likely to take something off than to put 
something on. But she'll not hurt you without my permission. But if it 
pleased her to strip you naked, she'll do it." He laughed at her visible 
consternation. "Don't worry. Miss Baldwin, my boys have seen a lot of naked 
girls, we pick them up in the raids or for a bit of tar and feathering if 
that's what they deserve. The name for us is 'uninhibited.'" 

Jinny Riley had lived up to expectations, stripping Faith of all she wore 
and giving her in return a tattered male shirt which only scantily met the 
demands of decency. 

"You'll not be ordering me around, Miss Baldwin, and that's the truth of it. 
You give me any lip and I'll march you right up to Mr. Ratigan, he'll fix 
you for sure, he will. You going to be sensible?" 

Faith had promised to be sensible, allowing her hands to be untied and 
relied as desired. She felt to naked in the single shirt and was quite 
certain her sex was visible at least half the time. Speaking of this to 
Jinny she got the obvious retort, "So what if the boys do get a look at your 
hairy spot, all us girls got one and all the boys seen it time and time 
again." She giggled suggestively. "Takes more than a few pubic curls to make 
the Bhoys blush. They'll have themselves a time with you. Miss Baldwin, I'll 
make sure of it." 

Faith had become accustomed to the tattered shirt and to the carnal comments 
it evoked. She no longer much cared if the Bhoys saw her private parts or 
not. She realized that the only parts of her private now were he thoughts, 
breasts and pubs were communal property to be examined at will but to be 
used only by Ratigan. She supposed she should be grateful for belonging to a 
single man. Now, as the afternoon drew to its close, she watched the 
approach of Johnny Catlin who gave her the usual greeting she thought 
sincere. 

"You sure are a looker. Miss Baldwin. Ain't never seen no girl as beautiful 
as you. Mind if I take a look under that there shirt?" 

Faith Baldwin stood stiffly erect while the shirt was raised for the male 
inventory of her physical assets. When the hem was again allowed to fall to 
the level of her crotch, she turned and crossed her wrists behind her back, 
then stood in rigid obedience while they were tightly bound. Whoever it was 
among the rebel group who tied her, they always made certain the cords were 
made tight to tell her she could forget escape and be a good girl. That 
humiliation done with. Faith then submitted to the collar and tether on her 
neck. She had long since learned the potency of this control. A couple of 
jerks on the tether would bring her to her knees and obedience. Conscious of 
this hazard she walked in docile submission beside Johnny Catlin in their 
decent to the camp beneath the hills. 

"Think the boss would let me have you for an hour all to myself, Miss 
Baldwin?" It was an oft played tune. "I sure would like to have you naked, 
I'll give you a real good time." 

"Why don't you ask him, Johnny, I'm his property?" 

"I'd sooner you ask him, Miss Baldwin. He wouldn't take it all that kindly 
from me." 

"Don't be silly, Johnny," Faith chided gently. "I'm certainly not going to 
ask permission for a man to rape me. If you desire me enough, you'll ask him 
yourself." 

To what abject state had captivity reduced her to talk thus! Faith thought 
of her father in his pin-striped suit and bowler hat, busy in West Minister 
and White Hall, seeking her release. He would be frantic, envisioning her 
condition as worse than it actually was. Not that being a camp-follower was 
anything that a well-educated young woman might feel proud of. But she had 
suffered no torture, contrived to keep on the right side of the mercurial 
Irish temperament by a wry exchange of self-deprecating humor. Twisting her 
wrists against the tight cords she complained as she had done a hundred 
times before. 

"Why the devil must I be tied, Johnny. It hurts and makes me feel like a 
criminal or a wild animal. You can control me well enough with the collar." 

"There ye go ag'in, Miss, always complaining. It's Mr. Ratigan's orders, so 
it is. He says you're a sly piece of fluff and not to be trusted." Johnny 
leered. "If I give you your hands right now, you could find a rock and knock 
me for a loop. Come off it, Miss Baldwin, you know right well you got to be 
tied." 

Faith Baldwin knew the truth in what her companion said. They would not dare 
take chances, knowing she would flee for safety if given an inch of slack. 
She was a valuable hostage but more importantly to Ratigan a flag he could 
wave as in victory. He slept each night with the daughter of a Minister of 
the British Crown. Most Irish hearts would warm to his conquest. Ratigan was 
by way of being a national hero. 

The Bhoys and their leader made camp as necessity dictated, inhibiting the 
innocence of farm buildings owned by a men loyal to The Cause. 

They had a central deport were their armament was cached but used it little 
for fear of drawing attention. They had been in their present stop over for 
a week and Ratigan had made himself a sort of office over the barn. Johnny 
Catlin thrust her inside, saluted with commendable military precision while 
announcing, "One live body safely delivered, Sir." 

Her escort departed, Faith sat on the battered kitchen chair Ratigan 
offered. His voice was casual, "Have a nice day, Faith?" 

"It's beautiful up there in the hills. If you allow me to go there often 
enough I'll see a Leprechaun." 

Ratigan smiled with the strange tenderness which had flowered between them 
during the weeks he had possessed her body. "They're there, darlin,' never 
doubt it. The Irish hills are haunted by ancient ghosts. I'd be disappointed 
if you never saw one. Young Johnny treat you okay?" 

"Yes, he's the soul of decorum and ties me very tight. He takes the odd peek 
under my shirt but I expect that's his right. When are you going to set me 
free." 

Faith asked the same question everyday, it had become a joke between them. 

"You'll go free on the day you bring me that Leprechaun. How's that for a 
bargain." 

Faith no longer felt silly sitting before this man upon the rickety chair 
with her arms awkwardly twisted behind her back. She deliberately made her 
posture seem more uncomfortable than it was but she dared not ask him to 
untie her hands, Ratigan would untie her soon enough if he wanted to but not 
before. She knew he got a male satisfaction in observing her helpless 
vulnerability. She was his and he savored the fact every time they were 
together. "Got a letter for you today through the underground. I've read it. 
Makes me feel a right bastard." He laid the missive for her convenience upon 
the desk. "Draw up your chair, I'll turn the pages." 

Miss Faith Baldwin would once have told her captor she could move no 
furniture until her hands were freed, but that time was past. She hooked a 
bare foot around a wooden leg and drew the seat to where she could gaze down 
to read the words written in another land a million miles away. Tears 
gathered as her misted vision followed Ratigan's obliging fingers but she 
fought them back and read to the final endearments, her voice only slightly 
effected by emotion. "Thank you for letting me read it, I hope you always 
will." 

"You'd be better off without them." 

"Perhaps, but I want them just the same. I'm a little girl who's far from 
home." 

"Thought I'd untie your hands, eh?" 

"I hoped you would, I wasn't going to ask." 

"I like them tied as they are but we can get rid of this," Ratigan said as 
he freed her neck of the collar and tether then kissed her quietly on each 
eye and bit her ear playfully. "Tell me what you know about a place called 
Lune." 

"Why ask me, I've never been there. The guide book says it's a thirteenth 
century castle somewhere in Gallway or Connemarra Or maybe it was Clare, 
I've forgotten. The book said it was privately owned." 

Ratigan nodded thoughtfully. "The chap who owns it is witting for us to use 
it as a hideaway. He says quite a lot of it can be made livable and there's 
a dungeon or two." He grinned at her consternation. "Think, girl, you could 
have a room all to yourself." 

"I'll die in a dungeon, you know I would. Why are you telling me this?" 

"Because tomorrow you and I are going to be Mr. and Mrs. Bascomb, motoring 
down to visit friends in Kerry. What we'll be doing is having a good look at 
Casde Lune." 

Faith was startled, her voice bitter, "You'd trust me that far! I'll 
probably escape." 

"No you won't, lass, I'll make sure of that. Make a nice outing for you." 

"I'm happy being chained up there in the hollow everyday." 

"There's hollows like that, equipped with resident leprechauns all through 
the Irish hills." 

"They won't all have a great big stone with an iron ring embedded in it to 
chain me to. I wonder who put that ring there?" 

Ratigan shrugged. "Probably the leprechauns did that. too. You'll Find these 
bits of ancient times all over Ireland. Castle Lune should keep you amused." 

"It might if I were free. But it will take me a long time to explore it ten 
feet at a time at the end of a chain. I like this place, it seems safe for 
you. You'd be foolish to leave it." 

Their arrangements for the night were simple and always the same. Faith was 
secured to the bed by a length of chain padlocked around her narrow waist, 
the bed itself a heavy, home-made box filled with straw. Faith ruefully 
reflected the straw would offend her parents as would the chain and padlock. 
The keys to the latter were visible but distance on a peg on a far wall. As 
usual, there was no escape for her. Even while Ratigan slept she was totally 
impotent so might as well sleep, too. There was a blanket laid over her but 
she got her warmth from Ratigan's muscular body. Sometimes she worn her 
shirt right on through their lovemaking and the night but at other times was 
rendered naked for both. Faith never understood her varying nudities, there 
seemed no logic to them. But why seek logic in Ireland when the Irish laugh 
at it themselves. 

Faith Baldwin knew she derived comfort from this dark-haired, dark-eyed 
native of Donegal. She knew he had killed often but had never been cruel to 
her, and when the Bhoys made cruel sport with a captive girl he was never 
there to watch, leaving such recreations to his tiny army who probably had a 
need of such emotional release. Ratigan had taken care to explain to her 
from day one his attitudes about his homeland and the English. He had made 
understandable his need to hold her captive as a bargain lever of last 
resort, frankly amused by the impotency of Parliament in effecting her 
rescue. He told her of the places the police and army had raided in their 
search for her but he had always held her far from those places where he had 
spread false clues. He told her how the rescue rampage was waning, they 
probably thought her dead. 

Ratigan explained her hands would remain tied throughout their lovemaking 
and the night, it would be an amusing innovation. Faith bottled resentment 
and found compensation in thinking of the morrow, surely in such a journey 
for such a purpose some opportunity to escape would surely present itself. 
But she kept such thoughts to herself, wondering what expedience her master 
would resort to that her captivity remain in tack. 

After the first week of being Ratigan's concubine Faith ceased to feel guilt 
over the responses he evoked in her. His lithe, hard skills reducing her 
always to a mass of longing and a succession of gasping cries and moans of 
which she was afterwards ashamed. But there was a basic honesty about the 
act in which she eventually gave as good as she got and in easy acceptance 
of something which, after all. was to be expected from a soldier and his 
captive who shared a bed. When, each night, the chain was locked around her 
waist, Faith Baldwin tried hard not to think about her family back home. 

They were to travel in a small car which appeared from no where as did most 
things in connection with The Cause. Faith's hands were untied, she was 
given a clean shirt with a somewhat more feminine cut. She was then placed 
beside the steering wheel on the front seat and her bare ankles bound 
tighter that strictly necessary, this precaution against impulsive flight 
was accentuated by the tying of her two big toes. For the rest she was 
entirely free and her heart sang a joyous tune of expectation as Ratigan 
drove out onto the graveled road. 

"It's not impossible we may be stopped," he told her soberly. "It that 
happens and you ask for help, I'll be compelled to kill whoever it is 
concerned. The police travel on bicycles hereabouts and nobody will miss 
one." He showed her the ugly automatic pistol from its holster beneath his 
arm. "Don't make me use this," he cautioned grimly. "Could be you hold 
someone's life in your hands some time today." 

Optimize fled or was diminished. Faith examined what she had been told but 
could not fault it. Ratigan was clever. "I don't know whether to believe you 
or not," she said primly. "But don't worry, I won't take a change, no body's 
going to get killed because I want freedom." 

Ratigan was pleased, his voice almost warm. "I bet you, a couple of months 
back, you never dreamed you'd be riding with a rebel like this, eh?" 

"Clothed indecently with only a shirt and my ankles bound and my toes tied 
no, I certainly did not. I'm not exactly choosing it now." 

"You've got a lot of common sense. Faith, I'm beginning to trust you, not 
about escape but about your judgment and behavior. I could wish you were 
with us in The Cause." He chuckled quietly. "You're ankles hurting?" 

"Yes, they're hurting. No doubt they're suppose to. And as for my toes, you 
ought to be ashamed of yourself." 

Ratigan considered what she said and grinned. "That's what I like about you, 
girl, you handle fear damned well. You and I can talk. Do you have any idea 
what that means to me?" 

Faith suddenly saw the isolation of his life, the loneliness of a leader 
who's men were of a lesser breed. 

"Is that way you had me kidnapped?" she asked, interested. "From what Johnny 
tells me you could have you pick of girls from those your men pick up and 
punish for no other sin than simply being female." 

"They bore me stiff. Most of them have only been half way through school or 
maybe no school at all. The only interest they've got is the same as my 
men." 

"What's that?" 

Ratigan barked a short, swift laugh. "I'd have thought you knew, its that 
thing you've got between your legs. And don't ever forget these," he said. 
Without taking his eyes from the road he reached out and flicked the hard 
nipples beneath the shirt. 

"So, okay, they're obsessed by sex. But don't let's you and I throw stones, 
I've never been so involved in it myself until you got hold of me. I don't 
suppose you need that chain and padlock to keep me in your bed at night. 
You've made me shameless. I don't know how I could ever again face a London 
cocktail party." 

"You won't have to, love." 

"What you've just said tells me you're going to keep be prisoner for life. I 
wish you wouldn't keep telling me. Haven't you ever been married?" 

"Once. To an English girl when I was at Oxford." He grunted. "You can 
imagine how long it lasted. Her family cast me into outer darkness inside a 
year." 

Their first hurdle was as Ratigan predicted, a police on a bicycle. He 
flagged them down on the narrow road so nearly devoid of traffic and beamed 
his apologies for asking names and destination, excepting Ratigan's bogus 
proofs of identity without raising an eyebrow. Faith was thankful he was 
accosting them through the window at her side. Had he been on the other side 
he might have easily have seen her bound feet but they were now out of his 
range of vision and he could not be certain of the brevity of her attire. 
She made great play with bare hands and arms as though to assure him they 
were not bound nor she under coercion. It was heartbreaking to have the law 
and rescue so close yet ask no help. The policeman seemed a kindly soul and 
she could imagine the startled shock his kindly face might show if Ratigan 
shot him. but they went their separate ways amiably and without suspicion. 

"You did okay. Faith," Ratigan said easily. "I know the temptation you were 
under, I could feel the vibrations coming from you in waves. Let's hope the 
constable didn't feel them, too. Do you realize you just chose enslavement?" 

"I chose to save a life." 

"Well, okay, you saved the poor, silly bastard from a bullet. But these sort 
of encounter is going to increase in your life. Little by little its going 
to throw you more and more under my wing." He gave her a small, shy grin. 
"Not that I'm complaining, I like you." 

They reached Lune before midday, seeing its crumbling yellow stone and the 
surround of unkept garden. Faith Baldwin knew this was The Place. Here was a 
place to dream dreams and see visions. Perhaps amid such loveliness Ratigan 
would find the peace to turn him from a killing machine into to some one she 
could love. They were met by the owner, awaiting their arrival and therein 
lay a shock! 

Adrian Moore was a personable male of Ratigan's own age, they had shared the 
academic life but after the London School their paths had diverged to take 
Ratigan to the killing of Englishmen and Adrian to the renovated gate house 
of Castle Lune to write the stories which later made him famous as a master 
of fantasy. But, unseen beneath the surface, the two young men cherished a 
blood loyalty to The Cause, Adrian more choosing to hide his feelings with 
the ephemeral freeing of his native land to become a quiet recluse living 
with books and dogs and horses. If there had been a woman in his life, none 
knew her name. He looked now at Faith Baldwin with startled approval. 

"Mind if I keep my maiden safe?" Ratigan asked with the easy familiar of old 
friendship. He unknotted the cord from Faith's toes and ankles, he cheerily 
demanded. "This way, sweetheart, let Adrian kiss your pretty hand but then 
you know what." 

Faith was reserving a judgment, she allowed her hand to be gallantly raised 
to Adrian's lips before turning her back to the men and crossing her wrists 
in readiness. While Ratigan was busy tugging and knotting, Adrian inquired, 
"I say, old chap, is that really necessary? She isn't dangerous, is she?" 

"Sure she's dangerous and she's accustomed to being tied," Ratigan retorted 
in the same vein of flippancy. "Tell our host you're accustomed to having 
your hands tied, Faith. Tell him you enjoy it and wouldn't feel right if it 
wasn't done." 

Irish fun is hard to ignore. Her hands and arms firmly secured. Faith turned 
to face her two companions. "I don't really enjoy it, Mr. Moore, but I've 
become so accustomed to being bound I feel a trifle naked if I'm not. Please 
excuse the brevity of this shirt." She twinkled at him mischievously. "You 
could always look the other way." 

"What I'm looking at, dear lady, are those scarlet indentations around your 
ankles, that must have hurt." 

"Of course it hurt, but that's one of the little problems of being a 
professional prisoner. You can ask Mr. Ratigan but I'm sure that's what I've 
become." 

Adrian Moore was obviously not to be easily shocked. His lunch at the 
luxurious gate house was superb and if it was needful for Faith to kneel 
beside her master's chair to be fed by her master's hand, he raised no 
eyebrow and made no demur. It was obvious his worship of Ratigan went deep. 
The two men spoke mostly of other days and Faith willingly enough accepted 
her role as the silent slave. Her relationship to the British Parliament was 
referred to only briefly. 

"I'll bet poor old Baldwin is raising the roof in White Hall," Adrian 
remarked reflectively. "Remarkable how you've kept this girl out of sight, 
Ratigan. What are you trying to do, convert her?" 

Ratigan laughed at the question. "Nice thought," he admitted casually. "But 
Miss Baldwin is under a tremendous handicap, no matter how she might 
protest, my boys and I would always suspect she was putting on an act with 
escape in mind. I'm leaving it to Faith herself to find a way around this 
hurdle. In the meantime her hands stay tied." 

There was a dreaming feeling about the place Faith found agreeable. She sat 
back upon her heels, all of her that matter respectably covered, and 
listened to the drone of voices, it would have been easy to fall asleep. She 
realized that Lune was one of those places imposing magic upon a mechanical 
world. It that seen its Adrians and Ratigans come and go and viewed them 
with a indulgent Irish eye. 

There tour of the ancient ruin set Faith's heart to thudding once again. 
There was in intimacy about choosing their bedroom and the kitchen and the 
lounge. Ratigan's boys would be busy cleaning up but the potential was 
there. There was potential for a great many activities, there were also 
empty stone-walled rooms Faith eyed with disfavor. When they came to the 
actual dungeons she was close to panic when forced to view their dank and 
dismal gloom. A girl locked and chained in such a place would have nothing 
to live for. She begged, simply and without shame, "Ratigan, please don't 
ever lock me in one of these. I simply couldn't bear it. There's nothing I 
could ever do to deserve this." 

They laughed it off, and went up into the sunlight but a memory of dark 
stone and rusty chains lingered in Faith's mind. There was something 
distressingly logical about placing a naked girl in a dungeon and keeping 
her well chained therein. It was a convenient disposition, especially if the 
premises were being searched. Faith recalled vividly the awful doors which, 
when closed, became a part of the wall itself no one could detect. She 
shuttered and forced herself to be aware of male discussion. 

"Why don't you chuck the whole sad business, Ratigan," Adrian asked 
pensively, "you're fighting a war you can never win. And if you did win it 
things wouldn't be any different or better than they are now." 

Ratigan's retort was bitter, "Okay then, but what the hell to you expect me 
to do, Adrian, takes money to eat?" 

"I've got money. I'll start you off in a new life. Marry a nice simple Irish 
girl and get yourself some babies." 

"I don't notice you, Adrian, having either of those. I'd sooner see you join 
me and carry a gun." 

They bantered back and forth but at the same time took measurements and made 
calculations. The old castle took on new and important signs as they walked 
along its passages. When it came time to part Adrian Moore tipped a finger 
beneath Faith's chin and kissed her warmly on the lips. "Put up with him," 
he suggested earnestly. "Ratigan's a man looking for his soul, he may die in 
the finding of it. But be kind to him.. . " 

He bestowed on Faith a shy, boyish grin. "In the meantime, if things get too 
rough for you, remember there's always me." 

"Why don't you untie me now and let me go?" 

"Because you belong to Ratigan. Ratigan needs you and I'm his friend." 

Adrian had said it all. 

2 

Tar and Feathers 

The little car sped them back to the encampment by another road. There were 
plenty of gravel tracks but very little pavement. Ratigan was silent. No 
body bothered to untie Faith's hands so she was now tight bound at wrists 
and ankles. She was little bothered by the double restraint, snuggling into 
the corner to easy her arms, her mind vivid with memories of Lune. 

"You and Adrian love each other," she said quietly to the man behind the 
wheel. "I mean nice and decent kind of love, not that other thing?" 

"I suppose we do, Adrian means a lot to me. He's something I'll never be." 
He laughed shortly. "Adrian is an Irish gentleman." 

"I once read that Irish girls were compelled to immigrate because their own 
men paid no attention to them." Faith continued earnestly, "Is that true?" 

"Probably, but does it matter!" 

Faith knew it mattered a great deal, wives and revolutions did not mix. She 
longed to pursue the topic but dared not. It would only get Ratigan angry 
and he might gag her, something he had often spoke of but had never done. 
Playing it safe, she asked, "Are me going to move to Lune?" 

"Yes, but slowly over a bit of time. Adrian is going to fix up whatever 
living quarters we need and make a workshop for the jeeps. He's got money." 
There came a short reflective silence. "Adrian likes you. 

He asked me to set you free but understood my refusal. Adrian is clever, he 
should turn his intellect to something better than those whimsical fantasies 
he writes about." 

"I'd write fanciful things, too, if I lived in Lune." 

Ratigan grunted. "I'll get you a pencil and paper then because that's where 
you'll be going." 

Amusement filtered through her quaint, "I can't write a book with my hands 
tied." 

Ratigan grunted, amused. "I suppose that's a hint. Save your breath. I won't 
untie you." He laughed outright. "I've got to hand it to you females, you 
never miss a chance for a plug, you never let up. I ought to whip you for it 
but you amuse me. Are you serious about the book?" 

"I've never written one but I would like to try, if you'll fasten me so I 
have my hands. There's an enchantment about Lune." 

Ratigan's reply was lost in disaster. A police car emerged from a layby. The 
officers who left the car were uniformed but of decidedly higher rank than 
the constable they had encountered earlier. The request for the driver's 
license was polite but firm. Faith Baldwin sat in frozen horror. Any 
inquiring eye could see that she was tightly bound and there was an air of 
authority about the two men. 

"Perhaps you and your wife would be kind enough to get out of the car. Sir." 

The license was not returned. It happened with shocking speed. With an 
officer at either window Ratigan fired at point blank. The gunshots in the 
little car were shattering. Faith buried her face in the seat cushion and 
wept in terror. 

"You've killed them, you've killed them! Oh, Ratigan!" 

Ratigan made no reply, he was busy with two dead bodies, fumbling in their 
clothing and then dragging them into the ditch. He then started the police 
car, headed it back the way they had come then jumped from it as it 
continued a slow progress in low gear. It went a surprising distance before 
veering off into the ditch and killing the engine. Ratigan got back behind 
the wheel and as they resumed their journey said jauntily, "Silly bastards, 
should have minded their own business." He looked sideways at the weeping 
girl. "Don't take on so. Faith, it's just one more incident. They'll get a 
hero's burial and no one will ever know who fired the shots." 

"But.. .but.. .it's murder! Ratigan, you killed two men!" 

"Not murder, sweetheart-war! Two dead Englishmen we can add to the tally." 

"But they weren't English, they were Irish! Those uniforms were Irish 
police.. . . " Faith was aghast, trembling. 

"I didn't notice, they're all the same to me." 

Faith Baldwin knew she should hate this man at her side but there was no 
hatred in her heart, only sorrow. More than ever she realized the 
hopelessness of Ratigan's Cause. He would kill. kill, and one day himself 
fall lifeless from a bullet. She could not doubt his terrible sincerity in 
this killing of two men he saw as enemies. But the incident, terrible as it 
had been, changed nothing, she was still tied hand and foot and the prisoner 
of a man her father could count as many times a murder. She had never felt 
so broken and baffled in her life. But Ratigan lowered the window of the car 
to allow the soft, warm Irish air to repossess them until journey's end. 
There Faith was picked up bodily while a shadowy, anonymous figure drove 
away in the car she would never see again. Ratigan carried her to the barn 
and upstairs to fling her on their bed. Outside, beneath the silver Irish 
moon, the farmstead slept in innocence. 

Morning disclosed the plan for The Bhoys to slip away singly or in couples 
to converge upon Lune over the period of a week, attracting no attention. 
They would walk, ride bicycles or thumb their way, it was all very clever. 
And the killing of two policemen was scarcely mentioned. Quite possibly it 
was with a view of diverting Faith's memory of murder that Ratigan arranged 
the kidnap and the Court. 

The Bhoys had their own name for it. It was not a kidnap it was an "arrest." 
Their Court vested itself in its own authority and dealt out its own 
sentence without benefit of law. Faith realized the make-believe pretense of 
a court was purely for the entertainment of the group. While it had never 
been Ratigan's habit to attend such things he did so now out of 
consideration of his own personal prisoner who's personal feelings were a 
mixture of curiosity and repulsion. When they left to attend the affair 
Ratigan strung his small surprise. 

"Got them from the two Bobbies I killed last night," he said offhandedly 
while holding up the two pairs of shining handcuffs with keys to fit. "A 
gift of the Queen of England." he proclaimed sardonically. "You could wear 
them with pride, sweetheart. They're going to be damned convenient for 
looking after you." 

Faith Baldwin gazed fascinated at the steel circlets and sturdy and link. 
One was the regular English "Darby." while the second pair she recognized 
from American television. Either would hold her with equal authority. 
Irritably she exclaimed, "Good Heavens, Ratigan, I'm not a criminal or a 
convict. Do you have to use those things on me?" 

"Damn it girl, you've been complaining about being roped. I would have 
thought handcuffs improved your social status." 

Belatedly, Faith recognized a virtue. It was hateful to have her hands tied 
most of the time and handcuffs must surely be more comfortable than the cut 
of the cord. Holding up the American model, Ratigan invited, "Over here, my 
pretty one." He grinned. "I think this is technically known as 'putting you 
in irons.'" 

In unwilling curiosity Faith did as she was told, turning her back to have 
her hands untied and then holding out her right wrist for the bite of metal 
jaws. She found the clicking of the ratchet a spine-tingling novelty. With 
her free hand she tested the snug fit of the chrome band then gasped in 
astonishment as Ratigan clicked the other cuff on his own left wrist. "Where 
ever we go, we go together, sweetheart," he told her with a sly wink. "It 
will give a rest not having you beefing about tied hands. If you complain 
about this handcuff you'll go right back to some nice thin twine I've been 
keeping in reserve." 

Miss Polly Malone was, as yet, intact. She was also fiercely angry and 
desperately afraid. Her clothes were torn as in a struggle and her wrists 
and elbows tied tight behind her back. A rope hobble shortened her steps to 
where she could not run. Standing as the central figure of a drama, she 
glared around at smirking male faces and the sober countenance of the farmer 
and his wife who were privileged to watch and hopefully approve the 
punishment of a young woman who had failed to support the Cause. 

One of the Bhoys referred as "Cully" took the part of public prosecutor 
while the amiable Johnny Catlin was the maiden's only defense. Faith's heart 
went out to the girl as she realized Polly Malone really had no defense at 
all, she was already condemned. 

There was much testimony from many witnesses, most of it hearsay. Polly 
Malone was her own worst enemy, vehemently excoriating all and sundry with 
her fervent declarations that what she did in private with a British soldier 
was her own affair. The condemned maiden compounded her own felony by a 
graphic descriptions of her activities with the military forces of The 
Oppressor and with ill-advised promises of future intentions. The poor girl 
struggled constantly against her binding and even contrived to trip and fall 
over her hobbled feet. She was lifted erect by the kindly hands of her 
appointed defender who had lamentably failed to defend any of her rights 
whatsoever. Such reasoning as Johnny Catlin chose to advance was instantly 
shot down by the vicious Cully. In a pregnant pause for breath before 
sentencing, Polly Malone relieved herself of fervid sentiments. 

"You're a rotten lot of sods, so you are. Treating a girl like this. It's a 
bad cess I'll be saying to ye while I have the chance. Assholes, that's what 
ye be, assholes. With not a man among the bunch of you to give me a bit of 
help. If you don't let me go, you'll have the army around ye ears, so ye 
will." She sniffed pitifully. "I ain't done nothing what no other girl does. 
too. If what you're needing is a little bit of Irish love I'll give it 
gladly if you'll set me free. I'm not guilty of nothing at all." 

Miss Polly Malone was soberly sentenced to be stripped naked, violated by 
any of the Bhoys who desired to possess her charms, whipped, and, as a grand 
finale, she was to be tarred and feathered after her curly locks had been 
shorn bald. She would then be free to go. 

It was a horrific punishment for any girl. Faith tugged restlessly at her 
tethered hand but knew enough to keep silent. It would probably be too easy 
to find herself in company with the girl already sentenced. Faith had no 
wish to be bald and knew her words would fall on deaf ears. She watched the 
condemned girl stagger as if from shock then sink to the ground and weep in 
a bitterness of despair. It was Cully who stripped her naked and invited the 
assembly to partake of her sexual nature. He went so far as to take her bare 
legs and spread them far apart in obscene display. But. strangely, no man 
claimed the privilege. Watching the suddenly stony faces, Faith Baldwin 
realized she was witnessing some form of Irish purity, or perhaps the band 
considered it unwise to sully their reputation by pointing fingers accusing 
them of rape. They were, after all, a political entity. 

Little time was wasted. The hands of the naked girl were bound in front and 
she was hoisted off her feet by a rope across the sturdy bough of a farmyard 
tree. The whip made Faith wish to laugh. It was a long, curved ornate affair 
such as coachmen use and it was easy to think that it might not truly hurt a 
girl's skin. But this was soon disapproved by its application upon quivering 
girl flesh while Polly Malone screamed to heaven, not without the 
interjection of choice, ripe adjectives. As the slender wickedness cut 
ruthlessly at her nakedness she became a puppet on a string, leaping this 
way and that in feverish contortions to escape the pain. The whip, which was 
shared by every male desiring to use it, snapped shrewdly into every 
crevasse the girl's struggled disclosed. No part of Polly Malone escaped its 
kiss. It was not long before Faith Baldwin urgently whispered, "Oh, make 
them stop. Ratigan, make them put an end to this, no girl deserves this 
treatment." 

Ratigan raised the feminine hand chained to his and kissed it gently in 
admonishment. He whisper was as urgent as her own. "That girl has condemned 
herself and she belongs to the boys. It's not for any Laird to spoil the 
pleasure of his men. Keep quiet and watch." 

The struggles of the lovely young nudity at the end of the tethering rope 
were slowing fast. Every part of Polly Malone's youthful skin was 
crisscrossed by the sharp scarlet excoriations of the carriage whip which 
had been used upon her by many experienced hands. From time to time she 
looked frantically back over a shoulder as though for help but such words as 
she still uttered were concerned only with the retribution she would bring 
down upon the heads of all present. When her contortions ceased entirely and 
she hung motionless beneath the lash. Cully called a halt. It was now time 
for the shearing of Polly Malone's most beautiful hair. An intermission was 
called by mutual consent. While the beer was passed around the girl remained 
hanging from the tree. She was now sobbing quietly to herself. 

It was the farmer who provided a sturdy kitchen chair for the ritualistic 
cutting of a maiden's crowning glory. Polly Malone was bound to it by strand 
after strand of brutal rope, binding hands and arms and every portion of her 
torso to prohibit motion. In addition a band of wide, heavy leather was 
buckled around her neck to also deny movement to the delinquent head. Once 
more it was Cully who showed up with shaving mug, lather, and razor. In 
addition, a sheep shearing device was planted by the distraught girl, the 
handle of which was vigorously turned by the farmer's son. The whole 
procession of menace was too much for Polly Malone. 

"I'll do anything you want, but please don't cut my hair off-please don't 
make me bald!" She wailed in despair. "I'm sorry for what I've said and 
done. I takes it all back. I ain't liking them English, I ain't at all, at 
all. Don't cut my hair off. don't cut my hair.. . ! " 

They cut Miss Polly Malone's hair. The sheering machine whirled and clicked 
to cause the lovely cascade of curls to fall away from the twin blades. It 
took no longer to shave Miss Polly Malone then it did to shear a sheep. When 
the machine was dragged away it left the distraught young woman almost bald 
but not bald enough for Cully with his lather and his sharpened steel. As 
though in mockery the bound girl soon wore a crown of white foam which was 
then relentlessly removed by the sure, swift strokes of an old-fashioned 
straight razor. Polly was too frightened to attempt motion but even had she 
fought it would have helped her not one bit. Cully knew the tricks of an 
experienced barber and soon was using a wet cloth to clean away all traces 
of his work from a denuded pate. Some bright spark in the crowd shouted 
mockingly, "Hell the girl's still got eyebrows!" 

Polly's protests were weak and without hope. "Don't shave me eyebrows. 
Everyone will be laughing at me, so they will. I ain't done nothing to 
deserve this. 'Tis a black day for Ireland, it is, it is." 

A minute later Cully, with his wet towel was wiping the bald and unadorned 
skin above her eyes. The effect was grotesque but strangely beautiful. The 
kitchen chair was made to serve a dual purpose. Polly Malone was released 
then turned upside down upon and within its frame and once more sturdily 
bound. This time her feet were free and were grasped by willing hands to be 
tugged viciously by the side in a manner to cause her to cry out from her 
upside down position. "You're a lot of rotten bastards, so ye are, treating 
a girl like this. It ain't decent turning me upside down this way like I was 
a pig to be castrated. You mustn't shave my pubic hair, it ain't right and, 
begora, father will kill the lot of you when mother tells him what you done. 
Leave me alone!" 

They did not leave Miss Polly Malone without attention. First the cascade of 
foamy lather then the careful strokes of the blade. Polly could not 
struggle, her feet were firmly drawn apart by willing hands who's owners 
watched in fascination as a female facility became increasingly evident in 
the center of their stretching endeavor. They would have a four letter for 
it but had probably never had so good a view before. Polly Malone's sexual 
slit would be a source of loud guffaws in the public bar for months to come. 
When the pathetic young body had been robbed of every trace of hair, a 
carnal wag took the opportunity to separate the exposed young lips and pour 
therein an expensive bottle of Guiness' stout. The national beverage must 
have burned for Polly screamed lustfully as it foamed in a welling cascade, 
overflowing from her sexual slit to cover her loins and trickle across her 
belly. The bottle empty, Cully once more busied himself with the wet towel 
to insure everything was in good order for the culmination of Polly's 
punishment still to come. 

They hung the poor girl once more from the bough for the application of hot 
tar which had been heated only enough to make it fluid. By this time Polly 
had given up protests, she was broken and passive. While she eyes flashed 
fire, her lips were silent. She hung with toes barely off the ground while 
two men dipped brushes and smeared their tar upon the waiting skin. Soon the 
whip marks disappeared beneath the dark coating from which no part of her 
except her face escaped. It was liberally applied upon her sex and used to 
bestow a black crown upon her shaven pate and far enough down to encompass 
the twin bareness where eyebrows once had been. Her armpits were liberally 
lathed as where her raised arms. Rope was sacrificed in a good cause as the 
hands it bound were swamped with the hot stuff. The covering was so thick 
the cords were lost under it. 

All present gasped and gazed in awe. It was hard to believe that what they 
saw had been a girl brief minutes past. The occasion was used to full 
advantage as a sleazy sheet was loaded with chicken feathers before being 
drawn beneath the toes so that when the rope above was cut the suspended 
girl collapsed upon and within the while feathers. Willing hands, unmindful 
of tar, insured a complete covering of feathers, especially within the 
crotch. No part of her body was left unattended. The honor of disfiguring 
Polly Malone's remaining loveliness fell to Cully who, almost lovingly, 
applied great handfuls of feathers to the head and eyebrows he had shaved. 
When the sheet had been drawn tight upon her form and the precious package 
rolled over and over again to insure the best possible bond between feathers 
and tar, the hands withdrew and eager feet backed away. Faith Baldwin 
watched in anguish until the still and silent form within the sheet showed 
evidence of life and the tarred and feathered maiden rose slowly and 
awkwardly erect. None helped, she was a pariah. Clutching the sheet, which 
she probably could not have peeled away. Miss Polly Malone faced them in one 
final defiance. 

"You rotten swine," she said with all the fervor of her young heart. 

"I hope you die for this, every beastly one of you." 

With only the smallest whimper of sound the whipped and punished girl turned 
to slowly and dismally walk into the night. A couple of the boys laughed and 
gave chase and tossed her in the back of the jeep then drove away to return 
her to whence she came and thus leave her no clue to the whereabouts of her 
punishment. The Bhoys thought of very thing! 

That night Faith performed her female function without benefit of chain. It 
amused Ratigan to keep their hands still linked while they made love and 
then, throughout the night, the handcuffs insured his captive did not leave 
his bed. Before he slept he applied upon Faith's slender ankles the heavier 
English issue which he laughingly called her "leg-irons." They were ungainly 
and Faith found them less attractive than the pair upon her wrists, part 
better suited to feet than to hands. But she had little doubt she would see 
much more of both. 

The Bhoys were busy with the move to Lune. During the days Faith saw little 
of her captor but was faithfully escorted to her hollow in the hills to be 
chained there during the day by a talkative and admiring Johnny Catlin. 

"Don't never do nothing against The Cause, Miss Baldwin," he urged 
earnestly. "You seen what that gal got the other night. I wouldn't want that 
to happen to you." 

Faith was not handcuffed. Johnny Catlin preferred to bind her wrists with 
cord, something he did with commendable efficiency. "It don't seem right to 
put handcuffs on you. Miss Baldwin. You look real pretty when you're roped. 
You don't mind, do you?" 

"No, I don't mind, Johnny. No one ever gives me a chance to escape so one 
thing's about the same as another. You wouldn't want to let me go, would 
you?" 

"You're joking. Miss, you know I can't do that. Mr. Ratigan, he's asked me 
to punish you whenever you ask." He grinned confidingly. "But I can't do 
that either. You're such a nice girl. Miss Baldwin. All I can do is look 
after you properly." 

"You mean keep me tied and chained like a wild animal?" Faith inquired 
mischievously. 

"I wish you won't never say them things, Miss Baldwin," Johnny complained. 
"You know I wouldn't never do nothing nasty to you, not like leaving your 
hands tied all day the way they is and the way the boss told me to leave 
them if you talked about escape. Ain't no need, the shackle on your ankle's 
plenty good enough." 

"If you're suppose to leave me tied then you'd best do it," Faith consoled 
wisely. "You never know who might come and find me with my hands untied and 
then you'd be in trouble." 

"Not if they didn't know you'd asked me to set you free." 

"Oh, well, all right, have it your way, Johnny. Do what you think best with 
me. I'm easy to get along with." 

Faith stood, her leg extended for Johnny to lock the heavy shackle upon its 
slender ankle. She watched the proceeding as she had watched it many times 
before. Secretly she conceded to liking this iron bond, it save her the 
trouble of trying to escape or worrying about freeing herself. Once it was 
locked upon her foot she was there to stay and could then enjoy the scenery 
and eerie atmosphere of the hills. She might never know whether it was an 
oversight or a belated sense of responsible which caused Johnny to forget 
her hands and to go back to the camp leaving her with them tied behind her 
back. Even this gave Faith no more than a faint amusement, she had no need 
of hands so what did it matter! She dragged her heavy chain to where she 
could sit upon the rock to gaze upon this place which meant so much It was 
not until midday that Jinny Riley climbed breathlessly to where she sat and 
dumped a picnic basket on the grass. 

"Thought we might have bite and sip together," she said almost defiantly. 
"I've been feeling sorry for you don't ever get a chance to say so. The 
saints be praised he ain't being mean to you." 

"He keeps me prisoner all the time, isn't that being mean?" 

Jinny laughed at innocence. "Hell no. Miss Baldwin. Being mean is getting 
beaten or whipped or branded or having pins stuck through a bit of your 
skin. You ain't seen nothing at all, at all." 

"I can understand Ratigan's problem with me. He captured me and now he's got 
a tiger by the tail. He probably thinks I know too much but that's silly, I 
scarcely know anything at all. If he would let me loose I would try to do 
something for him." 

Jinny opened the hamper and spread the contents. "What did that idiot leave 
your hands tied for? You can't eat no lunch with hands tied behind you 
back." 

"I think their suppose to be some sort of punishment. But it doesn't matter, 
really it doesn't." 

"It matters for sure. Here, let me untie you." 

The captive was glad enough to turn and wag joined hands at her unexpected 
visitor. Jinny's fingers were strong and wise, and in a bare minute Faith 
was free. Her benefactor looked down at the chain. "That thing on your ankle 
bother you. Miss Baldwin?" 

"No, I've got used to it. I know I can't get it off so I don't try." 

"Them things used to bother me a lot," Jinny reflected musingly. "Never did 
get to like them, the more I got chained the more I wanted to run." 

"You mean.. . ? " Faith looked at her companion in surprise. Jinny laughed 
delightedly. 

"Oh, sure, I'd been a prisoner like you. The Bhoys picked me up one time in 
a raid and kept me as a sort of mascot." She sighed as though regretting 
past glory. "Never got fucked so much in all my life. Jeepers, did they have 
themselves a time with me!" 

Faith stared "But your parents, your family, the police.. . ? " 

"Ain't got no kin folk. Miss Baldwin. And them Coppers don't care much 'bout 
a girl like me." She giggled. "Them Coppers kept me locked up in a cell 
twice on account of what they called.. . What is that word for screwing?" 

"Prostitution?" 

"That's it, that's what they told the beak when they had me up in Court. I 
got ten days each time. They wouldn't let me out, neither, even when I 
offered them everything I had." Jinny sighed. "Them Coppers probably knew 
what happened to me but didn't give a shit. I was just the village orphan 
and didn't count." 

"Jinny, this isn't coffee in the thermos, it's brandy!" 

"That's right. Miss Baldwin, let's get drunk." 

Faith kicked her shackled foot. "Getting drunk won't do me any good. Jinny, 
I can't get this off anyway." 

"Well, it will make it feel kinder on your foot," Jinny suggested with 
feminine logic. "I didn't come up her to set you free. I don't want my ass 
whipped." 

They settled down to enjoy. The fiery fluid felt good after a long 
abstinence. "But how come you're a member of the.. . What am I suppose to 
call it." 

"It's best not to call it nothing but The Cause," Jinny said sagely. "If a 
gal ain't careful they think she's being sarky and she gets her bottom 
whipped. Damn it, I ought to know." 

Faith Baldwin drank the tiny cup of brandy. "But you seem so much a part of 
the Band. There must have been something to make them trust you the way they 
do." 

"Oh, that!" Jinny said as thought brushing aside the obvious. "They'll get 
you the same way if you don't watch out. 'Course you belong to Ratigan, he's 
taken you for his own. That never happened to me so maybe it makes a 
difference. The others got a hold of me and between fucking me and whipping 
me they did a lot of preaching until I got to realize that what they were 
saying about Ireland for the Irish and England get out made a lot of sense. 
I was surprised I hadn't seen it before but, of course, getting whipped all 
the time certainly does change a girl's point of view. If you look real 
close you'll still see some of the whip marks. But it's been ages and ages 
since I've been whipped, shows you how bad it was." 

"Jinny, you don't mean to tell me being whipped converted you to being a 
rebel?" 

"Well, I guess the screwing helped. Miss Baldwin. And then there was all 
them other things." 

"What other things?" Faith bit into a sandwich and got ready for startling 
disclosures. 

Jinny had raised her shirt to reveal the fading marks of the whip. She now 
let it fall and settled comfortably beside the picnic basket. "Don't like to 
talk about it much," she admitted ruefully. "Mostly it was bloody awful 
rude. Men don't seem to think of nothing except what woman use to pee 
through. They had a fine old time with mine." She gazed upon Faith 
earnestly. "Would you believe it. Miss Baldwin, if I told you they got a big 
safety pin and pinned the whole thing up tight like it was zipped. Then they 
made me walk around and show everyone who wanted to look. I was so ashamed. 
It hurt something awful. I was crying and sobbing so bad they threatened to 
pin my mouth shut if I didn't stop. But they never got around to that, they 
used a needle and threat on each of my tits and hung a sign from them that 
said I was an English whore. I couldn't do nothing about anything 'cause my 
hands was tied behind my back, same as your's mostly are.. . And I was 
naked. Seemed like I was always naked those days. Ain't never bothered me to 
have guys look at what I got every since." 

Jinny sighed. "You and me's still pretty near naked, these shirts don't 
cover much and a guy can lift them any time he likes." 

"But, Jinny, this should have made you hate them, not join them!" 

"Well, it did at first, but I got so I was looking forward to the next 
screwing. Some of the Bhoys are real good at it. But there comes the time 
the best one of the lot got shot by the English. It was one of the times the 
Bhoys didn't win a battle. They came trailing back, carrying three dead men 
When I looked at those poor guys who had all been inside me. it seemed such 
a awful waste. I mean, one of them had the loveliest prick a girl could ever 
hope to see. That's when I began a thinking it would be nice if the English 
went home." 

Jinny's innocent simplicity made Faith long to laugh. There was something 
ingenuous about the girl, her conversation to The Cause had been a line of 
least resistance. Jinny's tone took on fresh indignation. "Then there was 
the time they dug the hole in the farm yard. It was real deep. Then they 
tied my hands behind my back and stood me up in it till there was only my 
head sticking up above the ground. Then they shoved the dirt back in and 
packed it all around me so I couldn't really move at all and everything 
looked sort of upside down with me chin resting on the dirt. Guess what they 
did then." 

"Cut your hair off?" 

"Worse then that. Miss Baldwin. The boys all peed on me. Whenever one came 
back, he'd open up his zipper and let me have it, all the time telling me I 
was an English whore and wasn't I ashamed of myself." Jinny snorted 
disdainfully. "At the start I told them the only thing I was ashamed of was 
being peed on but after about six of them had half drowned me I said, yes, I 
was ashamed of myself and was an English whore but wouldn't be again." Jinny 
paused thoughtfully. "I say. Miss Baldwin, is it true that pee is good for a 
girl's hair? I once heard it was 

"I never heard of it, Jinny. Your hair's nice, don't worry about it." 

"I guess it must have done it good them. But 'bout the time they'd all done 
a wet on me they started to talk about the other thing, too. That's when I 
got hysterical. I screamed and struggled and made such a fuss they got 
scared and thought they'd turned me into a loony. So they got to work and 
dug me up again." 

"Is that when you became a member. Jinny?" 

"Yes, they had a Holy Bible all ready for me and while I stood there all 
naked and soaking wet with.. . you know what, they swear an oat of loyalty 
and promise to be a good and faithful member. I'm scared of that there oath 
I took so I've been a real good girl ever since They whipped me a lot the 
first month 'cause I was always saying the wrong things. And the way they 
whipped me wasn't at all polite, they'd hang me up from the tree by one 
ankle and get some willow switches and slash away at me so they had me 
always promising to be a better girl and not make no mistakes. I ain't been 
whipped for a long while so I guess I really must be one of them. Anyway, I 
don't think much about it no more. I get screwed a lot more than I used to 
back home and I don't suppose a girl can have everything." 

Faith declined further revelations, she found them nauseating. But they told 
her plainly of good fortune in being Ratigan's chosen mistress She could 
think of a lot of other words to call herself but like none of them. If the 
New of the World ever got hold of the story they would label her with a 
title of "Sex Slave" er something equally atrocious. In the meantime she 
sensed Ratigan's protection as something to be cherished. She wanted no 
safety pins clipped through her sex! 

When it came time for Jinny to go back to camp. Faith was compelled to 
remind the girl of the awaiting cord. 

"But I'd have to tie you so tight, Miss Baldwin, that it would hurt. If I 
didn't they'd know right off and we'll be in trouble. Couldn't I just take 
the cord back with me and maybe Johnny won't notice nothing." 

"Tie my wrists tight. Jinny, the way it has to be. I won't mind." Faith 
turned and offered her crossed wrists. 

Jinny knew how to tied. She was far from squeamish about hurting a girl once 
she was committed. Faith bit her lips several times during the process of 
being bound but made no complaint. When the process was done she said a 
simple, "Thank you." 

The two girls kissed and Jinny and her basket stepped briskly back to camp. 
Watching her go. Faith knew a fresh and bitter loneliness as she sat back 
upon her rock to kick fretfully at the iron band and metal links by which 
her freedom was denied. If an Irish girl was treated in the way Jinny had 
told, what had she to look forward to! Too late she wished she had not told 
Jinny to tie her wrists so tight. 

That night as Ratigan locked the familiar chain around her slender waist, he 
told her that on the morrow they would go to Lune. 

3 

Lune 

Once more there was a borrowed little English car. Ratigan was in a 
whimsical mood and instead of binding Faith's ankles chose to tie only her 
big toes together with thin and bitter twine. 

"But that hurts worse than tying my ankles!" Faith exclaimed. 

"Keeps you safe, thought?" 

"Of course it does, if I move it hurts. Ratigan, it isn't funny." 

Ratigan grunted. "Stop being so damned English. I find it funny as hell. 
Your toes look cute tied that way and you're nicely pink cheeked in 
indignation. I'm going to leave your hands untied in case we're stopped, 
you're getting off easy." 

Faith sniffed. She knew it was true but felt shamed that to be tied in so 
trivial a way could render her so helpless. She tugged her clean shirt down 
as far as it would go and said defiantly, "Well, let's get on with it." She 
waited huffily for the little car to traverse several miles before asking, 
"Ratigan, are you really doing anything about negotiating my release, it's 
been so long?" 

"Daddy wants you back. Daddy orders his troops back home. It's that simple, 
sweetheart." 

"The English government can't possibly change its policy on account of one 
girl even if I am Daddy's daughter." 

"Then I'm stuck with you for life." He winked at her sideways. "If you're 
worried about what people will say, I can always marry you in a nice. 
Catholic church. Would you like that?" 

She knew she was being teased. It was nice to be teased because it meant 
Ratigan was relaxed and in good humor. Primly she replied, "The Pope 
wouldn't approve. You'll have to go on keeping me in sin." 

Ratigan skirted the subject. "You're going to like it at . Adrian's really 
spread himself on your account. If I don't watch it the two of you will get 
me soft." 

Faith was about to retort that he was hard as nails and would soften for no 
one. But she suddenly remembered his tenderness in the night. Ratigan was a 
man strangely torn and hard for even a woman's intuition to assess. "I loved 
when we were there before," she admitted candidly. "But it is a castle and 
with all that stone and iron bars I've got a feeling I'll be more a prisoner 
than ever, or is there some pleasant spot outdoors where I could be chained 
everyday?" 

She laughed frankly and gaily. "You see. I'm becoming reconciled to 
captivity, I don't expect anything else." 

Ratigan returned her chuckle. "There's women in Holloway who would envy you 
Colleen, you're a princess compared to their bricks and bars." 

It was the first time Ratigan had used the Irish endearment. To be called 
Colleen in Ireland was no earth-shattering event but left Faith with a warm 
and comforting sensation deep inside. She knew his Christian name was Mark, 
but none used it. "Ratigan" suited him better, it was one hundred percent 
Irish. She wondered why she always thought of him by that name instead of 
his given first name. Hopefully, she inquired, "Will we be seeing much of 
Adrian?" 

"Falling in love with him?" 

"Why shouldn't I? He's got all the Irish charm you lost along the way." 

It was not a road block nor an official command. It had all the trappings of 
innocence, a teenage girl detaching herself from a gypsy family beside their 
cart and fire against the hedge and signaling hopefully for them to stop. 
Believing it safer for them to comply than to drive straight on and attract 
resentment, Ratigan stopped the little car with the unknown girl standing 
beside Faith's window. 

"We was wondering if you'd spare a blessed shilling for the poor," the girl 
chanted in a sing-song voice, no doubt from much repetition. 

Faith's mind sped instantly to possibilities. Ratigan would not kill this 
child, she was positive he would not. The scene was a common one in Ireland 
and if they gave the child her shilling would create no memory in the mind 
of anyone. But this was her chance! 

"My name is Faith Baldwin," she said distinctly while staring hard into the 
youthful eyes. "Go to the police and tell them you've seen me. I've been 
kidnapped." 

The girl stared, open mouthed, in astonishment. Faith was on the verge of 
repeating her urgent message when Ratigan's voice took over, "I'm Olive 
Cromwell and I'm on my way to an appointment with Charles the First," he 
said easily. "We'll be meeting the Pope in County Cork where we're getting 
married. Here's your shilling, good luck to you lass." 

It was total deflation. Faith sat stiffly and watched the transfer of the 
coin, saw the girl's face light up at recognized humor, heard the overly 
profuse thanks before Ratigan engaged the clutch and they moved forward down 
the road. 

"That was a bloody silly thing to do," said Ratigan tersely. "You might have 
got her killed." 

"You couldn't, not a girl like that, not much more than a child and with her 
family watching. I won't believe it of you." 

"Suit yourself. Faith." Ratigan chuckled in genuine humor. "If that family 
has enough sense to figure the thing out and go to the police, do you 
release what you've done to yourself?" 

"Struck a blow for freedom?" Faith was breathing fast. 

"Hell no! No one took the license off the car, none of them knew us and 
they'll all be willing to swear you weren't a prisoner. Sweetheart, you look 
as much like a kidnapped maiden as that girl back there and she got a damned 
good look at you." 

"So what?" 

"So, if they do go to the cops it means the British press will have a field 
day at your expense. Can't you see the headlines, 'British Minister's 
Daughter Turns Terrorist,' or maybe, 'Faith Baldwin Turns Traitor.' The less 
radical rags will drop the hint you've abandoned all for love. Think of it, 
my sweet, you're visibly traveling free and untrammeled with a nasty man. 
You reputation will be in shreds." For good measure he added, "And nobody 
saw your toes." 

Tears of chagrin sprang to Faith's eyes. She angrily brushed them away 
uncaring that the man beside her knew she cried and why she cried. It was a 
total and humiliating defeat which could have only one result from now on 
she would be more closely restrained than ever and trusted less. She felt a 
terrible sense of lose. 

"Please don't hate me, I only did what I thought I had to. You would have 
done the same." 

The words came out interspersed with sobs. 

"No I wouldn't, I'd have more sense." Ratigan looked her up and down in 
shrewd assessment. "I like that way of fixing you, we'll use that toe tie 
again if need be. No one but no one is going to look at you and believe 
you're a kidnap victim. Please don't die of frustration." 

Ratigan read her like a book, guessing her thoughts and impulses, always one 
step ahead. Faith was furious with him and with herself. But Ratigan's mood 
survived the petty storm and he returned to practical discussion. 

"Considering this toe effort works so well, how would it be I keep your feet 
chained at and give you the run of the place. You couldn't go far, not 
enough to escape, I'd have proper shackles made for you if you'd like to 
wear them." 

"I don't want to wear any such thing, I only want to go home." 

"Very well, if you'd like to dispense with that shirt.. . " 

"You know that's not what I meant. I simply don't want to be chained or 
roped or strapped or caged or any of the awful things people can do to 
girls." 

"Sorry, love, thought I was making it as easy as I could for you. Just 
think, hands free all day long." 

"Thank you very much. I'm sure you mean to be kind." Faith was stiffly 
British. 

Ratigan stopped the car on the deserted road and kissed his captive hard 
until her arms were around his neck and she was kissing back. "You silly 
little puss," he said when they disengaged. "That's a teenage snit you've 
just indulged in. Serve you right if I beat it out of you." 

Their eyes met and the rapport reassured itself. They shared a burst of 
laughter before Faith conceded, "Very well, I'm sure I'll love to have my 
feet chained the way you say. I'm sure I'll love every moment." 

The little car sped on its way. enveloped them in serenity. The little car 
disappeared into one of many doors but not before Faith had thrust her bare 
legs into view and demanded, "Well?" 

Ratigan was delighted with her helplessness. "You want your toes untied, is 
that it?" he asked with humor in his voice. 

"Unless you expect me to hop. I'm not even sure I can do that." 

He cut the twine and messaged one toe while Faith messaged the other. They 
toured their new home as honeymooners might view a purchased house. Adrian's 
money plus the labors of the Bhoys had worked miracles. In the suite she and 
Ratigan would share there was even modem plumbing with a dream bathroom, it 
did not seem possible. Rubble had been cleared from stone chambers to leave 
them clean and ready for purposes Faith could not divine. There was a mess 
hall and a kitchen. Lastly they went downstairs into a coolness below the 
ground. Even thought it was she who was the captive. Faith clutched 
Ratigan's arms when faced with an apparently blank stone wall but which 
proved to possess a door and modern lock. 

"There's two of them, sweetheart," Ratigan said evenly. "Good old fashioned 
dungeons but cleaned up in your honor. Adrian even had the old irons removed 
and replaced by modern chains. He must think you're dangerous." 

Faith peered into the gloom until her eyes adjusted and everything became 
visible. She inspected the iron links and iron bands hanging from ring bolts 
in the wall. In their own way they were beautiful, exquisitely contrived and 
finished by craftsmen. But it was as though they were alive and held a 
menace for her along. She dropped them and shuttered. But Miss Faith Baldwin 
had to admit secretly that the ghastly place had greatly improved from when 
Adrian had shown it to them before. She suspected a trace of artificial heat 
as befitted any stone chamber wherein a naked girl might sit and weep. 

The first stone prison had been one large single chamber, the second was 
broken up by three stone pillars supporting the weight above. It was the 
pillars now which bore the chains and not the walls. True, there were ring 
bolts everywhere offering the same convenience of confinement as a modern 
home has electric outlets. Faith could hardly wait to get out of the place 
but was guided instead to a third stone chamber. 

"We call this a torture chamber, sweetheart," Ratigan said thoughtfully. 
"Adrian's got a sense of humor, you know. He junked what was rotting away 
but kept intact what was made of good oak beams. That pillory, for instance, 
genuine fourteenth century except the holes have been made smaller to bring 
them down to your size. He's a thoughtful host." 

It was always there, that hint of Irish humor, always elusive, sometimes 
fearful. Faith could not believe a word of what Ratigan had said. "I don't 
believe you," she said simply. "Adrian would never put me in a thing like 
that. That's a rack over there, isn't it? I've seen one in a castle in 
England." 

"Polished and repaired especially for you, dear one." Ratigan was laying it 
on thick. "The old ropes had turned to dust so they were all replaced. Same 
with the wristlets and anklets, they're just your size." 

"And this horrible object.. . Ugh!" 

"I think they called it a 'horse,' love. The girl sits astride and the bar 
burrows up into her crotch. She's suitably bound, of course." 

"It's all suitably horrible and I think you're pulling my leg. I'll bet that 
after you're through with the place Adrian opens it up as a museum. This 
room alone will make him rich, the public loves anything gruesome." 

"I direct your attention to the pulleys in the ceiling. Some work on a winch 
but he's got others electrically controlled." 

Faith accepted the banter, it was far preferable to threats. "It's all so 
thoughtful," she affirmed with mock enthusiasm. "Could we go upstairs now, 
I'm feeling ill." 

Sunlight revived their mood of fun. Faith closed her mind to what she had 
seen downstairs. She was not the least bit sure if it was really intended 
for her or not. But one thing that left a nagging question in her mind, 
everything had been made girl-sized, just as Ratigan said. None of it was 
designed for men. That meant it would be either she or Jinny. Or would there 
be some other female she did not know? 

They went to the kitchen and shared a cup of tea and then to the lounge to 
sample Adrian's brandy. Sipping the fiery fluid. Faith found herself 
conjecturing which of the two men she would choose if such a choice were 
vouchsafed her. But that too was a topic best not dwelt upon. She had 
quandaries enough without manufacturing her own. 

At bedtime there was revealed a thing to make Faith Baldwin blush, not 
because of what it was but the thought behind it. Ratigan unbuttoned her 
shirt and lifted it back over her head while she stood passively to let it 
happen without protest. He made her thus naked every night, telling her with 
a sense of Irish she was a shrine of beauty to demand his worship in the 
dark. He then produced Adrian's gift. 

It was a golden collar, exquisite in simplicity. When locked about her neck 
there was a ring at the back and from the ring a chain snaking its ten foot 
length to be fastened at the wall. 

"Good for some sleepwalkers, love," Ratigan told her, tugging playfully at 
the chain. "You won't do any sleepwalking while wearing this. Of course, it 
does have other uses, too." 

"Like keeping me prisoner?" 

"As you wish, dear girl. May I say it enhances your beauty considerably, if 
such a thing is possible. It won't hinder you activities." 

"I won't be able to put on my shirt until you unlock me in the morning." 

"Scarcely a matter for tears, love. Wear it in joy." 

There was tremendous sense of adventure about it all. From the outside was 
peaceful and quiet as ever. But inside, in those areas of renovation, it 
bestowed magic on a flushed and radiant young woman. Faith reveled in the 
bathroom with its unlimited hot water and was secreUy delighted with her 
golden collar, wondering what had prompted Adrian to think of it. Or had he 
too chained some lucky maiden beside his bed? It left no doubt he knew of 
Ratigan's possession and intimacy with her nakedness. She shrugged such 
thoughts away and behaved herself upon their bed with such skill as to evoke 
male approval. 

"Picking things up, aren't you love. If you get any more clever I can rent 
you out for cash." 

For that brief time Miss Faith Baldwin was very happy. 

Morning brought a return to the mundane fact of captivity. Ratigan was 
frequently called away on what he called "important business" and. over 
breakfast, broke the news that today was the day she would make the 
acquaintance of her new and costly leg-irons. In other words, her feet were 
to be shackled and joined by a chain too short to let her run and short 
enough still to snug each walking step. Faith simply shrugged and said, "So 
what? You told me about them yesterday. I suppose you're remembering they'll 
affect my performance in bed." 

"They unlock, sweetheart. No problem." 

Faith sat in the lounge to extend her bare legs for the new and costly 
bondage. She was given them to hold and was surprised by their weight and 
beauty. They had been fashioned with skill and love but left no doubt they 
would hobble an elephant, let along a girl. When Ratigan locked them on the 
slenderness of her ankles, they had the same effect of feminine enhancement 
as had the collar the night before. Laughingly she rose and essayed to walk. 
At the third step she tripped and would have fallen had not Ratigan been 
there with ready arms. 

"You can practice in them all day," he told her with a laugh. "I expect 
you'll adjust and wear them proudly. I don't mind telling you, sweetheart, 
their effect on me is devastating. I'm going to have to get a way before I 
take you back to bed." 

Faith stood alone when he had gone, deliberately snubbing one foot against 
its chain. She remembered suddenly the nakedness imposed through breakfast. 
She took the laughably short steps by which she must reach their bedroom. 
Fortunately there was none to see as she scrambled into the familiar and 
totally inadequate garment and tested to see if she could tug it low enough 
to properly cover her crotch. It was an exercise she performed daily and 
that never quite succeeded. But it no longer mattered, it was just a daily 
routine in which she found faint interest. Miss Faith Baldwin was now 
confronted by her day. 

The shackles on Faith's feet were a surprised the Bhoys endorsed with 
enthusiastic but carnal praise. 

"Sure, and it's to the races you'll be going, Miss Baldwin, you'll outrun 
'em all." 

"Them things will keep your around handy, Miss, but he devil himself 
couldn't part your feet far enough for a bit o' fun." 

"Can I be taking ye for a walk now, here's me arm." 

The band enjoyed Faith Baldwin to the full and she accepted their coarse 
humor with good grace. She was one of two females alone in a band of men, it 
would be wise to make no enemies or to seem too blatantly English. She 
actually accepted a helping arm from time to time for what the Bhoys chose 
to call "practicing." It was indeed that and the chained girl knew it would 
be wise to learn to walk again as through she were an infant. The span of 
short links was harder to adjust to than she had supposed, evoking a 
constant irritation as they snubbed her feet. In a do or die she sought out 
Johnny Catlin and asked permission to walk to the gatehouse to visit Adrian, 
explaining she did not wish to be treated as an escape convict if she met 
anyone half way there. 

"Sure, and it's crazy you are. Miss Baldwin. Ain't no way you can walk that 
far with them pretty feet shackled the way they is." 

"But, Johnny, I'd like to try. Let me practice. Mr. Ratigan said he's going 
to keep me chained like this. I can't just sit." 

Reluctantly he said he would pass the word around and she could try out her 
walk as best she could. "Tis crazy, so it tis. Miss Baldwin. But there's no 
harm in your trying." He chuckled. "I'll keep an eye on ye. Ye may well be 
glad of someone to carry you back." 

Faith Baldwin had only to take her first hundred hobbled steps to realize 
the enormity of her task. Annoyed, she sat on the grass and fingered the 
metal bands upon her ankles and their connecting chain. It seems impossible 
that so simply device could keep her a prisoner, perhaps a prisoner for 
life. Most certainly it made escape out of the question. She could not run 
far enough to seek help or evade pursuit. Doggedly she rose again to resume 
the frustration of fettered feet. Before she had progressed another hundred 
painful steps she saw a figure coming across the field, a figure she 
instinctively guessed was Adrian Moore. 

"What on earth has that man done to you!" Adrian laughed in greeting and 
amusement. "Don't tell me you have to walk around like that." 

"I'm afraid I do the Master's orders." 

"Where does he keep the key. I'll get you out of them. Really, Faith, that's 
a bit much." 

He doesn't tell me where he keeps the keys. If he did I could get free 
myself." She glinted mischief. "Hello and good morning." 

Adrian kissed her forehead lightly, a big brother kiss. Faith knew he had 
kisses of another kind but refused to use them. Instead he said lightly, 
"I'm going to carry you, you can't possibly walk like that. Put your arm 
around my neck and I'll get you back to the castle." 

"Couldn't we possibly go to your place instead?" 

Adrian stopped and stared. "Damn funny I never thought of that. Of course we 
can go to my place, there'll be a hell of a lot more privacy." 

"I'd be terribly grateful. I've already fixed it with the Bhoys. If I'm with 
you they won't come chasing me." 

"That's a tribute. Come on. let's start again." 

"But it's such a long way, are you sure.. . ? " 

For answer Adrian picked her up. As instructed she put an arm around his 
neck and felt the instant heat of contact. She had guessed from the first 
Adrian would get her into trouble, but whips and pillories and dungeons 
paled besides the glory of the morning and the dew-drenched grass. This man 
must be incredibly strong, as strong perhaps as Ratigan himself. Coyly she 
remarked, "I'm terribly sorry I'm not more decent, Adrian, but this is ail 
the clothing I'm allowed." 

"I've seen a naked girl or two, it doesn't matter. When I get you back to 
the gate house I'll take that shirt off your shoulders so you won't have to 
worry any more about whether I can see your sex or not. Humanity makes a 
shocking mess of the simplest things. Has Ratigan been cruel yet?" 

"Of course not, he's never cruel. These chains aren't cruel, they're just 
his way of keeping me safe." Faith sighed resentfully. "It seems impossible 
I can't get to where I can phone my parents but I haven't managed it yet. Do 
you think I ever will?" 

Adrian was not even breathing hard under his burden of naked girl. "No, I 
don't suppose you ever will. But if it would ease your mind I'll mail a 
letter for you. I'll have it sent from some distant place." 

"Would you? I'd be so grateful!" 

"Sure, but remember no clues, just a simple statement. I don't mind you 
telling them you're kidnapped, if you don't they'll have suspicions about 
you. I'm surprised Ratigan hasn't allowed you this already." 

They took the journey in gentle stages, allowing Adrian to rest and sitting 
on the grass together in a delightful intimacy they both knew held hazard. 

"It's a pity you're not a slave girl in ancient Rome," Adrian mused 
thoughtfully. "I could buy you and set you free, I'd get a real charge out 
of doing that. Most men are frustrated knights errant below the surface. We 
so much long to be admired by the duce damsel in distress. It's an ancient 
theme in literature, or hadn't you noticed?" 

"It's been unconscious but now I notice it's always been there," Faith 
admitted slowly, but her voice quickened. "I say, Adrian, are you quite sure 
you can get me back this afternoon before curfew? I don't want to get into 
trouble." 

"Nothing to worry about, I've got a car and there's a road of sorts between 
the two places. Not to worry." 

They eventually arrived and, allowing Faith to use her own short steps, 
Adrian explained the functions of a gatehouse and how, all too often, it was 
the last refuse of an impoverished nobleman while he rented out the main 
house to tourist to appease the tax collector. "No trouble like that with , 
" he explained, laughing. "But the gatehouse idea is good. It's more than 
adequate for a single chap like me and I get a woman in from the village to 
do the work and cook an occasional meal." 

"But suppose she sees me! What will she think?" 

"She'll think Adrian Moore is having himself a bit of fun, that's all. The 
villagers all believe anyone with a bit of money is decadent. Perhaps 
they're right." 

Within the shelter of the gatehouse walls Faith's first act was to reach for 
the offending shirt but male hands thrust hers aside. "Let me do it. Faith, 
it will give me pleasure." 

She stood still for the familiar act. Naked she posed outrageously. "Do you 
like me?" 

"I adored you from the first moment you came in view. Damn it, Faith, don't 
you realize how beautiful you are?" 

She felt humble before such a declaration. True, it was Faith's first 
experience with being a female commodity rather than the correct and 
unapproachable daughter of a member of the government. She had little doubt 
that Ratigan would barter her for some unknown advantage if the chance 
arose. He would excuse his abandonment of her protection as beneficial to 
The Cause. Perhaps Adrian would do the same, but at this moment it did not 
matter. Faith was enjoying herself and prepared to make allowances. 

"Thank you, kind sir," she said without shyness. "Perhaps you can buy me 
from Ratigan. Or perhaps steal me. Do you have a dungeon?" 

"He's shown you those two I fixed up, eh? Nothing personal intended, 
although for the life of me I don't know who else but you would ever use 
them. Forgive my whimsy, it got the better of me." 

"I expect you really would enjoy seeing me fastened on or in one of those 
horrible contraptions," she accused mischievously. 

"You're right and I'll admit you're right," Adrian said thoughtfully. "Men 
are a bunch of bastards. And even thought they deny it this instinct to put 
the female in jeopardy is alive or dormant in most of us. It's some 
extension of the sexual instinct. Your beauty gets us first of all but we 
have to add to it by tying you up or putting you in chains or whipping you 
in a public place for all to see. They used to do this, you know, right up 
to about a century ago. They claimed they did it in the name of the law but 
it was pure sex, pure unadulterated sex that put the poor girl in the 
pillory or tied her to the whipping post, damn it! In Bridewell the nobility 
used to pay regularly to watch the girls punished. It was understood and 
accepted part of life." 

He kissed her lightly. "Forgive us, sweetheart, we know not what we do." 

Faith was about to tuck his information into some dark recess of her mind 
and forget it, but a strange perversity provoked her to ask, 'Arc you sure 
you wouldn't like to punish me in some such way?" She stared, open eyed and 
without guile. "If you'd like to, I won't mind a bit. I'll try not to 
scream. It might be an interesting experience for both of us." 

She heard his indrawn breath and knew she had touched a cord. Adrian was and 
was Adrian. Faith Baldwin knew without doubt who the dungeons had been 
designed to fit. Without horror she knew a strange elation as she realized 
the Adrian belonged with the leprechauns but Ratigan did not. Tauntingly she 
teased, "Why don't you whip me. You could and I'd let you." 

"I can't. Ratigan would see the marks on your skin." 

"Then beat the soles of my feet. I'm told it's exceedingly painful." 

"Stop it!" Adrian's voice was sharp. "You're playing with fire, Faith, and 
it's gone far enough. I'm a man of whimsy and fantasies but sometimes the 
fantasies explore the dark places of the mind. Don't push." 

Faith was unashamedly disappointed. She had keyed herself to suffer pain to 
give pleasure to a man. To be denied because of marks upon her skin seemed a 
totally inadequate reason to not do it. Stubbornly she declared, "Well, all 
right, you can't whip me because of the marks but I'm sure there's other 
things you can do to me. Adrian, don't you understand, I want this, I want 
it terribly. I want to feel pain at your hands." She allowed her words to 
drift into silence before becoming apologetic. "Don't you understand, it's 
this place, it's and that torture chamber and the freedom with which I'm 
been able to talk to you. I've never been able to talk to a man like this, 
there's something sort of majestic about it, as thought I've reached a goal. 
Forgive me but it's the way I feel. I don't think it's being disloyal to 
Ratigan. If you believe it is. then punish me for that." 

Adrian drew her into his arms, holding her nakedness with the hot 
familiarity of ancient love and unappeased desire. He hold her thus a long, 
long time until Faith's thoughts of punishment dissolved and she returned to 
the gatehouse world and the smell of wood polish and lavender. 

"I think maybe it's these chains upon my feet," she said. "They're something 
new and they affect me sexually. Ratigan put them on my ankles and only he 
can lake them off. It's probably a personal thing from him to me. from a man 
to a girl. Do you see what I mean?" 

"Of course I see.'" He held her at arms length. "I'm going to have to be 
careful, too. Neither of us want to be false to Ratigan but I let my 
fantasies run away with me. You've become the fairy princess in all of 
them." 

"Tell me?" 

"Well, it's hard to be original." Adrian admitted slowly. "I suppose my 
favorite is the big hall and the assembled guests with the ancient nobleman 
rising up in wrath at proof of his daughter's perfidy, she has betrayed his 
cause and besmirched his name. Stately the old man rises and points his 
finger at the trembling maiden for whom all is lost. He thunders out his 
accusation. The girl is to be publicly flogged and then chained in a dungeon 
for the rest of her life. 

"It's a bit medieval, the poor girl couldn't possibly stand that dungeon for 
a month without going around the bend. But fantasies give us a lot of 
latitude." 

"Tell me more." 

Adrian laughed at her absorption. "Well, it's another of the great halls of 
the old castle. There's nothing in it but the people who line its walls in 
readiness to see a guilty maiden get her punishment. But there is a sort of 
frame affair within which my naked heroine is tied, hands and feet spread 
wide with much ceremony and the formal reading of her sentence from a 
parchment by a monkish chap probably a father confessor to the family. The 
poor girl does nothing to defend herself but keeps a stony silence as the 
leather bands on wrists and ankles are tested and found secure. Then there 
came a fellow with a black hood and, of course, a whip. I can't possibly 
make that whip as wicked as it should be, the poor girl would die if I did. 
But let's say its bad enough and she eyes it apprehensively over a shoulder. 
She is the daughter of an Earl and thus has never known corporal 
punishment." Adrian paused. "Want me to go on?" 

"No, I suppose you've told me enough. I don't want to be with that poor 
creature and suffer every stroke. I got a sort of precautionary whipping 
right on after I was kidnapped. It wasn't bad but it sure did hurt and I 
don't want to be whipped again or see another girl. There was one the other 
night they had it in for and put her through a bad time." 

"But you just offered yourself to be whipped!" Adrian's voice was gentle. ' 

"I know, I'm inconsistent. I expect its sexual desire. I mean, no girl's 
going to want to be whipped. But when I asked you to whip me I really meant 
it and wanted you to do it. And, if you had, I would have gotten through it 
somehow." 

Faith laughed. "I suppose its the bodies mechanism for coping with the pain 
of childbirth. I'll bet you a girl can put up with being whipped a lot 
better than a man." 

Adrian drew her close to whisper softly, "I don't want you ever to find that 
out. I'll speak to Ratigan about it. I've no authority over him but he 
respects me." 

"You believe there's a chance it could happen to me, don't you? I can tell 
by your voice." 

"I can't deny that. Even Ratigan is subject to that damn fool Code and 
loyalties. There's been ugly incidents with members they've expelled. Each 
one makes Ratigan more vulnerable than before." Adrian chuckled. "You're 
chained feet remove your temptation to escape so you're safe on that score. 
But stay away from political discussion or the defense of someone you 
believe ill used. Ratigan's had you a long time and you must have used good 
judgment or you would already wear weals. Keep it up. Faith, and remember 
I'm here." 

Adrian returned Ratigan's chained maiden by car. Ratigan was in a good mood 
and the three of them dined together beneath of the benign influence of . 
Faith did no more than listen, refraining from comment even when peeked. She 
found herself aware of the two diverse personalities and of her involvement 
with both. Castle contrived to plant a conviction she belonged to both. If 
she envisioned the obviously hazard of the position within such a triangle, 
she stilled her qualms and thrust the thought aside. She belonged to Ratigan 
and would remain his property. She could not believe the warmth she felt for 
Adrian could be deemed disloyal. 

Readying himself for bed, Ratigan casually inquired, "What did your feet 
think of their chains, sweetheart?" 

"My feet didn't like them, the rest of me did. They stopped me from doing 
anything about trying to escape." 

Ratigan nodded indifferently. Since Adrian's departure. Faith sensed his 
preoccupation with something unspoken. She explored him. "Don't you want my 
shirt off and me collared for the night?" 

"You can take your shirt off, you won't need the collar this evening." 

There was something wrong. Faith sensed menace, feminine intuition telling 
her instantly it's origin. "It's because I spoke to that girl on the road 
here, isn't it?" she asked nervously. "You're going to punish me. Is that 
what's bothering you?" 

"How did you guess?" 

"Because it's the only thing I've done. Unless you're angry over my visiting 
Adrian. Are you?" 

"No I'm not. You guessed it the first time. You're damned perverse, 
sweetheart." 

"Why call me sweetheart if you're going to punish me? What's it going to be, 
the whip?" 

"You almost want it, Faith. What is it, some sort of martyrdom? A sexual 
turn on?" 

She flushed and kicked her chain nervously. "I haven't looked that deep into 
myself," she admitted. "I expect Freud or Jung might tell you the answer, 
I've not patience with that nonsense. Am I to be whipped in public?" 

"You're not at all. Colleen. You're a lady and the lady's not for whipping. 
I'm going to give you an uncomfortable night where you can do some 
thinking." 

Faith longed to kiss away his somber mood but dared not, her hobbled feet 
would turn such an act to farce. 

"There's all too much talk of whipping," Ratigan said disgustedly. "I won't 
promise to never have you whipped but I don't see it as something likely to 
happen. You behave yourself remarkably well but you'd best be made to 
realize that slip you made on our journey here was unforgivable. There's 
bound to be other exposures and you'd best be ready to cope." 

She supposed that, by the code of the band, she had no defense. In any case 
it would do her no good to protest. Brightly she inquired, "Do my feet get 
unchained for what.. . For what you're going to do to me?" 

"No need, I'll carry you." 

Faith wished the comfort of male arms lasted longer. She was carried 
downstairs to the main barn and an area she had not previously explored. It 
was presently occupied by a pregnant cow in one stall and a couple of calves 
in another. The rest of the space was bare. Ratigan had evidently pondered 
her punishment for he stood her with her bare back against the rough rails 
of a stall and roped her middle to one of the horizontal timbers. Then, 
taking his time and using much care, he bound each of her bare arms out to 
their utmost to a wooden anchorage, knotting her wrists with such serious 
purpose as to tell the shivering nudity of the hopelessness of struggling. 
Having thus tied one arm and hand, he treated its twin in the same manner on 
the other side to leave the naked girl like a butterfly with wings 
outspread. 

Faith said no word. She was almost curious as to the outcome of this strange 
ritual as her master now used more rope in a crisscross pattern over her 
shoulders and above and below her breasts to hold her firmly in the 
butterfly position. 

"That will hold you up, sweetheart," he said dourly. "I suppose you realize 
you're here for the night." 

"Yes, I guessed. By morning I'll be hurting. Is that what you want?" 

"Not what I want, love, it's what you deserve. A bit of pain will teach you 
a lesson you need to learn." His voice turned savage. "And look, sweetheart, 
don't think I'm enjoying this. Good night." 

He kissed her with force then stamped back upstairs. 

Faith tensed against the ropes by which she was clamped tightly enough to be 
a part of the barn itself. There was no slack anywhere so she quickly ceased 
and resolved herself to remaining in that position the entire night. She 
could still kick her ankle chain and did so with a reflection that even if a 
friend were to cut the ropes she would still be the captive of Castle . If 
she hobbled metallically through the hours of darkness she would still 
probably fail to find a friend to set her free. She abandoned the quaint 
notion along with all other fantasies of escape. She would remain exactly as 
she was until Ratigan choose to release her in the morning. And that was 
that! 

Faith Baldwin wondered over her lack of resentment. It was as though what 
was happening to her now was only a part of the ebb and flow of Ratigan 
rebel activities. The fortunes of war such as when a soldier was confined to 
barracks for being AWOL. Faith was willing also to concede relief that 
Ratigan had not elected to have her whipped. Even though unsure of how she 
would feel through the night, she felt sure her present punishment would be 
preferable to whip marks on her soft skin. She sighed resignedly and tried 
to find a comfort where none was to be had. Every breath she took thrust her 
breasts hard between the ropes. She realized it might be wise to sigh as 
little as possible since each expansion of her breasts would exact an 
increasing chaffing of the ropes. Faith Baldwin was glad her parents could 
not see her now. 

The cow chewed her cud and the calves went to sleep. Faith could not imagine 
that sleep would be granted her that night but she began to doze and to 
dream fitfully of Adrian's fantasy in which she became the frightened girl 
fastened to the frame. But whenever the executioner struck his first blow 
across her naked back she woke, tense and anxious. It took minutes of sober 
thought to assure herself that she was bound but untouched by the whip. 
After each such tour into dreamland, the ropes became more and more 
insistent in her flesh. It was in the darkest part of the night that Faith 
Baldwin dreamed a fantasy all her own. 

She was running through a wood, fleeing from some unnamed menace in the 
light of evening which turned the larger trees to ghosts and made the faint 
path she followed hard to see. With the inconsistency of dreams, her 
fleeting steps were but little hindered by the ankle shackles she still 
bore. Faith knew them to be the ones locked on her by Ratigan but her 
fantasy employed them only to intensify the sense of dread which is the 
common ingredient of nightmare. The frightened girl knew of a destination 
which, could she but reach it, offered sanction. The building was 
ill-defined, some sort of castle or fort but it was surrounded by a moat 
over which Faith would pass with the aid of friendly hands. Sometimes she 
paused to listen for pursuit and allow her breathing to catch up with the 
thudding of her heart. The absence of hoof beats gave little comfort. Men 
might pursue her on foot and might be all around her now. But the fact she 
could hear nothing promised at least a brief freedom. The naked girl turned 
and resumed her flight, the silver metal joining her feet made the only 
sounds. 

At that point Faith found her dream self beating her fists against a heavy 
oaken door which opened only enough for a rough hand to grasp her arm and 
drag her within. Without preamble and ignoring her wails of protest, her 
wrists were tied tight behind her back and her elbows cinched tight to 
inhibit any tendency she might have to argument. She was then bodily picked 
up and carried in silent anguish along dark corridors and through doors to 
where, in the very heart of the castle, the Great Hall with its vast and 
blazing fireplace awaited her. Standing, feet apart, in front of the flames 
was the figure of a man. It seemed in keeping with the rest that when she 
saw his face she beheld the features of Adrian Moore. 

It was at this point in her dream things went terribly wrong. Instead of 
recognition in his handsome features Faith saw only contempt and disdain. 
There was also an urgency she did not understand. "Take her to the 
questioning." The voice was sharp and without pity. "I'll follow by the time 
you've extracted her first screams." 

It was, of course, the torture chamber she had seen at , not as it was now, 
polished and modernize, but as it might once have been. The ropes so 
recently tied were slashed quickly from hands and elbows as, by dream magic, 
her feet were freed of their metal bands. The rack accommodated her 
nakedness by a single plank on which her back was thrust hard down while 
adapt fingers tightened leather bands around her wrists and ankles and from 
them ropes which prevented Faith leaping from the device when the hands were 
gone. It was but a moment before the windless turned to stretch her maiden 
loveliness into taut immobility. The plank was withdrawn and Miss Faith 
Baldwin remained suspended by wrists and ankles most painfully stretched by 
the time the wheel was stopped. She knew this as only the beginning, it was 
not yet torture. 

"Ye'd best loose thy tongue, lass, before we turn another notch." The voice 
was fatherly and concerned from a man she could not see. 

The rough hand of another brutally cupped her obscenely available sex, 
squeezing its tightened lips and laughing as a finger traced a pathway up 
over her belly to linger upon the sadly flattened breasts. The voice fitted 
the hand, "This one's a beauty, tis a shame so it is we've no time for a bit 
of sport. Damn me if she ain't wet." 

"There'll be time for sport if she had the sense to speak. But if she keeps 
a still tongue she'll be of little use to any of us." The voice changed tone 
and direction. "I'm telling ye, lass, we've no wish to break thy bones. Have 
sense and spare thyself." 

The hands were suddenly gone, the voices stilled. Heavy male footsteps 
echoed from stone walls. Suddenly a face appear before her, a face without 
mercy which strangely was the face of Adrian Moore, which was all wrong and 
impossible and not to be thought of. His voice, without feeling, commanded, 
"Give her another turn." 

As the ropes creaked and maiden screams filled the ugly chamber, Miss Faith 
Baldwin awoke to the heavy breathing of the cow and the acrid barn smells of 
the place wherein Ratigan had bound her for the night. She was trembling 
beneath the ropes and wet with sweat. 

It had been more nightmare than dream, and like most nightmares without 
logic. Faith wanted to believe that dreams should always be reversed. Doing 
that, what she had just seen would not be nightmare at all but a perfectly 
gorgeous dream. Adrian would have cut the ropes and carried her to safety 
and, hopefully, his bed. But it took until the first grayness of dawn for 
the girl enduring her punishment to clear her mind of hideous memory. If she 
slept again it was innocent of dreams. 

Pain was implicit to the whole affair. Early in the night the tight bindings 
had begun their insidious penetration of Faith's flesh, a cutting attrition 
of bondage she could not evade. She could, in fact, do nothing except moan 
and long for relief from nightmares. Long before the time of her release, 
Miss Faith Baldwin wondered in anguish if she might not have been wise to 
plead for the whip instead of rope. Not that it would have done her any 
good, Ratigan would have done as he pleased anyway. She realized his choice 
of a punishment held its own bizarre logic, she would remember this night 
and its memory would be bitter indeed. But still, even in her pain, she felt 
no hatred towards he who had tied the knots. 

Ratigan did not wait for high noon but freed his captive in early morning. 
Faith, deliberately exaggerating distress, fell inertly to the straw to lay 
there, eyes closed, while the man who had bound her massaged the angry marks 
left by tight cords. Soon he carried her bodily back to bed and savagely 
performed the ancient rite omitted the night before, leaving her chained and 
sleeping peacefully. When Faith awoke the sun was high so she swung her 
fettered ankles to the floor and viewed her new day with fresh optimism 
because her punishment was past. With short and cautious steps she made her 
way to the kitchen where Johnny Catlin was already busy preparing food. His 
greeting was to be expected, "Hear ye had yourself a time in the old barn 
last night. Miss Baldwin. See any ghosts?" 

Faith was grateful he made no reference to the rope burns still visible on 
her skin. "I thought I was back in the bam at the farm." she admitted, 
vaguely puzzled. "But I suppose all barns look and smell the same. Do any of 
you boys milk that cow?" 

"Tis were that milk and cream on the table comes from, Miss Baldwin. And 
it's me that mostly milks her when she ain't so close to calfing. There's a 
couple more out in the pasture, makes the place sort of homey like. Want me 
to show you around a bit? Ratigan's away again." He grinned sympathetically. 
"I'll walk real slow." 

Aware of Johnny's stare of acute curiosity. Faith said simply, "Ratigan 
punished me last night. I'd done something silly. I won't do it again." She 
gave a mock shutter. "Ugh! It was awful. I hated every minute. Please don't 
talk about it, I hated every minute." 

After the food they found Faith's shirt and walked together out into the 
sunlight. She admitted to a curiosity about meeting the entire group, half 
of whom she had not spoken to and the idleness of a rebel afternoon would be 
a good time for greetings. She was no longer conscious of something peeking 
shyly from below the shirt's hem. 

The Bhoys had, of their own volition, created the facsimile of the public 
bar in an Irish pub. It had not doubt been easy enough to do with the wealth 
of material available, and now sported a number of tables and chairs and a 
truly surprising stock of alcoholic beverages including a good supply of 
Guiness. No one was really drunk. Drunkenness was against the Code. But most 
of those present had reached a state of feeling no pain. Cully presided 
behind the bar imposing strict control. His satyr's eye approved the 
feminine visitor. 

"What will you have, Miss?" 

Faith's statement that she never drank this early in the day met with jeers. 
She felt compelled to compromise with a gin and tonic. She hated both and 
would therefore sip the drink slowly. She was escorted from table to table 
but forgot half the names she heard although everyone was aware of hers. But 
she remembered some of the vulgar comments. 

"Ye've come to the right place for a good fuck. Miss Baldwin, so ye have." 

"Will ye have it now or later?" 

"Shut your trap. Josh, the lady's not for fucking. More's the pity. 

At the next meeting we should ask Ratigan to pass her around. It's high time 
Jinny got a rest, she's more hole than hair." 

It was hardly the type of talk she was used to before she was kidnapped. 
Faith pretended not to hear. But Johnny, still sober, was indignant. "Why 
don't you spelpeens keep your traps shut in front of a lady?" he demanded. 
"She don't want none of your fucks and assholes and such like." 

"What's she wearing that there shirt for, then. Take it off, Johnny, let's 
get a good look at the lass." 

Faith surprised them all, most of all herself. But she was fully conscious 
of Ratigan's absence and of the possible benefits of bending with the wind. 
With a flourish she tugged at the shirt and passed it over her head. Then 
she calmly straightened her hair in a wickedly revealing pose. "Haven't any 
of you seen a naked girl?" she demanded. "Take a good look before I put it 
back on." 

She turned slowly to disclose every curve then held her hands high for final 
approval before returning to the shelter of her shirt. The applause were 
loud and genuine. 

"The lass has got class, showing herself like that." 

"If Ratigan finds out, he'll whip her ass." 

"But none of us are going to tell him, are we?" said a sly voice. 

"I'll tell him myself," Faith said forcefully. "If he whips me it will be 
your fault. I only did it to please you and because I was near enough to 
naked anyway. Just think what your mothers would say if they saw me in this 
shirt." 

There was an embarrassed silence. Irish mothers are holly even though Irish 
wives are not. Faith pushed her advantage. "Why don't you bring Jinny in to 
keep me company? Where are you keeping her anyway?" 

"We was having a bit of fun with young Jinny, Miss, no harm intended." 

"Tis a boring business, so it is, this sitting around. We ain't had a raid 
in a week." 

"I asked you were she was," Faith pursued. "I suppose you're too embarrassed 
to show me what you've done with her." 

The Bhoys were far from embarrassed, it appeared there were only too anxious 
to show off their "bit of fun" with a lady of such high rank. As one they 
rose and led the lady visitor, by devious halls and passages, to what she 
realized, with a thrill of disgust, was the torture chamber of her previous 
tour and of her nightmare. The were greeted by a baleful glare from a young 
woman who was far from happy. The Bhoys in their innocence had fastened 
Jinny firmly on "The Horse." Jinny was naked, her bare arms drawn painfully 
back and up and her bare legs drawn out so tight to either side she appeared 
to be doing a ballet dancer's split upon the unkind saddle on that ancient 
instrument designed for the discomfort of a girl. Jinny's sexual orifice was 
planted squarely on the bitter wood to bear every ounce of her weight in 
increasing misery. 

"Get me off this thing, you assholes!" Jinny's welcome was forceful and to 
the point. "I'm split in two, so I am, and I'll be any good anymore at all, 
at all. You've ruined it for sure." 

"Bull, Jinny, you've only be on it an hour!" 

"You've got the rest of the afternoon, girl, and we brought Miss Baldwin to 
visit." 

Faith was horrified. She clinked short steps to where she could tear at the 
ropes on Jinny's wrists. "Hold on, I'll have you loose in a minute." she 
told the tortured girl as she unwound strand after strand. 

"She's spoiling our fun, so she is," proclaimed an outraged voice. 

"Hell, let's sit the bitch up there too, might do her a word of good." 

"Watch it lads, Ratigan would kill the lot of us if we sent her back to him 
tonight with a swollen cat." 

"Stop her, someone, she's near got Jinny's hands untied. Ain't no reason she 
should spoil our fun." 

"Begora and I don't see the fun in your drinking and your rotten bar and 
your leaving me sitting her half cut in two. You're a rotten lot o' 
bastards, so ye are." In a different tone she addressed her rescuer, "Don't 
pay no attention to them. Miss Baldwin. I'm so grateful to you I just can't 
say. Look, I'll hold myself steady while you untie my feet." 

Faith completed her rescue without male help even to taking the punished 
Jinny off the horse to stand beside the terrible instrument of suffering. 
The solitary female member of the band was rubbing her crotch in a gingerly 
way, exploring for possible damage to an important asset. Faith discovered 
Jinny's discarded shirt while the disgruntled men returned to the bar and 
the solace of beer. Johnny, sensing the coming girl-talk, departed, too. 
with a wave and a sly wink of approval. 

"What on earth did you do to make them put you on that thing?" 

Faith demanded. "I don't see how any girl could deserve that for a whole 
afternoon." 

"Didn't do nothing. Miss Baldwin," said Jinny aggrieved. "Tis their lousy 
Irish fun, so it is. Thinking they can do what they like with a girl. Gee 
whiz, Miss Baldwin, do you think I'll ever be any good again? I mean down 
there between my legs?" 

By way of comfort Faith went all the way, cupping Jinny's punished sex in a 
tender palm. "Sure you will," she said cheerfully. "You've just suffered 
some awful pain, but there isn't any injury. I know I wouldn't want to sit 
on that terrible thing." 

The did not rejoin the men. Both girls felt a genuine comfort in feminine 
company long denied. "Let's go to the room they gave me to sleep in," Jinny 
suggested. "But, crumbs. Miss Baldwin, can you walk in them there chains. 
That's something they never done to me." 

"I can't really walk, I hobble. But don't worry we'll get there." 

"Seems real cruel keeping you shackled the way you is, Miss Baldwin. Might 
be fun for an hour but I sure won't want those things on my ankles permanent 
the way they done you. Can't you be nice some way to Ratigan so he'll take 
them off?" 

"No body fools Ratigan, Jinny. If you can think of any more comfortable way 
he can keep me prisoner I wish you'd tell him. But I don't want to get put 
in a dungeon or tied to a tree. I've been trying to think of something to 
suggest to him myself, but there doesn't seem anything simpler than chaining 
my feet. I have to remember I'm a prisoner." 

It was a sad little stone chamber but without evidence of it being a prison 
other than a heavy ring on the wall. Observing Faith's look of distaste for 
the iron reminder of her captive. Jinny volunteered, "When the Bhoys is 
doing something real private they don't want me to know about they chain me 
to that there ring you're looking at. They ain't real cruel about it but 
they get a lot of fun of out deciding which bit of me they'll put the 
padlock on. It don't really hurt so I suppose guess I shouldn't complain." 

Jinny giggled. "Well, it's sort of like tonight. The Bhoys got a raid 
planned for tonight. They don't think I know about it but they can't hide 
nothing like that from me. I don't know whether they'll chain me before they 
go. But anyway they'll come back with some poor girl like you and me or 
maybe some woman who was a bit lippy about what the Bhoys stand for. 
Whichever it is we got to feel sorry for 'em." Jinny sighed. "Ratigan let's 
'em have their bit of sport with any girl they pick up. He knows they're 
bored. Don't even get in to see a movie anymore." 

Faith sat on Jinny's rough little cot and in the privacy of the tiny room. 
Faith boldly tried her luck once more. "Jinny, have you changed your mind 
about helping me get free? I know I'm not suppose to ask but I just have to. 
I don't want to spend my life like this." 

"I got to spend my life with the Bhoys," Jinny said defensively. "I can't go 
home no more, my folks won't have me. They think I'm in on all this 
murdering stuff and getting poor girls tarred and feathered.. . " She 
wrinkled her pretty pixie face. "I suppose it's different for you, Miss 
Baldwin. I hear tell your people want you back really bad and you got a real 
good life if you ever get free. If you ever do escape, I wish you'd take me 
with you." 

"Now's your chance. Jinny, free my feet and we're away." 

Jinny looked unhappily at the iron bands circling Faith's ankles. "They'd 
half murder me if they caught me. And goodness knows what they'd do to you. 
And anyway I don't have no key." 

"I expect you could get a key, Jinny, if you keep your eyes and ears open. I 
can't imagine Ratigan carries it around the country with him." 

"I can try, Miss Baldwin, but I don't think it's no good. You see I don't 
sleep with Ratigan the way you do. And, if he don't give you no chance at 
that there key, I don't see what hope I got. But I'll do like you say, I'll 
keep my eyes open." 

It was the tiniest of victories, but at least one small step in the right 
direction. Faith was startled by Jinny's next halting suggestion. "If you 
can drive a jeep with your feet chained. Miss Baldwin, that might be your 
best bet. The Bhoys leave the keys in them, I know 'cause I looked. But I 
can't drive. And anyway they never leave me alone around them jeeps. Them 
love them jeeps like a mother loves her child." 

Faith's heart thudded in excitement. What Jinny had outlined was very 
possible. If she could get a jeep out of Castle and get a halfway decent 
start and drive recklessly enough, she might reach help before the Bhoys 
caught up with her. Guiltily she realized there was now the handicap of 
Jinny, who's idea it was. She could not possibly go without Jinny, she owed 
it to the girl to share whatever possibility of freedom came their way. 

"What about right now." Faith felt the throb of excitement. "There's no time 
like the present and Ratigan's away. Are you ready?" 

"The men ain't all in the bar. Miss. They left one fellow in the garage to 
do some work. There'll be others there by now, getting ready for the raid. 
I'll give you a call if I get a chance and you can do the same for me. Gosh, 
Miss Baldwin. I'm so grateful you will take me along. If you can take me 
back to England with you maybe I can get married real decent like and maybe 
have babies." Her voice became wistful. 

Faith took the younger girl in her arms. Poor Jinny hadn't had much of a 
life and it would be exciting and pleasurable to do something for her. In 
England she could get a dozen jobs and maybe even a good husband. In the 
meantime Faith sensed of power surged in response to the idea of a stolen 
jeep. Ratigan must have supposed her afraid or incompetent of driving with 
chained feet. Or perhaps it was a means of escape he had overlooked. She 
supposed a man would never consider the idea of a near naked girl who's feet 
were close chained driving across the Irish countryside in a stolen jeep. 
She was almost appalled at the very idea but knew she would do it and do it 
well. How glorious that race would feel! 

Reluctantly the hobbled girl returned to the suit she shared with the leader 
of the band. She was killing time in the bath when Ratigan returned. He 
kissed her absently and said without preamble, "Raise your feet, 
sweetheart." 

Faith was speechless in astonishment. She raised her feet above the water 
line as her master directed then watched him turn the key and take the iron 
shackles from her ankles. He set the shackles aside and laughingly said, 
"Enjoy yourself. Think of it, my pet, you're absolutely unrestrained." 

"You mean I'm promoted, not more chains?" 

"I didn't say that." Ratigan took a pair of stolen handcuffs from his 
pocket. "You're forgetting these, my sweet." He dangled the wicked bracelets 
before her eyes then returned them to his pocket, laughing at her 
disappointment. "Don't worry, you can hop around all you like for a while. 
You're not likely to make a run for freedom while I'm around." Almost 
anxiously he inquired, "You wouldn't be that stupid, would you?" 

"Well, no, I suppose not. Oh, Ratigan, it's so lovely to be able to separate 
my legs again. When I get out of the bath I'm going to run as far as you'll 
let me. Please run with me. Let's say about a quarter mile?" 

"The Bhoys would think I was barmy. No, Faith, you and I won't be jogging 
today. We've got a raid going this evening and I want you to be a part of 
it." 

Faith's hopes sank. But, brightly, she inquired, "Why couldn't I give you my 
parole? You know I'd keep my word. If I gave you my solemn promise not to 
run away I'd stay right here and do whatever you told me. Please?" 

"You tempt me, love, but it's not possible. The Bhoys would never 
understand, they'd think I was going soft and they'd keep you under 
surveillance all the time. Sorry, you'll have to put up with being chained a 
while yet." 

It would be just her luck to discover an opportunity yet to have her hands 
locked behind her back. Faith considered woefully. Nothing every went the 
way you planned. But the release of her feet was a tonic and she smiled 
happily as she allowed her master to towel her dry. It was something Ratigan 
enjoyed and she could be quite sure of a well-frictioned cleft between her 
thighs. 

"What about this raid?" she asked cautiously. "What do I have to do? Why do 
you want me along? Aren't you scared someone will see me?" 

"I want someone to see you. Remember Patti Hearst?" 

Faith remembered the unfortunate kidnapped daughter of the Hearst millions. 
She shuttered to think of a similar fate of her. "You surely don't want me 
to get into the same jackpot as that girl, Ratigan? You're not going tie me 
into a crime and then hand me to the police, are you?" 

"Gosh, what an imagination!" 

"Well, that's what happened to Patti Hearst, it was you who mentioned her 
name." 

"It won't happen to you, sweetheart. Simply do what I tell you and you'll 
come to no harm and tomorrow you'll be back a with your pretty little feet 
firmly chained again. Something to look forward to." 

From somewhere another small car had magically appeared. Ratigan seated his 
captive in the front seat, clipped one bracelet of the handcuffs around her 
right wrist before clipping the other upon the iron framework of the seat. 
This left Faith sitting demurely at his side, one hand entirely free but the 
other holding her as securely captive as might a dungeon. 

"You think of everything," Faith said bitterly. "Have you ever thought of 
writing a book, you could title it, 'No Freedom for Miss Baldwin.'" She 
sniffed disdainfully. "I would have thought you would have trusted me in the 
car until we get to where ever we're going. I think you like having these 
bits of iron fastened on me all the time." 

"Sure I do, love. They tell me you're my property. But your present 
condition is for the benefit of the Bhoys and just in case I have to get out 
and talk to someone." He surveyed her seriously, tilting her cheek up to 
kiss her tenderly. "I don't want you asking anyone for help. You roll is the 
anxious wife who wants to get where we're going. Will you play it?" 

"What's the penalty if I won't?" 

"The dungeon, totally chained." 

"I'll be your wife!" They shared laughter. 

Faith had been given a fresh shirt and was now laughingly directed to do her 
hair with her one free hand and using the mirror of the car. Instead of 
being angry she found it fun. No husband and wife had ever set forth on an 
errand in better humor. 

4 

Fantasy in Fetters 

The small town of Kiluck was an hour's drive, they reached it in early 
evening, and except for the pubs found it half-sleep. The street light told 
the public house was "The Irish Ploughman." Ratigan stopped the car at the 
curb and stepped on to the road. 

"The first fellow to come by, ask him the road to Trallee. That's all. If he 
wants to talk argue or make indecent suggestions, I'll deal with that." 

Faith was confused, uncertain of her companion's intent. But she was given 
no time to think. A farmer staggered out of the public bar and eyed her 
owlishly. At that moment there was a bright blue flash from a flashbulb. 
Faith instantly wondered why someone was using a camera. 

"You do that, little lady?" the farmer approached Faith's open window, 
giving her ample opportunity to make the request. 

"Is it Trallee you'll be wanting, lass? Sure and it's a long way down the 
road." He came close enough to envelope Faith in beer fumes. "That's an 
empty seat you've there. Maybe you'd be liking company?" 

Another blue flash which left the farmer blinking and uncertain and then 
Ratigan was back behind the wheel. He gave Faith the camera then drove to a 
second pub around the block. This one was called, "The Bird and Beadle" and 
Faith breathlessly repeated her performance as did Ratigan with his camera. 
Satisfied, Ratigan headed from the town to where a jeep was waiting in a 
layby and slipped in behind them at Ratigan's signal. In total bewilderment. 
Faith counted three jeeps and nine men by the time they reached the isolated 
mansion of the outskirts of the town. 

The saw the bulk of the house loom up in the night, surrounded by small 
fields and an orchard. The Bhoys had become dark and hooded figures of 
menace in the night. Ratigan unlocked Faith's cuffed wrists, took a 
wicked-looking rifle from the back seat and dragged the bewildered girl and 
the heavy weapon from the gate up the walk towards the house. Reaching the 
porch, he thrust the weapon into Faith's astonished hands, and rang the 
doorbell before stepping back into the shadows. Bewildered. Faith stood 
where he had left her, mind seething with wild hope. Inside the house would 
be telephones and people she could warn of the intended raid. She thought of 
flight, rejecting the opportunity. Ratigan or the Bhoys would apprehend her 
before she got too far. Her best bet was to be quick in getting through the 
door when it was opened and then impelling the occupants to urgency. She 
stood there, awkwardly holding the huge rifle when the door opened. Before 
Faith could move or speak there was a brilliant flash and then another. A 
hard hand planted itself against her chest and thrust her to turn the half 
naked girl and cause her to stagger for the benefit of a camera who's blue 
flash captured the crucial scene in arrested action. Suddenly the Bhoys were 
everywhere, gathering the woman who had opened the door into their 
possession as they boldly marched into the house. The gun was taken from 
Faith's hand and she was led back to the little car, the complaints dying in 
her throat. 

"Keep quiet. You can sit in the car and enjoy an grandstand view." She was 
thrust roughly back into her seat and felt her wrist once more quickly 
cuffed and locked to the seat. It was not until Ratigan was lost in the 
gloom that Faith considered the photos he had taken of her. And what their 
use might be. Most certainly she had been used! She tugged angrily at her 
one chained hand but knew the action useless. She would sit as she was until 
Ratigan's return. She could vent her spleen on him then, but until then 
could would remain as much captive as she had ever been. She was fuming at 
being held helpless at so trivial a bond. 

It was no time for reflections. The night was suddenly alive with a short 
burst of gunfire then silence, a silence pregnant with action unseen. It was 
only a short time before two hooded figures carried a bulky bundle, 
undoubtedly a human being heavily smothered and safely bound, and tossed it 
in the back of a waiting jeep. Surprisingly it was followed by two more, the 
bundles of slightly lesser bulk but intensively active with muted kicking 
from within. They were placed in another of the waiting jeeps and were 
strapped together. All three of the waiting vehicles sped away into the 
night to leave the violated home dark and silent and with a wide open door. 
The peaceful Irish night settled back to cover the violence. 

Faith Baldwin sat in growing anxiety, chaffing her wrist in revolt at the 
uselessness of her present position. Ratigan would no doubt have an 
excellent picture of her holding a gun in seeming nefarious intent. It had 
been just such a picture as had convicted Patti Hearst and convinced the 
world of her conversion to terrorism. Is that what Ratigan wanted! A sob 
held her throat captive as she thought of the effect of such publicity upon 
her parents. Surely it would not happen! But suppose it did.. . ' 

Conjecture was set aside as the captive girl assessed her present condition. 
It made little sense and she wondered where Ratigan had gone. As the minutes 
passed there came about the eerie sensation as the darkness became more dark 
and the house a place of foreboding and dark deeds. In desperation Faith 
sank to the floor to better come to grips with her prisoned wrist. She could 
not see the other cuff locked to the seat but could grope and feel for it 
with fingers driven by a fresh fear that Ratigan had abandoned her to be 
found by the police and blamed for the whole affair. Once more she thought 
of Patti Hearst, there was a terrible similarity Coming to grips with the 
handcuff helped not at all. Frantically she sought some aid in the glove box 
but in the dark could see nor feel any key. She began a systematic search of 
the small car with her one free hand but was interrupted by a gruff, 
official voice 

"Are you in trouble. Miss? Do you need help?" 

Faith gazed up in horror to find a policeman's face staring in the window 
She did a rapid computation of possibilities and came up with what seemed 
the most harmless. "I'm afraid I've been the victim of a practical joke, 
officer. I wonder if you could help." 

Authority lessened in the face of growing disbelief, a disbelief Faith could 
almost feel. 

"Is it handcuffed you are. Miss? And where would anyone be getting a pair of 
handcuffs? And why would a nice young lady like you be handcuffed in a car 
this time of night?" 

"I'm terribly sorry, I don't know the answers to those questions myself." 
She looked at the policeman. "But you do have a key, don't you?" 

"That I have, Miss, but there's a few questions you'll be answering. Now let 
me see what I can do." 

As her fumbled in a pocket, the helpless girl could feel suspicion mounting 
as the official fingers followed her forearm down over her hand to where the 
empty cuff was secure around the frame of the seat. Faith sat, tense and 
frightened and desperately wondering what to say or do. The ideal would be 
if this policeman would free her hand and allow her to go her way. The cuff 
unlocked, the policeman produced a flashlight and examined the handcuffs 
which still held her one hand prisoner The official voice became more firm. 
"These are police issue. Miss, an American make we've recently put into use. 
They bear a code." He made no move to unlock them. "I'm afraid I'll have to 
ask the name of who fastened them on you. Please be frank, Miss, you are in 
good hands." 

Faith had little doubt she was in good hands, hands which might soon be 
tossing her body into a jail cell. "I just don't know, officer, I'm terribly 
sorry, I met him at a party." 

"You are wearing nothing but a shirt. Miss. Is this your customary attire?" 

Faith was trembling, everything she might say would sound suspicious to this 
country policeman. She longed for freedom to reach her parents before the 
newspapers.. . If she could only reach a phone.. . 

"Is it any of your business?" she asked unhappily, striving to sound as if 
she were on firm ground instead of shaking in her boots (if she had any). 
"I'd be grateful if you'd just let me go home and turn your attentions to 
the house you can see over the hedge. Haven't you noticed the door's open?" 

"Sorry, Miss, it won't wash. Now. if you'll just get out of the car.. . " 

Faith stepped down to the grass. The cuff still dangled from her right wrist 
but not for long. The law read the license number of the little car, 
consulted a little notebooks and pronounced the death knell of Faith's 
hopes. "This is a stolen car, Miss, it is more over police property, stolen 
from Constable Cusp in Galloway Town." The statement was heavy with 
question. "I don't know your Mr. Cusp, I've never been to Galloway. Please 
allow me to walk back to town and use the telephone. I suggest you turn your 
attention to that house. 

"Do ye now?" The law was indulging in sarcasm. "I'll look at that there 
house, I will. And you'll look at it, too." With an air of finality he 
clipped Faith's left wrist to joining her hands in front. "And you'll come 
along with me." 

"Am I arrested?" 

"That remains to be seen. Miss. Don't play no tricks now. don't do nothing 
silly. Let's see what we can find." 

More certain than ever of saying the wrong thing. Faith allowed herself to 
be led within the dark open door. Freedom now seemed remote so in 
desperation she tried the truth. 

"I'm sorry, officer, I haven't been telling you the truth. My name is Faith 
Baldwin, I'm the daughter of the English Cabinet Member you've read about. 
I've been kidnapped and held captive. I was taken somewhere but I don't 
where. I came her in the car handcuffed the way you found me. Please get me 
to a phone." 

"Faith Baldwin, did you say? Never heard of her. Sure you're not the 
daughter of the Archbishop of Canterbury?" He added a laugh. 

"But it was in all the papers, you must have read.. . " 

"The English papers maybe. Miss, but this is Ireland." 

"Please.. . Please help me. I've been a prisoner so long. And you'll get a 
reward." 

The policeman's flashlight was roving ahead and what it now discovered now 
drove all thought of help or escape from Faith's mind. It was a the body of 
a dead man, and while the constable give it his full attention. Faith, with 
the instinct of the hunted, turned and fled. It was a nightmare down the 
path and out the gate. And there, as if by magic, Ratigan sat behind the 
wheel of the waiting car. And Ratigan was the only friend she had in 
Ireland. Immediately she slipped into the seat by his side, he started the 
motor and drove speedily away. Ratigan was chuckling soundlessly as at some 
private joke. 

"You worked that wonderfully, sweetheart, I'm proud of you." 

"But that policeman will come after us. He'll radio all over." 

"No it won't, I've fixed his car so it won't start and smashed his radio. 
We'll be back at before he gets organized. Oh. and the phones in the house.. 
. We fixed them, too." 

In thankfulness Faith longed for a deeper expression than words. She placed 
her cuffed hands on Ratigan's sleeve and whispered urgently. "I'm so glad 
it's you. Oh, Ratigan, I was so terribly frightened. There was a dead body 
in that house and the policeman has me handcuffed." She raised her hands for 
him to see the linkage at her wrists. "Why did you leave me like that? Oh, 
Ratigan, that was mean!" 

"That's right, I'm a bastard," he agreed. "I'm a first class SOB but I'll 
make it up to you, love." He laughed without a trace of stress. "You're 
going to be the luckiest girl in any bed in Ireland." 

"But how could you do such a thing to me.. . ? Why." 

"lis simply, love, the tricks of our trade, keep the coppers wondering. 
Figure it for yourself, you get picked up in the middle of the night on an 
Irish road, outside an Irish house in which there's a dead Irishman. You 
tell the policeman who you are but I bet he didn't believe a word of it. 
Then there's the question of Constable Cusp was he in on the deal? They're 
going to have to look that one over carefully. Then there was those pictures 
I took of you. I've made arrangements for them to be in the hands of the 
press in time for the first edition, and that's going to baffle them a bit 
more. One way or another it's been a bad night for the boys in blue. Bad 
cess to them." 

For moments the handcuffed girl sat speechless, digesting the implications 
of Ratigan's words, horrified by what she beheld. "Don't you realize you've 
made me an outlaw? A pariah? A renegade traitor? Oh, Ratigan, how could 
you?" 

"One way of recruiting you to the cause, sweetheart. You're one of us now, 
where you like it or not. There'll be a hue and cry after you now and a 
warrant for your arrest. From now on you darn not escape, you darn not 
appeal to a policeman." 

Faith was still sorting it out in her mind, still bewildered. "But all this 
terrible trouble just to do that to me?" 

"Hell no. love. The raid was the thing. These little tricks with you were 
just an amusing sideline. They worked perfectly even to the point where you 
ran away from the copper in the house. If he had hung on to you I would have 
had to find someway to kill him to get you back. Enjoying the way he 
handcuffed you?" 

"Not particularly, please take them off." 

Ratigan. vastly amused, pulled into a layby and used his key but only to 
cuff her hand once more securely to the seat as she had been previously. "I 
love you, sweetheart, but I don't trust you. Figure that out some other 
time." 

Faith hated being attached to an object. She rattled the handcuff irritably. 
"You know you didn't have to do that, Ratigan. I was enjoying not being 
fastened. Wearing handcuffs the way the police use them is like having a 
pair of pretty bracelets. I suppose it's not use asking you to fix me back 
like that?" 

"None at all, sweetheart, I like you the way you are. And anyway, we'll be 
back to soon." 

"But you do this all so casually!" Faith's voice was almost a wail of 
distress. "What on earth were you up to when I was sitting in the car. 
scared out of my wits and there was all that gunfire?" 

"Supervising, of course. I had to earn my keep. Quite busy, actually. I tore 
the phones out, made sure that fellow was dead, don't ask me who shot him, I 
don't know who's bullet got him but one of them certainly did. We were 
firing off that gun you held just for effect and in case they get ballistics 
in on the deal. Then I made sure the Bhoys got the kidnapped females safe, 
and the rest of the time I was watching over you. It all worked perfectly." 

"But the police will think it was me who shot that guy! From what you said.. 
. " 

"Let's just say it will confuse them. Not that you wouldn't make a darling 
murderess, but I can't let them have you. You're mine!" 

From the welter of impressions. Faith retrieved a memory. "Ratigan. did I 
hear right? You said you loved me.. . ? " 

"That's right, love. I have no trouble feeling that wonderful emotion for 
you. But don't make a big thing of it." 

"Ratigan, don't spoil it with sarcasms, I gratefully for you loving me. It's 
a truly wonderful feeling.. . Am I still your prisoner?" 

"Silly question, sweetheart, of course you're still my prisoner but now you 
know I love you as well as keeping you suitably restrained. It's all very 
simple." 

"It may be very simple to you but I'm glad you love me, every girl wants to 
be loved. Even if the guy who loves her keeps her in chains. We girls are 
ridiculous." 

"I'm glad you're glad." The lingering touch of his hand upon her arm spoke 
volumes. "The nice thing about us is that I'm not going to have to work up 
to the question of when do we get into bed. I've already ravished you a 
hundred times and we've developed a nice, comfortable relationship. 
Ravishment is a marvelous institution." 

Faith wanted to laugh. "You shouldn't make fun of it, Ratigan. When men fall 
in love with a girl they usually marry them. Are you serious?" 

"What it, love! You're not making me respectable. No way I'm abandoned the 
Cause to run a fried fish shop with you wrapping the chips in newspaper." 

On arrival at , Faith got her wish, her right hand was released from bondage 
and linked to her left in the conventional way. A shadowy figure then took 
possession of Constable Cusp's car and drove away. Ratigan picked up the 
captive girl and carried her within Castle and up the stairs. He carried her 
easily, he was immensely strong and Faith wondered if he saw significance in 
the ancient custom of carrying your bride over the threshold of their home. 
Probably her handcuffed wrists held for Ratigan the same symbolism as did a 
wedding ring for more conventional couples. But she lost the pretty 
bracelets besides their bed and stood quivering as the collar was locked on 
her neck. 

"And now you marriage-minded hussy there's a promise I made a little while 
ago about a reward." He flung her on the bed hard enough to make her bounce. 
She was smiling. 

Faith knew she and Ratigan had passed some line in the darkness of the raid. 
He had said he loved her, thus nothing would ever be quite the same. His 
avowal went far to counter her concern about the label she must now bare in 
the world's Press. She could contest nothing, she would wear that label as 
she wore her chains. 

Briefly, between lovemaking and sleep, Faith wondered about the chains, the 
handcuffs and the ropes. Feminine wisdom warned against asking Ratigan for a 
freedom he was almost certain to deny. He would know that even in spite of 
his planned incrimination Faith would be drawn to her home and the parents 
who would suddenly believe her to the daily newspaper. Perhaps someday he 
could give her freedom with an open mind and with out anxiety. In the 
meantime she would complain about nothing. After they had bathed he shackled 
her ankles once more with the familiar iron and Faith had to learn to walk 
all over again. All through breakfast he stubbornly refused to tell her 
anything of the three human packages she had seen tossed into the jeeps, 
repulsing her insistence by saying the Bhoys had taken someone into 
training. Faith shrugged it off, it was none of her affair. 

Faith never knew where her master went in those times when he left her alone 
to roam Casde and improve acquaintance with the Bhoys. This day after the 
raid was no exception, save for a single imposition which left Faith curious 
and annoyed. But she followed the decision she had made during the night of 
making no protest when this man to who owned her so utterly gathered her 
arms behind her back and locked her wrists in the handcuffs. Striving for a 
tone of amusement. Faith inquired, "I'm sure you've a good reason for doing 
that, may I ask why?" 

"No, you may not. I've done it and that's enough. If you wander around a bit 
I'm sure you'll Find out. If you thirst or hunger I'm sure the Bhoys or 
Jinny will look after you." 

"Where was Jinny last night. I didn't see her?" 

"Let's say the dear girl was restrained." 

"I can imagine. A collar and chain perhaps?" 

Ratigan laughed, patted her bottom, an act for which he raised the hem of 
her skirt, then departed on his errand. A sadly handicapped woman surveyed 
her day and wondered what to do with it. It was a bitter reflection that, so 
far a wandering Castle went, she could do it as well with her hands behind 
her back as well as in front. Her real enemy was the irons upon her feet. 
Faith Baldwin knew for certain that if an opportunity for escape arose she 
would grasp it, not for any lack of affection or fear of Ratigan but because 
she must allay the fears and possible suspicion of those she loved. 

Jinny was having late coffee in the kitchen. However the sight of Faith and 
her restrains caused her to brighten up and give the reason for her 
discontent. "I got the collar and chain treatment last night. Miss Baldwin. 
They locked that damned thing on my neck before they went off on the raid 
and there I was. I'd sort of looked forward to that raid, cheers a girl up a 
bit to see another girl having a bad time. Let's you know you're not alone, 
so it does." She sniffed angrily. "Then the bastards forget me, leave me 
chained there until half way through the morning. A girl can't shout through 
these thick walls and I'd probably still be chained up in there if they 
hadn't wanted someone to do the dishes. Men arc such bastards." 

Faith turned and displayed cuffed hands. "I couldn't have helped you. Jinny, 
even if I had known. I think I'm being punished. Or is there some other 
reason they put a girl's hands behind her back?" 

"They don't need no reason. Miss Baldwin. Men get silly notions and then get 
an erection out of it. When that happens they have to do something to a girl 
real quick. Ratigan probably thought you looked real cute with your hands 
like that, and you sure do. I wouldn't worry none." 

"Where does Ratigan go on these daytime trips of his. Jinny?" 

"Oh. he's checking up on other groups like ours. They're all over the place. 
He spends a lot of time with Mr. Adrian down at the gatehouse. He took me 
with him once but I'll be damned if he didn't tie me up after tea and whip 
my bottom while Mr. Adrian watched and asked questions. Made me feel like I 
was at a doctor's office." 

"Didn't it hurt?" 

"It always hurts. Miss Baldwin, but a girl never knows how bad it will hurt. 
Ratigan wasn't all that mean to me that one time but he kept me hung up the 
rest of the afternoon and kept on giving Mr. Adrian what he called 
'demonstrations.' Every time after he'd given me a few licks and my bottom 
was red hot, Mr. Adrian would ask me to tell him how it hurt and what it 
felt like and what my sensations were. I got the feeling I never said the 
right things." 

With her hands fastened behind her back. Faith knew it was useless to take 
about jeeps or escape. She was curious about the handcuffs and decided on 
exploration in the light of Ratigan's laughing comment that if she wanted to 
know why she had lost her hands she should roam around and find out. She 
clinked hobbled steps in what might be a day long adventure. - 

There was a beautiful, brooding silence about as Faith explored room after 
room, most of them part ruin. Where ever she went the mellow stones told her 
of times long ago and deeds half forgotten. She wondered if any other girl 
had made a similar quest as hers now. It seemed unlikely that whimsy had 
played a part in lives of ancient times, but whimsy held her now, it was 
whimsy that had prompted Ratigan to chain her thus before piquing her 
curiosity. When he returned he would want to know how she had spent her day. 
Growing tired of crumbling stonework and with feel tender from rough 
pathways, she turned her short footsteps back to those areas renovated by 
Adrian. In one of the empty downstairs rooms she found the answer to her 
quest. 

They were suspended naked and evenly across the sizeable chamber. Faith's 
now practiced eye discerned the tight leather bindings on the wrist to 
prevent the constriction of blood flow to enable the punish to be of long 
duration. All three were exquisite examples of their age and type. In the 
center a woman of perhaps thirty-five or six hung who's lovely contours hung 
passive in exhaustion. The more slender nudities to either side were 
possibly blonde twins or fourteen or fifteen years age. Faith knew 
instinctively they had been suspended thus a long time and had lost their 
will to fight or loudly protest. They eyed the newcomer with surprise and a 
sudden flare of hope which told Faith why her hand had been chained behind 
her back. Had she been allowed to use her hands, she could have given aid 
and comfort. As it was she could do no more than stare in a shocked 
disbelief of her own. 

"Please help us. Please get our feet back on the floor." It was the woman in 
the center who spoke and in who's voice was an infinite appeal and a 
terrible apprehension. It was a act to break the heart of any girl, to turn 
and Faith did then and wiggle cuffed wrists to show that she could aid these 
three females not at all. 

"I've been chained so I can't help you," she said simply. "I'm terribly 
sorry, if I could help you I would." 

The center figure stirred restlessly at the end of the two tethers that held 
her hands eighteen inches apart. "Why are you chained like that? Who are 
you?" 

"My name is Faith Baldwin. I've been kidnapped. I'm just as much a prisoner 
as you." 

Understanding came to the tortured face. "You're the girl were was all that 
fuse about a few months ago. You're the girl who's father is in the 
government." 

"That's right. I've tried and tried to escape but never get the chance. I 
don't think any girl could escape from Castle . " 

"But they let you walk around?" 

"Why not! With my feet hobbled like this I can't walk any distance but they 
do usually let me have my hands. I belong to Ratigan, their leader " 

"They're going to torture us, this is just the beginning. We've hung like 
this every since they brought us here. They gave us water to drink but 
that's all. Surely there's something you can do. Isn't there a phone?" 

"Sure there's a phone but it's locked up where I can't get at it. These 
people think of everything, they're clever." 

Tears streaked the young cheeks to either side. Their voices were quaintly 
in unison. "Please help us, we hurt so bad. Please.. ! " 

The toes of the suspended females were just barely above the floor, in a 
cruel frustration no doubt deliberately done. When Faith stepped close their 
eyes were almost level as she picked up the heavy waves of girl scent and 
the sweat of exhaustion. Impetuously she kissed the dry, parched lips of the 
youthful maidens, then stood on her toes to treat their mother to the same 
salutation of damsels in distress. Fearful of tears, theirs or her own, she 
muttered a quick, "I'll go and get help. Or at least I'll try." 

In her urgency. Faith snubbed each step she took towards the door. 

"They got it coming," said Cully. "They ain't felt nothing yet. We're just 
giving them a softening up. Don't you worry your pretty head about them." 

"But it's so cruel!" 

"See here. Miss Baldwin, you worry the Bhoys or Ratigan enough and you'll be 
hanging there with them. Wouldn't want to do it to you but I will if you 
make yourself a nuisance." 

Repulsed by Cully, Faith sought Jinny but without result. 

"Alls I can do for 'em is feel sorry. If I could let them loose I wouldn't 
dare. I'd be fixed right along with them and suffer the same. I don't know 
what the Bhoys are going to do to them but I'll bet it ain't good." 

"Oh damn and I'll so helpless." Faith once more turned and wagged handcuffed 
hands at her friend. "Look, there's nothing I can do! Ratigan fixed me but 
good." 

"It's just the way things are. Miss Baldwin, don't take on about it. We all 
get whipped and hurt and get those damned things up between our legs. This 
mother and her two brats will get what they have to and get sent home." 

"But I have to help. I can't just stand and watch them hang there in agony!" 

"Yes you can. Miss. But if you're so set on doing something you can 
proposition the Bhoys, there's one proposition they'll always go for. You 
ask them to do whatever it is you want in return for caning your rump, 
they'll go for that anytime. But don't bargain for more than ten strokes, a 
girl can't stand more than that, it's bloody awful." 

"But what would Ratigan say? I'm suppose to belong to him alone. The boys 
treat me as if I'm precious." 

"I don't know about Ratigan, Miss, I ain't never been his private property, 
more's the pity. He only took me to bed with him once and I ain't never 
forgotten. You sure are lucky." 

Faith considered. It would be hours yet before Ratigan returned. Would he 
accept her wealed bottom in good conscious or would he whip it again because 
she failed to respect his property. She did not know. But a mother and two 
daughters were hanging suspended and in agony. Again she snubbed her ankles 
in a determined march. Before she reached the bar she met Johnny Catlin. 

"Johnny, do me a favor." 

"Anything you want. Miss Baldwin, you're a real sweetheart, you are." 

"Thank you, Johnny. If I invite you to cane my bottom will you let those 
three woman you captured have their feet on the floor? They're suffering." 

Lust flared. Even in a boy as nice as Johnny it was always there ready to 
surface at some innocent remark or a glimpse of feminine flesh. Johnny was 
certainly interested but cautious. 

"You got Ratigan's permission. Miss?" 

"No, I thought you were allowed to cane me, within reason, if you wished." 

"You're something special. Miss. But I sure would like to cane you. I get a 
marvelous hard-on." 

"Why don't you do it then. Ten strokes.. . But only after you've let those 
three girls have their feet back on the floor. I'm not asking you to set 
them free." 

"But, Miss, you're crazy. Ten strokes with your cane across your bottom 
would hurt like hell and all you'd get them women is a few hours when they 
weren't hung up." Johnny made a negative gesture with his hand. "And anyway 
I'd have to have them hanging up before Ratigan come back." 

"Okay, Johnny, it's a deal." 

He looked at her uncertainly. He was suspicious of such infinite delight. In 
Johnny Catlin's book anything this good most surely hid a kicker somewhere 
and he had best watch for it. Slowly he announced terms. 

"Well, okay. Miss Baldwin, I let them girls get them feet on the floor so's 
they're comfy like. Then I canes your bottom so they know the cost?" 

"Sounds okay by me, Johnny." 

"Why don't you wait a while, Miss Baldwin, and make that offer to Ratigan. 
I'll bet he'll take you up on it. I mean, it don't cost you nothing because 
afterwards we can still do everything to them three gals. I think you're 
wasting your time and the skin of your ass." He eyed her dubiously. "But 
it's your ass, are you quite sure?" 

Faith allowed herself to be carried, it saved time. That Johnny also carried 
a long length of slender yellow cane was no more that the deal called for. 
Faith felt like a story-book character but her heart was thudding almost 
painfully. Canes on bare flesh hurt! 

There was some gratitude. The faces of mother and daughters came alive with 
hope as Faith was placed erect before their limited view. She said, "This is 
Johnny Catlin, he's going to let your feet down on the floor. I'm sorry but 
that's the best I can do. I can't set you free." 

Johnny went about his task in a businesslike fashion. It took only a few 
minutes to have each of the tree pairs of suspended feet solidly planted on 
the floor. The fact that three pairs of feminine hands remained pulled up 
was a problem that he refused to consider. While thanks poured from female 
lips, he looked at Faith and said, with unmistakable emphasis, "This is 
where I get to cane your ass, Miss Baldwin. Want I should tie you up?" 

The thought had not occurred. Memories of Victorian school days had made it 
simple to think of just bending down and presenting a girl's bottom for its 
ration of pain. Usually they touch their toes but with Faith now that was 
not possible. Leaving the worrying to Johnny, she said very simply, "Do what 
you like, Johnny. I expect it would be a good idea to fix me so I can't 
move. I know it's going to hurt." 

Like all the boys, Johnny was ready for any emergency. Another chain came 
down from above and was hooked into Faith's handcuffs. It then rose until 
she was bent over and starting to gasp in distress. Her bottom was 
outrageously offered to any interested person. Johnny was undoubtedly 
interested. It was at this point that mother intervened. 

"You're doing this for us, aren't you, Miss what ever your name is. I can't 
allow it, I simply can't. We're terribly grateful but it's simply something 
we can't allow." Then she turned to Johnny to demand, "All right you 
bastard, hang us up again. We don't want our feet on the floor at the price 
of this girl's skin." 

"Yes, we do Mommy." The demand was in unison. "Please let this nice girl 
have her bottom caned so we can go on standing the way we are." 

"Go on, Johnny," Faith interjected forcefully. "If you don't we'll all be in 
tears. Cane my bottom then leave the girls the way they are right now. I 
don't care what you do with me. Ratigan will probably cane me again anyway." 

"You're a wonderful girl, Miss Baldwin," Johnny paid tribute. "I'll just 
take you up another inch or two so you'll not want to dance around." 

The self-appointed savior of maidens in need of aid gasped but made no 
protest as her arms were painfully hoisted and the handcuffs bit angrily 
into her wrists. Faith closed her eyes against the pain to come. She felt 
sure that in spite of his friendly manner Johnny would spare her nothing. 
When the first cut lapped her bottom from hip to hip she was glad she was 
fastened as she was. She could never have coped with ten such strokes by 
will power alone. She garnered a brief glance at those for whom she 
suffered. The mother looked shocked and concerned, the two daughters looked 
simply curious and pleased. All three were obviously in the state of 
euphoria that comes when someone finds their feet back on the ground. When 
stroke number two slashed her bottom viciously, Faith Baldwin moaned. 

The raising of her arms was wicked. Faith was shocked by the helplessness it 
imposed. It also exposed her twin curves outrageously. Johnny Catlin had 
raised her shirt and pinned it high for full access to a portion of her 
person only imperfectly covered at the best. As the ass from her beaten 
bottom spread in wave after wave she swayed against the tether and kicked at 
nothing with one foot. She had to concede Johnny's wisdom in fastening her 
thus, she never could have stood still. Seeing the distress so clearly 
expressed on the mother's face, Faith consoled them briefly, "Don't worry, 
this won't last long. He won't kill me." 

Johnny Catlin did not kill Miss Faith Baldwin. Eyes gleaming, his breath 
coming faster and faster, he planned three more cane strokes upon the 
resilient flesh of a girl who had given herself in a good cause. But Johnny 
was a decent guy and at the end of stroke number five he sat aside the cane 
and said, "That's enough. I'm damned if I'm going to give you ten, not the 
way I've laid them on!" 

Faith almost felt love for the amiable rebel. When Johnny had lowered her 
arms and removed the tether she turned and, in a wave of thankfulness, 
kissed his startled lips. She said, "Thank you, thank you, I'm so grateful." 

"What you grateful for, Miss Baldwin?" 

"Cause you only hit me five times instead of ten, that cane hurts something 
awful." 

Johnny turned her streaked her bottom to best advantage and beamed at it 
pridefully. He then turned her further for the benefit of those who stood 
with hands above their heads in stricken dismay. "There you are ladies, get 
a good look. That's what you're going to get only ten times worse." He 
patted the wounded flesh lovingly then felt in his pocket to produce a 
wicked looking strap. "I ain't using the cane on you because it would mark 
but what you'll get from this will fade in an hour or two." 

Faith stood back, her own relatively light punishment faded from her mind as 
she beheld and listened to three expressions of deep concern. 

"You're not going to hit us with that awful thing, are you!" 

"Mama, can't you stop him? I don't want to be whipped." 

The woman in the center of the trio caught Faith's eyes and said a quiet, 
"Thank you, we're grateful." Then to Johnny, "If you have to be cruel, be 
cruel to me. My daughters have done nothing to deserve any kind of 
punishment at all. Please leave them alone." 

Johnny Catlin was fingering the supple strap lovingly. "So, okay, the little 
darlings are innocent. But you ain't innocent, are you?" 

"I suppose not, not by your standards." The eyes of the naked maturity roved 
from her anguished daughters to Faith then to focus on the limber leather 
she was soon to feel. "We don't expect mercy, but whatever you feel you have 
to do, do it to me only. Surely you have that decency." 

Faith guessed Johnny's embarrassment, he had got himself into something he 
might later regret. But the sight of so much female nakedness was 
irresistible. His Irish voice had become husky. "Okay, lady, I'll redden 
your ass but leave the girls along. They're a pretty pair and I ain't got 
nothing again' 'em at all, at all. The rest of the Bhoys ain't likely to be 
so kind." 

Faith knew the mother's anguish as a man she had never previously seen 
stepped behind her to inflect a pain on a part of her person not often 
referred to in polite society. Faith saw the in drawn breath and tightened 
breasts as the woman about to be strapped tugged hard at her tethers and 
braced herself for the blow on bare flesh. The blow, when it came, splatted 
hard on tender skin to produce a crack like a pistol shot, then fell away to 
disclose a precise, red imprint. The stricken mother gasped and moved 
uneasily against her bonds. Faith knew she was trying hard not to cry out or 
to scream before her watching daughters, who had each turned to survey their 
mother's punishment in wide-eyed horror. The leather sang and cracked its 
obscene impact a second time to mark the shivering nakedness an inch from 
the first blow. In disbelief in such pain the mother pleaded in a controlled 
and careful voice, "No more. Oh. please don't hit mc again, you don't know 
how it hurts." 

Johnny Catlin hit again and yet again, faith watched in helpless 
fascination. The cane across her own bottom was worse than what this woman 
suffered now but the frightful crack of the leather was daunting in itself, 
it curled you up inside. At the end of the sixth blow Faith felt forced to 
plead, "Johnny, that's enough! Don't whip her any more, you're being 
unkind." 

The normally amiable young man gave Faith brief attention. "You want me to 
go on caning you. Miss Baldwin?" 

"No." 

"Then just you watch and don't say nothin.' This here woman's taking it like 
a real hero, so she is. and I don't plan to give her more than ten. So just 
you keep your pretty little trap shut." His arm swung swift and sure. The 
sound of the impact was horrendous. 

5 

Strapped Skin 

When Ratigan returned, his first act after their greeting was to give her 
back her hands. Laughing, as she massaged pink wrists. Faith chided. "I 
discovered why you put my hands behind my back I don't know what quarrel you 
have with the mother but aren't you ashamed of taking two teenage girls as 
well, their a pair of innocents'. '" 

"Forget them. I don't want you starry eyed on their behave. Those three 
belong to the Bhoys and the Bhoys will do as they please with them. I'll 
keep an eye on them only enough to make sure they don't get killed. Now, off 
with that shirt! I desire you." 

Faith was accustomed to this demand, it might come at any hour of the day or 
night She was unfailingly obedient, mostly desiring Ratigan as much as 
Ratigan wanted her. Her shirt was up half way over her head before she 
remembered. . . . She suddenly found herself hoping against hope her master 
would fail to notice the marks left on her bottom by Johnny Catlin. She 
paused only a second then tossed the shirt aside to face Ratigan in shinning 
innocence. Chained feet no longer mattered, they had learned to deal with 
them. 

"Hold it. Faith! Turn around. What the devil.. . ! Here, let me have a 
look." Ratigan turned her bottom harshly to the light. 

To lie would only make things worse. No girl could acquire five such perfect 
markings by accident. Haltingly she told the truth. 

"Huh! Haven't you learned that you belong to me. That every bit of you is 
mine and no one else's, even to punish." 

"Yesssss.. . I felt so sorry for the poor things I forgot." 

"We must help your memory, won't we, sweetheart." 

"Oh, Ratigan, please.. . Please!" 

"Go and get that cane Johnny used on you. Bring it here." Faith looked down 
at her chained feet unhappily. "Must I." 

"You know you must. Get with it, don't fart around looking sorry for 
yourself." 

To Faith, anxious to please, it seemed the longest walk of her life. At 
every step she snubbed an ankle and several times tripped and fell. When she 
finally confronted her master to hand him the fateful wane, she was panting 
and disheveled. 

"Bend over the bottom of the bed and stick that pretty ass out for me." His 
order was abrupt, a hard command she dare not disobey. 

Arranging her nakedness, Faith said wanly, "This is the first time you've 
punished me like this. Ratigan." 

"And it won't be the last, sweetheart. I've been too easy on you, that's the 
hell of it when you fall in love with a girl. You both get soft. I should 
whip you once a week to keep us both in trim. You sure you don't want to be 
tied?" 

"I'd sooner handle it myself, if you don't mind." 

"Good! That pleases me. Now curve your back down and stick that pretty 
little rump out and keep it out. I'm not going to beat it to a pulp." 

Faith hoped she looked beautiful and innocent and pitiful. If she could save 
herself even a couple of strokes by appealing to his chivalry it would help. 
Anything would help. She wondered most of all if this fresh assertion of his 
love might dull the pain. Surely this must be the ultimate eroticism! Faith 
was certain the emotions in her mind were more acute than anything she had 
ever know. Ratigan was going to cane her bare bottom, her bare skin. She 
told herself she deserved every stroke she was going to get. -She closed her 
eyes. 

It was the familiar agony of the afternoon only worse! Love made it hurt no 
less, instead doubled the intensity of the sensations. She was living 
vitally, alive, receptive to anything this man might do. The knowledge of 
ravishment awaiting her at the end of this ordeal caused her breasts to 
heave and the secretions within her sex to flood. As the second stroke of 
Ratigan's cane lapped her bottom from side to side she longed to scream but 
restrained it to no more than a harsh snort. 

She did not move. 

Ratigan caned the girl he loved deliberately and slowly. He was sincere in 
teaching her a lesson but his sincerity was matched by the girl's own wish 
to accept and be taught. Both were vividly aware of joy to come. With each 
cut upon her tautly bent skin Faith realized she was being taken into a new 
world, a world often spoken of but which now, in reality, proved worse than 
her most frightening visions. If her posture crumpled after a stroke she 
corrected it instantly but by the time Ratigan had plied his cane for the 
last time in one final, cruel inflection. Faith was making small animal 
sounds deep in her throat and drawing short, gasping breaths to keep pace 
with the raising crescendo of pain. Ratigan was right, she would remember 
this! 

"On the bed, quick!" Ratigan shed his clothes in savage gestures while his 
captive maiden eased her scolded bottom onto the bed clothes and then, in 
all-embracing lust, thrust it hard down and frictioned it from side to side 
in a sudden glory of survival. She had won a victory. When Ratigan's hard 
thrust entered her the shackles on her ankles contributed their own paean of 
joy as Faith's arms clung tight around male ecstasy. 

In the morning after Ratigan had left her and gone upon his way. Faith 
Baldwin lay in relaxed contentment, stretching and deliberately chafing her 
ridged and still burning bottom on the sheet, wondering as she did so how 
often it might be possible to harvest the same flare of lust. Ratigan had 
doubled the punishment she had sought from Johnny Catlin, adding his own ten 
to Johnny's five. Faith Baldwin knew herself indeed an exceedingly well 
caned young woman. Somewhere in the night Ratigan had praised her 
performance and admitted, a trifle sheepishly, that fifteen cane strokes was 
a lot for any girl to bear. 

The punished girl allowed her thoughts to drift to the three captives she 
had sought to aid. She had probably got herself thrashed without improving 
their condition. True, she had got their feet back on the ground for a 
limited time. But her efforts caused the mother to be strapped and for she 
herself to bear a scolded bottom. Perhaps the two youngsters had benefited. 
Faith hoped they had. 

While still half awake Faith realized this total authority males held over 
females in this strange world of . The band was merciless and also, in his 
own way, was Ratigan. Faith laughed at herself for the self-satisfaction of 
compliance. Since she could never be freed she might as well be totally 
owned and subject to Ratigan's will. Half measures between the sexes was 
ridiculous, equality a myth. She bathed and donned her shirt with the 
feeling she had come a long way and it was good. Before the mirror she 
postured long enough to be sure her purple wounds were not too blatantly in 
view. She did not want everyone she passed to comment on what a lovely 
bottom she possessed, her bottom was none of their business, it belonged to 
Ratigan. In deliberate titillation she frictioned its hurt surface with 
mischievous fingertips before telling herself not to be a harlot. As she 
headed for the kitchen the chains upon her feet possessed her again. 

The mother had been placed were anything done to her daughters was stark for 
her eyes. Her back had been thrust against the stone wall, her arms drawn 
out to either side and there tight bound. She could not turn away but must 
stand in her nakedness like an impaled butterfly as an unwilling partner in 
what the band still called "teaching a lesson." 

Faith stood across the huge stone chamber in similar plight except for 
wearing a shirt and being compelled to stand where she was by a handcuff on 
one wrist only, its other circle locked to the wall at shoulder level. She 
had been told she had nothing to fear, she was an audience only and would be 
included in no punishment, unless, of course, she behaved stupidly. For the 
first few minutes it was pleasant to thrust her burning bottom against cool 
stone. It seemed unlikely she would be bored. 

There was an atmosphere of The Court about what took place. The big room was 
bare except for the members of the band lining its walls. Jinny was there 
but under no restraint, she had long since been broken to obedience. The 
proceedings began when a couple of the Bhoys dragged into view a naked and 
protesting teenager who's small hands had been tied behind her back to 
defeat the maiden modesty of covering her pubs. She was told to stand still 
and answer questions. She was obviously terrified. 

"Your name please?" 

The frightened young eyes roved the hall for help, lingering upon her mother 
before completing the circle of faces on which there was little mercy but 
much carnal interest. Only Jinny Riley smiled and nodded and Faith did 
likewise. But that was small comfort to an anguished, naked girl standing 
alone in the midst of many men. Faith could see the young hands straining 
and tugging at the cords upon the slender wrists. She knew the feeling, knew 
it all too well! The youngster squared her shoulders and stared back. 

"By name is Coral Noyes." 

"Age?" 

"I'm fourteen, and you've got no right.. . " 

"What does your mother do for a living." 

"She's a member of the Northern Ireland Parliament. Please don't.. . . " 

"Is your mother hostile to The Cause?" 

"She hates the cause and so do I!" The young eyes flashed. 

"You would injure us if you could?" 

"Everyone would injure you if they could, you're horrible." 

"Coral Noyes, you are sentenced to twenty strokes with the strap. Other 
punishments will follow." 

Things moved swiftly. The Cause had made its judgments before the trial, in 
fact before the kidnapping of these three unfortunates. Faith spared a 
glance to where a man was thoughtfully stuffing a rag into the mouth of the 
horrified Mrs. Noyes and binding it tight between her lips with rope. No 
doubt there was the possibility of a mother's pleas influencing some member 
of The Cause, and this would be unforgivable. 

Someone carried in a sawhorse, over which the girl called Coral Noyes was 
harshly bend. Her hands were untied but only to be retied to the wooden 
legs. Now the youthful feet were tugged beneath the horse to be bound the 
already captive hands. The young rump reared in provocative insolence 
convenient to the infliction of the awaiting strap. In further emphasis a 
rope was passed around the stressed thighs and narrow back which, when 
cinched tight, cause an outrageous thrust upward of the lovely but pitiful 
young bottom to be strapped. The child's head was close to the floor, she 
was panting hard. 

The sentenced girl screamed from the very first stroke. Faith knew the blow 
was not as hard as it might have been but on that tight flesh made a 
shocking impact. It would have been a severe punishment for a mature woman 
but delivered upon this bright and eager young teenager it was the limit of 
what one so young might bare. He who held the strap stepped carefully from 
side to side after each blow to ensure a full and adequate coverage of 
maiden modesty. With every crack of leather upon flesh there came a wailing 
cry of anguish which danced up and down the scale of girlish pain until, 
toward the end, these vocal expressions down to sobs and moans. Immediately 
the last stroke had fallen on quivering buttocks. Coral was released, turned 
over, then bound upon her back, her legs spread wide and down, the whole 
ensemble tightly tied to expose the young and virgin sex in pure obscenity. 
It was thrust a few inches out beyond the end of the plank and, to insure 
its availability, a pillow was pushed beneath the narrow arched waist and 
then tugged input position. The implication was all too clear, Coral Noyes 
was about to be raped. Gazing across the room at Mrs. Noyes, the mother of 
the victim. Faith saw the tight clenched fists and strained muscles as the 
woman pushed and pulled against her bonds in mute helplessness. Faith turned 
to gaze at her own captive wrist. She could do nothing! 

It is doubtful if Coral knew what was soon to be done. It was not until a 
man, his organ rampant, stood above her that recognition dawned in the young 
eyes. Coral Noyes screamed and screamed again as she was penetrated. It 
seemed probably she had been virgin. 

There was not one man alone, there was others. The girl did not loose 
consciousness but was vividly alive throughout, tensing and twisting at her 
bonds and her tear drenched face turning from side to side. It was an ugly 
business which, when so-called justice was appeased, was called to a formal 
halt but only so that those who watched might themselves participate in the 
violation of maiden loins. A couple sheepishly accepted. That was all! 

Those who watched could not fail to realize this was a play, and 
entertainment, a masque for the edification of bored and sex-hungry men. 
Coral's hands were again tied behind her back, her ankles also bound, and 
she was carried to a corner where her sobs would detract nothing from the 
performance of her sister. To insure she remained more or less in that one 
place, her arms and legs were drawn together behind her back in an unkind 
hogtie. She was then ignored. 

The next sister admitted to the name of Brenda and the age of thirteen. The 
brief glance she was given of her punished sister and agonized mother told 
her little. She was sentenced to what was described as a "mild whipping" for 
which her hands were now bound and she was suspended from a rope like a 
puppet on a string. The whip, admittedly, was not lethal but would be cruel 
on tender skin. Brenda kicked and swayed and jumped around amazingly from 
the first stroke on. Whenever her young nakedness assumed a posture 
satisfactory to he who held the whip his arms flashed and one more scarlet 
line was added to the tally on the youthful skin. Brenda danced up and down 
like a child's toy, her screams and pleadings were piteous and went 
unheeded. When she was considered to be well and adequately whipped, a pair 
of males appeared with a wooden bench to which she was bound on her back, 
her arms down to either side, her waist cinched down but her feet and legs 
left free. Once more the exposure outraged Faith. 

It was just the same. Man after man and scream after scream. In less than 
half an hour Brenda was bound in the same manner as her sister and deposited 
beside her on the stone. But almost instantly it was deemed a poor vantage 
point from which these two girls might now view the punishment of their 
mother. They were hauled back to center stage and forced to kneel, a posture 
quite possible when bound as they were bound. If they fell sideways they 
might hurt themselves, but this was their own concern. Coral and Brenda 
stared at each another and around the room with an anguish almost without 
comprehension of what had been done to them or what might still be done. The 
pretty young bodies were red with weals. 

It was the same with Mrs. Noyes. She was thirty-six, divorced, and an 
unforgiving enemy of The Cause. The woman evidently realized it was useless 
to lie or plead so freely admitted to facts all too well known and 
understood. Mrs. Noyes was The Enemy and must therefore suffer. But before 
her suffering began she was asked if she wished to recant or to plead for 
mercy and beg to become a member of The Cause. Her vitriolic reply left no 
doubt as to her fate. This time the sentence was for thirty strokes and the 
whip was real indeed. 

The Cause was not without its own originality. Faith supposed they had 
whipped so many unfortunate women that they must now seek variation in the 
way and manner in which it was done. They choice now to leave Mrs. Noyes 
entirely free of bonds but to loop a noose around her left ankle and haul it 
up until only her head and the top of her shoulders remained upon the floor, 
leaving her free leg to flail wildly in the wind. The was the same with her 
hands and arms, she could do nothing useful with them except to thrust 
against the floor to easy the singe band or rope digging deep into her 
ankle. In order that she might tell The Court of her name being Pam Noyes 
and add the other statistics and opinions, someone had removed her gag. 
Faith could see her swallowing hard and guessed she would try hard not to 
scream. 

It was an ugly, vicious whip which could snake in and out of any female 
crevasse or upon any feminine curve. The first stroke was upon her 
conveniently offered bottom, a bottom which immediately became less 
convenient and very far from being offered. The almost upside down nudity of 
Mrs. Pam Noyes became a jumble of two arms and one leg waving from a torso 
of curved and sweating femininity. 

There began then a truly remarkable but unintentional demonstration of the 
ways in which a girl so bound as Pam Noyes could seek avoidance of the whip 
and contort itself into posture after posture which saved none of it from 
the seeking thong. The tether creaked and she danced and the pain went on. 
Her pained dance inadvertently provided portions of her the she would never 
have exposed as targets for the whip had she been thinking clearly. From the 
lips within this terrible yet beautiful twistings and turnings of the flesh 
there came in clear and concise tones, "You bastards, you rotten bastards!" 

The punishment of Mrs. Pam Noyes had now begun. 

That evening it pleased Ratigan to rob Faith of her shirt and handcuff her 
wrists in frontal position. She was longing to speak of the day's events and 
seek knowledge of the morrow but was frankly frightened. What she had 
witnessed had been vile and terrible and utterly despicable. But she had not 
seen Ratigan in the crowd, through she now knew him well aware of all that 
had taken place. She stood in passive acceptance as her wrists were locked, 
it was nothing and did not matter, and then in equal submissiveness suffered 
the lovely collar to be locked around her neck. Wryly she considered that 
for the daughter of a British cabinet minister she was quite tastefully 
enchained. Once more she was thankful her parents could not see her now. 

"So, all right, we're a bunch of bastards. Out with it girl!" Ratigan had 
been looking sheepish since before dinner. 

"I didn't say anything." 

"You don't have to. Damn it. Faith, I've never seen features more elegant 
than yours. Decided to hate me?" 

"No. I can't hate you. Maybe I should but I can't. And. anyway, you weren't 
there among all that lustful collection of louts." 

"But I'm just as guilty?" 

"Perhaps. I expect your conscious will tell you." 

They sat upon the bed, neither of them yet ready for love. Ratigan turned 
the captive girl, with almost frightening easy, to place her for his 
convenience. He then began with tender hands to message her shoulders and 
back in a manner they often enjoyed and which gave Faith a tremendous 
sensual pleasure. As she surrendered to sensation she could almost purr. 

"Hate me, sweetheart?" It was as though Ratigan flagellated guilt. 

"I don't hate you, Ratigan, I love you. If I didn't, I wouldn't feel this 
bad." 

The strong male hands did not cease their rhythmic message to her flesh. 
Ratigan's absorbed silence drove Faith to declare, "I'm sorry if loving you 
isn't permitted. It's something I can't help. Don't think you have to be 
kind to me because of it." 

"Don't worry, I won't be kind unless you call what I do now kind. It is you 
know. I love you, too." 

Faith knew their enemy to be The Cause, but then without The Cause they 
would never have met! The chained girl admitted to defeat when it came to 
straightening out such an emotional mess. She knew only she would stay 
Ratigan's prisoner and would remain so into she could wean him from The 
Cause. Impossible as that may seem. Faith was a woman and would not give up 
her dream of wedded bliss. It was a very nebulous dream but she tucked it 
comfortably away in a secret recess of her mind. In the meantime the less 
Ratigan knew of it the better. 

"Do I get whipped or something if I speak about what I was forced to watch 
today." 

"No, go ahead." 

"Raping those two teenagers was horrible, it can't possibly do your cause 
any good." 

"Nothing does our cause any good, sweetheart, don't worry about it. The boys 
got some free nookie. that's about all it amounts to, don't worry about it." 

"And that poor woman, Pam Noyes, she was terribly whipped then practically 
every man in the place raped her. It was beastly." 

"She can handle it. love, she's got fine, strong thighs and a commendable 
cunt. What she got is no more than we've given others, they all survive." 

"I can't help thinking that if I'd said the wrong thing, I'll be getting the 
same treatment. Will I?" 

"Not so long as you belong to me. Under our code I'm the only one who can 
punish you. But maybe what I'd do to you would be a lot worse than what they 
might." 

Faith sighed, she wasn't getting anywhere. "So long as it's you who does it 
to me, I won't complain." She laughed. "Even though I don't know what you 
might do. But, about those three you've got tied up someplace, what else are 
you going to do to them?" 

"You'll be the first to know, sweetheart, you'll have a front row seat." 
Ratigan mused silently. "I'll tell you one thing just to keep your interest 
alive, both of those sweet young things are going to get branded on their 
bottoms with mama watching but well gagged. Sure, we could brand mama, and 
maybe we will. But it will hurt Mrs. Pam Noyes far more to make her watch 
while we brand her daughters' skin." 

"Ratigan, that's horrible! You didn't think that up. ? " 

"It doesn't matter, precious, The Cause is a force, it beats and brands and 
binds as it sees fit. It's a force that gone beyond me or any of its 
members. There are no pointing fingers about what was done today." 

"But that's what I've been telling you, Ratigan, it's you who's working for 
the Cause not the other way around." Watching his face darken she added with 
venom. "Go ahead, whip me for being impertinent, for speaking out of line. 
That's the only response The Cause has, isn't it to whip a girl?" 

Faith was breathless, knowing she had said too much. But Ratigan was in the 
mood of needing her, needing no stimulation of the whip to make love, 
feeling only a hot adoration of this beauty he had kidnapped. Some time in 
the future he might whip her but not now. 

"You really do push your luck, sweetheart," he said grimly. "I think it's 
more of a punishment to not whip you than make a martyr of you pretty little 
bottom. Come on, no one will hurt you sweet little bottom tonight." 

The next day was uneventful, impossible to know that Mrs. Pam Noyes and her 
two daughters languished somewhere within the bowels of Castle . Searching 
all morning, Faith could not find them, leaving her to suspect they were 
chained in the hateful dungeon she so feared. Evidently their strength was 
being fostered for the continuation of their punishments. She shrugged it 
off, no longer believing it in her power to help. Instead, she asked Johnny 
if it would be all right if he were to drive her to the gate house for her 
to visit Adrian. Climbing into the jeep she wore only the famous shirt and 
customary leg-irons, her handcuffs had departed for the day, nor was there 
rope upon her wrists. She lost no time in berating the man behind the wheel. 

"Why do you have to be so cruel to females, Johnny? That was awful what you 
did to those three yesterday." 

"No worse then we've done to a good many more. Miss Baldwin. We ain't cruel 
to you, are we. Miss Baldwin?" He laughed delightedly. "Not unless you ask 
for it. And you sure did ask!" 

"Yes, I know, and it's my own fault. After you gave me those five strokes 
the sight of them made Ratigan mad and he gave me ten more. All together it 
was the worse whipping I've ever had in my life." 

"Weren't no whipping, Miss Baldwin, we just caned your ass, so we did. If 
we'd have whipped your back you'd have known about it." 

Faith tried to laugh. "So, okay, I'm a dumb female who doesn't know enough 
to keep quiet. Now tell me about Adrian Moore. I've only met him once and 
I'm curious." 

Johnny Catlin hesitated before coming out with, "Ain't nothing much to tell. 
Miss. He's as strong for The Cause as Ratigan or any of us. But he don't 
like the way we do things. We gave him an invitation for yesterday but he 
said he didn't want to watch no girls being raped so he didn't come." 
Hesitatingly Johnny added, "I don't think he minds us whipping them but he 
don't want that there other. He's sort of fussy." 

"So if he whipped me he wouldn't want to ravish me afterwards?" 

"That about the way of it. Miss. He's awful polite." 

There was mischief in Faith's voice. "Maybe he can't ravish a girl, you know 
what I mean?" 

Johnny Catlin was faintly offended. "What you're saying, Miss, is he can't 
get it up. I can't say whether he can or not but talking 'bout him like this 
is awful rude, you ought not." 

Johnny was a delight. Faith knew she could twist him anyway she wished, 
except in that one vital question of escape. He would never help with her 
escape any more than Ratigan would himself. 

Drawing level with the impressive entrance of Adrian's home, she prompted 
mischievously, "I'm terribly grateful, Johnny, I simply can't walk in these 
leg-irons, I simply can't That's why they're locked on my ankles, isn't it? 
Is there some way I can pay you for this ride." 

"No need, Miss Baldwin, glad to do it." 

"Oh, I thought perhaps another five strokes on my bottom with your cane 
would give you pleasure.. . " 

"You're having me on. Miss Baldwin, you don't want me to cane your bottom. 
There's lots of bottoms to cane without messing with yours." 

Glowing with affection for this simple young man. Faith took measured steps 
towards Adrian's door while the jeep roared its way back to . She knew 
herself excited and wondered if this, too, were an infidelity. She was going 
to have to be careful about Adrian, he was a softer and more sympathetic 
copy of Ratigan whom she loved. But it would be very easy to love Adrian, 
too. It was most confusing and she blamed it all on Ireland. In England a 
girl never fell in love with two men at the same time. 

"Doesn't that idiot every unlock those shackles off your ankles?" Adrian 
inquired as he poured the tea. "It's not that I don't like them, they do 
something for you. They're quite lovely. But they must frustrate you to 
death." 

"I don't think my feelings matter that much, Adrian. I'm a captive and the 
essence of captivity is frustration. Isn't it, Adrian?" 

"Try these watercress sandwiches. My house keeper is a great believer in 
watercress sandwiches." Adrian handed her the plate and then continued, 
"Forgive me but that shirt you're wearing.. . It sorts of hovers around with 
the wind. I couldn't help noticing your bottom's been caned or whipped or 
whatever it is they do to girl's bottoms over there at . " 

"Yes, that's right. I let Johnny whip my bottom in exchange for his being 
kind to those poor girls they've got over there. When he saw the marks, 
Ratigan got angry and gave me ten more. It's the most I've ever had in my 
life. Hmmmm, these sandwiches really are good." 

"You see how delightful normalcy can be," Adrian said earnestly. "Sandwiches 
and tea. But there, across the hill, is with its whipping of girl's bottoms 
and the ravishing of the other side of them. It distresses me that what is a 
political movement is so fraught with carnality." 

"It's boredom, they haven't anything else to do. Anytime a man hasn't some 
sort of work or purpose he starts thinking about a girl's thighs and what 
we've got hidden there. Men are ridiculous, I've given up worrying about 
it." 

"Supposing I told you I was as ridiculous as all the rest." Adrian's gaze 
was intent. Faith's breasts burned before his stare. Mischievously she 
asked, "Would you like me to take off this shirt. I really don't mind any 
more, it's an aggravation to me and everyone else." 

"Would you! Oh, Faith, I can't believe.. . " 

For answer Adrian's visiting prisoner tugged the garment over her head and 
tossed it at him as an additional provocation. She raised her arms to tidy 
her hair. Miss Faith Baldwin knew her beauty and how to present it for a 
man's view. 

Adrian's breath caught in his throat. "You're the loveliest thing I've ever 
seen," he said urgently. "Would you mind standing up and sort of.. . Well, 
sort of displaying yourself. I do paint, you know, and I'm not shy about 
nudes." 

"Why not!" Faith was uncertain if she had a choice, any man with a whip 
could compel her to anything. She got to her feet and stretched on to her 
toes, flaunting her breasts and concave belly at the adoring male. It was 
one of those moments when she knew a woman, all women, could conquer the 
world if only they didn't fall in love. Sweetly she asked, "Like me?" 

"I like you too much. But you belong to Ratigan, I won't intrude. Put your 
shirt on if you wish and have another sandwich." 

It was as though the lines of battle were drawn between them. Compelled by 
pure mischief. Faith said, "You're as handsome a man, Adrian, as I am a 
beautiful woman. I think it would please you to whip me? If it would please 
you, I'll say yes." 

They stared. Adrian Moore had adored this girl since the first time he had 
seen her. He had cursed his luck that she belonged to Ratigan. Adrian was a 
Sybarite who found immense pleasure in the naked figures of the girls he 
painted. Sometimes one of them offered him more, and he accepted it 
gratefully as part of the wonder of life, whipping her or loving her as the 
case might be. 

"You're forgetting about Ratigan," he said gently. "I can't possibly whip 
you without his knowledge, he'll see the marks. Then he'll whip you more or 
some storming over here in a rage. It's the old story of men who hold an 
immense regard for each other until the woman appears and blows the whole 
lovely relationship apart." 

"That means us girls are just a damned nuisance.. . ? " 

Adrian laughed, he was enjoying the whole exchange. "You're forgetting 
mother nature. Faith, my dear. Two men produce no progeny, but insert a 
female in the triangle and it's soon she's pregnant by one of the men who no 
longer talk to each other. Nature's a cruel bitch." Adrian sighed 
reflectively. "Normally both of us would have gotten married by now and this 
triangle would never have happened. The thing which gave Ratigan and I this 
Damon and Pythias syndrome is The Cause. Ratigan pursues it violently but 
I'm a hedonist so my participation is limited to moral support and the 
things I've done over there at . . . . I suppose you realized I've done it 
more for you than for Ratigan and his dream?" 

The simplicity of Adrian's declaration touched this visitor. Faith placed 
her hand upon his arm and in a sadly broken voice admitted, "No, I hadn't 
realized. You make me terribly humble. I feel guilty about. . . . Well, 
about simply existing here at . Wouldn't it be far simpler, Adrian, for you 
to give me freedom? Get these iron things off my feet and let me use a 
telephone. I could be out of both you're lives within an hour." 

"The time for that, love, was on your first visit. It's too late now. If I 
dress and finance you and send you back to mother, you'd be in an English 
prison within a month. And you'd probably be there for twenty years. Ratigan 
was clever in the web of evidence he wove around you in that raid. I don't 
think you'd stand a change of acquittal. The English papers have had a field 
day with you. want to see some?" 

"No, don't show me. The way you tell it frightens me to death." 

"Okay, sweetheart, but it's best you know. But it brings it back to square 
one do I take you to bed now or later!" 

"I belong to Ratigan, I won't sleep with anyone else. You wouldn't respect 
me if I did. I was sincere when I offered myself to the whip but Ratigan 
would see that as a sort of infidelity, too. I shouldn't have mentioned it. 
Oh, damn!" 

Adrian poured more tea. "We've been talking as though forever, love, and 
that isn't sensible. Nothing is forever. At least not in this world. It's 
only a matter of time before Ratigan gets himself killed. I've warned him 
about it but he's got a death wish. Half the Irish have a death wish but 
don't know about it. I think Ratigan knows he's a haunted man. I expect 
that's the reason your feelings for him and own are this strong. Got any 
ideas?" 

Faith Baldwin's only idea at that moment was that the gate ho felt so 
beautifully comfortable and secure and so very ordinary. It within the law 
and Adrian Moore was wonderful to be close to. strength was not Ratigan's 
strength but of a different quality, a quality of peace and sanity. She 
remembered her nightmare and in a sudden burst of candor told the man across 
the table the whole frightening thing in full detail. By the time she had 
finished she was breathless demanded, "Oh, Adrian, it was awful! Tell me it 
doesn't anything." 

"It doesn't mean anything, my pet." 

Faith pouted and they both laughed, the nightmare faded from her mind, 
dissolved by Adrian's lack of interest. In mock disapproval she said, "Well, 
you might have shown a bit more interest. Tell you what, put me on the rack, 
stretch me just enough so I'll be scared, isn't that the exorcism for horror 
in the mind?" 

"I'll sooner whip you, it's far less ugly." 

"I offered myself but you refused." Faith wrinkled her nose at the smiling 
man. "So, okay, whip me and send me back to Ratigan well and truly marked. 
I'll try and rationalize it for him. I might even succeed. After all, 
Adrian, Ratigan owes you a lot and what's a whipped girl one way or the 
other." 

There came a long silence, more eloquent than words. They broke it as if by 
mutual concern and silently trod the downstairs steps to where there awaited 
the object of Faith's nightmare. Breathless beside it, heart thudding 
painfully, she strove for gaiety. "I left my shirt upstairs, I'm completely 
naked. A girl is suppose to be naked to be stretched on this, isn't she?" 

She watched Adrian ready the instrument of torture by which she would 
destroy a terrible dream. He had made placement of the plank which would 
support her weight during the first part of the ordeal, and waved invitingly 
before exclaiming, "Oh, damn, I forgot your feet are chained. You can't 
climb up. Here. I'll lift you." 

It was nice to be in Adrian's arms again. Faith wished it had been longer. 
Her mood became euphoric as she concentrated on what was before her. She 
settled herself down upon the hard, smooth wood, stretched arms and legs in 
opposite directions and gazed up with a mischievous smile. "I'm all ready. 
Adrian, make me tell the secret of the family jewels." 

It was spine-tingling to be dealt with a prisoner of ancient days on a 
instrument of pure torture. Her ankles first, the leather anklets finding 
space beneath the iron bands of the leg-irons even Adrian could not remove. 
Then her hands! True, she thrust her bare arms up to meet their fate and 
shivered deliciously as leather buckled tightly on her wrists. The wheel 
turned to retrieve its lost control, gathering the slack until Faith's skin 
began to tighten under stress. There was no pain yet but she could not move. 
She tried but the effort did no more than tighten her belly, already 
amazingly concave. Adrian's voice came from another world. 

"I've got you, my petty wench. I'll soon have your secrets, never fear." 

"Oh, Adrian.. . ! " 

Faith longed to pour out words but realized that one simply exclamation had 
said it all. "Yes, my pretty one, what now?" 

His face was above hers, peering down to assess how this foolish girl might 
be forced into a confession, to torture her more than her own stubbornness 
would call for. But it was not the Adrian of the nightmare, it was the 
Adrian who had just given her tea and watercress sandwiches. He gently 
brushed her hair aside and softly kissed her eyes. Then he leaned back to 
grasp the wheel and tightened it another notch. Instantly Faith was aware of 
being very taunt indeed and her weight upon the plank less solid. Without a 
word Adrian's fingertips played upon her stretched breasts and rigid 
nipples. One of them traced a teasing pathway down across her belly to 
clutch and squeeze her love nest. His voice informed, "You're shockingly 
wet, dear girl." 

"I'd be ashamed if I wasn't," Faith admitted without modesty. "Anyway, it's 
all your fault, look what you've done to me"' 

"Am I getting any closer to those family jewels?" 

Faith giggled. "Only the one you're holding in your hand. There's also the 
treasure chest you're exploring with your right. As to those jewels in the 
iron box, I'll never, never tell." 

"I'm not sure we're reading the right script, but I like it," Adrian said 
cheerfully just before, without warning, he tightened the wheel another 
wicked notch. 

The stretched nudity emitted a startled "OUCH!" But she still managed to 
smile up at the assessing male. "That's What the girl would have said, 
Adrian, I'll say it again so you'll know: OUCH! You've got me so tight 
stretched I can't even quiver." 

"A mere nothing compared to what you can expect, my love. But first.. . " 

It was an extraordinarily delicious series of sensations now evoked by male 
fingers. Being stretched as Faith was appeared to bring into existence, and 
into vivid sensitive, a whole host of nerves not previously suspected. The 
gorgeous sensations were intense enough to produce sensuous twists of the 
female contours on which they played. But the wracked beauty could only gasp 
and vent this wonder in short, compulsive breaths through lips she had to 
moisten with her tongue. The rest of Miss Faith Baldwin might have been 
carved in marble. 

Adrian's voice was a mere whisper. "This is were a gentleman would stop, 
sweetheart. Do you want me to?" 

"No!" 

All of Faith Baldwin screamed. The extra notch on the big wheel took her to 
where she had been in her nightmare to the time where it dissolved. Her 
torturer removed the plank beneath her and set it aside. The last cruel turn 
had raised its beautiful burden to where the plank was no longer needed. 
Faith was stretched tight to wring an extra measure of pain from wristlets 
and anklets demandingly in her flesh. It was no longer easy to breath. The 
fingers now imparted a particular torture all their own on breasts and 
nipples and a sexual slit stretched out. 

"I'm going to keep this in a special envelope forever," Adrian said softly 
as he grasped the longest of her pubic hairs and pulled it, with deliberate 
slowness, until it parted from her tender flesh to the accompaniment of one 
more heartfelt. "OUCH!" 

"I'll be back in a minute, sweetheart," he assured cheerfully, "I've got to 
put this envelope and the treasure it holds in a safe place you might never 
let me have another." 

At first there was a delicious feeling about her lonely agony, a terrible 
realism from times past. Faith felt certain other naked maidens had shared 
this fate of being left along to ponder the stupidity of being stubborn 
before the other turns of the wheel would spoil her loveliness beyond any 
point of return. But Adrian would return to set her free and they would 
laugh away her nightmare. 

It took what seemed, to the tractioned girl, several minutes before she 
realized Adrian was overdue. Surely it could not take this long to put away 
a single envelope even though it did contain a pubic hair from an 
irritating, naked girl. Faith suddenly realized a terrible isolation here 
spread tight upon this huge instrument of torture so that should she have 
some sudden need of a lessening of stress there was none to hear. She could 
scream all she wanted but the sounds would not go beyond the closed doors to 
the floor above. She could not struggle, she could do nothing but wail and 
that waiting would be in increasing pain and steadily growing fear. Miss 
Faith Baldwin devoutly wished she had not thought of the appalling ordeal in 
the first place. 

Without warning, Adrian's face was once more there. He had padded in 
silently to catch her by surprise. In a great thankfulness Faith saw his 
smile. It was by no means the awful vision of her dream. She heard his 
question, "One more notch, sweetheart?" 

"No! Oh, Adrian, please.. . NO!" 

"You really mean that, don't you, my pet. You've had enough. I'd love to 
torture you forever, you're a delicious subject, but I'd best let you go 
before I'm left with only a pair of arms and a couple of legs. So long." 

Faith heard the replacement of the plank with a great deal of thankfulness. 
She could have screamed with a mixture of pain and joy when the wheel 
loosened enough to let her weight rest on the plank. But her torturer was 
not content to let her off easy. Adrian gave her one more merciful notch 
then allowed her to lay captive beneath his gaze. Faith could not move and 
did not care, her relief was so great it would have been easy to close her 
eyes and sleep. Being unable to move did not matter so long as Adrian was 
there. 

The master of looked down, almost with reverence, at the stretched but not 
distorted nakedness he had owned for a brief hour or two. He was uncertain 
what to do with the treasure of nudity so helplessly fastened on his Rack. 
He voiced a troubled thought which brought Faith to wide-eyed wakefulness. 
"Faith, dear girl, this is absurd, it's crazy but I have to ask. Has Ratigan 
said anything about having you branded?" 

Had she been above to move. Faith would have set up an alarm. She managed 
only to twitch a few muscles before gasping, "No, why should he? You don't 
mean.. . ? " 

"I wondered. There's legends around and the poor chap once admitted to me it 
would be one way of cementing his ownership of you. I thought little of it 
at the time, believing it just a fanciful thing. But after that affair of 
the raid I wondered.. . ? " 

After her first panic. Faith considered the proposition dispassionately. It 
was something Ratigan could easily do and she was forced to wonder, with a 
small erotic thrill, if being branded by a man made her more his possession 
than did love! But Ratigan could never be certain of her love, seeing her 
only as a kidnapped girl, longing for escape. Under such conditions a brand 
might be highly practical. A girl might not wish to go home bearing an 
unremovable mark. 

"Please free me, Adrian. This thing about being branded.. . Well, it's 
spoiled the mood. I wish you hadn't told me." 

"Best you know, sweetheart. If you pick up any hints you'd best come running 
over here and I'll deal with it." 

"Running? You must be joking. Adrian, I can't even walk, at least not 
properly." 

"Faith, my dear, forget the whole thing, I'll deal with it. You won't mind 
if I leave you the way you are a while, will you?" 

"Yes, I will mind! Oh. Adrian, don't tease about something so awful as 
having a red-hot iron doing a print job on my skin. I don't think Ratigan 
would do that to me Please let me loose." 

"Forget the hot iron, precious, if it's done at all he'll do it 
artistically, not with a red-hot poker. Damn it, Faith, I feel a bastard but 
I want to keep you like you are forever. You're what the Americans would 
call a 'delectable dish.' I wonder what it would be like to stretch a girl a 
notch tighter then you are now then rape her. Damned interesting I suppose." 

"There's nothing to stop you, Adrian, why didn't you? In fact, why don't you 
do it now? You're not paying the least attention to my asking to be set 
free." 

Adrian chuckled, delighted by his power over the stretched beauty and her 
acceptance of his teasing. Considering the bizarre circumstance the two of 
them had hit upon an amazing rapport. With quick, sure motions he unstrapped 
her hands and feet and lifted her from within the framework of the rack. 
When he set his burden upon her two feet, she shared his amusement. 

"Oh. Adrian, this is so marvelous, you've no idea. But hold onto me, I feel 
all woozy. I think everything I've got is an inch longer." She clung to him 
with gloriously free arms. "Adrian, why wasn't I frightened? Why did I have 
such trust in you?" 

"I don't know, sweetie, probably my natural charm. Let me carry you up 
stairs and we'll have a brandy before you have to go home." Adrian picked up 
his mildly tortured guest and carried her upstairs. But they had no more 
than made their first sips of the potent brandy then there was a thunderous 
knocking at the front door. 

Adrian laughed at Faith's dismay. "Don't worry, sweetheart, but put your 
shirt on while I go deal with it." 

Faith had forgotten the shirt. She donned it guiltily. It had seemed so 
natural to be naked with Adrian and so much in keeping with her ordeal on 
the rack. Unusual sounds were coming from the hall and when Adrian 
reappeared, he was carrying the most unexpected of burdens, the hogtied 
nakedness of a gagged girl. 

It was Coral Noyes. 

6 

Plural Punishments 

Staring aghast. Faith resorted to a startled gulp from her glass. 

"Found her on my doorstep like a package from the post," Adrian said angrily 
while he dragged a seemingly endless amount of fabric from the young mouth, 
the lips of which were sealed with tape. He took his own glass and tilled it 
to freed lips. The hurt young eyes settled upon Faith. 

"Oh, Miss Baldwin, please don't let him hurt me. I've been hurt so much." 

"You're with friends," Adrian said as he was busy with the binding rope. 
"While I'm untying you tell us what happened." 

Words burst from the nude girl in a torrent. "They've got Mommy and Brenda 
in that awful place with the dungeon. I don't know why they unchained me and 
then tied me up and brought me here. Please call the police. Please help my 
Mommy and Brenda. They're so cruel, they've hurt us terribly. Look at the 
marks on my skin!" 

Adrian removed the hogtie and freed the young hands. He and Faith massaged 
the reddened wrists. Faith placed a glass in the young fingers. "Drink this. 
Coral, and don't be frightened of us." 

She stood back while Adrian lifted the girl into a sitting posture on the 
couch. He had not untied her feet. 

The youngster sipped gratefully, holding the glass in both freed hands, her 
eyes roving uncertainly while she poured out gratitude. Pausing in full 
flood, she said, awkwardly, "If you're Mr. Moore, I suppose to give you a 
message. I have to tell you I'm your property and you can use me as a slave 
girl and do anything you like to me." She gulped awkwardly. "That sounds so 
silly and I'm terribly sorry. You won't do that, will you?" 

Adrian ejaculated a hearty, "Damn!" He turned to Faith. "What the hell am I 
suppose to do with her?" 

"She's told you, Adrian. You're a lucky man, a naked slave girl left on your 
doorstep free of charge." 

"Any more sarcasm like that and I'll put you back on the rack. Damn it. 
Faith, Ratigan's put me in a quandary, a final bind so it is." 

"Just phone the police, Adrian," Faith suggested sweetly. "That gets Coral 
and me off your hands. I'll tell them I was dumped on your doorstep, too. We 
don't have to say a word about . " 

"But this little one will, there's no way she'll keep quiet." 

"Is that why you've still got her feet tied?" 

"Well, I can't have the girl running wild, can I?" 

Adrian was trying hard not to share Faith's amusement in his sudden 
embarrassment but brightened at an obvious solution. "I'm going to send her 
back with you. In fact I'll drive you both back to and give Ratigan a piece 
of my mind. He may be my friend but there are limits.. . " 

"It may have been his boys who sent her, they're bored stiff. But you can't 
send her back, Adrian-she'd be punished or tortured or something along with 
her sister and mother. And, anyway, keeping her chained in that awful 
dungeon is bad enough for any girl. You'll have to keep her." 

"That's ridiculous! I need a naked adolescent like I need a hole in the 
head." 

Faith brightened with inspiration. "Look, Adrian, don't go and have a fight 
with Ratigan. None of this should spoil your friendship. How will it be I 
tell him you're going to drive Coral to some distant place and let her go. 
You can give her a blanket or something. That gives him time to get rid of 
the sister and the mother the same way." 

Adrian shook his head disgustedly. "I can't. It would be a hostile act 
against The Cause. Damn it! Our afternoon's been ruined. Come alone." He 
scooped the still half bound girl up off the couch and headed for the door. 
But in desperation Faith cried out, "No, Adrian, no! Don't take her back to 
be tortured. If you won't give her freedom then keep her prisoner where she 
can do no one any harm but still be treated kindly. Then you and I go back 
to to see what happened." 

Adrian paused. He struggled, irritated, beyond words he returned his 
wide-eyed burden to the couch and once more tied the slender wrists behind 
the narrow waist. Without mercy he again hogtied the innocent arms and feet 
but said gently, "Sorry kid, but don't worry and don't struggle. I'm going 
to straighten this mess and I'll soon be back. I may have to keep you 
prisoner but I won't hurt you." 

Faith fell to her knees beside the fearful young beauty, kissing and 
whispering endearments and assurances of safety. It seemed inconsistent when 
the child was so cruelly bound but what else could she do. "Carry me," she 
demanded of Adrian. "We can't take time for me to hobble, we have to hurry." 

As her gathered her in the now-familiar cradle of his arms. Faith wished 
only for the nightmares to go away and leave them alone in the peace of an 
Ireland that did not seem to care about anything. 

Ratigan had not yet returned to Castle . Cully had taken charge, a Cully who 
appeared to think he had done Adrian a favor. "Tis pleased we thought you'd 
be, Mr. Moore." he said. "We can be sparing ye one of the three bitches. We 
got the other two safe and learning there lessons, so we have." 

"Damn it, Cully, what the hell do you suppose I'm going to do with a 
fourteen year old girl at the gate house?" 

Cully provided a broad, lewd wink. "You'll do something, Mr. Moore, so ye 
will. Ye ain't the kind of man to let a chance like that go by, at all, at 
all. Spread the little darling's legs and cane her little ass everyday." 

"Don't be ridiculous. Cully, you ought to know me better than that. Where 
have you got the mother and sister?" 

It was a stark and terrible scene but not without a bizarre beauty of its 
own. The stone chamber now boasted a wooden cross as its center piece. Arms 
outstretched to either side, her back hard against he upright timber, was 
the nakedness of Mrs. Pam Noyes. She stood there because she had no choice. 
Through the palm of each of her hands was a nail, driven to secure the bare 
arm at full length. Her head was bowed in misery but she raised it now to 
gaze upon those who had thus punished her. Off to one side stood an equally 
forbidding vertical timber upon which hung Brenda's nudity, her young wrists 
bound tight and high above her head, her toes unable to reach the floor. But 
some of her weight had been cunningly provided for by a stout wooden peg 
protruding from between the cleft of her helpless thighs. For a moment Faith 
gasped in the belief it impaled the youthful sex. But there was no blood, 
there was nothing except a swollen sex sharing its owner's modest weight 
with its owner's bound wrists. Brenda had also allowed her head to sink 
forward in helpless and hopeless misery. But she raised it now to survey 
Faith in faint hope. Neither mother nor daughter spoke a word. 

The scene angered Adrian. Savagely he picked up the girl who's chained feet 
were an hindrance to anything and everything. It was not until they reached 
his car that he placed Faith upon her feet and turned to Cully. "Did Ratigan 
order what we've just seen?" 

"He told us to do whatever we pleased with them. Just so's they didn't die 
from it." Cully guffawed obscenely. "Them two will stand more than they're 
getting right now before they kick the bucket. Don't you worry, Mr. Moore, 
we know what we're doing." 

Adrian snorted, "I don't have time to argue. I'm sure you're right, they 
won't die." He turned to Faith. "What we've just seen is not as horrible as 
you think at first glance. I'm not going to run Ratigan's affairs for him. 
I'll run back to that damned girl they've foisted on me." He emitted a 
helpless laugh. "I'll let you know what I decide about her, sweetheart, you 
can tell Ratigan what I think of the whole thing as if he didn't know!" 

Faith shared a stricken look with the man who now returned to his car. She 
knew she had not been kissed or hugged because of Cully's watching eyes. 
Cully must never even think there was anything between them. Cully must 
think she was as much a prisoner in the gate house as in . Bitterly Faith 
reflected that it was no more than truth, for her there was no freedom 
anywhere. She watched Adrian's car disappear down the road before saying to 
Cully, "I suppose it's no use my asking you to show those two some mercy? 
Couldn't you simply lock them in a room until Ratigan returns?" 

"Ye know I'll not do that. Miss." Cully's chuckle was sarcastic. "But if 
you'll get some comfort from it, I'll fix you the same way and you can keep 
them company. Can't be fairer than that, can I?" 

Faith bit her lip, she turned to go back to the castle, ignoring Cully's 
offer to carry her. In anger she snubbed her ankles against the hampering 
chain and stumbled constantly but stubbornly continued her return to an 
imprisonment. Her thoughts were at the gate house with Adrian and the maiden 
hogtied on his couch. She wondered what Adrian would do with Coral Noyes. 
Irritably she knew that whatever he did with the girl would matter a great 
deal to Miss Faith Baldwin. Unthinkingly, she kicked at shackled feet and 
stumbled once again. 

Ratigan listened to his captive's torrent of discontent with an amused 
smile, refusing to take any of her bitter news seriously. He had to lift the 
shirt above her head to press her breasts tight against her chest a long 
time before Faith released her tension and used her arms as a girl is 
suppose to use them. She was suddenly crying. 

"It's been a rotten day," she sobbed. "I don't see how we can possibly be 
happy when we know those two are suffering down there. Don't tell me that's 
training, that's torture. Just pure and simple torture." 

"It's not as bad as it seems," he replied. "Cully shouldn't have shown it to 
you. I expect he was really showing them to Adrian. Cully thinks Adrian's 
got no intestinal fortitude." 

"Well, I've got no.. . whatever you said, too. Please set them free." 

"Damn it. Faith! If I'm not letting you go, why should I turn them loose? I 
promised the Bhoys they could have 'em for a week." He chuckled. "By that 
time they won't want to see a woman again for another seven days." 

"You means the boys are doing.. . that horrible thing! Twenty men inside 
them every day!" 

"Why feel sorry for them, love. I do it to you all the time, don't I?" 

"Yes, but that's different!" 

Ratigan laughed at her logic. "Are you sure it's different? Most men do it 
the same way." 

Faith stamped a bare foot against the mocking rattle of her chain. "You men! 
The way you talk about doing that to us girl! The way you and I make love 
isn't a bit the same as poor Mrs. Noyes being raped by twenty rebels every 
day." 

"And every night, too, sweetheart. Give the Bhoys credit for a bit of 
virility." 

Faith suddenly felt desperately tired. She wanted only Ratigan's arms to 
hold her thus forever. Ratigan had the power to make all the absurdities and 
cruelties of Ireland seem entirely rational, releasing her from guilt. 
Ardently she longed to take this driven and tortured man into some quiet 
suburban normalcy where they could live and love and be happy. She 
remembered her own life before being kidnapped, it seemed a thousand years 
ago. 

"Please, Ratigan, don't give me so much freedom, don't let me go to the gate 
house again. I'm getting fond of Adrian's Irish charm. Keep me here at . 
Today had mixed me up terribly. Adrian, that Pam Noyes, her two girls and 
what you've just been telling me.. . Cham me some ways so I can't just go 
off walking around." 

Ratigan kissed away her sudden tears, touched by the simplicity of her 
words. "That's why I've got your feet chained," he whispered softly, "it 
seems to me it's working tine. You haven't managed to come within a mile of 
escaping." 

"Well, yes, but I seem to get back and forth to the gate house easily. 
Ratigan, put a stop to it. Chain me so I can't leave this place." 

Ratigan squeezed her hard. "You're being silly. Faith. Do you realize you're 
practically asking me to chain you in the dungeon. Is that what you want?" 

"Oh, all right, you big brute." It was hard to keep laughter out of her 
voice. "Leave me chained the way I am. I expect I'm being silly. But tell 
the boys not to let me go to the gate house. If I start out walking, they 
can easily stop me. And they don't have to give me a ride." She rubbed her 
hair against his cheek. "Don't you understand, you idiot, I'm trying to be a 
good girl. The least you can do is help me." 

They went to bed and made love savagely and joyously. 

The following day Ratigan voiced an obvious thought, he would take her with 
him on his visits around the country. It would mostly be a bore but would 
get her away from and that which she found so distasteful there. They would 
return to it each night, glad of its refuge and the carnality of their bed. 
But he told her bluntly they would return in time to take part in a further 
punishment to be inflicted upon Pam Noyes and her daughters before bedtime. 
Faith said nothing. She knew herself increasingly accepting the whole 
impossible and improbable way of which she had become a part. She knew 
Ratigan used one of the jeeps in his tours and was curious what he would do 
with her. But Ratigan was well ahead of her curiosity, a chain had been 
welded to the floor of the jeep beneath her feet. At its end was fastened a 
simple metal bands which opened and closed enough to accommodate a female 
wrist. It was then padlocked to leave Faith with the doubtful freedom of 
being able to place a hand in her lap but no further. Amused, she pointed 
out, "Any body can see I'm chained. Ratigan, aren't you taking chances?" 

If Ratigan wanted to take chances, it was his own business. They drove out 
onto the road in what Faith felt certain was an outrageous exposure of her 
condition. But she no longer cared. She was content to drift on the pleasant 
Irish tide of solving all their problems tomorrow but not today. 

"You've chained my wrong hand," she complained mischievously. "If you chain 
the other one I can put an arm around your shoulder and make love to you." 

"And get us a ticket for sure, sweetheart. You're okay the way you are." 

' 'But if somebody even so much as looks inside they'll see my chained 
feet." 

"There's a rag on the floor, throw it over them." 

It was all delightfully absurd and no doubt Ratigan knew what he was doing. 
Faith was not unaware of the menace of the law hanging above her head. If a 
policeman aided her she would certainly end up behind bars. That knowledge 
was an even heavier chain than those on her and a more efficient gag that 
any Ratigan could have stuffed her mouth with. She supposed it would be best 
not to speak to anyone except the man driving the jeep at her side. 

"Comfy, dear?" Ratigan inquired. 

"I've never been more comfortably chained. Do I get time off for good 
behavior?" 

"This is your time off, I thought you knew that. You're a very privileged 
young woman." 

Faith shrugged and made a face at the man who owned her. "I think you've got 
something up your sleeve," she accused, "this whole thing is crazy. Either 
that or you want to show me off. Are you proud of your captive?" 

Their first stop was at an isolated farm house along the road. When Ratigan 
stopped the jeep several ordinary rural types appeared from no where, looked 
at Faith without curiosity, then, after her wrist was unlocked, they all 
walked through the farm kitchen to some private male place where, no doubt, 
they would discuss the killing of the enemy. Faith was left with the 
farmer's wife and the farmer's daughter, a girl of nineteen with flashing 
dark eyes and a chip on her shoulder. She surveyed their visiting prisoner 
haughtily. 

"So this is the likes of what our great leader Ratigan sleeps with," she 
said indignantly. "Would it not be better for him to sleep with a good Irish 
girl who needs no chains to bind her loyalty." 

"Shut up, girl," the mother scolded. She then turned to Faith, "You'll have 
to excuse our Eileen, Miss Baldwin, it's jealousy she is. Every Irish girl 
looses her heart to Ratigan." 

"So Ratigan chooses an English bitch." Eileen spat the words viciously. "I 
know what I'd do with her if I had the chance." 

"Tis as well that you don't have the chance then, my pretty," mother said. 
"Be giving the young lady a cup of the good Irish tea now. And here's your 
chance to ask how it is to be long with The Bhoys." 

The tea was served with ill grace but proved surprisingly good. Eileen 
became almost pleasant. "Think I'll like to be with the Bhoys, Miss Baldwin. 
They got a girl named Jinny, don't they? Does she have herself a good time?" 

"Not very. I think she'd like to go home. The boys aren't always very kind 
to girls." 

"You mean they all.. . give it to her.. . give it to her good?" 

"Eileen, you shouldn't be asking the young lady such questions," mother 
chided without concern. "Tell her that ain't the way of it. Miss." 

"I'm afraid is it. Jinny sort of belongs to everyone. Not all at the same 
time, of course, but she does get passed around. And Jinny's subject to the 
Rules. If she breaks a rule they're not the least bit kind to her." 

"Think I could change places with her. Miss Baldwin? I sure could show them 
a thing or two." Eileen was suddenly eager. 

"You wouldn't like it, Eileen," Faith said, wishing they were talking about 
something else. "If you break a rule, they whip you. It hurts terribly." 

"They whip you. Miss Baldwin?" 

"Yes, I'm afraid they did. I behaved stupidly so they whipped me. I really 
don't think you'd be happy there." 

"I would too!" Eileen affirmed. "I'd be giving myself for The Cause, so I 
would, and I'd be giving myself willingly. Wouldn't there be no way I could 
change places with you? I could look after Ratigan a lot better than you 
could. You'd like to escape, wouldn't you?" 

"Really now, I'd rather not answer all these questions." Faith was 
embarrassed. 

"If I could get them chains off your ankles and put them on mine, he'd have 
to take me, wouldn't he? You could run away, so you could. Go back to your 
wicked England, so you could. I've got five quid I could lend you and a pair 
of blue jeans.. . " 

Faith was embarrassed. She noted a motherly concern in the farm wife's eyes. 
She was also aware that anything she said could be used against her. She 
suddenly had an inexcusable vision of Eileen hanging up by one foot and 
being whipped by Cully with the carriage whip he knew so well. The girl was 
provocative. Gently she explained, "I don't think we should be talking about 
these things, I don't think Ratigan would like us to. And anyway, not of it 
matters." 

"Don't it now, that's what you think, Miss Baldwin, I got a surprise for 
you." 

Eileen rummaged a draw and came up with a ring loaded with keys. The 
discontented farm maiden knelt and Faith's feet and tried key after key 
until, to Faith's surprise and shock, the bands around her ankle fell open. 
When the key was used on the opposite foot, the shackle there fell away to 
leave Faith Baldwin totally and absolutely free. 

"There ye are," said Eileen triumphantly. "I told you I could. Now, you get 
up and let me sit down." 

As though in a trance. Faith obeyed. In mounting dismay and fear of 
punishment she watched the Irish girl lock upon her ankles the metal band 
still warm from her own flesh. The circlet closed with a satisfying click 
and the Irish girl, now hobbled, replace the keys, turned to confront a 
startled and baffled young woman. 

"There ye are, Miss Baldwin, make a run for it. The jeeps out there waiting 
and I'll do better in Ratigan's bed tonight than you ever could. Go ahead, 
run!" 

In sudden panic and utterly without reason, Faith smiled apologetically at 
the startled farm wife, ignored the girl now secured by her chains, and ran 
to the waiting jeep. In less than a minute she was speeding down the road to 
she knew not where or what. But as the jeep sped and gained distance between 
her and the farm house she spirits rose and in the first freedom she had 
known in many weeks her heart sang joyfully while she consoled herself that 
if Eileen got her bottom whipped it was no more than she deserved or 
desired. She pushed hard on the accelerator and as she did so the motor 
died. Faith was familiar enough with cars to know she was out of gas. 

In the sudden silence Faith sat in defeat but the sound of a distant engine 
spoke of pursuit and the sudden remembrance of limbs entirely free and the 
discard of chains upon her feet spurred her to one more try. There was a 
sizeable copse of trees across the field and, if she could reach it without 
begin seen, it might yield sanction. In a delighted of movement she vaulted 
the fence and sped with every ounce of energy she possessed towards the 
trees, with the sound of the pursuit every louder. Soon she could no longer 
bare suspense and looked back to behold disaster. The two men in the 
pursuing jeep had cut the wire fence and were slowly crossing the ditch and 
up to the field where she fled. With a sob of immanent doom, the naked girl 
resumed her flight, unwilling to meekly accept recapture. But when the 
pursuing vehicle drew level and she could see Ratigan and the farmer gazing 
at her superhuman effort in mild amusement, Miss Faith Baldwin surrendered. 
She stopped and stood panting as Ratigan encouraged, "At a girl. Faith! No 
sense wearing yourself out." 

Faith did not speak, she had nothing to say. When she observer her captor 
approach with rope she turned her back and crossed her wrists to reduce any 
indignity of a struggle. She bit her lip as cord cut her wrists, then, even 
when a noose encircled her throat, remained silent. It seemed Ratigan had 
nothing more to say either as he played out the length of her tether and 
handed it to the grinning farmer in the jeep. The motor started, the wheels 
turned, and Miss Faith Baldwin began the most ignominious journey of her 
entire life. The farmer, holding the rope to her neck, watched cautiously as 
the speed forced the recaptured girl to longer and quicker steps and then 
into an actual run. Faith was deathly scared of that noose around her throat 
and would take no chances of a broken neck. When they reached the abandoned 
jeep her breasts were heaving as she stood in the bitter shame of failure. 
Punishment was certain but for the moment Ratigan's impassive face and the 
farmer's jocularity were punishment enough. She was picked up and placed 
again in the seat where her adventure had began. As he unraveled the cords 
from her wrists, the farmer chuckled. "You're a lucky girl, so ye are. If we 
hadn't have got you, you would have spent the rest of the night in an Irish 
jail and the rest of your life in an Irish prison. It's thanking us you 
should be." He chuckled again. "And supposing you'd got back to the English? 
What young lady like you wants the English when she's known the good Irish 
loving you've been getting." He thrust her freed wrist into the waiting 
shackle and snapped the padlock. "There you are, me pretty, safe and sound. 
The luck of the Irish is looking after you and so we are." 

She spared a glance, hesitant and uncertain, but when he took the rope from 
her neck she said a quite, "Thank you." 

Ratigan lifted the hood and fiddled beneath. When he slammed it back down he 
spared her a sardonic glance. "There's two tanks, sweetheart, when one plays 
out you switch over. But you weren't to know that, love. Sorry." 

They followed the farmer back to the farm house but stayed only long enough 
to retrieve the leg-irons which someone must have taken from Eileen's feet 
during the chase. When the farmer handed them to Ratigan he said with rough 
humor, "That girl of mine needs a lesson. She's locked in a cupboard now, 
but after dinner we'll have her out of there and give her the whipping of 
her young life with the boys all watching." He paused. "I suppose you 
couldn't be using a girl like that around the place, Ratigan? She's fair 
crazy over you, so she is." 

"Wait until this one here escapes again, I'll take you up on the offer." 

Had the recaptured girl not known shame before, she knew it now! The farmer 
walked back to the farm house and Ratigan came to her with the chains 
hanging from one hand. Gruffly he demanded, "Stick your feet out." 

It was too much! When the iron circlets closed on her ankles Miss Faith 
Baldwin would bid farewell to hope, to freedom, to a return to her parents. 
She would once more be a hopeless prisoner unable to even walk properly, 
much less run. Woefully she pleaded, "Must you, Ratigan, let me keep my feet 
for just today." 

"I can't trust you. Stick 'cm out love." 

Faith wiped tears from her cheeks with her one free hand while the anklets 
bit and snapped shut. Instinctively she tested the linkage, it was the same 
as previously, nothing had changed. Nothing ever would change now, she would 
stand condemned as a girl who had rejected a national hero. Looking down at 
her captive feet she spoke of what was uppermost in her mind. "Ratigan.. . 
Will you punish me?" 

"Don't take it personal, pet, but The Cause will punish you." 

"Oh, damn your cause! It's you or Cully or Johnny who will hold the whip or 
whatever it is you're going to do to me." 

Before starting the motor Ratigan climbed in beside her, encircled her with 
an arm to draw her close, then kissed her with unusual tenderness. 
"Understand this. Faith, I don't hate you. I'm not sure I blame you for what 
you've just done. I suppose its every prisoner's right to try and escape. 
Let's not talk about it, let's be as we were before that fool of a girl got 
you into that piece of nonsense." For a moment Faith thought herself totally 
forgiven, but hope soon shattered. "It's not me or just The Cause that 
punishes you. Faith. You've broken a cardinal rule and the Bhoys will demand 
you pay a penalty." 

"You're saying I don't have a chance, no hope of acquittal or mercy or 
understanding. That's what it is, isn't it, Ratigan?" 

"That's what it is. But remember, sweetheart. I'll be around." 

The jeep resumed their interrupted journey. 

Ireland gathered them unto itself. Soon they were simply a young couple 
enjoying the sunshine and scents of Ireland. Faith soon forgot the 
restrictions on wrist and ankle. She had been free too briefly for that 
interruption to establish a new norm. In the ensuing visits she hobbled 
beside her owner and make small talk with farmer's wives while drinking tea. 
By the time they turned back to she was almost in a mood to admit it had 
been a pleasant day. She also knew that Ratigan loved her more deeply than 
before. It should have been the reverse but perhaps his temporary loss of 
her had been the spurn. She wondered what Adrian might say about that but 
then she remembered that she might not see Adrian again. embraced her like a 
cloak. The recaptured girl had regained happiness by the time she was told 
there would be no dinner that evening, She would instead join Pam and Brenda 
Noyes at the place of punishment. Ratigan simply shrugged and motioned 
disgustedly as Cully and Johnny came, in a Fine military fashion, to escort 
Miss Faith Baldwin to her fate. She was almost choking with emotion at the 
thought of what might await and what she had left behind. Ratigan never came 
to these affairs, it was unlikely he would attend to listen to her scream. 
Faith supposed she would scream, girls always did on such occasions, didn't 
they? 

"You're a foolish girl," said Cully. "We'll be teaching you a lesson, so we 
will." 

"Tis with sorrow in me heart. Miss Baldwin." Johnny mourned. "Please don't 
never try and escape again. You ain't never going to escape but when you do 
something silly you have to be punished, it's the rule. Gee whiz, Miss 
Baldwin, I ain't gonna enjoy this at all, at all " 

Pam and Brenda Noyes were already suspended by one ankle, evidently a 
favorite with the band. Each was groping with free arms to turn themselves 
to where they could get a view of what was taking place. When they saw Faith 
marching between her escorts, their faces shadowed a fresh despair. To one 
side there stood a heavy wooden bench not evident in the previous 
punishments Faith had witnessed. 

They stood her beneath the horizontal beam from which she must hang. Cully's 
voice oozed satisfaction, "If you'll be handing us your shirt now. Miss." 

Faith made herself naked and felt fresh shame in Cully's eyes and Johnny's 
stare at breasts she was not allowed to hide. There was a sort of trapeze 
bar with soft leather loops at each end. When the loops were tightened 
beneath the knuckles of her thumbs the unhappy girl knew her fate, a fate 
she had read of in fiction but never believed. She was going to hang naked 
by her thumbs! It was Johnny who explained. 

"We can't be taking them irons from your feet. Miss Baldwin, Ratigan says to 
leave them on." A faint amusement entered the concerned voice. "Could be you 
won't ever have them off again so long as you live, Miss. It's hanging by 
your thumbs you'll have to. I'm real sorry, so I am." 

The naked girl looked her bound thumbs and at the bar in disbelief. A moment 
later it began to rise before her eyes and with it her aims. As the leather 
tightened she gasped in apprehension but when her toes left the floor she 
moaned in pure horror. The fresh and frightening pain as her thumbs burned 
and screamed distress was surprising to the girl who hadn't really know what 
to expect. Vainly she sought to reach the ground with her big toes but they 
were an inch too high. Miss Faith Baldwin was now ready for punishment. 
Gazing in agony up her tractioned arms, she supposed her punishment was now 
and would work its evil purpose with her thumbs alone. Disillusionment was 
swift. 

Cully and one other, each equipped with a carriage whip, approached. Faith 
watched as the thin thongs snapped and bit at mother and daughter to send 
each jerking in futile evasion. But there was no escape for any female 
present. Brenda wailed in shock to be bitten between her thighs while Pam 
was burned by sharp wicked slashes intended for horses and not a maiden's 
naked flesh. So engrossed was Faith in the terrible scene of girl and woman 
swaying back and forth from captive ankles and striving to protect 
themselves with hands and arms, which although unbound, achieved no real 
protection and only hurt themselves when the thongs landed on bare arm or 
hand. Faith's shock was doubly acute when one of those with the whip crept 
upon her to commence the marking of her body from head to tow. All of her 
was vulnerable and her twistings and contortions were instantly modified by 
the additional stress they placed upon her thumbs. Miss Faith Baldwin soon 
released, in pure horror, she would be best served to hang in passive 
immobility while the whip worked its will upon her helplessness. 

She presumed the audience had seen it all before. The three females were 
whipped with speed and determination as thought this were but a warm-up for 
more serious play to come. The superficial scarlet wounds grew and 
multiplied upon three female nudities who dealt with their travail as best 
they could. Faith envied Pam and Brenda's ability to move without increasing 
their agony. In spite of mental determination she found herself reacting 
beneath the lash in natural and instinctive ways to cause her bound thumbs 
to silently shriek their disapproval and the chain beneath her feet to clank 
and clank again as she danced upon air. When it was deemed the trio of 
suspended girls had been marked enough the whipping suddenly ceased to leave 
them panting, breasts heaving, and glistening with sweat. They moved 
restlessly beneath watching eyes but were caring for anything put to get 
their feet back on the ground. It was a relief denied, they were forced to 
hang suspended while the stage was set for the next act in this drama of 
"teaching them a lesson." They exchanged wan glances but what was there to 
say! 

Brenda was first. They lowered her ankle then picked her up and placed her 
face down upon the massive bench. It was massive so it took but a few 
minutes to bind and cinch down the young curves. Cords at waist and over the 
top of the thighs were drawn down so tightly as to stretch and protrude the 
nubile bottom. When they were done with her, Brenda Noyes could not twitch a 
muscle and was only able to lift her head, an act she performed in hope of 
help or comfort from her fellow suffers, and in a terrible curiosity as to 
what was next to happen. The affair was well prepared, an electric cord was 
dragged from somewhere to connect with a wooden handled instrument in 
Cully's hands. Watching, it took Faith minutes to realize it was a modem 
branding iron, far removed from the glowing brazier and red-hot iron. She 
suddenly recalled Adrian's remark about a brand more tasteful and less 
injurious than in ancient times. 

Cully was exploring the young rump with his one free hand, the other held 
the wooden handled device to burn a maiden's skin. Lovingly he discovered 
the flat plane to one side of the pink curves above. He patted it 
approvingly for all to see and then, without warning, thrust the electric 
device hard down upon his chosen spot. Holding the wicked thing in place he 
counted slowly to five while scream after scream flowed piercingly from 
Brenda's lips. The youngster could not move. Even the rigidly held iron 
could extract no motion, so tightly was she tied. A curl of smoke rose as 
the iron was withdrawn to disclose a neat and perfectly formed letter "T." 

"'T' stands for traitor," he said gruffly. "Where it with shame." 

It is possible the branded child wavered in semi-consciousness. She moaned 
steadily but it was an involuntary sound she could not control. All 
attention now was upon Miss Pam Noyes who was being lowered while her 
daughter was removed to make room for mother on the bench. As the binding of 
the mature loveliness want on. Cully informed the audience, "Come in 
different sized, these letters. See, I'm taking out the little one and 
putting in the large size. This traitorous bitch don't deserve nothing 
less." 

Savagely her made the adjustments and set the iron upon the ground to heat 
while he went to oversee Brenda's binding into a familiar hogtie in which 
she could not touch her wound. Pam Noyes, realizing inevitability, pleaded 
without hope, "Please, I beg of you This does no good, it serves no purpose. 
Please don't mark us woman as you have marked my daughter." 

"Gotta be fair, ain't we now!" Cully gloated, testing his iron. "Wouldn't be 
right for a daughter to get it and not dear old mom. Don't you worry. Mrs. 
Noyes, I'lJ give you the prettiest brand a woman ever had, so I will." 

It was the same all over again, the careful search, the patting approvingly 
of the chosen place, the downward slope. The iron was applied with the same 
swift certainty and he count of five intoned to accompany the screams Pam 
Noyes could not control. When it was over and Cully was cleaning of his iron 
while willing hands bound the naked Pam as they had bound her daughter, the 
suspended Faith realized it was her turn. Every eye was upon her as her arms 
were lowered and the soft leather bindings taken from her thumbs. The relief 
was so great that she momentarily forget what lay ahead. But when she laid 
on the bench and there bound tightly and with deliberate cruelty rear her 
loins in invitation she could only moan, "Please don't, please don't brand 
me! I don't want to be branded and I'm not a traitress." For Cully it was 
undoubtedly a labor of love. Once more his finger ; and palm explored a 
female bottom for an evil purpose. If a girl indeed be branded his chosen 
place was probably the best. But n it come to branding human flesh, there 
cannot truly be a best only a place that is less awful than the rest. When 
Faith felt the naked intimacy of his seeking hand, she drew a deep breath in 
preparation of her scream. As with Pam it was the big "T." When was thrust 
hard down upon the ivory of her unresisting skin she pealed t the screams 
and protests she could not bit back. The agony was a quality and awfulness 
she had never before dreamed of. The count five seemed to last forever, 
prolonging itself on and on and on. When iron was finally withdrawn and its 
burn approved by all who came to see, she did not stop her screams until, in 
terrible realization, she felt Cully exploring the flesh upon her other 
flank. The agonized girl could scare believe she was to receive two brands 
to the other's one. But before she could take breath for denial, the hot 
iron found her once again and the cruelty repeated. As she felt her ropes 
and binding she understood the massive structure of the bench and wondered 
how many maidens it had controlled while a meaningful letter was burnt deep 
into their flesh to provide a reminder all her life. 

But now there was a difference! The bound and branded females received no 
attention whatsoever, their wounds sterile in the open air. But suddenly 
Faith Baldwin was aware of a cooling and lessening of the agony. An aerosol 
can was being used to spray the two brands she must now bare in shame. She 
moaned in gratitude and was certain it was by Ratigan's orders. 

The gathering, honor satisfied, trailed back towards the castle for 
something hot, leaving the branded women and child as in the recovery room 
of a hospital. They were wickedly bound without hope of escape and they 
would lay there in the aftermath of agony in the terrible loneliness of pain 
to reflect what else might be done to them on the morrow. Pam and her 
daughter did not know that tomorrow would bring release and return to their 
home. They would learn this only at the very last moment. But for Faith 
Baldwin there would be no end, no termination of her strange imprisonment. 
She knew nothing of the morrow and for the moment did not care, hoping only 
they would spray her brands again when they returned. 

7 

Shamed 

To Faith Baldwin, it was a week of revelation, beginning by the return to 
their beloved home of Pam and Brenda in a manner typical of The Cause. Both 
had been shorn and shaved bald. They stopped there with the child but with 
the mother continued on to removed eyebrows and pubic hair. In the dead of 
night they had been chained back to back against the telephone pole in the 
main street of a small, sleepy northern village who's one constable was not 
in evidence. Both chain and padlock were massive and would require a good 
deal of labor to get their naked captives free. The Bhoys were highly 
amused. 

"The North will be laughing at her, they will, when they see that shaven 
pate and bald slit. There's be no danger of that youngster going over to the 
English, there is. We stuck that bitch of a woman with her face against the 
post so they can admire the brand on her ass as they hacksaw her loose. 
She'll not be getting many votes out of that." 

Faith was inclined to disagree with these observations but said nothing. It 
was over, and she was thankful to be allowed the freedom of the place at 
all. She had expected the dungeon or at least extra chains. And there were 
those in the band who would have gladly done those and worse to her. But 
they were afraid of Ratigan who told his boys bluntly she had been punished 
enough and would receive no more. 

Examining herself in those first days after her attempted escape, Faith 
would freely admit to being more passive a prisoner than before. She 
supposed that inconsistent, but the brands had had effect upon her 
temperament. In wry amusement, she supposed it was actually Ratigan who 
showed her the least mercy of all, refusing to sanction an interruption in 
their lovemaking or nightly ritual of being chained to his bed by the collar 
and its leash. Agonizing as intercourse might be upon the twin livid brands, 
she must bare it again and yet again. The twin brands healed rapidly-they 
had been impressed upon her flesh in thin lines which would not spread or 
cause a disfiguring blemish of a scarlet wound. Faith was provided with 
adequate medication which she applied faithfully. She had believed at first 
it would take a long time to reconcile her to what had been inflicted upon 
her flesh. The whipping should have been enough, along with hurt thumbs, but 
little by little she came by an increasing acceptance and finally could 
hardly wait for the final healing and the disclosure of the marks as she 
would forever wear. 

Ratigan had watched her closely. He was also very interested in the effect 
on this creature he owned of being forced to wear the brands for life. 

He mocked her with the discovery they shared: "You're twice as much a woman 
as before you were branded. I should have had it done to you the first day." 

"If I am twice a woman, I expect that's because I was twice branded. I also 
think you're imagining it, Ratigan-I'm the same." 

"You're twice as good in bed." 

"Any girl would be who's got that incentive to lift her bottom off the 
sheet." 

Fact was the brands had brought them closer together. For the captive girl 
her past life, her country, and her parents were fading into memory. 
Playfully, she taunted. "You see, you've broken me-you've broken my spirit. 
I don't have the courage to fight you any more. I do what I'm told like a 
good little girl. I'm ashamed of it, but I don't care." She giggled at a 
sudden thought. "I wonder how it's affecting Pam Noyes? I bet she hates it." 

As the days drifted by in what Faith began to think of as the second phase 
of her captivity, she wondered increasingly of Coral. She supposed Coral 
Noyes was still at the gatehouse and was curious as to whether Adrian 
accepted the teenager as captive or companion. Either way you looked at it, 
Adrian had been thrust into a position the world would condemn, teenage 
young woman were suppose to be involutes. 

The censure of society could hurt Adrian in a way that could never touch 
Ratigan. Finally she asked, "What are you going to do about Coral Noyes, 
Ratigan? Adrian can't keep her forever." 

"He won't have to. For now the kids a hostage. She'll show us a profit 
sometime." 

"But the world will never believe Adrian doesn't ravish her. Or should I say 
rape?" 

"So what! If you ran away to your ridiculous freedom, they'd believe you'd 
been raped too. And they'd be quite right, wouldn't they? But who's to prove 
it? You wouldn't tell them, would you?" 

Faith felt herself blushing. Ratigan loved these revealing discussions over 
the unmentionable. She demanded, "How on earth do you suppose I'm suppose to 
explain these brands you've put on me?" 

"Well, you're going to walk up and down London streets in your birthday 
suit, are you? Or with your bottom sticking out from whatever you wear!" 

"I ought to hate you, why don't I?" 

"No woman hates a man who loves her the way I love you. She doesn't escape 
from him, either." 

Faith let it go at that. She could never win an argument with Ratigan nor 
did she much want to. The give and take they enjoyed arising from her 
condition made her enslavement seem more tolerable perhaps it was! 

On the following day Faith had a visitor. 

Adrian Moore was a philosophical man, and after his first annoyance at being 
saddled with a bright-eyed teenage girl he discovered an unexpected 
dividend. Coral Noyes unconsciously possessed a remarkable talent for 
graceful motion and appealing poses. With an unexpected hunger Adrian Moore 
returned to canvass and brush to paint this gift of fate in an exuberance of 
line and color which surprised them both. He had no thought of selling his 
work and mischievously made a sale impossible by having his captive pose 
prettily when clad in nothing but chains or rope. 

Coral Noyes was wise for her years, viewing life in bright expectancy which 
now included her attractive male owner. The nymphet preferred to think of 
Adrian in that context rather than as a jailer or captor. She had not doubts 
about being his prison, she could have no doubts about the ropes and chains 
by which he kepi her safe. But, girl-like, she was soon weaving romantic 
dreams and assuring herself a girl of fourteen was not too young, certainly 
not for Adrian Moore who appeared to possess no age at all. Their first 
discussion cleared away the debris The Cause had left in Coral's mind. 
Standing defiantly before him, her wrists crossed and corded behind her 
back, her ankles similarly bound, she had felt strangely at ease under his 
regard even though she was totally naked. He speech was doubtfully hostile. 

"Are you going to rape me the way the rest of them did?" 

"No, that's over. Forget it. I won't allow it to happen here." 

"If you don't want to rape me, why not let me go?" 

"That's a good question," Adrian admitted, feeling irritation about the 
whole affair. "I'll see what I can do about you, young lady. In the meantime 
don't spend ail your effort trying to escape." 

"If I do, will you punish me? Will you whip me the way those awful men 
whipped me and Brenda and Mommy?" 

Adrian sighed, determined to give Ratigan another piece of his mind. "I'll 
only whip you if you make a nuisance of yourself, so make sure you behave." 

The bewitching curves twisted testingly against her bonds. "How can I escape 
or be a nuisance when you've got me tied up like this? And my ankles are 
hurting. I don't see why I have to be tied up at all." 

Adrian sighed again. "We both know what you'd do if I let you loose." 

Coral conceded logic but wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Haven't you anything 
a bit more up to date? I mean, if you're going to keep a girl prisoner, 
would you have some handcuffs and chains and things like that? The way 
you've got me now I feel sort of.. . tressed." 

"I've got some of that stuff, I prefer you like this at the start. But I'll 
pick up some chain and a padlock or two. And I'll get you a tee shirt." 

"I suppose you'll want me like that nice girl at the other place, the one 
who tried to save us and got herself whipped. The way she wears that shirt 
is more naughty than having nothing on at all." 

"Don't argue. Have you ever been painted?" 

Coral sniffed. "I don't know any kinky people. Is that what you like doing 
to girls, painting us? It sounds horrible." 

"I don't mean your skin. I mean on canvass. You've got a gift for posing." 

He had caught her interest. Coral stopped twisting against bound hands. "I 
think that's a groovy idea. I promise I'll stand still." 

"I'll make sure you do." 

"That means you're going to tie me up, doesn't it?" Coral said plain lively. 
"I don't like being tied.. . " 

Forgetting bound feet. Coral tried to take an angry step but, instead, 
toppled sideways to the carpet where she wiggled up enough to emit a hearty, 
"Damn!" She glared at Adrian. "See, I told you so. Tying me up is a lousy 
way to treat a girl, I might have broken something." She soften, "You seem a 
nice man. Please send me home." 

It had been a beginning. 

Coral Noyes had gone up and down the scale of emotions, spanning tears, 
pleadings, and outright defiance. Adrian found her intensely amusing and 
fell into the habit of keeping her chained with sufficient freedom to allow 
her natural instinct to provide poses as she desired. It became a shared 
interest. 

Even though she was often a trouble, Adrian did not whip the girl fate had 
foisted off on him. He discovered there was certain ways which she loathed 
to be bound and he used these. When Coral understood the penalties involved 
she became for tractable. Intrigued by her owner's skill with brush and oil, 
she often suggested ways in which she could be chained or bound for a 
desired effect. On the fifth night she offered her body to him in delightful 
innocence. 

"I know it's going to be done to me and I'd rather it was you, Adrian, 
rather than those ruffians in the other place. I don't think they wash 
properly. Ugh!" 

"The way you've offering yourself, young lady, it isn't rape. Do you realize 
that?" 

"I don't care what you call it, Adrian, please take me to bed." 

Adrian laughed. "I'd have thought you would be happily satisfied in the 
guest room the way you are with only one padlock on an ankle to keep you 
safe. What would mother think?" 

Coral was prettily chained to a tree and wearing the far too tight tee shirt 
he had purchased for her. It's fabric clung lovingly to the contours of two 
small breasts and its lower hem failing to hide a pubic triangle unusually 
bushy for a maiden of fourteen. Coral broke her pose long enough to trace a 
pattern with her big toe in the soft, moist dirt. "They did it to Mommy and 
Brenda, you know they did. So now we're all the same." She spared a sly 
glance at her captor. "After she's had enough men inside her I don't think 
it matters to a girl like before. It's like learning to swim, you can't 
possibly then all of a sudden you're doing it. I don't see why you're so 
stuffy." 

"You're fourteen, that's why." 

"That doesn't make me a child! I'm as big as lots of woman except maybe a 
bit more slender. Don't you like me?" 

"I'd like you a lot better if you'd keep quiet and stood still." 

The result of these verbal exercises was to drive Adrian to seek feminine 
advice. He discovered Faith sunning herself and toying idly with the chain 
between her feet on the castle steps. As he drew close he saw her tense. But 
she rose to greet him. 

"Hello, Adrian. Ratigan's away as usual." 

"I didn't come to see Ratigan. I came to see you. I want to take you to the 
gate house for tea and to talk to young Coral. She needs feminine 
companionship and some other girl to talk to." 

"Adrian, don't tell me you can't handle her!" 

He ignored the implication. "Girls need girls. None of them want an 
unrelieved diet of male." 

"That what I get, Adrian. I belong to Ratigan and he doesn't let me forget 
it." She laughed almost gaily. "I'm becoming ridiculously submissive. He's 
worn me down." 

"I'm told he's had you branded. May I see?" 

Faith shrugged, secretly thrilled. She raised her shirt and turned a hip for 
inspection. While Adrian was breathing hard, she turned to exhibit the 
second brand and heard his quick indrawn gasp. 

"Damn it. Faith! They're beautiful!" 

"Yes, aren't they. They've discovered a new way to brand a girl. Aren't I 
lucky?"As always happened, they stood and stared at each other with a 
hundred things unsaid. Faith dropped her shirt to say reluctantly, "I can't 
go to the gate house, it's out of bounds for me. I'm afraid it was my idea, 
I asked for it." 

Adrian laughed at her embarrassment. "A case of lead me not into temptation, 
eh? Don't worry, I'll tell the boys I'll have you back in a couple of 
hours." 

Faith felt excitement. It would be nice to get away from and bask in 
Adrian's pleasant company. And she was also curious about Coral. When she 
was picked up and put inside Adrian's car, she inquired innocently, "Has 
Coral got herself into bed with you yet." 

"How did you know to ask?" 

"I'm a girl, remember? If you'd keep me at the gate house this long, I'd 
have got there. As it is I've come to know more and more I belong to 
Ratigan. Please don't mess me up by loving me too much." 

"I can't help loving you." 

"Yes, you can. If that sweet innocence wants to get between your Aeets. 
you'd best let her. You'd soon forget me. If you haven't whipped her yet, 
that means you're fond of the child." 

Arriving at the gate house, Adrian drove the car across the grass land of 
the small park to a cluster of trees. Without a word he picked op his 
leg-ironed passenger and carried her into the dappled sunlight beneath the 
leaves. There, embracing a slender trunk, stood Coral Noyes. She was forced 
to stand by the simply expedient of drawing I hand around either side and 
handcuffing them together. A few moments later Faith found herself in the 
same predicament. The two trees and their female captives were only a few 
feet apart. 

"Is this how you give a girl tea, Adrian Moore! I'll never visit you again. 
Let us loose." 

Adrian saluted jauntily and drove away. Coral's greeting was instant. "Isn't 
he a darling? It's no use trying to boss him around. I've tried and tried 
and all it gets me is to be tied up in some horrible contortion I hate. Did 
you know he was painting me?" 

The girl was a delight, and my no means a child. She wore her handcuffs 
gracefully as though proud of them. Faith noticed they clasp the young, 
slender wrists with an unusual snugness. Coral laughingly explained, "He had 
them specially made for me, Miss Baldwin, I asked him to. I could slip out 
of the regular size so that meant he had to tie me up all the time. These 
are a lot more comfortable. Can you get loose from you're?" 

"I never get loose from anything," Faith said remorselessly. 

"You look so sweet with your feet chained the way they are. That man keeps 
you chained like that all the time, doesn't he? I wonder why Adrian doesn't 
chain my feet that way?" 

"Don't give him any ideas. It's no fun to have your feet chained like this." 

The youngster seemed remarkably reconciled to hugging her tree. Evidently 
the tiny handcuffs held her secure. 

"Are you enjoying being Adrian's prisoner?" Faith inquired with a touch of 
acid. You don't seem the least bit worried or put out. I don't believe you 
want to escape in the least bit." 

The youngster mused thoughtfully for a minute, for the first time fingering 
the metal bands around her wrists. "If someone offers me a chance to escape, 
I'll take it. But I sort of like Adrian and he hasn't whipped me yet. Do you 
get whipped a lot, Miss Baldwin?" 

"I suppose not really, it just seems a lot. If I ever got free of these 
chains I'd come and get you free, too. But that's just a pretty dream. Look, 
Coral, if Adrian's keeping you handcuffed now, are you sure you can't find 
where he keeps the key?" 

"I know where he keeps the key but I can't get there. I'm always fastened to 
something like now. I can't walk away from this damned tree. But if I ever 
get loose, I'll come and get you loose, too, if I can." 

The two girls embraced their trees and played with their handcuffs. Faith 
wondered why Adrian had brought her to this place to chit chat with a 
youngster who was obviously all too well adjusted to captivity. Jealously 
she envied Coral her close association with the real owner of . It was 
pleasant here among the trees but was a pointless exercise which had already 
awakened emotions she knew to be dangerous. She wondered how much the two 
men truly loved her and if it were possible for them to come to open 
hostilities over possession. 

Wickedly she said, "Make Adrian fall in love with you. You can if you try, 
you're a damned attractive girl. If you can manage that he'll either let you 
loose or you'll be able to steal the handcuff key. I can't manage it with 
Ratigan, he's too much a soldier. I could never fool him at all." 

When Adrian returned he laughed at the twin scrutiny he was subjected to. 
"Been talking about me, haven't you?" He grinned at Faith. "I suspect you've 
prompted this innocent young woman to make a fuss of me so I'll tell her 
where I keep the key." 

"Adrian, if you were half a gentlemen you'd let both of us loose." 

"I'll let you loose now, sweetheart, you can't go anywhere with those 
leg-irons on." He did exactly that, pocketing the handcuffs while Faith 
stood dejectedly, knowing all too well she could neither walk or run. Adrian 
then unlocked a single cuff from Coral's wrist, turned the youngster around 
then relocked them behind her back. 

"Can't take chances with either of you," he said pleasantly. "I wouldn't 
want to have to tell Ratigan you'd gotten away. Come and we'll all have 
tea." 

Adrian did not carry the leg-ironed girl as was so often done. He and Coral 
slowed their pace to accommodate her limited steps. She thought longingly of 
that brief period when her feet had been free in flight. It felt so good. 
But now she had no reason to believe her feet would ever be free again. When 
Adrian pushed the tea trolley to where she sat, Faith consented to pour. 

"Tell this charming creature you don't wish to go home," Adrian commanded. 
"Tell her how happy you are here and how you like to be chained." 

"I don't want to go home. Miss Baldwin. I love being chained her as Adrian's 
prisoner. He's so terribly sweet." 

Faith picked up the tongue-in-cheek tone. This was a girl who could hold her 
own in company. Still irritated, she told Adrian, "How can this poor girl 
hold a cup or a sandwich or anything else when you've got her hands behind 
her back!" 

"You can hold what Coral wants to Coral's lips, sweetheart. You won't mind, 
will you. Coral?" 

Coral did not mind. Faith suspected the child would not mind anything Adrian 
chose to suggest. The girl was a wonderful example of teenage infatuation. 
Being deliberately vulgar in a manner she knew Adrian detested. Faith 
inquired, "When Adrian does things to you do you get wet between your legs 
and want him to take you to bed?" 

"Oh, of course I do, Miss Baldwin! Isn't it lovely! He hasn't taken me to 
bed yet but I expect he will if I keep after him enough. May I have another 
drink of tea?" 

Between them they had her foxed. Coral was all together too wise for her 
years and would gobble Adrian alive if she got the chance. She suspected 
Adrian keep the child chained only in diffidence to Ratigan. Tartly she 
retorted, "I hope you realize Adrian could go to prison and you. Coral, to a 
home for delinquent girls." Faith sniffed. "I'm going to ask Ratigan to tell 
Adrian to let you go, Coral. Adrian wouldn't do it until Ratigan tells him 
to do it. It's some sort of a Code they follow." 

"I think you're jealous, Miss Baldwin. You're in love with Adrian, I can 
tell." The teenage voice was both sympathetic and serious. "Why don't you 
ask Adrian for permission to whip me. If you made me cry and had me 
promising to behave myself, I think you'd feel better. I promise I won't 
mind." 

Adrian's grin was for Faith alone. "Remarkable, isn't she? If I tell you to 
whip her and then I whip you, we should all be very happy. Pity it isn't 
that simple." His eyes glinted mischief. "Don't think I wouldn't love to 
whip you, Faith. Maybe one of these days.. . . " 

Still under the momentum of annoyance, Faith retorted, "And that ridiculous 
tee shirt you've got on the child, it's far more indecent than nakedness." 

"I know, I like it. I've been painting her that way in the pictures. Come 
and look." 

He was suddenly a quite different Adrian, absorbed, intent, tremendously 
wise in the ways of brush and color and canvass. In the sunlit room with the 
easel and the walls lined with his work Faith understood his separation with 
The Cause. Here, in what Faith felt certain were works of a master 
craftsman, was Adrian's true life and meaning. With incredible fidelity 
Coral stared and laughed back at her from within each frame. Somehow the tee 
shirt now belonged as an extension of maiden innocence, revealing shyly the 
treasures a viewer might most wish to see. Coral was chained against a wall 
of stone or tied to a tree in a woodland glade. Coral peered longingly 
through iron bars at a freedom lost, her small young hands clutching the 
iron and linked by chain. Adrian had painted Coral in so many poses that 
Faith was forced to realize the genius of the man who had produced so much 
in such a short time. But it was not the girl alone upon whom Adrian had 
lavished his skills. Each background, even though no more than a stone wall, 
was in some way infused with the whole other world of magic of and of 
Ireland itself. By the time the tour was completed Faith was humbled before 
something in which she had had no part. Faith realized the magic she beheld 
was in part the magic of the girl called Coral. Coral and Adrian belonged 
together regardless of discrepancy in age. The two of them were one of those 
fortunate events in the history of mankind in which the laughing girl would 
live forever or at least so long as paint and canvass held intact. 

The T-shirted inspiration of all Faith had beheld walked with them silently 
in a reverence all her own, seemingly unconscious of hands cuffed behind her 
back. Whatever Adrian did for her would be correct. Perhaps if he portrayed 
her in the motions of total freedom the paintings might loose some of the 
elusive wonder they now possess. Coral was silent as though wishing to claim 
nothing for herself. For now everything was Adrian's. 

"Isn't it marvelous, Miss Baldwin," she worshiped girlishly. "Please don't 
let Ratigan send me home." 

Adrian and the girl he had invited to tea were silent as he drove her back 
to . But when he lifted her from the car to place her at the foot of the 
castle steps and kissed her tenderly. Faith said, "Adrian, you've got your 
heart's desire. Now help me escape. Please give me back my freedom." 

"What about Ratigan?" 

"I can love Ratigan far better as a free woman than a chained prisoner." 

He kissed her again. "I'll have to think about that one," he said soberly. 
"In the meantime, hold your horses, I'll be talking to Ratigan." Faith 
watched him go, a chained maiden on the castle steps. 

8 

Diversity of Prisons 

The gun fire was sharp and relentless: the bark of rifles and sharp crack of 
pistols. With a curse, Ratigan leapt from their bed, grabbed trousers and 
shirt, and disappeared. Frightened, Faith slid her joined feet to the floor 
and would have followed in his wake had it not been for the collar on her 
neck and its tether to the wall. 

It was almost possible to follow the fortunes of battle by the sound and 
nature of the gunfire. But that told the captive nothing of victor or 
vanquished. Faith sat naked on the bed in trembling fear, offering a pray 
for the man who's prisoner she would forever be. 

The sounds ceased as suddenly as they had begun. The silence of the Irish 
night was eerie by comparison There was sounds and shouting, a motor started 
and stopped again Then, finally, the sound of approaching footsteps, 
footsteps that were not Ratigan's! 

The man was a burly type, redheaded and brutal in his speech. Surveying 
Faith in obvious pleasure and some relief. ""By the saints, so there is were 
he kept you, love." He laughed. "The name's Faith Baldwin, ain't it? The 
missing bit of crumpet the English want so bad." 

"Yes, I am." 

"And a pretty piece you are, too. I can see why Ratigan keeps you the way 
you are. Chains on your pretty feet and a collar around your neck. Well, and 
for sure, if a man gets himself a good piece of ass he'd be a fool not to 
look after it. You must have tried to escape to be fixed like that." 

"All prisoners try to escape. Where's Ratigan?" 

"If he ain't in this room then he's likely dead around the place somewhere. 
We've made no search yet." His eyes were roving up and down Faith's nudity. 
"You're a prize indeed, lass oh, and I'm almost forgetting, I'm Mulchay from 
the Central Committee. You can call me Bill." 

The chained girl on the bed had said little, waiting for the intruder to 
give her clothes. He mind was a ferment of speculation about Ratigan but she 
could not keep silent forever so, hopefully, inquired. "Have you come to 
rescue me? Are you going to send me back home?" 

Once more he laughed, "Oh, aye, we will that and all. We ain't leaving you 
here, that's for sure, so-it is. How much do you think you're worth to that 
English bastard who sired you?" 

"You mean you're kidnapping me, holding me to ransom?" 

"Aye, that we are, lass. You'll fetch a pretty English penny, so you will." 

"I don't know much about my father's money affairs but I'll sure you'll get 
a good price one way or another. There will be those who will help him get 
me back." 

"That asshole Ratigan never asked a penny, ye know. He never tried to use 
you to further the Cause. Too damned civilized he is for the likes of us or 
the needs of Ireland. Would you be fetching a million pounds now? What's you 
think?" 

It was hard to think at all. A naked girl, chained and sitting on a bed, her 
lover vanished and probably dead. The only spark of sanity was this 
unexpected hope of release. Avarice might get her back to her parents in a 
way no other emotion had achieved. She wondered how many times she would be 
raped before the final day. 

"I suppose you'll take me away from here, hold me in some place of your 
own." 

"That we will, lass. We've killed the lot of Ratigan's boys so we could easy 
stay here and take over. But this place is owned and the man who owns it 
would turn us in for sure. We could easy kill him and get him out of the way 
but Adrian Moore is an Irishman, a real Irishman. Trouble with Adrian Moore 
is he dreams his dreams and doesn't fire a gun. But we'll not be hurting him 
at all, at all. He's faithful to The Cause so far as talking goes." 

Faith said hopefully, "I'm not always naked like this, I wear a shirt but I 
can't get it on when my neck is chained." 

Mulchay tilted her chin for a closer view. "Must cost a pretty penny. Ain't 
really no reason to take it off ya. Let's have a look at this here chain." 

It was a chain Faith could never break but it was pretty and it was light so 
as not to impede Faith's sleeping or her lovemaking with Ratigan. It would 
have mocked the strength of an ordinary man but Mulchay thrust against the 
collar and heaved the chain with a giant's strength to cause its weakest 
length to break. He tossed the chain aside, leaving a few inches hanging 
from her collar. 

"Is a pretty thing. Miss Baldwin, so it is." He chuckled at a private 
thought. "You can wear it 'til we send you home, so ye can. That English 
Bastard of a father of your can be real proud." 

Faith still kept silence, knowing herself in the grip of events she had no 
control over. Without much concern she watched Bill Mulchay lift the metal 
links between her feet and examine the whole assemble with acute interest. 
"May as well leave this on you. lass. We ain't got no key and I'll wager it 
would take more than a pair of pliers to get the best of this hunk of iron. 
Ratigan spent some money on ya. We may as well profit from it. As a prisoner 
you'll do very well as ya are." 

Her time with Ratigan had taught Faith the near impossibility of escape 
while her feet her chained. The same would face her now. It would be far 
better to be tightly bound than to remain in the grip of locked metal bands 
upon her ankles. She sweetly pleaded, "My feet have been chained for so long 
and I'm so sick of not being able to walk. If you would get those things off 
me soon I'd be immensely grateful." As and added inducement she included, 
"I'd be glad to do whatever you want." Her voice took on fresh bitterness. 
"I'm a very well trained prisoner." 

"Nay, lass, we'll not be wasting the money Ratigan's spent on joining them 
pretty feet. Now what can I do about them hands?" 

Faith thought of Ratigan's handcuffs but would not tell where they were. 
Handcuffs were comfortable but there was no escaping them. If Bill Mulchay 
wanted to tie her hands she would put up with the discomfort in hopes of 
freeing them. She tried again, "You don't have to do anything to my hands. 
Please don't tie them. You just said I can't do anything with my feet the 
way they are. It's horrible not to have hands. Please?" 

Her captor chuckled. "Ratigan must have tied your hands. I can be telling 
from what you're saying. If he tied them there must have been a need. You're 
probably a canny bit o' fluff what can't be trusted. Let's see what we got 
handy." 

There was nothing handy. Faith kept silent. Let him find his own rope or 
whatever he would use! But Bill Mulchay was a resourceful man. His eye lit 
upon a pair of Ratigan's boots. Without a word he stripped the leather lace 
from one of them. "Hands behind your back, sweetheart, I'll bet you've done 
it before." 

Faith had done it before and was half way there when she remembered the 
shirt. "Would you please let me put on my shirt before you tie me?" 

"For sure you can. lassie, the boys will see enough of you before we're 
through. No need to show it all to them now. But that's prime stuff you're 
covering up, so it is for sure." 

Thankfully Faith took advantage of this last small refuge, giving a sigh of 
relief as the fabric slipped over her breasts and below her waist. It's 
regrettably quality of revealing what lay beneath was a fault she could do 
nothing about. Thus covered she turned her back and crossed her wrists. 
Surely a single boot lace held possibilities of escape. 

It was not to be. Mulchay uncrossed her wrists and placed her hands 
together, thumb to thumb. Faith bit her lips in frustrated dismay as the 
lace bit hard below the knuckles, was drawn unbearably tight, then looped 
again and again and wickedly cinched, the final knot being beyond her 
ability to discover. 

"There's always some way, lassie, if a man's got his wits about him. You'll 
no be getting out of that. That lace is as good as a hundred feet of rope. 
Now, can you walk?" 

"Maybe. If I fall with my hands behind my back, I'll hurt myself." 

"That ain't no problem, missy." 

Faith was suddenly picked up and tucked under a single arm like a bag of 
potatoes. This was not the fond cradling of Ratigan or Adrian but simply a 
way by which a captive girl was not allowed to occupy two arms. Her captor 
marched down stairs. Faith wondered why he had not gagged her. But this was 
Ireland and if he did not gag her then that meant there was none to hear or 
heed her scream. 

The invading force boasted a sizeable armada of vehicles, among them a 
police car with its back seat heavily enclosed with wire mesh. 

Faith was tossed within and when the doors closed she noticed they had no 
handles inside. Mulchay and one companion occupied the front seat and drove 
into the darkness. 

They talked not of the raid but freely discussed the possibility of selling 
the pinioned girl in the back seat to her parents. They saw her value as 
immense and while Faith was flattered by the sum she did her best to 
disillusion of notions of her family's wealth. As a precaution she warned 
them of being wanted by the police of southern Ireland. 

"We'll get no cash out of them," she was informed bluntly. "And we'll no be 
letting them get a hand on you. Tis a fine broth of a girl, so ye are. And 
we'll not be seeing ya rot in a lousy jail, for sure." 

Faith said a weak, "Thank you," and supposed she felt relieved. She also 
wondered if any girl had so been beset by hazards. For her, freedom would be 
more than the loosening of bonds. 

"That there shoelace hurting you, lass?" 

"Yes, of course it is, you tied it far too tight." 

"That's good, my pretty, when a girl's hurting that means she's safe." 

"Inside this cage I'd be safe without any restraint at all," Faith said. 
"Everybody seems to think I'm a Houdini, and I'm not! I haven't been able to 
get myself free of anything I've been tied with yet. I told you already 
there's no need to bind me at all." 

From the subject of her ransom the talk turned to horse racing. By the time 
that topic was exhausted they had reached their destination, a farm house 
south of the boarder with the five counties. Presumably the house was full 
and probably the barn, too. Or it may have been a wish to keep the captive 
girl secluded from visiting eyes. They carried her into a clump of trees, 
not too far distance, freed her thumbs with mutual compliments on the 
efficiency of a boot lace in experienced hands. They then produced a length 
of chain and a padlock, raised the collar she now wore as high as possible, 
then circled her neck beneath with the heavier links, and snapped a padlock 
upon her neck. The other end of this considerable leash was padlocked to a 
tree. Besides the tree was what appeared to be a large dog house which she 
was invited to use as shelter in the night, finding therein a blanket. It 
was all very cut and dried and casual. The two men walked away, still 
arguing race horses, and seemingly forgetting her existence. Faith hobbled 
this way and that to gauge the tolerance of her chain. It was long, perhaps 
fifteen feet. Finally frightened by visions of ghosts and creatures of the 
night, but above all rape-minded rebels, she crept inside the tiny hut, 
disposed her chains, and curled herself for sleep. It was long in coming but 
came to her in the first dim light of morning. 

Miss Faith Baldwin was kept tethered to the tree by the heavy chain as day 
after day went by. She was visited often by members of this fresh branch of 
The Cause, more as a curiosity than anything else. She was not raped and 
rape was not mentioned in her presence. Her offers of money in return for 
freedom were ignored. 

Mulchay visited whenever he had time. He usually arrived bearing a cup of 
tea and a sandwich, seating himself on the grass to watch her eat and drink 
and to watch her keenly for reactions. 

"Wonder why we haven't raped you, lass?" 

"Yes, I've wondered." 

"Because it lessens your value, that's why. The bunch we took you from 
probably raped ye to a fare-thee-well. But we're attempting to keep you 
intact. Makes you a better deal for the other side. You weren't a virgin 
when Ratigan kidnapped you the first time, were you?" 

"No I wasn't, but, good gosh, Bill, does my love live have to be so openly 
discussed by everyone?" 

"Price of being famous, love. You've got some whip marks, why?" 

"Because I misbehaved at least that's the way they saw it. Ratigan didn't 
want me whipped at all." 

"Ratigan fell in love with you. That's how he betrayed The Cause. Do you 
enjoy being whipped? Some girls do." 

"I do a little, by certain men. I'm ashamed and can't explain it. Why, are 
you going to whip me?" 

"I will if you act the fool. But they've trained you well, you're the most 
sensible girl I've ever held." 

Faith was grateful for Mulchay's down to earth common sense and for her 
sylvan captivity, so much better than a locked room or a dungeon. True, 
Mulchay's boys removed her small hut with its shielding blanket every 
morning to give her no shelter from prying eyes each day. But they brought 
it back each evening and in it she was able to be warm and to sleep. The 
boys called it her "dog kennel" but she did not care. On one of Bill 
Mulchay's visits he inquired, "We're having a little social affair this 
evening. They boys are wondering if they can have a good look at you. You 
know what I mean, don't you-naked?" 

She was surprised in the same manner as she had been surprised over the rape 
question. These were rough, tough men but the lure of ransom kept her safe. 
She answered, "Considering any of you can strip me naked whenever you wish, 
it would be silly for me to say no, wouldn't it?" 

"We prefer you be willing. What the boys really want is an American strip 
tease." He paused to explain shyly, "You see, it's a lonely life for the 
Bhoys. it is, and seeing how we got you here we thought it was a good idea. 
Won't hurt you none." 

Faith's laughing retort held a hint of disgust. "I'd be no good at that. 
Strip tease is a sort of art form and needs to be done to music. Besides, 
except for this shirt, I've nothing to take off." 

"We'll dress you proper like. Miss, that ain't no problem." 

Faith knew she had come to view her own nakedness without concern. Bill 
Mulchay's proposition would have once filled her with repulsion. But they'd 
all seen her body so what did it matter! But, just the same, to do a 
deliberate strip tease would imply a looseness in her own character and an 
intimacy with The Cause to mantie her in shame. The Bhoys could hang her up 
naked and examine her to their heart's content. 

"I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not," she said simply. "Can't 
do a honky-tonk act for you, it goes against everything I was brought up to 
believe in." 

"We can easy force you to. Miss Baldwin." 

"I admit that. I'm sure your boys would get an extra kick if they knew I did 
it to avoid the whip." She stared at Bill Mulchay frankly. "This is an 
argument I can't win. I suppose you should do whatever you wish with me and 
I'll promise not to kick and struggle. How would it be you tie my hands 
behind my back and stand me in the middle of the room for everyone to gawk 
at. That ought to shame me enough for any man." 

"It's trying to help, so it is, lass. But my Bhoys would much sooner you put 
on that tease." 

"I won't do it of my own free will. When do you whip me to change my mind?" 

Bill Mulchay laughed. "Considering you ain't got no weapons, Miss, you put 
up a damned good fight. You've made me feel a bastard so that's a feather in 
your cap. I sort of like what you've just suggested, so I'll try to talk the 
Bhoys into it." He paused awkwardly before adding, "And there'll be one or 
two other things they'll want of you 

not all that bad." 

"I'm sure there is." Faith's voice was bitter. 

Faith Baldwin received more than the normal number of visitors that day. Men 
drifted back and forth and she knew they were seeing her as they would see 
her in the coming evening. She had become a sex object, no longer a girl 
held for ransom but a female body from which pleasure might be extracted by 
threats or by pain. She hated the chain and padlock on her neck which 
compelled her to stay within the radius of their stares. But, as the day 
wore on, she admitted to herself an erotic thrill at the thought of her 
coming exposure. She also knew gratitude at Bill Mulchay for releasing her 
from an act she despised. As usually it all added up to a strange montage in 
her mind. 

Toward the end of the afternoon. Bill Mulchay unlocked the padlock from her 
neck and carried her to the barnyard and the small building she knew as a 
pub house. Wasting no time he stood her erect, tethered her neck with a 
length of rope, warning her to leave it alone and not try to free herself. 
He then gave her a cake of soap and dragged a water hose into view. Men 
gathered, forming a half circle but staying clear of the hose. The first jet 
took Faith's breath away but the water was not truly cold. Making the best 
of a bad job and secretly thankful for the cleansing of her person she 
applied the soap with pleasure and wondered why these idiot men did not 
realize they were seeing something now that was far more erotic than a strip 
tease would ever be. 

The shirt had been taken from her and she was stark naked beneath their 
eyes. But there is something about anyone bathing, the utility outweighs the 
erotic. Standing on the cobble stones, she soaped every portion of herself, 
carefully respecting the authority of the noose upon her neck, the authority 
of which compelled her to stand and accept this crude substitute for a bath. 
She soon understood a pattern between her and Mulchay for whenever she had 
soaped enough in one area, the water played upon that area. Deciding to make 
herself as little erotic as she might, she also washed her hair and held it 
for Bill Mulchay's convenience with the hose. It was a most thorough 
drenching and the towel handed her at it's completion frictioned warmth back 
to chilled skin. Mulchay used a second tower upon her back with rough vigor 
and insisted upon drying that portion of herself where she least wanted a 
male hand. When she was taken and chained once more to her tree she could 
not forgo a pointed barb. 

"They had their strip tease. Don't you realize there's nothing I could ever 
do which shows more of me than that hosing down. What more do they want?" 

" 'Twas a fine show ye give 'em. Miss, and I'll not be denying it. But this 
evening won't be changed. Here, I brought you a mirror and a brush and 
comb." 

"Thank you," Faith said grudging. "But must you chain my neck like this? I 
need one hand to hold the weight." 

"You'll manage, lassie. I'll be leaving you now to do your hair and I'll get 
you a towel, too. It's looking forward to this evening I am." 

It was good to be alone without eyes watching her skin. Faith coped with the 
weight of her chain by passing it around her arm a couple of times to leave 
her hands free to attend her hair. She had become adept at handling the 
metal by which she was restrained. She had no wish to complain unduly for 
she was glad for being captive to the tree. She had been allowed to replace 
her shirt after the toweling but was now back in her shirt, although 
smelling sweet and clean. She wished the boys would brought back her hut. 
she would have crept within and tried to sleep. As it was she sat on the 
turf and leaned against her tree. 

It was a fine, large room, perhaps once a school room or meeting place. Save 
for chairs around the wall it had been stripped, its floor was treated 
liberally with talc. There was evidently to be a dance. Few were present 
when Faith was led to the center of the huge space, escorted by two of the 
boys, her shirt removed, her wrists crossed and tightly tied behind her 
back. It was her own concept, how could she then complain! Feeling intensely 
foolish, she quietly stood for all to sec. 

"Tis bracing your back and sticking out them lovely tits you'll be doing. 
Miss." The voice held the hint of a threat. "And to keep them pretty feet 
apart, lassie, there's those who will be wanting to see what you've got 
between them now, so they will." Again there was the hint of menace even 
though the voice seemed to be laughing at her. 

Faith obeyed. Standing at attention would become tiring, but perhaps as the 
evening progressed they would notice her less and less. Striving for 
unconcern, she allowed her eyes to roam but they found no friendly face. All 
were strangers There was. however, a difference in the manner of their 
staring, some frank with lust, others erotically amused, and there were some 
who worshiped at the shrine of beauty, seeing her for what she was, an 
undeniably beautiful girl forced to exhibit her nakedness to appease an 
ancient hate which would not die. 

The girls were disconcerting. They were mostly young and obviously prepared 
to dance. Strangely their stares were more difficult to endure than those of 
men. There was a venom in these young woman which beat upon Faith's 
composure to leave her thankful she was not a their mercy. But she was 
helplessness enough without hands to shield nor permission to speak. She 
knew herself there for Irish entertainment and to appease some dark demon in 
the Irish soul. As the room filled. Faith realized how gratifying this must 
be to every Irish heart to strip an English maiden bare and make her stand 
for Irish eyes to smile. 

Faith Baldwin had nothing else to do but listen, she frequently heard 
herself referred to as Ratigan's girl and her leg-irons described as 
Ratigan's chains. There were those, both men and girls, who knelt to examine 
the bonds between her feet. All approved, and it was conceded Ratigan knew 
what he was about. Ratigan was a broth of a bhoy. and his chained captive 
who now belonged to them was a broth of a girl, even though English and 
deserving of a good sound whipping and other possibilities Faith shank to 
hear. 

A fiddler and a pianist made their appearance and the dance began. 

Faith was by no means certain if it was better to be in the center of a 
milling crowd of guys and girls or to stand alone while they kept their 
distance. She appeared to hold far more interest for these Irish girls than 
for these Irish men. But the men had had their fill of looking at nakedness 
and the girls had not. Perhaps they believed an English girl was build 
different and they wanted to find out. But there were darker intents that 
Faith feared. She was thankful she would not be left alone with them nor 
delivered into their hands. The closeness caused by the dance was quite 
enough. 

There was beer aplenty which Faith refused but sampled the peat flavored 
Irish whisky glass held to her lips. She was careful of the number of sips 
she accepted, to become tipsy and fall to the floor was a disgrace she did 
not relish. Repeatedly she braced her shoulders back, thrust out her breasts 
and made her tummy as concave as she could, knowing herself the most 
beautiful female in the room. 

After the first few dances Bill Mulchay made an announcement to a quiet 
assembly They were honored, he said, by the presence of Miss Faith Baldwin, 
an English hostage, whose ransom would enrich the coffers of The Cause. Miss 
Baldwin's hands were tied behind her back to prevent her from depriving any 
Irish eye of an English specialty such as English breasts or an English 
bottom. Mulchay went on to explain the ransom negotiations were going well 
to soon deprive them all of this visitor from the hated land across the sea. 
They would now be privileged to witness a quaint diversion, suggested by 
Miss Molly O'Connor and to be dealt with by that lady herself. He stepped 
aside. 

So here it was, these dark-eyed females would get at her one way or another. 
Her heart beat fast as she beheld what a pair of Irish hands were now 
exhibiting as a pair of feminine Irish feet tripped happily across the 
floor. To Miss Faith Baldwin it was evident a pair of domestic clothespins 
were to be clipped upon her nipples. When Molly O'Connor was within arms 
length she stopped and the two girls searched each other's eyes with 
feminine wisdom. One promising pain, the other scorning it. When the Irish 
fingers began an expert teasing of her breasts. Faith knew herself blushing 
and twisting at her bonds but could stop neither. Breathing hard she looked 
down at her nipples and knew anger at their response, they were flint hard, 
erect, and pink. Perfectly prepared for the spring clips about to torture 
them. With a final flourish, Molly took possession of an English breast and, 
with infinite care, positioned the wicked open jaws and allowed them to 
slowly close. 

The pain was bitter, a different kind of pain, sickening and intimate and 
shaming. Faith could not kick nor use her hands but she considered turning 
to Mulchay in bitter protest. But she supposed a clipped nipple was not the 
end of the world and to refuse this infliction might bring something far 
worse. In dumb misery she watched her other breast adorned by the quaint 
domestic item not normally used for such purposes. Under Molly's adjustment, 
the two little wooden items stood out perky like natural adjuncts to her 
breasts, bobby acutely as she breathed. Molly gave a playful flip to each 
pin for extra pain before returning to her seat. A sigh of pure ecstasy 
swept the room to leave the captive girl in no doubt about male erections. 
Every male in the room would be desiring her. And every girl beside them 
glad because of pain upon British breasts. Longing to bend in anguish or 
struggle, Faith closed her mind to agony and put extra effort into the 
bracing of her shoulders and protrusions of her breasts while the 
clothespins bobbed merrily upon her nipples. 

The dance resumed, its music seeming more alive as though in tribute in 
English pain. Now when a girl passed within her partner's arms she would 
reach out to flick an clothespin and laugh to see Faith wince or her face to 
shadow from the extra pain. The evening was going splendidly. 

Faith could not tell how long her nipples were punished. Thirty minutes 
perhaps before another girl had the privilege of removing them to watch 
Faith gasp and tug helplessly at tied hands. Beer flowed and the exposed 
nudity accepted such sips of whisky as came her way. In the turmoil of the 
dance Faith often relaxed the rigidity of her stance to resume it only under 
command. She knew a party like this would last a long, long time and she 
wondered if she could hold out. Perhaps they would have an intermission and 
she would be allowed to sit down and rest. But instead of an intermission 
there was only Bill Mulchay standing before her as the jig reeled and saying 
gravely. "Tis sorry indeed I am. Miss, but the Bhoys have been talking to me 
and claiming what they see as their rights. They want your bottom caned." 

It was no great shock, the beer would be talking not the men. But the beer 
would have its way with her more surely that would the Male. Dully she 
whispered, "Please no. isn't this enough. I'm getting terribly tired." 

"We'll give you a rest after a while. Missy, so we will. And a bit o' caning 
of your ass won't do you no harm at all. at all. Tis a child's thing, so it 
is, a cane laid across them pretty pink cheeks you sit on. Tis only for half 
a dozen strokes " 

"Am I suppose to bend over for this?" 

"That's right. Miss Baldwin. Guess you've had it before, eh?" 

"And if I refuse?" 

"We'll tie you down for it, lassie." 

"I won't refuse, I don't want to be tied." Faith was trying hard to adjust 
to this new madness. "Look, it's hard for me to bend over properly with my 
hands tied behind my back. Will you free them so I can touch my toes?" 

"We will. Miss! Tis a real broth of a girl ye are for sure, taking this so 
calm and giving me no sauce." 

"I don't have much choice, do I 

"You might be saying that. Miss, but a cane across your pretty ass ain't all 
that bad. And it's only for six of the best." 

The naked girl shrewdly guessed what "six of the best" would be six hard, 
swift strokes to make her curl up inside and scream. 

Tentatively she questioned, "I'll try but I may not be able to touch my toes 
for six. It hurts a lot more than you probably know. Please don't punish me 
more for breaking the pose sometimes while you're beating me." 

"Tis a harsh word you're using, Miss Baldwin. No man will beat you here. Tis 
only a cane across your ass for sure and nothing else at all, at all." 

"Thank you, but that's quite enough. When will you do it to me?" 

"After the next dance I'll be making an announcement. Oh, and I should be 
telling you, it will be six of the pretty girls who will be caning your 
pretty seat. They'll no be hitting you as hard as a man." 

Throughout the dance, Faith bitterly reflected on the shame and humiliation 
she must now endure. Mulchay might believe the girls more humane than men 
but Faith doubted this. They would all be anxious to see an English girl pay 
tribute to their Irish cane by groveling on the floor. Even to break her 
pose would be shameful in their eyes. She cursed Bill Mulchay's simplicity. 

After the dance Bill Mulchay was in his element again. Stilling the crowd at 
a gesture, he reported their unwilling guest had seen the error of her ways 
in being born on the wrong side of the Irish sea and, what was much more to 
her credit, conceding the wickedness of English rule in Ireland had 
requested the penance of offering her butt to be solidly thwacked six times 
by an Irish cane held in female Irish hands. There was applause. 

The master of ceremonies took an indulgent breath to go along with his 
indulgent smile. He now proceeded to explain how Miss Baldwin, in her desire 
to rid herself of the English Sin, had expressed a wish to suffer further by 
bending over to touch her toes in the time-honored posture of such penance. 
He felt certain all present would grant this boon. Once more the applause 
was hearty. 

"We'll warm her butt for her," came a female voice. 

"She'll no sit down for a week by the time the good Irish Colleen's have 
basted her bottom." This from a man. 

"Should trice the bitch up and lace into her from stem to stern." It was a 
gruff, older voice. 

Faith quailed. She knew her caning would be merciless. She considered the 
idea of explaining those who paid ransom expected the return of undamaged 
property. But what was the use! The six welts her bottom was about to 
receive could hardly be called true damage and her ransom had not yet been 
paid. She keep a haughty silence and remained standing stiffly at attention, 
glad the clothespins had departed. Fingers worked at the bindings on her 
wrists. 

This was it! Massaging the scarlet markings of the cord, Faith waited for 
what would happen next, wishing she had not been so eager to touch her toes. 
It might have been much better had she been bound to present her bottom to 
the cane. This was going to take every ounce of courage she possessed. 

"We'll be having you bend and touch those little toes now, Miss Baldwin." 
Bill Mulchay's voice was hungry for her sacrifice. "We'll be wanting you to 
keep those knees stiff, so we will, and arch that sweet back so your butt is 
stuck way out. You'll be understanding, will you?" 

"Yes, I understand." 

There was nothing else to do now except to be caned. The naked girl hated 
every motion she made but made them valiantly. She touched her toes, she 
arched her back down and knew her bottom was indeed an isolated target for 
the cane. Between her chained feet Faith could see the shoes of whatever 
girl would be the first to mark her flesh. She prayed for strength. 

It was not to be swift and still and soon over. The hands of Molly O'Connor 
were wicked as they pretended to smooth girl skin already taut and waiting 
for the cane. 

"And for sure tis a lovely ass the girl is having," she proclaimed to the 
room in general. "Tis an English ass, for sure, its got the red and white 
and I'll soon add the blue. The privileged hand felt lowered reached lower 
to cup Faith's sex in a questing hand which was then held on display that 
all might see this girl was juicy. There was laughter and cries of "Cut the 
gab, Molly," and "Cut the bitch good." The bent over girl wondered if she 
looked an untidy as she felt. It was to be expected that Molly O'Connor 
would go through all the preliminaries and this she did with tappings and 
pantings and murmurs of approval. 

When the Irish girl struck she did so with such venom and force to make her 
victim wilt, to gasp in agony, but to resolutely hold the required pose as 
though in invitation for the second blow. Tears sprang to Faith's Baldwin's 
eyes but she blinked them back that English honor should not be diminished 
by any weakness. Her knees shook and her hips weaved as stroke number two 
from a different girl lapped cruelly across her hip. Vehemently she told 
herself she had already received one third of her sentence. Soon it would be 
one half! 

The caning of the English maiden continued under the approving eyes of those 
who watched. If Faith broke pose under the agony imparted by an Irish girl's 
hand, it was only a brief weakness she immediately corrected to protrude her 
bottom once again and stiffen her knees and arch her back. With each fresh 
blow Faith kept her tally of "three to go," then "two to go" until only one 
more stroke remained to cut her flesh. It came as a venomous, bitter slash 
to which she uttered her only cry, a sob of pure anguish as the scold spread 
through every fiber to leave her wondering how she had bore her Irish 
punishment with some measure of honor. She remained as she was, touching her 
toes and awaiting a command. 

"You can straighten up, lass, ye did well, so you did. You'll be proud of 
that ass of your's when you get a look at it. Tis a wondrous sight indeed." 

Slowly the caned girl stood erect and, since no one forbid it, felt gingerly 
behind her back to her wounds and ridges. Her bottom was furrowed as was a 
plowed field. But her fingertips, in gentleness, evoked only the most 
delicious of sensations, a pleasant interlude ended by swift command. 

"Cross your wrists, my pretty, tis time to tie them again." 

Faith stood stiffly erect and suffered the bit of cord without demur. For 
all she knew her ordeal might now be over save for standing in her pain for 
others to mock. She was getting used to that, it did not matter. Bill 
Mulchay patted the seat of her anguish approvingly before knotting her 
tighter than before. Faith wondered why men got so much satisfaction from 
the tight binding of a girl! They were not all bad but on this one point 
seemed unanimous, if a girl must be tied she must be tied tight enough to 
hurt. 

The dancers swirled to the ever increasing tempo of the music. None were 
bored with the naked girl standing in their midst. Miss Faith Baldwin was 
now more interesting than before with her scarlet nipples and welted rump. 
She was a fruitful object on which to comment and exhibit with. 

"She'll not be sitting down at all, at all. And she'll not be enjoying her 
next piece of ass." 

"She will, she will! A well whipped ass is the best of the lot." There was 
an evil laugh, "Take my word on it." 

"Who wants to whip her pretty pussy?" It was the voice of a girl. 

Faith shivered at the underlining cruelty of the seemingly good natured 
banter. The girls present were capable of taking her to one torture after 
another and caring nothing for her anguish. If Oliver Cromwell had seen her 
bottom now, would it have made him kinder to the Irish sod! Smelling the 
sweat and the beer. Faith wondered how far these people would go to make her 
a sacrifice gods and their eternal grudge against the land from where she 
came. 

There were endless suggestions about what could be done to the English 
nakedness to make it scream and to evoke the lust to be later appeased 
within female Irish loins. But Bill Mulchay countered them with logic and 
the potent reminder of English cash to come. At two o'clock in the morning 
Faith was once more chained to her tree and the dog kennel set in place. She 
crawled within gratefully and supposed, in spite of weariness, her treatment 
could have been much worse. Bill Mulchay was a friend! 

The morning was far advanced before the two men came for her kennel. They 
also brought food and drink, laughing about the night before and insisting 
she raise her shirt enough for them to examine the evidence of her caning 
which was still a scorching burn as a reminder of the Bhoys pleasure and her 
pain. In glowing Irish prose they assured her of the rainbow hues and purple 
strips she would see in a mirror if she would just look. She chaffed with 
them good naturedly enough, knowing herself an easy victim to Irish charm 
and no longer carrying who viewed her nakedness. Gradually, in the periods 
of her captivity, she had come to realize herself as communal property. 

Faith Baldwin breakfasted in thoughtful mood. She had come to believe the 
delays in her ransom were not due to financial problems but due to the fact 
that she was wanted for murder by the police of southern Ireland. The 
English authorities would respect this prior claim and her father would be 
powerless against it. She almost wished Bill Mulchay would take her for his 
own as Ratigan had done. There was a measure of safety in being owned and. 
if she were obediently enough, it might prove less painful. 

If, on the previous night, it had been understood she was Mulchay's property 
she would not have been caned. There was a strange respect for women who 
were owned. 

The girl who was chained to the tree had never been too optimistic about 
Bill Mulchay's negotiations for her ransom. As she considered the matter in 
the light of day she realized the almost certain fact of the authorities 
making every effort to track down her captors and the place where she was 
hidden She doubted if Bill Mulchay was as good a negotiator or as crafty a 
one as the nature of his prisoner might demand. Faith was frankly frightened 
of the prospect of a life sentence in an Irish prison. True, she might be 
tried and found not guilty but most certainly that trial would be held 
before she would be allowed the freedom of return to her parent's home. 
Suddenly she felt an urgent need of Ratigan's hand on her arm. She felt 
positive Ratigan was alive, but he would be no where near this hostile camp. 
She could not understand the differences between Bill Mulchay and her former 
owner. Such mysteries were part of the Irish mystic. The most probably 
thought was of him regrouping his forces in the sanctuary of the gate house 
and Adrian Moore's benevolence. When Bill Mulchay paid his daily visit to 
the tree and its chained girl she told him frankly her suspicions, omitting 
all reference to Ratigan or the gate house. He listened intently, his gaze 
shrewdly appeasing. 

"Why are you telling me this. Colleen?" 

"Because you've been kind to me and because we're both fugitives. I want to 
be ransomed so bad it hurts. But I don't think it's going to happen. Don't 
you think you've stayed in this one place long enough?" 

"Aye. that we have and all. But you're sure you're tired of being chained to 
this here tree and sleeping in a dog kennel, lass?" 

"It's not that. I know I have to be a prisoner and this is as nice a prison 
as any I can think of. Oh, Bill, I just don't want the police of southern 
Ireland to get hold of me." 

"Aye. tis seeing your point I am, love." Mulchay got heavily to his feet. 
I'll be talking to me boys, so I will, and we'll find another place for you. 
If the coppers route us out of this place they'll not be finding you." 

Faith watched him lumber away, fingering the heavy chain upon her neck 
thoughtfully and wondering how wise she might be to bring this simply 
captivity to an end. She and the chain and the tree had become a trio. She 
sighed heavily whatever she did would be partly wrong. 

Her longing for Ratigan was intense. 

9 

Saint Ursula's Prisoner 

Mother Mathilde sighed happily in her contemplation of this, the best of all 
possible worlds. Long ago the Bishop benevolently concurred with her 
inspiration to augment the coffers of her convent by providing tuition for 
recalcitrant young ladies. Saint Ursula's absorbed the duce damsels 
regardless of race or creed. The other requirement of entering this holly 
shrine was their parent's cash flow and their willingness to sign large 
checks. The poor were consigned to other churchly institutions less 
concerned with solvency. Costs were low for the inmates were kept lean and 
hungry on a minimal diet. The convent purchased its equally lean and hungry 
yellow canes in gross lots at minimum prices. The whips used in unusually 
severe cases were of leather and lasted a long time. 

She eyed her new recruit with charming concern. Faith Baldwin was lost and 
baffled and far from home. Clad only in her soiled shirt, her bands still 
tied behind her back from the journey, she stood before the Mother 
Superior's desk as though deposited on arrival. The familiar shackles still 
joined her feet. 

"My dear child, how nice to have you with us. Mr. Mulchay speaks well of 
you." 

The Mother Superior swept around her desk to clasp the captive cheeks and 
plant a warm kiss on captive lips. She turned the girl gently to examine 
bound wrists and tested them approvingly. "Such a dear, good man, and he 
ties a girl so well. We will pray for him to the saints tonight." She swept 
back to resume her seat, and leaning on her desk, suggested, "You are not of 
our faith child?" 

"I'm afraid not. Everybody isn't, y'know." 

"Of course, of course! But I'm sure we can rescue you as a brand from the 
burning, dear child. You must confide your doubts to me or the good sisters 
who will attend you. Have you been adequately whipped to induce humility?" 

Faith Baldwin stirred awkwardly beneath the benign gaze. "Well, I don't 
really know. Quite likely not." 

"We will attend to that, dear, you must not unduly concern yourself. Our 
sisterhood is experienced in the scourging of sin." 

Faith was utterly at a lost. Mother Mathilde was beginning to take on the 
aspect of one more dream. Without much hope she said what she must. "I 
suppose you know I've been kidnapped? I'm the daughter of a member of the 
British Parliament. His name is Baldwin. I am sure your convent would be 
well rewarded if you returned me." 

"Come, come my dear, you're a member of The Cause as much as any of us. How 
could we part with you!" 

"Very easily. Just place me on any convenient mode of transport. Phone my 
father collect." 

"You are being silly, dear girl." The Mother Superior said with a trace of 
authority evident in her tone. "The Cause has placed you in our care. You 
conversion to The Faith will happen naturally as you conform to our codes of 
behavior. The codes of penances guiding you will leave no doubt to which 
church you belong." 

Faith was alarmed, this was not as it should be. Bill Mulchay, in his simply 
ways had probably placed her in a feminine establishment who's motives were 
probably not such as he could share. But the convent gate had slammed shut. 
Bill Mulchay was gone! Miss Faith Baldwin was on her own and had best do 
what she could to placate the authority behind the desk. Humbly she said, "I 
understand I'm a prisoner here. I've been a prisoner around Ireland a long 
time. I will try to follow your rules and make you pleased with me." She 
wiggled invitingly. "Could I please have my hands untied?" 

"Why?" The Mother Superior sounded genuinely shocked. 

"Well, it doesn't do any good to keep them tied. I can't do anything and I'm 
not going to assault anyone. Perhaps you noticed my chained feet, they keep 
me from running away." 

Mother Mathilde took one more deep breath. There was so much to explain to 
new girls, they were so terribly ignorant of Saint Ursula's purpose and 
motives. She could recall many who had angrily demanded to be set free this 
minute, their flushed faces and tugging hands clearly demonstrating the need 
to keep them where they were. "There is no girl more humble in our faith 
than one who's hands are bound behind her back, dear child. I'm sure you 
will come to understand this. As you stand before me now you are freed of 
all temptation, hobbled from the lusts of the flesh, amenable to Saint 
Ursula's control." 

The convict silently agreed. She had never felt more helpless and less 
deprived of decision than now. Her hope of a benevolent captivity was fading 
fast. She shrugged and uttered a lame, "Yes, Sister, whatever you say." 

"You will address me as Mother Superior." 

"I'm sorry, I apologize." 

Shrewd eyes assessed. A sharp tongue tolled the knell of freedom, "You words 
are mechanical, dear child, you make a mental reservation with each one." 

"It's not use me keeping on saying I'm sorry, Mother Superior. I expect 
you're right about what you say but this is all so strange and new and 
different. I'm not even sure about what kind of a prisoner I'm going to be 
here." 

"A prison of Holly Church, child. I will now place you in the charge of 
Sister Deborah, she is sweet and understand and will punish you without 
passion." The Mother Superior gently depressed a button on her desk. 

Sister Deborah had a kind face and strong hand. It was hard to assess the 
age of the bland faces within the habit. The sister must be blonde for her 
eyes were blue but she would boast only the same shaven pate as the captives 
of The Cause. Her grip of firm. Faith was unhappily conscious of a woman 
larger than herself. She left the office of the Mother Superior without a 
backward glance. 

The Convent of Saint Ursula was well isolated from busy roads and towns. It 
was also isolated from modern thoughts and behavior. In a manner only made 
possible by large endowments in the past. And the cash flow engendered by 
its caning of maiden bottom and other more original correction of maiden 
flesh. From the start Faith thought of her as Saint Ursula herself, who's 
period had been the fourteenth century and who's methods appeared to still 
flourish. 

The convent was a labyrinth of strange architecture of stone passages were 
every where and might lead you to a stone chamber, a cloistered hall, or a 
barred window. Unrestrained young ladies might easily disappear into the 
gloom. Sister Deborah displayed with pride a number of stone chambers which, 
if not exactly dungeons, came close enough. But the good sister was more 
concerned with showing her new charge the stern hand of convent authority on 
maiden's who transgressed. Faith was beginning to think longingly of her 
chain and the tree back with Bill Mulchay and almost with tears at 
remembrance of . If she was expected to admire what she was shown in this 
tour of Saint Ursula's, the mission failed most dismally. 

The girl was naked. She was dejectedly turning a huge crank, the shaft of 
which disappeared into the stone to presumably serve some purpose in another 
room. One of the girl's wrists was chained to the massive handle of the 
crank she turned without pause. She looked at Sister Deborah doubtfully but 
spared a smile for Faith. 

"You are well up on your count, Nancy?" Sister Deborah inquired pleasantly. 

"I think so. Sister, thank you. I haven't stopped turning." 

"This dear child, Nancy, is inclined to be lazy," Sister Deborah explained 
helpfully. "She has been lamentably slack in some of her assignments so she 
is now doing an appropriate penance as you now see. In the room next door 
there is a device which tells the number of revolutions she has contrived by 
healthful effort. Should she fall short of the number to which she is 
sentenced, there will be further punishments." 

Faith could feel her tummy tying itself into knots. It was easy to read this 
girl's distress and to behold the straining muscles of her young body as she 
endlessly turned the crank against some unseen brake upon the shaft. They 
did not linger. The sister's hand on Faith's arm led to fresh despair. 

The next infliction needed no explanation, it was a treadmill. Faith had 
heard of treadmills but had never seen one and was forced to agree with 
Sisters Deborah's suggestion of good fortune in being able to witness one in 
operation. The naked girl's arms had been widely spread and raised above her 
head were they were chained to a solid bar. The poor girl had the choice of 
hanging by her wrists, an unthinkable agony, or taking step after step to 
keep the mill turning without pause. She was tired and sweating and 
obviously close to tears. Her eyes sought Sister Deborah in obvious hope. 

"You are well up on your count, dear child, I hope?" The sister's voice was 
sweet. 

"I think so. Sister. I've been walking steadily every since you chained me 
here." 

Faith gazed in fascination. As the blades revolved in an endless circling of 
the main shaft, the punished girl was forced to step up to another and 
another and another in a journey which had no end and which served no 
purpose. Faith realized that the very uselessness of the task these two 
girls performed made the punishment doubly agonizing. 

At the end of the shaft was a box and dial. Obviously the mechanism by which 
the count of revolutions was made. Sister Deborah consulted it and then her 
watch to conclude with a sad shaking of her head. "My dear, Penelope, you 
have been a laggard in your steps, you cannot possibly complete your quota 
at this speed." 

"I'm doing my best, Sister Deborah, honest I am." The young feet trod 
steadily their path of punishment. 

"Perhaps some encouragement. Penny dear. I'm sure I left a cane around here 
somewhere." The naked steps visibly quickened but too late. Sister Deborah 
had found her cane and had taken a position of dark intent. "You will not 
stop walking. Penny dear. This will not take long and you will be encouraged 
to do better." 

The cruelty of what Faith witnessed was modified by the matter-of-fact 
manner in which it was delivered and received. The good sister delivered 
three full arm strokes upon the bare young bottom as it strained to 
performed its task, its owner's face registered each cutting impact with a 
shocked grimace and a breathless gasp, but that was all! Sister Deborah put 
away her cane, the treadmill continued to revolve at a slightly increased 
speed. Once more the hand on Faith's arm led her from a scene she would be 
glad to forget. 

"The little dears get so slack without encouragement," Sister Deborah 
confided with a chuckled. "I have to keep my eye on them all the time." 

One more scene of torture such as the two just witnessed would have brought 
Faith to revolt. Chained as she was the revolt could not have been physical 
but a demand to have the convent take her back to Bill Mulchay and her 
chances with him and his group. But scene number three inclined her thoughts 
in another direction. It was a prison cell and it was empty. 

"The dear girls work on the farm during their day," Sister Deborah 
continued. "These sweet little homes are waiting for their return." 

Miss Faith Baldwin viewed the "sweet little home" without favor. It was 
stark walls and bars, a wooden bench and primitive plumbing. From one wall 
there dangled a collar and chain. She shuttered, feeling certain she would 
end up in one of these herself. There was a long line of them, flanked by 
the corridor. Traversing it Faith could well imagine the huge numbers of 
prisoners this place had known in the past and the numbers still to come. 

"I believe dear Constance in still in solitary confinement," Sister Deborah 
imparted cheerfully. "We must go and visit her." 

The "solitary" facility comprised a couple of dark cells at the end of one 
passage. The doors were of solid wood, containing only a small peephole kept 
closed. One door was open to enable Faith to see the tiny barred window in 
the far wall and for the rest absolutely nothing. A girl would do a lot of 
sitting and thinking on a hard surface. 

Constance, as usual, was naked and was obviously hopeful of release. She had 
been sitting with her back against the stone but leapt erect as the door 
opened. She was cowed and obviously much afraid but plucked up enough 
courage to ask, "Is my punishment over. Sister Deborah? Please let me out, I 
can't stand it, I just can't!" 

"You're doing remarkably well, dear," said Sister Deborah who appeared to 
behold good in all things. "You're sentence is not yet complete, you were a 
very naughty girl. I want you to understand that anything can always be much 
worse." She reached within her voluminous garments to produce handcuffs. 
"Turn around, dear, I will show you what I mean." 

Faith witnessed the cruelty askance. This small punishment place was vile. 
She pictured herself in Constance's place and shuttered at the thought. 
Constance was quietly weeping but obediently turned and offered her wrists 
for the shinning metal bracelets that would rob her of the last of her 
freedoms. The steel clicked shut and the poor girl showed her subservience 
by a quiet, "Thank you. Sister Deborah." She turned, tugging at newly 
confined hands to ask timidly, "How much longer must I stay in solitary, 
Sister?" 

"You are never to know that, dear child. Perhaps you will be freed tomorrow, 
who knows?" 

The hand of authority was once more on Faith's arm. The door closed behind 
them with a terrible finality. 

Once more standing before the Mother Superior's desk, Faith let it all come 
out. "This convent is a prison, isn't it?" she said forcibly. "I can't 
possibly stay here." 

"How do you propose leaving us, dear? You are secured?" 

"Yes, I know, I'm helpless. But I want you to contact Mr. Mulchay and have 
him take me away. He will if I ask." 

"You appear to be giving me orders, young woman." The Mother Superior's 
voice was sharp. 

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to but I absolutely must leave this place. There's 
been a terrible mistake made." 

"If a mistake has been made, it was been your own." 

Faith was desperate, prepared to burn bridges. "You know who I am, there's a 
price on my head. You can turn me in to the Irish police or you can contact 
my father and collect ransom. I beg you to do which ever of these your 
conscious dictates." 

"You are impertinent, my dear. At this moment I feel more inclined having 
you properly whipped then tied to a tree to contemplate your outrageous 
behavior." There was an ominous silence. "Well, what do you say to that?" 

Faith longed to say a great many things but knew herself on dangerous 
grounds. "There's a Mr. Adrian Moore, he paints pictures." She faltered 
weakly. "We would vouch for me and keep me safe." 

"I have told you, girl, you are being kept very safe here indeed at Saint 
Ursula's. But we are aware of Mr. Moore, a most admirable gentleman." 

"I am sure that any or all of these people I've mentioned would make a 
generous contribution to your convent if you would let me go. Please, I beg 
of you!" 

The Mother Superior sighed. She was accustomed to the concern of young women 
who wished only the return of freedom. She had become impervious to pleas. 
"You are impertinent and self-willed." she affirmed in a manner to set 
Faith's heart to thudding. "You must be taught a lesson, in fact, you must 
be taught several lessons. I'm surprised Mr. Mulchay failed to tell me of 
your rebellious spirit." Her voice turned to steel. "A spirit we will 
ruthlessly crush." 

Faith stood appalled. Her hands were still tied behind her back, her feet 
still bore the leg-irons Ratigan had locked on them. Ratigan's collar was 
still upon her neck. She knew herself utterly in the power of anyone who 
wished to grasp her arm or her hair. She listened in terror as punishment 
was pronounced. 

"Sister Deborah, I want you to take this ridiculous girl into the fields and 
show her the good honest work to which she will eventually apply herself. 
Then in the fields where our girls are working today, you will fasten her to 
the penitence pedestal for all to see. This evening, after the girls are all 
finished with their work, they will gather to see her properly whipped. I 
think that will look after Miss Faith Baldwin today. 

It was a beautiful country side. The soft, warm Irish air revived Faith's 
spirits as she hobble along besides her jailer to where the girls, widely 
separated, were hoeing potatoes. Each girl was solidly kept upon the path of 
virtue by a ball and chain fastened to one of her ankles. It was a large 
ball and heavy chain and the iron anklet was positively brutal. None of them 
could run. The busily hoeing girl spared a glance of pity as they passed. 

"There is one of these in each of the fields," Sister Deborah explained. 
"Any girl fastened as I am about to fasten you is on view for all to see. We 
are great believers in the potency of Penitence. The penitence pedestal was 
a simple device composed of a large log very solidly embedded in the earth 
and another length of log of the same dimensions as a cross piece at its 
top. A girl seated upon the shorter timber would be about four feet from the 
ground with nothing else to do but endure shame and enjoy the view. Since 
Sister Deborah had brought a cane with her it seemed silly to dispute her 
will. Strong hands hoisted her up to sit astride the horizontal bit of log. 
It was at most thirty inches long. The center link of her leg-irons was 
somehow clamped to the vertical post beneath, at which point Sister Deborah 
took much pains to position her further back upon the huge, rounded and then 
to cord her already bound hands to a ring at its rear. 

"We cannot have you sloughing, can we. dear. Posture is important with our 
girls. I trust you feel comfortable?" 

"Not very." 

"It will become less comfortable as the hours pass." The Sister imparted 
this dismal news as though offering comfort. "You will be along but 
constantly under observation of the well-behaved young ladies you see hard 
at work." 

"Is ever girl at Saint Ursula's keep naked all the time?" Faith asked in 
pure curiosity. 

"Of course! Clothes indicate virtue and a virtuous girl would not be at 
Saint Ursula's." 

It was silly to argue but Faith tried again. "This isn't really a bit 
comfortable the way you've fixed me. it's punishment, isn't it?" 

"Innocence would find it a pleasant seat in a pleasant place, only the 
delinquent feel its pain." Faith was certain this was not true. She was 
equally certain she would "e much more of Saint Ursula's before she was 
through with the place, t she saw only more verbal defeats from a woman who 
made up the rules as these went along. With sarcasm she said, "Thank you for 
tying me like this, Sister Deborah. I'm sure it will comfort me in the 
thinking of the whipping I'm go get this evening." 

The sister actually allowed the sarcasm to pass, perhaps feeling that for 
her first day Faith was being punished enough. With a pleasant goodbye she 
strode back towards the main building. It was a sad and lonely seat for a 
girl who had only a whipping to :k forward to. After a few abortive tries, 
Faith abandoned thoughts escape. She could move but little, enough to ease 
the eventual omfort of her caned bottom upon the rough timber. Her breasts 
as bare as her bottom and she longed for Ratigan's shirt. Nakedness s 
inconsistent in a convent. But, on the other hand, its occupants were wholly 
female and would feel no more shame than she felt now. She gazed down at her 
pubic patch and hint of lips below then noticed that die nipples on her 
breasts had shrunk almost out of sight. For certain they had nothing over 
which to be erect. Faith Baldwin angrily shook the hair from her eyes and 
tried to gaze upon the serenity of the Irish scene, now her only privilege. 
She wondered if falling asleep might hurt her by a sideways fall to leave 
her worse off than now. It was a hazard she must watch but she would sorely 
have loved to doze under the Irish sun. 

It as natural for Faith Baldwin to review her changed position. She knew for 
sure that if Saint Ursula's was her fate, she would prefer an Irish prison. 
As Sister Deborah had said, "Things can always get worse." This mockery of a 
convent was an all time low. A visit from Bill Mulchay was her only hope but 
he had just left her here and would be unlikely to check up on her for at 
least a week. Adrian Moore seemed worlds away and was no doubt happy with 
his concupiscent Coral. Ratigan was the one mystery of hope to which she 
clung. She refused to believe in his death, men like Ratigan did not die 
easily. None had seen his body. Ratigan would gather unto himself a fresh 
force of zea lots and would probably return to when he believed it safe. All 
in all, her prospects were dim! 

The speculations of Miss Faith Baldwin then turned to the whipping she would 
receive that evening. She had little knowledge of the severity of such 
inflictions at Saint Ursula's but had little belief in feminine mercy. She 
suspected it would be an infliction to leave her demoralized and sobbing out 
all sorts of declarations of humility and eagerness to please. Miss Faith 
Baldwin had not illusions about the whip. She was sure it could break her 
spirit and shame her into submission. She realized that this time astride 
the pedestal was perhaps the last of being truly herself. After the whipping 
she would become as pathetically obedient as all rest. She struggled in 
revolt but achieved nothing. She thought longingly of her English home. 

To the naked girl on the log the sound of the engine was no more than any 
other sound floating from far away. But it was persistent sound and Faith 
realized it was drawing closer. Her senses alert, she gazed up to behold a 
jeep surmount a ditch, crash through an intervening hedge and head straight 
in her direction across a field of potatoes to which it paid no heed. She 
knew instantly who it was and her heart soared in gladness. She longed to 
leap forward towards the man who owned her but the convent strictures held 
her fast. When the jeep drew level and the motor died, Ratigan sat calmly 
there, quite obviously laughing at her predicament. 

"Taking up horse racing. Faith?" he inquired. "You look damn pretty up 
there." He dropped his banter. "Sweetheart, you'd look damned good to me 
anywhere, anytime." 

Faith was breastless, twisting astride her wooden steed. All she could think 
to say was to exclaim over and over, "Oh, Ratigan! Oh. Ratigan!" 

Ratigan got out of the vehicle to ask sharply, "Any one give you a bad time 
since we parted?" 

"No, oh no. Well, not until I came here today. Mulchay was afraid he'll be 
raided." 

"So he will be. And they were stringing him along on that ransom. Damn, it's 
good to have you back. Faith!" 

Faith sat in quivering delight as he untied her hands and then went to the 
jeep to get a tool to unfasten the leg-irons from the post. He reached up to 
drag her down to stand beside him. Their fervent kisses went on and on until 
Faith breathlessly demanded, "Are you safe? Some one would have told them at 
the convent." 

Ratigan grunted contemptuously. "This houseful of sadistic old hens couldn't 
hurt anybody or anything unless it was a girl like you delivered to them 
tied hand and foot, they can handle that. They won't try to handle me." 

It was gloriously true. No habit marred their view. True, the working girls 
had stopped their hoeing to gaze in envy but were too far away to make their 
own plea for rescue. 

"Wish I could free the whole damned lot of 'em," Ratigan commented 
remorselessly. "But there's one thing in Ireland you don't tread on too many 
toes. They won't mind loosing you, you're a hot potato but these other 
little fillies are their bread and butter." 

He was fishing in his pocket and produced a key Faith recognized. "No! Oh 
no, please don't! Don't take my leg-irons away! I want you to carry me the 
way you used to do." 

Laughing, he picked up his repossessed property and placed her beside him on 
the seat. He revved up the motor and turned the small vehicle to churn its 
way back among indignant potatoes and wistful maidens with their balls and 
chains. Faith felt for them all and wished she could grant them freedom as 
she now had. But was it freedom! Is love freedom? Had she not chosen the 
leg-irons on her feet over freedom? Tossing concern overboard, she said in a 
fervent thankfulness, "Darling, you saved my life. I'd have died in that 
place, they would have killed me for sure. They treat girls horribly in that 
place. Can't something be done about it?" 

"There'll be something done about it when I've united Ireland. In the 
meantime those poor little tricks are going to have to put up with sore 
bottoms and chaffed ankles. Did Mulchay or any of the men screw you?" 

"No, they talked about it but decided it wasn't a good idea considering 
their efforts to get ransom for me." Faith laughed gaily, "They all said a 
girl who had been raped didn't fetch as good a price. Ratigan, never mind 
me, what about you?" 

He leaned over to kiss her again before speaking. "They missed killing me in 
that raid when the shot down half of my men. But I've still got Cully and 
Johnny Catlin and I've recruited a lot more. Ireland's always filled with 
stout hearted lads who wish to kill. Recognize this jeep?" 

Faith recognized it from the first. Without a word she held out her left 
hand for the cuff to be locked around its wrist. When she tested the 
familiar bond she was still able to bring her hand into her waist but no 
further. Very simply she whispered, "I love you, don't ever let me go." 

"I love you, too, Faith Baldwin. I'm not sure what I'll do with you but for 
certain I'll never let you go." 

Euphoria still held his doubly chained young woman, making her voice quiver 
in earnestly. "Don't ever bother about my ransom, and for sure don't let the 
Irish police get a hold of me. Ratigan, I've grown up in all that's happen. 
I'm a big girl now and I don't want to run to mommy's apron strings. I don't 
want to go back to England to find myself. I found myself in these past days 
when I'd lost you. Oh, Ratigan, I'm so happy." 

"I'm getting you back intact. I see you've still got my collar on your 
neck." 

"No one can get it off. And it was far too beautiful to spoil so they let me 
wear it. They chained me by my neck to a tree but it was a loose chain. Bill 
Mulchay broke the original one when he took me prisoner." 

Miss Faith Baldwin entertained no doubt where she was being taken by her 
owner. The past days of captivity were fading fast. Saint Ursula's was still 
a nightmare but that too was fading into memory against her delight in again 
being possessed by the man she loved. When came into view she wanted to cry 
with happiness. 

Bill Mulchay's raid had passed over like a summer storm, leaving no traces. 
The dead had been buried in the good Irish soil that had sought to defend 
and slept peacefully in the slumber of a thousand years. For both man and 
girl reveled in the modern facilities of Adrian's generosity. The freed girl 
and her captor shared a hot and fragrant bath, but not before a solemn rite. 
Ratigan used his eye upon the leg-irons which had held his love captive for 
so long. Faith did not demur but stepped daintily with a high, provocative 
motion into the bath to laughingly retort, "I couldn't have done that an 
hour ago. I would have had to sit down and bring both feet over at once. 
Ratigan, will you lock them on me again after we're clean?" 

"No, I won't, you lustful little mink. You've become addicted to the damn 
things, you've fallen in love with them. All I wanted them for was to keep 
you around." 

"How do you know I won't run away, I might?" 

"I'll take a chance." 

Faith allowed herself to be frictioned by the towel. Their lovemaking would 
come later but for now there was Ratigan's command. "We've been invited out 
to dinner at the gate house, love. Adrian knew I was repossessing you today 
so he had his cook come in a prepare a feast." He laughed. "The poor old 
chap's still saddled with Coral and doesn't know what to do with her. He 
wants to keep her forever and she wants him to do exactly that. I've told 
them both to stop worrying, that's easy for Coral but poor old Adrian was 
brought up as a gentleman and gentlemen are forever burdened by guilt. 
Everything is forbidden, except to marry a tweet-clad, overweight specimen 
of the County, one of those who rides to hounds and who's husbands are 
always hoping they'll fall off. Come on, sweetheart, put on that expensive 
stuff, we've got a date." 

Faith wondered where Ratigan had obtained the glorious things with which she 
now clothed herself, reveling in the sensuality of silk and the authority of 
bras. The tiny panties seemed an obscenity after nakedness but she hid her 
pubic forest within them with pure joy. She was totally and completely free 
of all bonds, even the collar had been taken from her neck. She comforted 
herself that these were temporary departures from the norm, soon to be 
corrected. 

The left their greetings with The Bhoys for tomorrow and set out for the 
gate house in a degree of freedom which Faith found hard to cope with. "I 
want to run around a field or leap a hedge," she complained. "I feel 
indecent being able to walk properly." 

"You are indecent, dear girl," Ratigan assured her earnestly. "And it's all 
my fault, I made you what you are. One of these days I'll have to marry you 
and turn you into an honest woman." He mused thoughtfully. "I wonder what 
your parents would say if one day we turned up with a marriage certificate?" 

By some teenage magic of her own, Coral had become the grand Chatelaine of 
Adrian's home. True, she was as naked as the day of her birth and she 
hobbled to and fro in leg-irons the same as Faith had worn up to a short 
time ago. There was a collar on her neck and wristlets waiting to be joined. 
She positively glowed and appeared at least twenty. Faith noted whip marks 
on the young skin but discretely failed to comment on them. Ratigan was not 
so sensitive. 

"I see you've whipped your pretty hostage, Adrian, she wears her marks well 
and I'm sure it did both of you a lot of good. You were scared of Faith, I 
know how these things are." 

"I'll twist darling Adrian around my little finger one of these days," Coral 
affirmed with feminine conviction. "But that's not yet. I'm being terribly 
submissive and it's my idea he should whip me every day just so he knows 
who's boss." She giggled delightedly. "You see the nice thing is he doesn't 
have to paint the whip marks when her paints the rest of me." She paused 
dramatically, "I do think, Ratigan, you ought to whip darling Faith for us 
this evening, just to sort of reaffirm yourself." 

"How would it be if I were to whip you instead?" Ratigan was his old self. 

"Oh, would you! Oh, Adrian, may Ratigan whip me just this once?" 

"Down girl, down! You're positively terrible." Adrian surveyed his guests 
and shrugged in mock helplessness. "If one of you would like to take this 
nymphet in hand, I'd be grateful." 

They ate the food and drank the wine. The wine was potent and loosened 
tongues. Adopting the big brother pose, Adrian came out with, "Ratigan, for 
Pete's sake, take this beautiful creature and make yourself a sane life 
somewhere. I know you joke about fried fish shops. But even that may be a 
good idea. Give up killing. You nearly got killed yourself not so long ago. 
And lost Faith, to boot. Damn it, man! the girl loves you. That's the 
greatest treasure in the world." 

Faith glowed and compared her present circumstances to being whipped and 
locked in the hateful little cells she had seen at Saint Ursula's. It seemed 
that if you were a girl and had lovely breasts, everything nice happened to 
you and you were enslaved by delightful men. The rich, sweet wine of Italy 
was working its magic in her mind. She focused on her owner. "Are you taking 
up Adrian's suggestion?" 

"Which one was that? The fried fish shop or giving you a good whipping?" 

"That last one belonged to Coral. She thought it would be good for me and I 
expect it would. If you want to do it, please do. But I still believe the 
fried fish shop. Or you could run a service which frees captive maidens from 
any device they can't get out of." 

"Too small a volume, sweetheart, unless I included you as one of my 
customers, you're definitely kidnap prone. But where would a naked girl keep 
my fees?" 

"If you don't know the answer to that by now.. . ! " 

They laughed outrageously, cherishing their mood. The dark ghosts of Ireland 
were, for this moment, set upon their way. Coral clinked happily back and 
forth, making more play than needful with the links between her legs. It was 
Adrian who steered them back to serious subjects. "Ratigan, I mean it, I'll 
stake you to a business. For heaven's sake, give up your role as Don 
Quixote. Settle down and make money and raise beautiful children. That's 
what Ireland needs is beautiful children who don't go to London or the USA 
as soon as they're old enough." 

Ratigan laughed and in his laugh was bitterness. "I should not be telling 
you this but tomorrow my Bhoys are wiping out Bill Mulchay's gang. He killed 
half my men, now I'll leave none of his alive." 

There was a horrified silence. Ratigan looked around the stricken faces and 
shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, that's the way it is. Don't forget this is 
Ireland." 

It was Coral who proved her competence as hostess. "You shouldn't have told 
us such horrible things," she said directly to Ratigan. "Killings spoils 
things. Ireland is so beautiful." She brightened suddenly. "Let's forget 
what you've just said, Ratigan. let's whip Faith and get ourselves back to 
normal." It was hard to ignore her pixie charm, everyone laughed, but then 
Adrian said softly, "I don't think Faith wants to be whipped. Coral, you're 
getting ahead of yourself." 

Coral looked around defiantly, her chin held high. "Very well then, if you 
won't whip Faith, why don't you whip me. I haven't been whipped today at 
all, I'm being terribly spoiled." 

None of them would, afterward, be certain how it happened but the food and 
the wine and the need to banish Irish ghosts made the nymphet's suggest seem 
desirable. They looked at Adrian and Faith uttered a hesitant, "With your 
permission, Adrian?" 

"Of course, she deserves it. Fancy a hostess offering herself to be whipped 
for the enjoyment of her guests! I'm ashamed of her. Do I have to do it our 
will you pass the whip around." 

"They'll pass the whip around, Adrian, darling," Coral sail firmly. "I've 
never been whipped by a girl and I'm sure Faith does it beautifully. And 
just think darling, I'll be able to tell my grandchildren about the time the 
great Ratigan got off his high horse and gave me a whipping. Adrian, 
darling, can we come back to the cheese after I've been whipped?" 

It was exquisitely Irish. Nothing made sense yet everything fell into place 
and was as it should be. They allowed Coral to lead the way to where her 
wrists were strapped onto a bar and the bar raised until her toes barely 
touched the floor. Adrian handed Faith the wicked, snake-like object with 
the comment, "I'm not in this one, this is your show. Mark the little 
darling up properly and we'll go back for the cheese." 

For her first time Faith Baldwin was certain she did well. She was suddenly 
confronted by a teenage nakedness dangling invitingly from a tether far 
above. Coral was twisting around and around and as her gaze met that of the 
girl who held the whip, she provocatively protruded a small pink tongue. As 
her circle followed its course Faith took the opportunity to cut hard at the 
impertinent young bottom as though she had been doing such a chore all her 
life. The young bottom showed a divinely scarlet streak and jerked most 
entertainingly as its owner exclaimed in some sort of strange ecstasy of her 
own, "Oh, darling!" 

It was an understanding garnered by the grapes of a sun-drenched Italian 
mountain side. Faith waited for the sweet, young curves to conveniently 
circle and then lashed them once again. When she beheld the scarlet evidence 
she said firmly, "That's enough, I don't want to whip this young treasure. 
Here, Ratigan, it's your turn." 

Ratigan had not qualms but his assessment of their mood was accurate. 
Waiting for the hurt and wildly kicking young nudity to offer a satisfying 
target he then cut hard and true to evoke a scream of pure shock from the 
youngster tethered at the end of a rope. AH present realized honor was 
appeased. Coral was released and comforted in Faith's female arms. 

"I didn't know it would hurt this much," she sobbed apologetically. "Adrian 
never whips me that hard. I expect I've a lot to learn." 

They went back to the table and the cheese. 

A warm intimacy had grown on the four of them. Faith realized both she and 
Coral Noyes had come by a perspective of permanence by way of the men who 
owned them, and , and the gate house. She was gorgeously content with food 
and wind and laughter. It was decided that Coral should visit the following 
day, the youngster insisting she would walk the distance in the lovely 
leg-irons she now wore. They laughingly agreed, Adrian making the mental 
reservation to drive over to pick up the ankle chaffed and foot sore young 
girl. 

The soft and warm Irish night enveloped Ratigan and his prisoner as they 
drove back to the only home they knew. 

It was tremendously heating to the pussy to have clothes to remove while the 
man who owned you watched intently. Faith savored this new sensation to the 
full even to the point of imitating a strip tease while demanding, "What, no 
leg-irons, no collar?" 

"Not for tonight. Be a pleasant novelty to do it to a girl who's got all her 
limbs. I'm expecting a superlative performance." 

"I always give you a superlative performance." 

"This one's special, sweetheart. If you fail to please, you'll be back in 
irons tomorrow." 

Ratigan laughed at a sudden thought. "I've always believe that some sort of 
restriction makes a girl doubly horny." 

It was a lusty romp, a sexual symphony, a mating to remember. Ratigan and 
his released maiden excelled themselves and slept late. It was Johnny Catlin 
with a message who ended their slumbers. His manners became shy and awkward 
as Faith sat up to reveal her breasts. Then she stretched her arms in a 
glorious yawn, slowly and contentedly. She made Ratigan promise to repair 
the collar and its leash but made no mention of the leg-irons she had worn 
for so long. She wanted that leaping, glorious flight around the field 
before returning her ankles to captivity. Ratigan could damn well carry her 
even though her feet were innocent of chain. It would be a new and 
delightful experience for them both. Beyond that. Faith Baldwin refuse to 
think. 

Instead of breakfast of lunch they comprised on brunch. Afterwards they went 
out into the sunlight of the castle steps to behold a small but very evident 
little black car awaiting them. As curiosity drew them closer they discerned 
within the features of Sister Deborah from the convent of Saint Ursula. The 
woman had been quietly knitting but put her needles and wool away to greet 
them. Then she blandly inquired, "Were you expecting company today." 

"We certainly weren't expecting you." 

The good sister's smile was benign upon them both. "I have in mind a 
youngish girl, probably fourteen-quite charming, really." 

Faith's heart plummeted, but it was Ratigan who savagely demanded, "What the 
devil's work have you been up to, woman?" 

Sister Deborah ignored the outburst. "She tells us her name is Coral Noyes 
and she's the daughter of a member of the Northern Parliament." Sister 
Deborah conceded a brief chuckle. "The dear child says she will have the 
police upon us if we don't let her go." 

"What do you want with her," Faith demanded, then added, "as if I didn't 
know." 

"We do not want Miss Coral Noyes, at all, we want Miss Faith Baldwin." 

They surveyed the quietly triumphant face within the car, a face amply 
protected by holly church and by possession of a vivid young nakedness now 
captive. Sister Deborah sealed the obvious, "We suggest an exchange." 

Ratigan grasped Faith's bare arm, his anger obvious. "No you don't! If you 
don't free that girl, my boys and I will knock that convent down around your 
ears before night falls." 

Sister Deborah shook her head as though in sadness. "You know you won't do 
that, Ratigan. There's the Pope to reckon with, to say nothing of our 
Bishop. Never underestimate the Holly Church. In Ireland it has power beyond 
ordinary men." 

Faith felt the fingers on her arm tighten then relax. She knew Ratigan was 
making the same swift mental calculations as herself. As though to aid them, 
Sister Deborah continued, "Let us be sensible about these things. Miss 
Baldwin was placed in our care. We accepted a responsibility. Saint Ursula's 
has never lost a young woman yet in all its centuries. We agreed to shelter 
her for thirty days and you stole her from us on day one. If you weren't 
Ireland's national hero, Ratigan, we'd be sending you a bill for those 
potatoes churned up in your trespass." She paused, considering quietly. "We 
now hold Miss Coral Noyes, a must admirable and suitable addition to our 
Order. Should we be forced to retain possession of the dear child, she will 
be properly trained, her spirit broken, and when old enough, properly shaved 
and habited as a nun of the Order of Saint Ursula. In the intervening time, 
which will be several years, she will be called a novice and will be subject 
to our rules and regulations. We will make certain she does not escape." 

Ratigan grasped Faith by both arms to stare hard into her eyes. "I won't let 
them," he said forcibly. "No one's taking you from me a second time." 

"I'm offering you a bargain, Mr. Ratigan. Think of it, a mere thirty days in 
return for a lifetime. I'm surprised you quibble." 

"The sister's right," Faith agreed dismally. "If by giving myself for thirty 
days, we can recover Coral, I don't see where we have any choice. Ratigan, 
darling, you'll have to let me go." 

At Sister Deborah's ready suggestion, the two of them walked slowly up and 
down beside the castle steps to confer in private but did no more than 
reject each presented idea. In Ireland the power of the convent and the 
church went deeper than English bullets or blood. By the simple kidnapping 
of Coral Noyes Saint Ursula's had placed themselves in a bargaining position 
none could defeat. Faith had the last word. 

"Darling, it's only for thirty days. Only thirty days." 

When all was said Ratigan bowed to the inevitable. But he kept muttering 
under his breath and Faith kept saying, "But Ratigan it's only thirty days, 
one month." 

Sister Deborah was visibly pleased. Ratigan was a power but so was the 
church. She guessed her victory was mainly due to the moderation of the 
demand. In thirty days a girl might suffer much but in the end be free, a 
freedom Coral Noyes would never otherwise know. She got out of the car, "I'm 
so pleased, so very pleased. You're a wise man, Ratigan, and you'll get your 
reward. In thirty days this young woman will return to you a better Catholic 
than before." 

"She's not a Catholic now." 

"That is exactly what I meant, dear man. Everything has its own beginning. 
Now, if you don't mind, I would like to fasten Miss Baldwin for her 
journey." 

Faith saw the anger surge through Ratigan's face, felt his fingers clench 
harder than before. Hastily she flung her arms around him neck and 
whispered, "Don't spoil things, darling. My thirty days begins as of now. 
Let Sister Deborah do whatever she wants. It will make her happy and won't 
matter much to me." 

"I don't want you bound!" 

"Darling, it can't be helped. I want you to do something for me. The last 
thing you can do for thirty days. I want you to kiss me very hard then walk 
away very fast. I don't want you to see the shame of my return to slavery, 
whatever she may do to me. I'm sure she won't do anything the least bit 
pleasant. I'm going to hate it all." 

Emotions surged in a silent ebb and flow. Then Ratigan picked up his love 
and kissed her with such violence as to bruise her lips, then put her down 
and walked away as she had asked. Faith watched him go. Then, without 
bothering to either turn or to ask, crossed her wrists behind her back. 

"Such a sensible girl," Sister Deborah approved. "This twine I'm using is 
very thin and very unkind if you struggle so I suggest you keep your hands 
quite still." 

"I know, I've had all this before." 

The good sister laughed, "Of course, you have, as if I didn't know. For your 
elbows, I've a soft leather strap and buckle. We must be sure to watch your 
circulation." 

The girl being returned to prison stood passively erect, neither breathless 
nor dismayed. This was the beginning of thirty days, she would have to live 
through it as best she could. She had no illusions, the pain would be 
constant. When the black habited woman produced an evil looking gag, Faith 
said no more than, "Must you! It would be nice if we could talk." 

"I'm must forgo the pleasure. This is the beginning of your penance. Please 
open your mouth, my dear." 

It was unlike anything Faith had seen, more like a bit or bridle than a gag. 
Metal fitted within her mouth to capture her tongue between twin serrated 
surfaces against which Faith was helpless. The corners of her lips were 
tugged back as straps were drawn across her cheeks then buckled at the nape 
of her neck. Saint Ursula was getting a well-bound naked girl. 

A final sharp tug completed the silencing of Miss Faith Baldwin. She could 
make only minor, unintelligible sounds but could not speak or scream. 

"It becomes you. Faith," Sister Deborah approved. "You are a very beautiful 
young woman." Quaintly a habit of a nun was pulled over her and hid her 
nakedness. 

She was lifted into the front seat and her ankles bound with the same thin 
twine as her wrists. From the beginning Faith saw escape only as an abstract 
dream, it was now impossible. As though with an artistic eye. Sister Deborah 
now cinched the soft flesh of her knees with the same cruel thread. The 
girl, ridiculously disguised, blinked back the bitter tears of a fresh 
imprisonment. Sister Deborah started the motor and said with her usual 
friendliness, "I'm so glad to have you back, dear girl. In the appointed 
time I will return you to your lover, a maiden cleansed by fire and the 
scourge of whips." She sighed happily. "We are both so terribly lucky." The 
little car moved forward. 

10 

Return to Penance 

Sister Deborah was well aware of the psychological aspects of handling 
girls. A maiden who might courageously bear the scorch of whips could also 
be one who, under the nagging attrition of uncertainty, would break down 
into hysteria and perhaps something worse. She had no reason to believe 
Faith was of this breed but nonetheless die home-going of die youngster she 
had rescued from the convent's clasp. Immediately upon arrival she guided 
Faith to where Coral Noyes stood dejectedly in die pillory, her young 
fingers playing with air and her head bowed down in deep despair. The 
youngster was instantly freed, die circumstance of her rescue explained and 
taken out to the waiting car, her only bond the lovely, expensive leg-irons 
Adrian had given her. 

Gagged, Faith had been unable to say a word. The new captive was allowed to 
go far enough to witness Coral's scramble into the car, wrapped in a 
blanket, and the car drive away to return her. "It was in the middle of a 
field," Sister Deborah explained. "The dear girl will have a pleasant walk 
home." 

The twine on Faith's ankles had been cut to enable her to witness Coral's 
departure. She was now divested of the absurd habit that had covered her, 
and was once again naked and well trussed. 

"Well, I may as well take that thing out of your mouth," the Sister said. 
"Frankly, I like it-it becomes you. But when a girl is undergoing penance, I 
think it is better that she be able to express emotions." She wrenched die 
buckle, and a moment later withdrew the metal bondage from Faith's tongue. 
"Your first penance is painless, dear child." 

Since Faith's neck had been conveniently noosed by a leash, she had no 
choice as they descended stone stairs. Intuition told her their destination: 
the dungeon's dark menace. Faith kept silent, repeating over and over in her 
mind, "Thirty days, thirty days, thirty days.. . . " 

When the massive portal was thrust open, she walked into the gloom without 
complaint. It was a vaulted ceiling with two massive supporting pillars. The 
timber was large, but fastened in the stone around its entire perimeter were 
chains of all sizes and weights. In addition, die two pillars contained 
irons of their own, their intent obvious. Faith longed to scream. 

"The day is still young, dear-too young to prepare you for the night." The 
Sister's voice was thoughtful. "I think one of the pillars." 

In the time she was to spend there. Faith discovered Saint Ursula's was 
never short of either surprises or shocks to impose on those it imprisoned. 
She got one now. When her hands and elbows were released to leave her 
messaging chafed skin and restoring circulation, the sister's voice 
interposed, "Now, dear, if you will place your back against the stone. This 
side, I think, so you will face the window. Just stand still." 

Faith stood still. She was grateful for the window. It wasn't much, but any 
scrap of light in this dark hole was something. She allowed one bare arm to 
be gathered back behind the stone and considered bitterly how close this 
binding of a girl came to the fitting of a dress. In either case, another 
woman was fiddling around with you for an end result you might not approve. 

The good sister now had one of Faith's wrists firmly knotted and began on 
the second. The column was too massive for her wrists to cross or hands to 
met but the sister used this as an advantage to tug and cinch the captive 
wrists as high and as far back as possible. When she was done. Faith's back 
and shoulders were clamped as hard back against the stone as if she were 
part of the stone itself. Sister Deborah circled the prisoner of the pillar, 
assessing the helplessness she had imposed but finally deciding, "It's not 
quite right, Faith, we need something around your middle." 

The "something around her middle" proved to be a length of stout rope passed 
several times around her tummy and the column to form belt so tight and 
stout it would have held several girls. The sister improved upon this by a 
lesser strand passed between the small of Faith's back and the stone pillar 
before crossing over the bands already in place but to tug them closer and 
closer together in an encirclement of the narrow waist. The naked girl felt 
as though cut in two, her breasts and rib cage were prominently out thrust, 
her tummy was concave. "I like that," said Sister Deborah approvingly. 
"Bondage should always be aesthetically pleasing. Whenever this is achieved, 
one can be certain the girl can't escape." 

"Don't you want to tie my feet?" Faith asked in bitter sarcasm. 

"It would spoil the effect. I like to leave a girl's feet free whenever 
possible. I find them delightfully expressive." 

The captive said a mechanical, "Yes, I'm sure you're right." 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sister leave and heard the thud of 
the closing door. She was utterly alone and motionless save for the useless 
movements of her feet or the tossing of her head. Instead, she wondered what 
Ratigan was doing now if Adrian could dissuade him from retaliatory 
slaughter. The hatred between Bill Mulchay and Ratigan was pure tragedy for 
themselves and the Ireland they professed to love. She wished Sister Deborah 
had not bound her tummy quite so tight. 

Time in the dungeon was endless. The bound girl could count none of it. But 
towards what the imprisoned girl considered late afternoon she received a 
visit from Mother Mathilde. The older woman made a quiet inspection of the 
manner in which her prisoner was secured before speaking. "We will not be 
robbed of one of our girls," she said as though delivering a lecture. "Your 
penances will now be more severe for that absurd attempt to escape Saint 
Ursula's long arm." 

"Yes, Mother Superior, I understand," she said simply. 

"You'll understand a lot better at the end of thirty days. Miss Baldwin." 
The Mother Superior took one more turn around the column. "If I turned you 
loose, could you effect a truce between those two absurd men, Mulchay and 
Ratigan?" 

"If I had been able to do that it would have already been done." 

"Hmmmm. That's an honest answer. I suppose both of them have known you 
carnally?" 

"Only Ratigan. Bill Mulchay was holding me for ransom. He said that when you 
hold a girl for ransom you do not violate her." 

"I expect he's right," said the Mother Superior absently. "When we free you, 
are you going to marry Ratigan?" 

"If he'd marry me, I would." 

"Ratigan's Catholic. How about that?" 

"I'm afraid I've never thought of it. There's been too much else." 

The Mother Superior nodded sagely. "I can understand it being a time of 
stress for you. Let me make an offer. Take the vows of a novice, convert to 
Holy Church. Your stay with us could then be pleasant instead of painful." 

"I can't, you know I can't!" 

"Stronger men and women than you have changed their mind on that point." 

"You mean, under torture? I've no doubt if you hurt me enough I'll say yes 
to anything." 

The Mother Superior sighed. Girls so love dramatics. It would be easy to 
suppose how, under the stress of pain, this delightful girl would change her 
tune. Mother Mathilde felt it regrettable the Bishop frowned on effective 
methods of persuasion. 

"Let us not be ridiculous. Miss Baldwin, no girl is tortured at Saint 
Ursula's. We obtain our end by penances and simple punishments, they take 
longer than more direct methods but I can assure you, my dear, we can make 
you feel thirty days is a very long time." 

"Bill Mulchay placed me here for sanctuary. Nothing was said about what 
you've just said. Neither Bill Mulchay nor Ratigan want me punished. They 
would disapprove of the way you have be bound right now to this column. I 
suppose you know how being tied like this for a long time begins to hurting. 
I'm hurting now." 

"Pain is far preferable to pleasure for a girl your age. Miss Baldwin. I 
strongly advise you to consider the advantages of joining our order of nuns. 
If you'd only have the sense to agree, I could arrange to have your head 
shaved tomorrow." 

"Noooo!" Faith made an ineffectual attempt to stamp a bare foot. "That's a 
horrible thing to do to a girl. Please have pity. I don't see why you can't 
simply keep me prisoner for thirty days and then let me go. I don't 
understand all these punishments. I could understand if I'd misbehaved." 

"You misbehave every time you open your mouth," the Mother Superior said. 
"I'd hoped to find you more agreeable, more inclined to reason. But we will 
see, we will see." She swept away in a swirl of black, purposefully thudding 
the dungeon door shut. The naked girl left bound to the pillar felt like 
tears, nothing got better, only worse! Faith bitterly realized the convent 
was robbing her of one month from her live, a month no one could ever 
replace. It would be worse than unconsciousness or being walled into a tomb. 

It was lonely in the stone chamber, bound against the stone column. The 
binding was brutal. She knew it was pure punishment, without any other 
purpose. She could have been left free within the dungeon with no hope of 
escape against the massive door. To rob her of movement was the first 
punishment the convent imposed. Bitterly, Faith reflected that she was bound 
for no other reason than the convent's disapproval of women with unshorn 
heads. 

The fading light was an eerie sensation as the shadows intensified and 
merged. There would be ghosts in the dungeon by midnight. Faith knew her own 
nakedness against the column had already taken on a ghost-like quality all 
its own. 

There came a fresh face to set Faith free at eventide. The nun carried a 
lantern, an apple, a container of water, and a scourge of many slender laces 
with which to redden maiden skin should it prove obstinate. 

"My name is Unity-Sister Unity," she said brightly. "I've come to arrange 
you for the night. I do hope you'll be sensible. If you're not, I'll whip 
you until you are." She lifted Faith's chin to gaze deeply into her eyes. 
"For a little while you'll be completely free. Tell me you'll do nothing 
silly." 

"I won't do anything foolish." 

The peeling away of the ropes was a hurtful process. When the last rope fell 
away she asked pitifully, "Could I have just one moment to stretch? It feels 
so good and I've been tied so long." 

"Of course, dear. Take five minutes if you wish but do please behave 
yourself. I've had a hard day and I don't want to have to whip you." 

Sister Unity tidily wrapped rope in neat bundles while watching her prisoner 
stretch in the pure ecstasy of release. She had seen it before. None of the 
poor darlings found much pleasure in the time of their incarceration within 
the walls of Saint Ursula's, they should not be denied so small a pleasure. 

"I've been told your story. Faith, you belong to Ratigan. don't you?" 

"Yes, whenever or if ever I get out of this place." 

Sister Unity was shocked. "Of course, you'll get out of here, you silly 
girl! You'll he duly freed on the day already specified. The only girls who 
stay here are those who wish to become novices in our Order. That's how I 
come to be here." 

They had moved to a corner of the chamber and to a pile of chain Faith had 
previously noted without interest. Sister Unity appeared to have the key for 
sorting it out. A few moments later a heavy iron anklet was safely locked on 
Faith's left ankle. Faith was shocked, not by the anklet but by Sister 
Unity's statement. "You mean you actually wanted to stay here! You sort of 
surrendered yourself? You must have been crazy." 

Sister Unity laughed at die strength of Faith's feelings. "It wasn't exactly 
like that, you know. Right at the start I was just as silly as you are now. 
I was sent here by my guardian for some appropriate punishments and a spell 
of imprisonment. He thought it would do me good, but of course he didn't 
know Saint Ursula and what he'd let me in for. The trouble was he'd 
stipulated six months but by the end of the first thirty days I knew I 
couldn't possibly hold out that long. I was being whipped nearly every day 
and had to sit on the horse a lot and spent lots of nights in the dark 
suspended by my wrists. They had the Bishop send a Deacon of the Diocese to 
give me console and comfort. He did that very beautifully. But when he 
whipped me, too, I realized I was being terribly foolish and ungrateful for 
all the blessings I was being offered, so I said, yes, I would be a nun. 
After that I wasn't punished anymore." 

The moral of Sister Unity's story was obvious. Charmingly ingenious, it 
pointed clearly at a path Faith should follow. During its telling, the new 
prisoner found her other ankle locked in iron and one wrist 

"But to have your head shaved-never having children or a husband!" Faith 
wondered about the body beneath the habit. Perhaps it was the answer. 

Sister Unity seemed a cheerful soul. Faith could never tell a nun's age 
unless they were very old or very young. "Now your other hand, dear," Sister 
Unity said as she banded one more captive wrist in iron. "But I don't have 
any drunken husbands or a house full of dirty diapers," she pointed out 
reasonably. "There now, that's your hands and feet. Now there's your waist. 
The band for it is awfully heavy and I'm sorry." 

Faith took a fresh interest in the proceedings. Sister Unity was right, the 
band of metal around her middle was a tight weight. From it a chain trailed 
into die gloom. "Isn't it foolish to chain me like this?" she demanded 
meekly. "A pair of handcuffs would do just as well or maybe better. All this 
iron would halt an elephant." 

"That's what I said the first time, it's what every girl says the first 
time. And, of course, it's true. These chains aren't to prevent us from 
escaping, they're to tell us we're naughty and to punish us. Hold still, 
dear, this collar for your neck completes your preparation for the night." 

Faith stood still. When the collar snapped tight on her throat she 
mechanically accepted a handful of chain by which to ease it's weight. She 
did not clutch the heavy links, they would drag her to the floor. 

"You see, dear, these chains don't stop you doing anything except walking 
out die door," Sister Unity explained. "Each one is separate, fastened 
somewhere to a ring in the stone. If we had a mirror you'd be able to see 
how attractive they are on you. When a girl's chained the way you are now, 
she's partly dressed." 

"And totally helpless!" 

Sister Unity's fingers were gentle on her prisoner's skin, soothing 
rebellion. "I know how you must feel, Faith. I felt the same, every girl 
does. We feel ill used and forgotten by the world and quite sure we'll 
never, never be free again." Sister Unity paused thoughtfully. "I know 
you're unhappy. Would you like me to give you pleasure? I will if you want." 

"You mean.. .you're not trying to tell me.. . ? " Faith stared in disbelief. 

"I didn't think nuns did that sort of thing." 

Sister Unity laughed at the sensation her simply offer had caused. "It 
depends on the nun, dear. And, of course, it depends if we like the 
prisoner. Some girls are just too horrible. But you're not like that, you're 
sweet. I can do it with you standing up like that or would you prefer to lie 
down?" 

Faith felt more lost than ever, but managed to gasp, "You're terribly kind 
but I'd rather not. I'll like to keep my little fire burning down there in 
my sex to help me through the night. If I extinguish it in happiness with 
you, I'd nothing left at all, just these chains and worrying about 
tomorrow." 

Faith's cheek was patted by an understanding hand. "That's sensible and 
you're absolutely right. When a girl is exhausted, sex is absolutely nothing 
to look forward to at all, or that's the way it seems." Sister Unity was 
rummaging among the metal on the floor. "But I guess I should have told you, 
a girl's forbidden to play with herself. You know what I mean, using her 
finger. So you'll have wear this, too." 

Faith had seen the shinning steel and the curved shaped triangle without 
recognition. She recognized it now with an involuntary giggle. "It's a 
chastity belt, isn't it! I'd never have dreamed.. . " 

The belt was as modern as the chains. Rings circled high on Faith's thighs, 
thrusting the cupped triangle snugly over the pubic lips and from it 
shinning steel hugging her loins to a resting place within the belt she 
already wore. Its simplicity was extreme, its effectiveness total. Following 
the metal snug within her groin to its juncture with the frustrating 
triangle itself. Faith knew her sex well confined without slack or orifice 
by which a sly finger might intrude. It would be awkward to walk in but she 
was not walking anyway. She looked up with a wry smile at Sister Unity to 
ask sarcastically, "What, no gag! That's all I need." 

"Oh, dear!" Sister Unity actually managed to look apologetic. "I almost 
forgot. I'm glad you remained me. I brought it with me so now I'll fix it in 
your mouth and you can settle down for the night." 

Faith was only silent for a second. "But there's no one I can talk to! And 
there's no use me screaming," she protested vigorously. "Oh, please, don't 
gag me! Sister Deborah gagged me, it was horrible." 

"Open the little mouth, dear." 

What was the use! A girl chained as totally as Faith was chained had little 
ability or reason to protest a gag. Before being rendered speechless she 
whispered, "Thank you for being nice to me." Then she opened her mouth. 

Sister Unity left behind the lantern, a sad little nimbus in the dark. By 
bedtime the candle would consume itself to leave Faith in total darkness but 
for die moment it was a touch of human communion by which the captive girl 
could assess the rigor of her imprisonment. Left alone Faith took tentative 
steps which very soon snubbed her ankles, wrists and neck to call a halt on 
freedom. Backing up to obtain slack, she explored the chastity belt but it 
was a firm and solid infliction on her loins about which she could do 
nothing. Next the gag, but searching fingers discovered only a padlock at 
the nape of her neck, the steel bit clasping her tongue would render her 
speechless for as long as someone else desired. Pulling and tugging only 
hurt so she left it alone. 

The yellow radius of light enabled Faith to see the stark bareness she must 
inhabit for the night. She must lay upon the stone or lean against the wall 
as she chose. The multitude of chains with which she was loaded might pass 
the time if she counted them as beads of a rosary. Any moment she made 
brought a metallic response. It was as though every link laughed to hold a 
naked maiden through the dark. In everything she did Faith was obliged to 
hold or adjust heavy chain to counter its drag upon her throat. The gag was 
no more than a mockery, reminding her of other punishments to come. Saint 
Ursula's had Faith very well in hand. 

The chained girl sat, arranging her linkage as best she could, wishing she 
could cease shaking her head against the gag but it was in involuntary 
revolt she could not deny. She was forever swallowing to keep from drooling 
down her chin. Her pray was a reassurance of repeating over and over, 
"Thirty days, thirty days, thirty days.. . ! " 

Saint Ursula's had a nice judgment by which hysteria was held at bay. A 
convent full of screaming hysteria would offend the good sisters and inhibit 
their devotions. They inflicted pain upon their girls in carefully measured 
doses which always stopped before the victim became glassy-eyed and 
incoherent. Saint Ursula's was well aware that after a night chained in the 
dungeon a girl needed fresh air and sunlight to nourish her will to live and 
prepare her for fresh punishments'. Thus it was that Faith found herself in 
another field with a hoe in her hands and a ball and chain locked solidly on 
one ankle. It had been explained in die kindliest of tones that should her 
endeavor throughout the day fall short of expectations, she would find 
herself facing a penance that night. She was not told what the penance would 
be, curiosity could occupy her mind while she hoed vigorously at an 
seemingly endless row of potatoes. Every facet of maiden captivity was 
exquisitely planned. 

Faith hated her ball and chain with a bitter hatred. She must be forever 
moving the heavy weight of iron to keep pace with the labor of her hoe. She 
had tried dragging it but that hurt her ankle and promised to cut her skin 
around the locked metal band. It was almost too heavy to lift so she 
compromised by heaving and tugging at it with her hands through the soft, 
damp Irish soil. When she pointed out how she could double her productive 
labor if relieved of the iron handicap, she received only quiet smiles which 
said all too plainly the ball and chain mattered far more than the potatoes. 
She slashed savagely at weeds and wondered if Ratigan would rescue her 
again. It would be wonderful to behold her jeep churning over weeds, 
potatoes and the convent soil to whisk her away to freedom. But she knew 
such an act to be foolish in its hostility to Saint Ursula's and the Holly 
Church. Thirty days was not long in the life time of a girl if she was out 
beyond the wall! Chained within it was going to seem like several lifetimes. 

Faith wished she could talk to the other girls working as she was but they 
were marshaled far apart and to have dragged the iron ball to the closest 
one would have been an almost impossible task. The Order had no doubt 
figured this out, too. 

In center field punishment waited laggard young ladies in the form of 
another post well buried in the soil for the girl to face it and to kneel 
with her wrists bound tight, the last of the bindings threaded through a 
hole drilled close to die top of the post and then knotted on the other 
side, well out of her reach. A rope was passed over her knee hollows and the 
post and tied tight to insure she knelt without remission throughout the 
day. Her ankles were bound in one final touch of helplessness. A naked girl 
was held thus now as a lesson to them all. Faith knew not in the manner she 
had erred but there she was with hands clasped at the level of her chin as 
though in pray. It would be a hateful way to spend the day. 

Saint Ursula's disapproved of communication. The girl's were aware of each 
other but were not allowed to talk. The prisoners within the row of tiny 
cells could whisper around the wall throughout the night but that was all. 
Even this small solace was forbidden. If a girl was caught whispering there 
was a punishment for that, too. 

Punishment overrode all rules. Saint Ursula had devised punishments in which 
several girls shared communal pain. But their isolation was maintained by a 
locked gag they could not remove and which clamped their tongue in a silence 
they could not break. Such a punishment was The Wheel. 

The Wheel happened to Faith on her fourth day. Like all Saint Ursula's 
inflictions on maiden flesh, there was no reason and no guilt. It did not 
take the girls of Saint Ursula's long to realize their punishments had 
little to do with their daily actions. Every girl could look forward to a 
daily punishment, which at best might be thought of as being for something 
she had done long ago and far away before she was thrust into the grasp of 
the Order of Saint Ursula. Like everything else in their daily lives, it did 
not matter. 

The Wheel was housed in what once may have been a cow barn, one side being 
entirely open to the air and the sight of freedom. It was a massive device, 
composed of a shaft with one end penetrating to the room above and the other 
disappearing into the floor. From it radiated four spokes, poles of four or 
Five inches in diameter which a girl was chained to by her left wrist to 
spend her day in heaving, straining effort which, for all she could tell, 
profited no one. There may have been useful machinery above responding to 
such infinite toil but they were never told this. All they saw was the pole, 
chained hands, and the revolving shaft. Four girls could be punished thus at 
one time and their industry was assured by attendance of a sister with a 
whip she used mercilessly should any of her charges show an inclination to 
slow down. The tempo was not fast but was steady and demanding. By some 
means the girls never understood the energy they must display varied as the 
great shaft turned. But never in the same way or the same place. The steady 
rhythm of their effort would suddenly demand an extra heave or push to 
overcome something they could not see. Should she not overcome the challenge 
the whip snapped and bit at them. The four naked girls, each chained to her 
spoke, went slowly round and round in a straining, sweating thrust they 
dared not halt. Often the supervising nun departed on her own affairs. But 
even then die girls dared not pause. The good sister, always returned 
without out warning. The only good thing to be said of the Wheel was its 
molding of magnificent young bodies keep slim by the simply diet of an apple 
and a chunk of bread three times a day. 

Without a word of warning, Faith had been gagged, the mocking padlock 
pendent at the nape of her neck, and taken to the open chamber she had not 
previously seen. The day's toil was only just beginning, three naked 
maidens, each chained to her own spoke, looked at her with interest but 
could not speak. The shackle was clamped tight upon Faith's wrist and her 
three companions, no doubt experienced, put their shoulders to the spokes 
and heaved. A cut of the whip across her back prompted Faith to do the same. 
No instructions or orders were given or needed. You pushed or were punished, 
it was that simple! 

Faith pushed and strained against the shaft along with her three captive 
sisters. If she needed instruction it was from the girl in front. Faith 
could observe every bulge of muscle and every bead of sweat generated by 
every effort of the punitive endeavor. Realizing she would work thus for the 
day. Faith conserved what strength she could as she learned the vagaries of 
the Wheel. But before she was fully conversant with its demand, she 
collected a tally of four scarlet strips across her back. Thus encouraged 
she pushed and heaved along with her companions. 

The morning was endless, bringing to the chained quartet its quota of 
scarlet strips on sweating skin, the whip cracking with enhanced impact upon 
die moist surfaces. The sound of swift breathing testified to the presence 
of steel within maiden mouths. The involuntary shaking of female heads was 
constant. The beginning of the afternoon imposed shock. 

For die noon break and eating of their apple, each girl had been handcuffed 
and, in addition, a noose and tether placed around her neck to be forcible 
jerked as a reminder of their good behavior. As they returned to their 
useless labor one of the foursome was led away, her place already filled 
upon the spoke by a naked woman testily tugging at one chained wrists and 
gazing around in wild uncertainty. The chaining of three other girls to the 
three remaining spokes did nothing to assure the new girl other than to make 
clear the nature of her afternoon. The spoke to which the woman was chained 
was the one immediately in front of Faith, whose nagging memory soon told 
her who the captive was. The woman's head had been shaved completely bald, 
utterly shorn of hair. In startled disbelief Faith recognized Mrs. Pam 
Noyes. 

Resumption of the punishment left Pam Noyes staring stupidly at her shackled 
wrist jerked by her spoke as it began another of its endless revolutions. 
The startled naked woman was compelled to take one step and then another to 
keep pace but her strength was soon added to the wheel by a whip slash 
across her back, a rebuke she could not ignore. As a second crack sounded at 
her legs she leaned and forcibly added her strength to match the efforts of 
the three naked girls chained as she was chained and whipped as she was 
whipped. 

The afternoon wore on. 

Faith longed to speak a greeting but could not utter a single word. 

The convent constantly confused its convicts. That night when Faith was led 
to her cell she discovered that she was to share it with the woman with the 
shaven head. The gags were taken from their mouths and Faith's right wrist 
was chained to Pam's left by nothing more than a shared handcuff. The door 
slammed shut to leave them alone with nothing more than two apples and two 
chunks of bread. The girls ignored the food in their urgent need to talk. 

"This doesn't seem possible. I'm still trying to catch up with it." Pam 
Noyes said savagely. "Look at me, naked, chained! Put to work at the labor 
of an old time slave and then locked in a cell. I'm a member of the Northern 
Ireland Parliament. But look at me now, they've reduced me to a nothing! 
They've got you, too. It seems fated our paths must cross." 

Faith allowed her left hand to be jerked here and there by her companion's 
agitation. "Can't you do something about this place." she demanded urgently. 
"Surely it's known, surely there must be all sorts of people who know what 
takes place here " 

"Of course there is! The place is often spoken of as sort of a joke. You 
have to understand. Saint Ursula's is in the South. I'm in the North and 
there's not a think I can do down here even if I were free. Oh, damn! 
Someone shoved a sack over my head on my way home from the office last night 
and here I am. There'll be a hue and cry but no one will look for me here." 

They stood and stared, unable to move far apart because of the handcuff. 
Mrs. Noyes was almost flashing fire and breathing heavily in compressed 
anger. "One of my daughters has disappeared and I am scared to death about 
the other. If ever I get back into the House I'll raise the roof." 

She was very beautiful. Faith suddenly realized she was coupled to one of 
the loveliest woman she had ever seen. After their labors on die wheel they 
had been hosed down and roughly dried. They had been given five minutes with 
brush and comb and were thus as presentable as naked females can ever be. 
The denuded head of Pam Noyes was strangely exquisite in the simplicity of 
its contours. The shaving of her pubic forest further enhanced her erotic 
simplicity in being wholly woman. From her there emanated a delicious 
perfume Faith hoped she could match with her own, the two intermingling them 
in musk. 

The convent evidently appreciated its prize. Pam Noyes had been kidnapped 
while wearing a good deal of jewelry and this had been left on her to create 
an erotically bizarre effect of its own. A sapphire was pendent from each 
ear. A heavy gold chain fell from beneath her neck to her breasts. A gold 
chain encircled one ankle. It was as though the woman had deliberately 
simulated the bondage of a captivity now all too real. Faith realized how 
labor on the wheel would tone and refine this mature loveliness to a peak of 
perfection just as it had done to the other girls chained to the spokes. But 
she said nothing of this. For all she knew, Pam Noyes would be returned to 
freedom the following day. She contented herself with telling of Coral and 
of Coral's happiness. 

"You mean, you submitted yourself to this unholy place just to release my 
daughter!" Pam stared in wild speculation. 

"Well, yes, don't thank me too much, what I did was just a part of this 
whole absurd story. All I have to do is endure this awful place for thirty 
days. I've completed four already. I suppose I'll survive." 

"Is this man. this Adrian, sleeping with Coral?" 

"I don't know, Mrs. Noyes, honest I don't. I can only tell you Coral is 
supremely happy. What we have to worry about is getting you out of here." 

"What about yourself?" 

"I'll be automatically released in twenty-six more days. If you're still 
here I can certainly persuade someone to communicate with whoever you wish, 
you family or colleagues." 

"In the meantime they'll have me pushing that damned wheel?" 

"I don't know that either. I haven't been her long enough to discover all 
the things they do to girls. Tomorrow we might be whipped or put in a cage 
or made to hoe potatoes." 

"What does a girl have to do to get to hoe potatoes. I'd sooner do that than 
push against that blasted spoke." 

"I don't know that either. But die potato field is spoiled because a girl 
hardly ever does enough work to please diem. Maybe the whip or suspension or 
maybe spending die night out in the field with ball and chain. A girl 
couldn't possibly drag that damned chain far enough in the night to do her a 
damned bit of good. They've got it all figured out." 

They slept together on the hard bench. The next day Pam Noyes was returned 
to the wheel but Faith was taken to a quite different penance, this time a 
field to turnips and the inevitable hoe. The iron ball locked to her ankle 
was, if anything, larger than before. 

There is something elemental in working through the day alone in an open 
field while the sun completes it's archway in the sky. A naked girl thus 
compelled endures die whims and fancies of a summer day along with the 
fantasies of her mind. As a vagrant breeze dries her sweat or a mischievous 
cloud crosses the sun to make her shiver in a sudden chill, she becomes a 
part of the soil itself. To comprehend the changing moods of nature which 
are part of her or die field, there is no escape. Faith toiled mightily in 
die knowledge of hovering punishments, but her labor proved of no avail. 
Someone in the convent decided that she should spend die night alone with 
nature. There would be no apple and no chunk of bread. The nun who conveyed 
the sentence bid her a conventional good-night and left her with the ball 
and chain. 

For the first few moment Faith knew only elation, she was not to be bound or 
whipped. If she refrained from looking at the iron ball she could believe 
herself completely free beneath the benign radiance of a departing sun and 
die stillness of a field in which labor was finished for the day. But the 
mood was short. The sky was vast and she was alone. She kicked her foot 
against the chain and marveled that a human being could be thus compelled to 
remain in a single space because of a chunk of metal. Throughout the day she 
had been tugging and heaving at the chain and its weighty attachment enough 
to learn of the impossibly of dragging it anywhere worthwhile. She examined 
die metal band locked upon her ankle but it was solid. She wondered why she 
ever bothered to look at anything by which she was constrained, not of it 
would give and it all mocked her longing. Somewhere across the sea, in 
England, her parents would be sitting down to dinner. She wondered if they 
ever spoke of her any more. She wanted to cry but no tears came. But above 
all she wanted to eat but had no food. They had left her water, nothing 
else. Faith looked hungrily at a turnip and wondered how many strokes of the 
whip she would receive if she gnawed at one. They were quite large and 
whether she ate it all or not she could plant it once more in the soil and 
hope no one noticed. But someone would, she knew they would! And, anyway, 
she hated turnips. 

Sardonically she supposed herself better off in the dungeon where she had 
been chained for punishment. Saint Ursula's had not even donated her a 
blanket. 

A feminine prisoner of the ball and chain sat and pondered until night, then 
in desperation, she hoed herself a shallow trough between the turnips and 
laid her nakedness therein and for covering used the sun-warmed soil as best 
she could. It was more a grave than a bed but offered something better than 
cold night air. It would have been nice to reach the hedge around the field 
but she knew she could not drag her iron that far and then be back where she 
belonged by morning. If she had, in the beginning, believed this not a 
punishment, she now knew better. 

The following day brought not respite from the convent's venom. Faith had 
absentmindedly allowed her hoe to wound some of the precious turnips. The 
inspecting nun had an eagle eye for such offenses and drew Faith's attention 
to the damage she had wrought. But Faith was tired and irritable from the 
night and said grumpily, "But they don't amount to anything. Sister. If I 
cut us the whole damned field of turnips, who wants turnips anyway!" 

There had been no argument. Lips pursed, the sister had unlocked the anklet 
from Faith's foot and let her to the seat of punishment in another field. 
The girl about to be punished consoled herself with the thought that 
whatever was about to be done to her could not deprive her of the pleasure 
of this walk, unhindered by ball or chains. She made the most of it, it was 
the only pleasure she would get. 

The half buried timber was not high. Upon it was a strange contrivance of 
what appeared to be the back of a chair with legs out-thrust. The naked girl 
was ordered to sit upon the stump and lean against the back and adjust her 
arms over the top and then keep still. It was easy to obey. When a girl knew 
her position indefensible it was always best to obey. In this instance Faith 
could quietly feel the fussing fingers of the nun upon her flesh. Soon there 
came the bit of cord and within minutes her wrists and elbows were rigidly 
secured with the top of the chair back thrusting hard into the back of her 
armpits. 

"This is really a very mild punishment. Faith," the nun informed helpfully. 
"You should consider yourself lucky, I probably should fasten you on the 
horse but it's such a long walk to that other Held. Now I have to deal with 
your feet." 

The girl undergoing punishment soon realized at it was in her feet that the 
true punishment lay. The sister drew one of the to the outstretched bar to 
tie its ankle tight and then the knee. Dealing with its opposite member she 
found it necessary to exert enough force in dragging it sideways as to evoke 
from its owner an anguished, "Ouch! That's hurting!" A complaint to which 
she paid no attention whatsoever but continued to pull and heave and to 
adjust until Faith's feet and legs were postured to her satisfaction. She 
then tied the second foot and leg to leave Faith with a dancer's split and 
her sex obviously exposed. "You look very sweet like that, dear," he 
consoled soothingly. "I must speak to the Mother Superior about shaving your 
pubic hair. You really do have a most indecent bush." 

Faith wanted to say, "Please don't bother," but kept a prudent silence. She 
was feeling as though the entire world must be taking an interest in or 
about to enter her sexual slit she was sure was wide open in this taut 
stretch. Instead she complained, "You've made me positively indecent. 
Sister. I wouldn't have thought the convent would have done this to a girl." 

Reaction was instant. Convent fingers grasped rebellious nipples and began 
to pinch. "You were saying something, dear?" 

"No, oh no! I wasn't saying a thing. Oh, please stop pinching those, you 
must know how it hurts. I'm sorry I spoke, I should have kept quiet." 

The pinch relaxed. "That's better," the nun approved. "It's always best not 
to complain, dear. Life is filled with torments of the flesh and we must 
learn to bare them with fortitude. You look most charming with your legs 
stretched out like that and if anything crawls inside, it will be no more 
than you deserve. Try and think nice, clean thoughts as you sit here alone." 

They stretch and a helpless girl bit her tongue. There was so much she 
longed to say but her nipples still burned from the pinch. What was the use 
of saying anything. She had to content herself with a mild, "Thank you. 
Sister, I'm sure I'll be very happy." 

Faith could not watch the habit walk away. She could not do much of anything 
except seethe impotently. She looked at her bound legs before fighting the 
thrust into her armpits and the throb of her elbows. Whoever designed this 
punishment certainly knew what they were doing. She certainly hoped the 
girls who watched at a distance got their money's worth. 

The convent left her there throughout the night. Faith could not believe 
they would not be that cruel but as the shadows lengthened and the air 
cooled, she realized their intent. It was much like the night before except 
that she could not bury herself in warm soil but must sit in rigid exposure 
while bugs fed upon her flesh and a beetle she could not see explored the 
cavity of her sex. It was a relief when the chill of night drove the little 
devils back to their holes. Then all she had to do was shiver and long for 
the comfort of her dungeon or little cell. She recalled someone telling her 
that a prisoner's lot could always get worse. 

When she was released in the morning. Faith could not stand nor walk. The 
unnatural stretch and stricture of bound arms turned her into a puppet to 
survive only by the aid of others. She was messaged by soothing hands and 
comforted by soothing words. But when that was done with she was presented 
with die hated apple and the piece of bread along with the equally hated 
hoe. The closing of the lock from the ball and chain upon her ankle seemed 
the knell of doom. Mechanically she returned to work and wondered what her 
punishment would be that day. 

There was no punishment! Instead, there was Bill Mulchay standing awkward 
and flushed in the Mother Superior's office as a naked Faith, discretely 
handcuffed was thrust into the picture. 

"Mr. Mulchay has explained an change in his circumstances, dear," the Mother 
Superior explained charmingly. "You will remember it was he who placed the 
thirty day sentence upon your visit here. He now revokes it. You are free to 
go." 

It was a miracle beyond belief. Bill Mulchay did his best. "We've moved our 
camp, love, and I'd told your folks they'd best be serious about your 
ransom. I'm taking you home." 

"But I belong to Ratigan!" It was the First thought in Faith's mind. 

"I can't help that, love. Do what you want with Ratigan after die ransom's 
paid. He can follow you to England and be a lord or something of the sort, 
so he can. But right now you're my property. But don't feel bad about it, it 
ain't forever." 

Faith stood still for the inevitable binding of hands and arms, wondering 
how many times she had stood to thus be made helpless. The cords were as 
cruel as ever but the Mother Superior's voice was soothing. "I'm sure this 
is the happiest solution to your problems, Faith dear. Ratigan must do what 
he wishes but he is a man of violence. If you ransom can be comfortably 
negotiated, you will return to your parents with everyone's blessing. In 
that freedom you can consider the man of your choice for marriage." 

"But Ratigan can never go to England, they'd put him in prison forever!" 

The Mother Superior smiled at immaturity. "Then go to Ireland, my dear girl. 
Ireland will welcome you. You have become one of us." 

"Whipped and chained and held prisoner?" Faith sarcasm bit the air like a 
knife. 

"But, my dear, Ireland now gives you freedom." 

"Freedom! With my hands and arms dead like this!" 

"Only for your own safety, dear. You are impulsive and not to be trusted. I 
have every confidence in Mr. Mulchay, he will look after. Go and take my 
blessing, child." 

Miss Faith Baldwin accompanied Mr. William Mulchay to his car. 

As usual she had no choice! 

ll 

The Loving Bind 

It was not freedom at all. But anything felt like freedom compared to Saint 
Ursula's and the zeal of the good sisters in punishing female flesh 

Bill Mulchay was apologetic: "I was forgetting about them things they do to 
girls in that place, so I was. I figured they would just keep you safe. It's 
right sorry, so I am. And I'll make it up to ye." 

"If you want to make it up to me, please untie me and send me back to 
Ratigan. You can have my ransom money-Ratigan doesn't want it." 

"But I can't ransom a girl I ain't got!" Mulchay sounded shocked. 

"Yes, you can. I'll back you up. Just pretend I'm tied to a tree or 
something-no one will ever know the difference. If you need some pictures of 
me all chained up, I'll get Ratigan to make some." 

Bill Mulchay's powers of reasoning were limited. "It's having me on ye are. 
I got to have ye, love, ain't no two ways about it. I got it fixed so when 
we get back to where we're staying now, you can talk to your parents by 
phone and tell them how well you're being treated and how much you want them 
to pay that there ransom. Fair enough?" 

Faith realized it was indeed fair, but she no longer felt like a kidnapped 
girl. She didn't know what she felt like! Between all her loyalties and the 
tight bindings, she was a sadly puzzled girl. "If only you'd untie me, I'll 
feel a lot better. You've got so used to tying me up all the time I think 
it's become a habit. You don't have to, you know. I'll behave myself." 

"Ye'd go running straight back to Ratigan, so ye would! Think I don't know? 
If I'd have had a bit more rope, I would have tied your ankles too. 

You're a real treasure, and I'm keeping you safe." 

Faith did not much care. At least she was in good hands. But Bill Mulchay's 
next statement was a whole new ball game. 

"Ratigan and me, we've been hammering at each other all too long. I'll be 
damned if Ratigan hasn't talked himself into a whole army of Bhoys. Made 
himself a force again, he has. Ain't no one can ignore Ratigan, so I made 
myself a deal with him. We both want England out of Ireland, so we join 
forces, and one night soon we'll sweep 'em into the sea, we will." 

It was a shattering piece of bombast. Faith knew herself bound tightly in 
the middle of it. These men could never drive the English from Ireland. All 
they could do was get themselves killed by English bullets, fired 
reluctantly at a foe they did not hate. Faith yearned to reconcile the two 
men to an impossibility. But what could she do? Without hope, she asked, 
"Bill, can you get Ratigan and the two of you to talk together with me? Look 
upon me as the hated English. If you can't come to some sort of sensible 
conclusion then at least you can string me up naked and whip me until you 
both feel better. How's that for a deal?" 

It evoked a huge guffaw but nothing more. She was only a girl, and in 
Ireland a girl was something for a bit of fun and not to be taken seriously. 
You played with a girl until you got her pregnant, and then you married her. 

"You don't really mean that, do you, lass? I mean, what you said, about 
Ratigan and me whipping you-you wouldn't want that?" 

"Yes, I would. If you did it together in friendship it would please me very 
much no matter how much it hurt. How about tomorrow?" 

"I'll think on it. 'Tis a broth of a girl ye are for sure. Ratigan and me 
rub each other the wrong way but. with you in the middle, who knows! 
Ratigan's in love with you, I found that out. That gives you the edge, for 
sure it does." Mulchay's voice took on a fine timber of victory. "Think of 
him and me and the Bhoys who follow us, we'll sweep across the North like a 
cleansing wind. 'Tis the first time Ireland has a chance." 

Faith left it at that. She spent the rest of the journey trying to free her 
hands. It was no longer a camp. Two adjacent farmhouses had been seized and 
were a hive of activity. 

"We got a girl we captured." Mulchay explained. "She'll do ye fine as a sort 
of lady's maid, looking after you and keeping you tied. We took her prisoner 
that night we raided Ratigan down at . Sweet gal, but she'd go back if she 
could. Don't you and she gel no ideas about escape." 

It was Jinny, who else! Faith was grateful for this feminine support. Jinny 
was probably by now as much wedded to Mulchay's cause as she had been to 
Ratigan, but at least she was female and they could enjoy girl talk to their 
heart's content. Delivered into her safe keeping. Jinny was instantly 
concerned and went to work tugging at knots and indignantly articulate. 

"Always tying a girl up!" She sniffed. "They got me tied up half the time 
and you remember the way Ratigan used to chain me by my neck. Don't you 
worry about me untying you now, we can't neither of us get away. But 
Mulchay's boys ain't a bad bunch. They only screw me once in a while and 
I've only had an honest whipping once. Oh gosh. Miss Baldwin, when are we 
ever going to get away from all this?" 

Faith messaged her rope burns. The two girls embraced and held each other as 
the only stable things in an idiotic world. Each knew herself the answer to 
a tormented man, but how did you get such a man to understand! 

Doubtfully, Faith asked, "You sure I'm suppose to be free like this? 
Shouldn't there be something, at least handcuffs?" 

"Bill Mulchay give me a couple of pairs of them things," Jinny admitted. 
"Told me I got to wear a set all the time 'cause if I don't the boys are 
going to ask questions. Said I could wear them in front but they had better 
be tight on my wrists or there'll be trouble." Jinny giggled. "Seems crazy 
'cause that don't stop a girl doing nothing except take her shirt off. What 
happened to your shirt. Miss Baldwin?" 

"The place I've been doesn't approve of clothes on girls, they like us 
naked," Faith said without interest. "But how come they've got you down to 
just a shirt, you used to wear proper clothes?" 

"Seems like some of the boys saw you with a shirt. Miss Baldwin, and they 
thought it was sort of cute 'cause they could see bits of you they ain't 
suppose to. So they got me down to a shirt, too. I'd better find one, I 
wouldn't want to walk around naked with this bunch, they're a randy bunch. 
Hold on a minute." 

The shirt was surprisingly clean, Faith felt almost properly attired as she 
arranged it over her breasts and tugged it as far as it would go over her 
hips. Wearing a shirt made a girl almost respectable in contrast to wearing 
nothing at all. 

When she had rolled up the sleeves she said softly, "Jinny, about those 
handcuffs?" 

Jinny wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Well, I suppose you're right. Miss 
Baldwin, maybe we should wear them. If one of them lot gets it in for us, we 
might wind up with 'em behind our backs. I'll get them." She opened a drawer 
"Yes, here they are. Really pretty, ain't they? We got to put them on 
ourselves or on each other." 

A clean shirt and handcuffed wrists! Strange mediums by which to make a girl 
feel right with herself and the world. The cuffs were barely locked when 
Faith asked, "Jinny, you do have the keys, don't you?" 

" 'Course not. Miss Baldwin. That's why I weren't fussy 'bout putting 'em 
on. Now we got to go to Bill or one of his boys to get them off. Bill says a 
girl ought to be handcuffed all the time. The damn fool notions men have!" 

Faith was briefly concerned. Maybe she had been foolish insisting on this 
joining of her hands. She recognized Bill Mulchay's preoccupation with her 
ransom, but her own concern had been with Ratigan. Ratigan would still 
believe her safe in Saint Ursula's. He would be furious to learn of 
Mulchay's rescue from the convent. She must contact Ratigan or go to him. 
Jinny listened to the problem but had no good advice. 

"Ratigan comes over here once in awhile, but there ain't no way Mulchay's 
going to let him take you with him. Those two ain't that friendly, and ain't 
likely to ever be. We are both prisoners, so there ain't no use worrying. 
Why don't we go to bed? It's been so long since I had my arms around a 
girl." 

The two girls still had some freedom. Faith used it to search for Bill 
Mulchay. "Look," she told him, "I'm not doing any good hanging around this 
camp, wearing handcuffs as a sign of virtue. I've got to get to Ratigan. If 
he discovered the convent has handed me back to you, he'll go wild." 

"He's always going wild. Ratigan's a wild man." 

"Not really, not if he's with me." 

"The poor bastard's in love with you, is that it?" 

"Yes, it is. And I'm in love with him. If it weren't for this dumb war, we 
could have been very happy. Give me a leave of absence so I can go to him 
and explain things." 

Mulchay guffawed with scorn. "Leave of absence? Girl, you are out of your 
mind! I'd never see you again." 

"Yes, you would. I'll give you my parole, my word of honor. Give me one 
night with Ratigan, and I'll be back tomorrow." 

"Sounds like you want to be fucked, and we can look after that right here." 

"That's a nasty thing to say!" 

"But it's the truth, ain't it? I'm been too kind to you, you're horny." 

Faith felt like beating her chained hands against this man who now possessed 
her. "Think what you like," she retorted. "What Ratigan and I do together is 
nobody's business but ours. Please, Mr. Mulchay, I give you my word. I'll be 
back tomorrow." She held up joined hands. "I'll wear these handcuffs all the 
time, you've got the key." 

"Ratigan will have them off you first thing, alas." 

Faith suddenly realized that what she was up against was male jealousy over 
a woman. Bill Mulchay wasn't in love with her, but he was unwilling to give 
her to Ratigan even for one night. Knowing she had lost, she watched the 
smiling features harden to a frown. "I'll not be doing it, lass. Stop 
bothering me. Run along to Jinny and tell her I want to see her right 
quick." He waved Faith into limbo and returned to the papers on his desk. 

Jinny could be relied upon to say I told you so. She said it several times 
during Faith's confession of failure, then hurried away to obey the royal 
summons. Faith's spent the time of Jinny's absence searching for a handcuff 
key she could not find. When Jinny returned, her long face told the story, 
there was trouble. 

"Don't know what you said to him. Miss Baldwin, but he's all riled, he is. 
Says you ain't no more to be trusted. What's more, he give me the job of 
looking after you." Jinny looked distressfully at a new responsibility. 
"Ain't no way I want to do the things he says I got to. Gosh, I wish you 
could jump in a jeep and make a run for it. But they got them under a guard, 
everything's under guard. Silly bastards are going to get themselves all 
killed." 

"What do you have to do to me. Jinny?" 

"Take away that there shirt and tie you up, tie you up with rope and be real 
mean about it. Is Bill Mulchay in love with you? That's the way he acts." 

"Jealousy, that's all. What about these handcuffs?" 

"He give me the key. Says I'm promoted to a trustee and I'm on my honor not 
to let you get away. The things they think of." 

The two girls stared at each other in dismay. Finally Jinny flung herself 
into Faith's arms and sobbed, "I'm so sick of it all-being dead and chained, 
and now I've got to de you up. Says he's going to inspect the work I'm going 
to do and I'm going to be in trouble if I don't do a good job. Gee whiz, 
Miss Baldwin, I'm so upset." 

Faith sensed something changing, and it was more than just Jinny. Faith had 
a feeling of death in the air, of things coming to an end. She knew herself 
in the grip of something she could not change, so she said, "Don't worry. 
Jinny dear, I've been tied up before. It's not the end of the world, you 
know. Where do you have to do it to me?" 

"He says I have to tie you to a tree outside. Seems some of the boys ain't 
never seen a naked girl. Says you'll be doing something for The Cause by 
showing the chaps what a girl's like under her clothes. I would've thought 
lifting my skirts up the way they've been doing would have been enough." 

"Never mind, Jinny, I won't die. Get the rope and lead the way. You may as 
well take off my handcuffs now and put them in the drawer. If you're going 
to use rope on me they'd only be a nuisance." 

The tree was the first of a small cluster beyond the yard. Any potential 
hero to The Cause had only to open the gate and walk fifty paces to satisfy 
his curiosity as to what a naked girl looked like. In the awkward pause 
before the binding began. Faith removed her shirt and said, "I'm a little 
doll. Jinny, arrange me any way you want." With a touch of venom, she added, 
"I hope Bill Mulchay never gets his ransom." 

Jinny went to work, looping and tugging wherever Faith's contours invited 
rope. Behind, slender wrists were firmly crossed and tied. Jinny took her 
time. "I want you to look real good, Miss Baldwin. There's times when a bit 
of rope does something for a girl. Gosh, you sure do look good!" 

The freshly bound girl was kissed and kissed again. Feverish young hands 
cupped and teased two captive breasts that could not move away. As though to 
remove herself from temptation. Jinny turned and ran. 

It was a "back-to-square-one" feeling for the bound hostage. Except for die 
discomfort, her plight did not much matter. In that way, it was like the 
convent. She stood rigid and tense against the ropes when young men came to 
gaze. She feared their hands but none touched her. If they spoke, she 
answered, making light of her predicament. After a couple of hours, their 
curiosity about breasts and pubic hair appeased, the visitations ceased. The 
bound beauty saw nothing ahead but a boring, futile loneliness against the 
tree, an assessment delayed by the arrival of a youthful warrior, shy and 
diffident and inclined to blush. Faith felt sorry for the boy. She answered 
his questions and turned on all the charm she possessed. When the impossible 
happened, it was like a clank of bells. 

"You look awful uncomfortable tied that way, miss. I'll bet those ropes 
hurt." The youngster was smitten by a mixture of chivalry and lust. "I'll 
untie you if you want. Don't suppose no one's going to mind." 

Trying hard not to show elation. Faith retorted warmly, "Thank you very 
much. That would be nice. I'd love to be untied." When eager male fingers 
were close to the last of the knots. Faith added sweetly, "It's early yet, 
why don't you get a jeep and we'll both go for a ride. I'll bet there's a 
pub down there somewhere and I can put my shirt back on." 

The warrior liked it. 

When they reached , Faith, fearful of pursuit, kissed her rescuer briefly, 
suggested he go with die boys to the bar, then breathlessly ran up the 
steps. When she found Ratigan she flung herself into his arms and blurted 
out, between sobs and gasps, the whole story. 

Ratigan gently sat her down, smoothing her hair, kissing her eyes, before 
fetching the fine Irish whiskey and ordering her to drink a toast to their 
reunion. She drank it down but mischievously asked, "And now one for The 
Cause?" 

"No, not The Cause," Ratigan said heavily. "The Cause is my concern, not 
yours. You never said you belong to The Cause, we both know that." He 
paused, eyeing her with love. "And now, young lady, get that silly shirt off 
and get yourself onto the bed. I want you so damn bad it hurts." no longer 
slept. Men came and went, jeeps roared and trucks rattled. As the day wore 
on, though, the ancient calm returned. Ratigan explained: "They've gone to 
join forces with Mulchay. We can't very well march up in a body so we spread 
it out. We do the joy the day after tomorrow. I'll stay with you tonight but 
then I'll join the Bhoys." 

"To sweep the British into the sea?" Her voice was bitter. 

"You don't believe in it, do you, lass? Why should you, I'm not sure I 
believe in it myself." 

"Ratigan, drop it. You've got a premonition, I can tell. Even this far south 
you can smell disaster." 

"So what if I can! disaster is the only thing we've had to smell these many 
years. Look, forget The Cause, forget Mulchay and the Bhoys, and that damn 
fool convent. Tomorrow I'll go north, but tonight is ours. How'd it be I do 
a good, old-fashioned rape job on you?" 

"Please do, kind sir. I'll give you a rating from one to ten." 

Faith was happy. Ratigan joined her mood. Once more he was the laughing boy 
she loved. "I'm going to teach you a lesson you've got coming," he said as 
he picked her up and tossed her on the bed. 

"Again? So soon?" 

"I said I'd teach you a lesson, the rape comes later." 

It was wonderful and glorious. With only a slight trace of brutality, he 
tied Faith's wrists wide apart at the head of bed and bound her ankles, 
outrageously separate, below. She could move but not very much. 

"You'll afraid I'll run away," she mocked. "You could have kept me with you 
far more securely with your phallus. You ought to know that." 

Ratigan laughed. "I do. I know it very well. And you'll get that later. What 
I promised was a lesson and that's what you're getting. You'll stay like 
that, convenient for anything I want to do to you until I march off to war 
tomorrow afternoon. Having you prisoner was habit forming. It's nice to have 
you back." 

Faith Baldwin, straining sensuously against the ropes, was very happy and 
wondered how there could be so much happiness for any girl. The tight 
stricture of the cords felt good. 

Gossip is the meat and drink of Ireland. Most of it found its way to the 

British commander. The Colonel was well aware of Mulchay's growing force and 
the sudden influx of men and armaments from the south. He was a veteran of 
many wars and knew die signs, he also had a massive force of men and 
material at his command. Perhaps the Colonel was bored with garrison life 
and die intermittent killings to which his men were subject. In one forceful 
decision he deployed his troops in a vast circle of Mulchay's camp, a circle 
which, when complete, began to close in on the largest rebel force The Cause 
had so far spawned. By the time his men were within hailing distance of die 
twin farm houses, it had become a concentrated threat of men and guns 
against which Mulchay's tiny arms had no chance. When the bullhorn loudly 
ordered its first suggestion of surrender, it was met with every gun The 
Cause could bring to bare, firing blindly in die dark at an enemy they could 
not see. When die uniformed and disciplined regulars completed their task 
only a handful of rebels remained to surrender, among them Jinny. Bill 
Mulchay was dead. 

The Colonel heaved a sigh of relief, sent his messages, and went home to 
bed. 

Johnny Catlin brought Ratigan the news. Perhaps Johnny had had a premonition 
too, for he had spent the night with a barmaid in a pub not far away. He had 
thoughtfully employed a jeep and was thus mobile. Ratigan listened to his 
story, nodding in confirmation as of something preordained. He then went 
back up the castle steps to give the news to the spread-eagled maiden on die 
bed. 

Faith was glad she was tied. Ratigan was absorbing his grief in stony 
silence, but their eyes spoke volumes as Ratigan sat beside her and slowly 
untied the knots which made her prisoner. By the time Faith was freed, she 
could clasp her lover and comfort him with the tears he could not shed. 
There was nothing to say, it was over. 

After awhile they walked across the fields to the gatehouse. Faith reveling 
in her freedom. Faith knew that as they walked, Ratigan's vision of the 
future was fading from his mind. At the gatehouse they were greeted by a 
starry-eyed nymphet attired in leg-irons and nothing else. She was bursting 
with import: "Mother just phoned. She says she's found the most wonderful 
convent where they'd make me the most well behaved girl that I just couldn't 
bare it. She's been there, but they just sent her home. She'll pick me up 
tomorrow to send me to Saint Ursula's, but I told her I was going to marry 
Adrian the first chance I get. All I need is a willing parson or a justice 
of the peace." The laughing nymph's face suddenly clouded. "Oh dear, I talk 
so much. We got the news of what happened in the North and knew you'd come. 
Adrian is waiting for you in die study." 

The two girls stood alone when Ratigan was gone. Ratigan and Adrian were 
left alone to say the things men have in their hearts at times like this. 
When Adrian and Ratigan reappeared, it was evident they had erased sorrow. 
Adrian, secretly glad it was all over, said cheerfully, "You've got him 
snared at last, you crafty female. It's not the fried fish shop, it's a 
brokerage business, respectable and lush with profit. It's my wedding gift 
to you both." 

There were starry eyes, kisses, and hugs. Adrian was again the spokesman. 
"We feel you two maidens are far too happy. Such ecstasy annoys us. What we 
need is a sort of leveling off process by which we bring you down to earth. 
How would you like to be tied to a tree for the night?" 

"I'd love it," said Faith. 

"Oh wow, what a cool idea!" said Coral Noyes. 

The happy nymphet was sent upon a hobbled walk back to the house to search 
for rope. "You do have the loveliest ideas," Faith told Adrian. "I think 
it's only fair for you to tie me to my tree and Ratigan to tie Coral to 
hers. That way there's no favoritism." 

Adrian nodded, but his eyes held mischief. "Don't you think we should whip 
the little dears before we tie them up," he said to Ratigan. "They're in an 
absolute state of euphoria." 

"I'll whip Faith," Ratigan said firmly. "Coral's yours." He turned to Faith. 
"I'll whip you everyday of your life, young lady. That is, in between the 
stocks and bonds." 

They turned as the clink of chain announced Coral's arrival with the rope. 
They sent her back to fetch the whip. 


THE END
