Jus Primae Noctis Volume 2, Chapter 9
Portland’s life had been dismal, and in death, his fate was equally wretched. At Walker's insistence, Wiltshire had informed the old butler in his hometown of his death and requested that he come to organize his funeral but even until the day that Wiltshire and he left Paris, Joseph still had not shown up at his wake.
Château Fairmont was located in the western outskirts of Brest, quite some distance from Paris. It was only after Wiltshire had spent quite a bit of money that he was able to find out the exact location of Château Fairmont --- the Earl had inherited this estate from his maternal grandmother, and not many people knew of it.
Even after they had departed and were on their way towards Brest, Walker was still feeling a little bit glum. The painful circumstances of Earl Portland as he lay on his deathbed had left their mark on Walker's heart, and the mysteries of the entire affair was still a puzzle that he could not make sense of in his mind.
How could there be such a coincidence? Joseph had already been sick for so long, why was it that once we got to Paris, almost immediately, he was visited by good fortune?
Every indicator pointed to the Marquess having all of the answers, but Walker wasn't willing to open his mouth and ask --- to have such a devious and scheming lover, who did not hesitate to destroy somebody else’s happiness for the sake of achieving his aims. He did not wish to hear Wiltshire admit to such a thing, nor did he wish to hear him lie to his face, therefore he could only let this matter drop.
Seemingly also feeling guilty over the Baron's death, the Marquess noticeably did not stick as closely to Walker as he had done during their previous travels. But the result of his exercising a little bit of moderation was merely that they stopped making love in the car, but every time they stopped at a hotel for a rest, the Marquess would, as was usual, press the Scotsman down upon the different large beds and they would have a tumble between the sheets. And on the following day, as they were travelling in the coach, he would dote on his tired body with meticulously affectionate care.
Perhaps it was because he had a premonition that this journey --- the most special in his life --- was drawing to a close, the Marquess did not plan their itinerary to be at all hectic. However, no matter how much he might have tried to prolong their journey, the two of them still arrived at Château Fairmont before the end of summer.
The scale of Fairmont wasn't as large as they had imagined, the white castle was erected on a hill that overlooked the sea, so beautiful that it seemed to be but a fantastical mirage. Against the backdrop of the azure ocean, the ancient castle appeared even more like something that was beyond the mundane world.
With no trace of politeness or ceremony, Wiltshire barged into the Château with Walker in tow. The result of his flashing the insignia he was bearing, designating him as a secret envoy of the Prince Regent, was that Wainwright, who was in semi-seclusion, quickly appeared before the two of them.
“May I know what business my Lord Marquess has here?” Wainwright was actually not very old, but the scraggly goatee he was sporting gave people the impression that he was not forthright enough.
“We've heard that the Lord Earl, together with Baron Portland, once accompanied Princess Caroline of my country to France, is that true?” Wiltshire stared at the man opposite him with bright eyes, as though he wanted to read some clues from his face.
“Yes, but after Simon and I had accompanied the Princess to France, I parted ways with them. I have no way of knowing where the Princess headed off to afterwards.” Wainwright's attitude was very calm, but a barely discernible hint of panic flashed across his eyes.
However, Wiltshire seemed to have overlooked that trace of panic, with regret written all over his face, he shook his head and said: “Ah… what terrible luck! The Princess’s disappearance has caused the Prince Regent great worry; if the Lord Earl happens to hear of any news in future, please do send word to us immediately.”
Wainwright was very obviously relieved, but he still maintained his composure as he squired the two of them from the large building where the drawing room was.
From Walker's understanding of Wiltshire, of course he knew that he would not give up so easily, but he did not think that he would actually pull himself to hide in an empty room by the side once Wainwright's back was turned.
“You…” Wiltshire's audacity gave Walker a scare, but when he saw that he was climbing out of the window with rapid movements to the outside of the main house [1], he had to give up his plan to give him a lecture on the spot and hide with him in the bushes that lined the two sides of the walkway.
Sometimes Walker really did admire Wiltshire's intuition, which was as keen as an animal's, very much. Sure enough, after about ten minutes, Earl Wainwright did indeed emerge by himself from the main building. With a wary expression, he walked toward the white tower that was built on the other side, where the cliff rose to a greater height.
“What a stupid, romantic man!” Walker heard Wiltshire grouse in a low voice. “I could tell from a hundred yards away where he had hidden the Princess.”
Indeed, that tall white tower did really resemble the places where evil dragons imprisoned princesses in fairy tales; he really could not say whether Wainwright was excessively romantic or excessively stupid.
They waited until Wainwright's silhouette had completely disappeared, only then did Wiltshire crawl out from the bushes and go up the path to the tower.
“Who’s there…” There were two sentries standing guard at the door to the tower, by the time they saw the two men, they did not even have enough time to sound the alarm before they had been struck down by Wiltshire's dagger. There were two sentries standing guard at the door to the tower, by the time they saw the two men, they did not even have enough time to sound the alarm before they had been struck down by the flat of Wiltshire's dagger. Drawing out the swords that the two guards had on them, the Marquess handed one of them to the Scotsman, before securely tying up the two guards, stuffing a gag into their mouths and then tossing them into the woods by the side of the tower. After that, he nimbly leapt up the stairs that led to the tower.
Probably because he had too much confidence in the remoteness and isolation of Fairmont, or perhaps he did not want too many people to know that a Princess of Great Britain was being imprisoned in that place, but there was actually nobody else who had been assigned to guard the building. The two of them successfully ascended to the very top of the tower, even before they had gotten to the door at the end of the corridor, they could hear the sound of a woman weeping inside.
Wiltshire gave Walker a hand gesture signalling their victory and rushed towards the white coloured door, and kicked it in hard --- Wainwright, who was in the middle of dragging around a young lady wearing a long pink dress, looked up and his face immediately turned ghastly pale.
“You two…” His expression was very ferocious, as different as can be from the calm, elegant, puissant Earl they had encountered earlier.
The young lady's hair was in a mess and her whole face was streaked with tears but even with just one glance, Walker could recognise that she was indeed the Princess Caroline who they had worked so hard to find for the last several months --- just like in the miniature portrait, she was a beautiful, slender girl who was also very young; she appeared to be just like a rose, a Princess who had stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale.
“Save me! Save me! I beg you, please save me!” At this point, the Princess did not have even the slightest bit of noble deportment left to her; she desperately clung onto the post of the bed, not allowing Wainwright to drag her away. All the while, she was calling out to the Marquess and Walker, begging them for assistance.
“My Lord Earl, you are really the romantic… Locking up a Princess in a tower, don't you think that it makes it too easy for others to find her?” Wiltshire pointed his longsword at the Earl, while motioning for Walker to help the Princess over.
How would Wainwright willingly allow that to happen? He pulled a longsword that was hanging on the wall of the room for decorative purposes. Assuming a duelling stance, he faced Walker, not letting him draw near.
“Let me.” Although he had taught Walker swordplay, Wiltshire was still worried that he, who was still inexperienced at using a sword, would get hurt in a duel. Indicating that Walker should stand to the side, he caught the Earl's sword with the tip of his own blade, and adopted a challenging posture.
The Earl's inky blue eyes were blazing with a scathingly murderous intent; he shed his jacket and threw it on the floor, howling derisively with his lips: “You cocky bastard, if you want to take the Princess away, then be prepared to leave your own life here!”
Compared to his agitation, Wiltshire appeared to be much calmer. The hand that he held his sword with showed no sign of unsteadiness, as though he were facing not a murder weapon, but a toy being held in the hands of a child.
Taking advantage of Wainwright concentrating his attention on the Marquess, Walker brought the Princess to his side, the better to protect her. As he did so, he was comforting the Princess, who was crying without interruption due to fear, with gentle words.
“Whore! If I had known this would happen, I would have obeyed instructions, and murdered you once we arrived in France! What are you crying for, you ungrateful, stinking whore!” So hard pressed by the Marquess's sword was he that the Earl was nearly unable to breathe. As he was backing up, he was chewing out Princess Caroline, who was weeping continuously in Walker's arms.
Although he knew that the Marquess was adept at sword fighting, but when he saw that Wainwright's sword had nearly pierced him several times, and the sounds of clashing metal as the two sharp blades met kept ringing in his ears, Walker's anxiety was no less than the Princess's.
Wiltshire and the Earl attacked each other with swift and fierce sword strikes as the circled each other with fluid movements --- the Earl did not seem to be some nondescript neophyte, he had obviously been specially drilled in knowing when to advance or to retreat. The blade of his sword nearly managed to cut down Wiltshire quite a few times; fortunately, he managed to narrowly escape, thanks to his quick agility and honed skills, although it had to be said that luck was also on his side.
The Marquess curbed the superior attitude with which he had approached the combat at the start, and began to concentrate on going on the offensive. He seemed to forget about everything else, only caring to continuously make fierce attacks, as the speed of his strikes got faster and faster; Walker could almost clearly hear the Earl panting --- after all, he was older than Wiltshire by a good ten years or more, and although Earl Wainwright was proficient in fencing, but his physical fitness obviously could not be mentioned in the same breath as that of the young Marquess.
After a sequence of brilliant attacks that dazzled the beholder, Wiltshire ended the long contest with a divine move that struck home --- the point of the longsword was against the Earl's neck, forcing him to toss away the sword in his hand.
“Who instructed you to bring the Princess to France?” Wiltshire's green eyes flashed with a fierce light, the sword in his hand again moved forward infinitesimally, pressing firmly against the Earl's flesh, causing beads of blood to slowly seep out.
The Earl gave a scornful snort and suddenly, beyond anyone's expectations, he threw himself onto Wiltshire's sword. The Marquess turned pale with fright, but it was already too late for him to retract his sword and he could only look on as the sharp point of the sword pieced straight through Earl Wainwright's neck, ending his life with frightening speed --- as the Earl toppled onto the floor, the Princess began to cry out in fear uncontrollably.
“Let’s leave fast.” Fearing that the Princess's cries would attract the attention of the estate's guards, Wiltshire had Walker help the Princess down the stairs while he hid the Earl's body under the bed inside the room and gave the scene a cursory clean-up, after which he rushed off in the direction where the two of them had headed off to.
Under the guidance of the princess, the two of them quickly found a little pier behind the tower. After they had gotten into the boat and were about a hundred meters away from the shore, they saw some guards of the estate rushing to the pier as quickly as the wind. They were carrying weapons, but they could only look on as the people who had killed their master sailed away in the boat --- there had been only one boat docked on that small pier, and obviously, it would be too late even if they were to transfer a boat over from somewhere else.
Wiltshire's misgivings had not been lessened by the Earl's passing; he knew that the Wainwright family was rather highly influential within the area of Brest. Without allowing even a moment to rest, he hired a carriage after they had reached the road and rushed to the nearest port with Walker and the Princess. Thus, they did not stay even a single night longer in France.
Even when they were once again on British soil, Walker still could not believe that their mission had been accomplished so smoothly. With ease, the two of them had vanquished the evil fiend who had abducted the Princess and in this fashion, they passed into legend as gallant knights and heroes.
But when they heard the Princess's tale, they very much felt that this matter had not really come to a conclusion --- Wainwright wasn't the extremely vicious and utterly evil villain of their imagination, it's just that he still harboured some fantasies about the beautiful Princess, which was why he had brought her to his family’s seat of power when he should have killed her instead. Even when he had imprisoned her in a tower in his castle, all he had done was to try and woo her every day. The person who had really wanted to murder the Princess should still be somewhere in London, it was even possible that he was somebody who had access to the Prince Regent.
Portland and Wainwright had merely been the sacrificial lambs in the whole affair, the person who gave them cause to shiver all over even though they did not feel cold was the puppeteer who had handed over money for the death of the Princess behind-the-scenes.
“My dear Brett, what do you think we should do to uncover who that person is?” Sitting in the lavish drawing room in Bulanmu Palace, the still-obese Prince Regent was sampling the very best exotic fruits as he was querying Wiltshire, who sat opposite him.
As a subject who had rendered outstanding service when he saved the Princess with Wiltshire, Walker had been bestowed with the honour of meeting the Prince Regent. As he sat by Wiltshire's side, he looked a little ill at ease, but the cheerful manner of the Prince Regent did much to alleviate his discomfort.
“Don't conduct a large-scale official investigation for now. Since he hates the Royal Family so much, he will surely attempt another plot. We should bide our time.” Wiltshire seemed to be quite relaxed at that moment.
Perhaps because he was too overjoyed at finally having his daughter safely returned, the Prince Regent also did not seem to have the inclination to pursue the whys and wherefores of the whole situation. Very quickly, he indicated that Wiltshire and Walker should withdraw, and he busied himself with soothing his precious daughter, who had had to experience many months of shock and fright before returning to his side.
After having experienced such a journey, the feeling of finally returning to the Marquess's residence at Leicester Square was wonderful.
This time, the Marquess did not take any notice of the Butler's disapproving eyes, and directly brought the Scotsman into his bedchamber.
“Please prepare bathwater for Mr. Robinson and me.” Having given instructions to the maid, the Marquess indicated that Walker should have a seat on the brocade couch that was by his bed, after which he doggedly squeezed himself beside him.
“Don’t… this is your home…” He knew all too well what the increasingly dangerous look in the Marquess eyes foreshadowed, Walker hurried to catch hold of his hands, which were getting increasingly restless and threatening.
“My Lord, the bathwater is ready.” A timely knock on the door by the female servant averted the disagreement that the two of them were on the verge of having. Wiltshire darted over and opened the door, and they watched as a few burly menservants carried two large wooden tubs filled with hot water at the maid's behest.
Although Wiltshire’s bedroom was uncommonly large, having two large wooden tubs planted inside still made the space suddenly appear to shrink considerably.
Signalling for the servants to withdraw, the Marquess stood by the tub with his arms akimbo and looked at the Scotsman with a shadow of a smile on his face as he asked: “Walker darling, are you getting undressed yourself or do you wish for me to help you?”
Images flashed through his mind, of several fiery entanglements he had had with the Marquess while they were both naked in a tub. His face immediately flushed red, and his hands unconsciously pressed down on his buttons, as though he wanted to repel and refuse the Marquess's passionate invitation.
“Ah…” The Marquess heaved a soft sigh, and pulled Walker up from the brocade couch. Leading him to the big tub, Wiltshire had him settle against it.
“You are called my attendant, but every time, I am the one who is serving you…” The Marquess put on a grudgingly helpless look, but there was humour in the tone of his voice. His hands did not pause for rest as, piece by piece, they undid the Scotsman's clothes and threw them onto floor; by his doing, the man was quickly standing naked in front of him.
“So beautiful…” Squinting while he assessed the male body before his eyes, Wiltshire was wearing an enthralled look upon his face --- because of the toil of the previous months when they had been constantly rushing about, Walker had gotten somewhat thinner, but he was also more muscular. The colour of his skin was closer to bronze than it used to be, conferring upon him an air of bravery and wildness; at the same time, the bashful expression on his face made him appear even more enchanting.
“Darling, you’re making me lose control…” Unable to help himself, Wiltshire bent Walker over the tub, with his back to his chest. His right hand also directly grabbed hold of the sex organ at his lower body, kneading it forcefully, until the Scotsman began to moan softly with excitement.
“Not enough, Walker! Not enough! Call out more loudly, I want everybody in the word to hear the sounds of our lovemaking!” The same time as the Marquess was saying this loudly, he was stripping off all of his own clothes. After that, he caught hold of the Scotsman, and tossed him into the tub headfirst.
“You’re mad!” Walker cried out in alarm, but it was already too late for him to prevent the bathwater from entering into his lungs. With great difficulty he struggled to get a good footing in the tub, but he was promptly pressed against the side of the tub by the Marquess, who had opportunistically taken unfair advantage of the situation.
“It hurts!” The buoyancy of the water made it easy for the Marquess to raise both of the Scotsman's legs, opening them to an angle they had never attained before --- Under the dim lights, Walker's back entrance was fully presented to his sight; due to apprehension, that delicate wall of flesh was contracting in a regular rhythm, and the desire at the Scotsman's front was also hard and upright because of anticipation mixed dread, the Marquess could feel the heat as it pressed against his abdomen.
“You’re the best! Darling…” He was almost prattling as he titillated Walker. Without preamble, the Marquess actually knelt down on the base of the large tub and just like that, he propped the Scotsman's legs on his shoulders and in that position, he took Walker's erection into his mouth.
“Ah…” Although this wasn't the first time he was fellated by the Marquess, it was the first time he was receiving it from such a precarious position --- all of his weight was resting upon the Marquess's shoulders, and Walker could only grab onto the rim of the tub to maintain his balance. However, making love in such a precarious position caused his manhood to get ever more distended in the Marquess's mouth, it only took a few casual licks and sucks and he was already shooting his entire load.
At first the Marquess was staring blankly, a little stumped for words, apparently because of the liquid in his mouth, which carried a fishy smell. But very quickly, he recovered and swallowed without hesitation. As the Scotsman was staring at him with his eyes wide open with astonishment, he changed the focus of his attack from front to back, beginning to lick at the Scotsman's anus.
At the moment when the Marquess inserted his tongue into his secret passage, the sensation, together with the warm water that flowed in, made Walker unable to keep from moaning with pleasure. Seizing upon the opportunity, Wiltshire extended three fingers inside, although this move to stretch Walker was indeed fierce, but because there was also an influx of more hot water inside, the feeling of discomfort it produced was greatly eased.
“Ah… ooh…” Although he knew very clearly that it would wind up being pleasurable in the end, Walker was still a little bit afraid of the moment when the Marquess’s enormous manhood would enter into his body. The jitterier he got, the more sensitive his body became. Very quickly, he almost fainted because of the movements of the Marquess's nimble fingers and could only cling to the edge of the tub with his soft and pliant body, allowing the man who had him balanced on his shoulders to do whatever he pleased.
Countless times, Wiltshire pressed down on the most sensitive point within the Scotsman's body, but he evilly clamped down on the desire at his front, not allowing him to release. In just such a position, the Marquess slowly entered into Walker's body, which had already been sufficiently stretched, at that point, he was willing to bet that at the moment of entry, Walker was already so disoriented that he could not differentiate between his fingers and his penis.
“Ah…”
So tormented by the hot water and his pent-up desire that he was nearly giddy, Walker could only allow the Marquess to move in and out of his body wantonly. To have a man insert himself into the deepest part of his intestines, that sensation made him feel a kind of nausea, but that obscene friction still made him ejaculate into the water multiple times.
At the moment when he was suspecting that the clear water had changed colour because of the semen that both of them had released, the Marquess finally helped him up from the tub --- in the second tub, the two of them really did have a bath. Although the Marquess still took advantage of the Scotsman's addled state to carefully caress that body which he had pushed almost to the brink with his torture, the two men did have clean bodies when they finally left the bathtub and lay on the bed.
“My god… [2]” But the Scotsman rapidly discovered that the Marquess did not care that they had already had a bath. After instructing the servants to carry away the two bathtubs, the scene of their earlier licentiousness, the Marquess crawled on top of Walker's body, seemingly not having the slightest intention of winding down for the night. Not heeding Walker's struggles and protesting groans, he fiercely inserted his weapon inside his body numerous times, only letting him off when Walker was on the verge of crying out for mercy --- but he still entwined himself around him like an octopus, still choosing to snuggle up tightly against the Scotsman in that bed that was clearly wide enough to sleep four or five people comfortable. In this manner, they slept until the sun was shining brightly in the sky.
End of Jus Primae Noctis Volume 2, Chapter 9
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[1]: My best guess for why they would need to duck into a side room before hiding in the bushes is that the drawing room might be in an auxiliary building, and the main building is actually enclosed, and shares a common courtyard with the smaller building, or something like that.
[2]: This line is in English in the original text.
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Jus Primae Noctis Volume 2, Chapter 9
Portland’s life had been dismal, and in death, his fate was equally wretched. At Walker's insistence, Wiltshire had informed the old butler in his hometown of his death and requested that he come to organize his funeral but even until the day that Wiltshire and he left Paris, Joseph still had not shown up at his wake.
Château Fairmont was located in the western outskirts of Brest, quite some distance from Paris. It was only after Wiltshire had spent quite a bit of money that he was able to find out the exact location of Château Fairmont --- the Earl had inherited this estate from his maternal grandmother, and not many people knew of it.
Even after they had departed and were on their way towards Brest, Walker was still feeling a little bit glum. The painful circumstances of Earl Portland as he lay on his deathbed had left their mark on Walker's heart, and the mysteries of the entire affair was still a puzzle that he could not make sense of in his mind.
How could there be such a coincidence? Joseph had already been sick for so long, why was it that once we got to Paris, almost immediately, he was visited by good fortune?
Every indicator pointed to the Marquess having all of the answers, but Walker wasn't willing to open his mouth and ask --- to have such a devious and scheming lover, who did not hesitate to destroy somebody else’s happiness for the sake of achieving his aims. He did not wish to hear Wiltshire admit to such a thing, nor did he wish to hear him lie to his face, therefore he could only let this matter drop.
Seemingly also feeling guilty over the Baron's death, the Marquess noticeably did not stick as closely to Walker as he had done during their previous travels. But the result of his exercising a little bit of moderation was merely that they stopped making love in the car, but every time they stopped at a hotel for a rest, the Marquess would, as was usual, press the Scotsman down upon the different large beds and they would have a tumble between the sheets. And on the following day, as they were travelling in the coach, he would dote on his tired body with meticulously affectionate care.
Perhaps it was because he had a premonition that this journey --- the most special in his life --- was drawing to a close, the Marquess did not plan their itinerary to be at all hectic. However, no matter how much he might have tried to prolong their journey, the two of them still arrived at Château Fairmont before the end of summer.
The scale of Fairmont wasn't as large as they had imagined, the white castle was erected on a hill that overlooked the sea, so beautiful that it seemed to be but a fantastical mirage. Against the backdrop of the azure ocean, the ancient castle appeared even more like something that was beyond the mundane world.
With no trace of politeness or ceremony, Wiltshire barged into the Château with Walker in tow. The result of his flashing the insignia he was bearing, designating him as a secret envoy of the Prince Regent, was that Wainwright, who was in semi-seclusion, quickly appeared before the two of them.
“May I know what business my Lord Marquess has here?” Wainwright was actually not very old, but the scraggly goatee he was sporting gave people the impression that he was not forthright enough.
“We've heard that the Lord Earl, together with Baron Portland, once accompanied Princess Caroline of my country to France, is that true?” Wiltshire stared at the man opposite him with bright eyes, as though he wanted to read some clues from his face.
“Yes, but after Simon and I had accompanied the Princess to France, I parted ways with them. I have no way of knowing where the Princess headed off to afterwards.” Wainwright's attitude was very calm, but a barely discernible hint of panic flashed across his eyes.
However, Wiltshire seemed to have overlooked that trace of panic, with regret written all over his face, he shook his head and said: “Ah… what terrible luck! The Princess’s disappearance has caused the Prince Regent great worry; if the Lord Earl happens to hear of any news in future, please do send word to us immediately.”
Wainwright was very obviously relieved, but he still maintained his composure as he squired the two of them from the large building where the drawing room was.
From Walker's understanding of Wiltshire, of course he knew that he would not give up so easily, but he did not think that he would actually pull himself to hide in an empty room by the side once Wainwright's back was turned.
“You…” Wiltshire's audacity gave Walker a scare, but when he saw that he was climbing out of the window with rapid movements to the outside of the main house [1], he had to give up his plan to give him a lecture on the spot and hide with him in the bushes that lined the two sides of the walkway.
Sometimes Walker really did admire Wiltshire's intuition, which was as keen as an animal's, very much. Sure enough, after about ten minutes, Earl Wainwright did indeed emerge by himself from the main building. With a wary expression, he walked toward the white tower that was built on the other side, where the cliff rose to a greater height.
“What a stupid, romantic man!” Walker heard Wiltshire grouse in a low voice. “I could tell from a hundred yards away where he had hidden the Princess.”
Indeed, that tall white tower did really resemble the places where evil dragons imprisoned princesses in fairy tales; he really could not say whether Wainwright was excessively romantic or excessively stupid.
They waited until Wainwright's silhouette had completely disappeared, only then did Wiltshire crawl out from the bushes and go up the path to the tower.
“Who’s there…” There were two sentries standing guard at the door to the tower, by the time they saw the two men, they did not even have enough time to sound the alarm before they had been struck down by Wiltshire's dagger. There were two sentries standing guard at the door to the tower, by the time they saw the two men, they did not even have enough time to sound the alarm before they had been struck down by the flat of Wiltshire's dagger. Drawing out the swords that the two guards had on them, the Marquess handed one of them to the Scotsman, before securely tying up the two guards, stuffing a gag into their mouths and then tossing them into the woods by the side of the tower. After that, he nimbly leapt up the stairs that led to the tower.
Probably because he had too much confidence in the remoteness and isolation of Fairmont, or perhaps he did not want too many people to know that a Princess of Great Britain was being imprisoned in that place, but there was actually nobody else who had been assigned to guard the building. The two of them successfully ascended to the very top of the tower, even before they had gotten to the door at the end of the corridor, they could hear the sound of a woman weeping inside.
Wiltshire gave Walker a hand gesture signalling their victory and rushed towards the white coloured door, and kicked it in hard --- Wainwright, who was in the middle of dragging around a young lady wearing a long pink dress, looked up and his face immediately turned ghastly pale.
“You two…” His expression was very ferocious, as different as can be from the calm, elegant, puissant Earl they had encountered earlier.
The young lady's hair was in a mess and her whole face was streaked with tears but even with just one glance, Walker could recognise that she was indeed the Princess Caroline who they had worked so hard to find for the last several months --- just like in the miniature portrait, she was a beautiful, slender girl who was also very young; she appeared to be just like a rose, a Princess who had stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale.
“Save me! Save me! I beg you, please save me!” At this point, the Princess did not have even the slightest bit of noble deportment left to her; she desperately clung onto the post of the bed, not allowing Wainwright to drag her away. All the while, she was calling out to the Marquess and Walker, begging them for assistance.
“My Lord Earl, you are really the romantic… Locking up a Princess in a tower, don't you think that it makes it too easy for others to find her?” Wiltshire pointed his longsword at the Earl, while motioning for Walker to help the Princess over.
How would Wainwright willingly allow that to happen? He pulled a longsword that was hanging on the wall of the room for decorative purposes. Assuming a duelling stance, he faced Walker, not letting him draw near.
“Let me.” Although he had taught Walker swordplay, Wiltshire was still worried that he, who was still inexperienced at using a sword, would get hurt in a duel. Indicating that Walker should stand to the side, he caught the Earl's sword with the tip of his own blade, and adopted a challenging posture.
The Earl's inky blue eyes were blazing with a scathingly murderous intent; he shed his jacket and threw it on the floor, howling derisively with his lips: “You cocky bastard, if you want to take the Princess away, then be prepared to leave your own life here!”
Compared to his agitation, Wiltshire appeared to be much calmer. The hand that he held his sword with showed no sign of unsteadiness, as though he were facing not a murder weapon, but a toy being held in the hands of a child.
Taking advantage of Wainwright concentrating his attention on the Marquess, Walker brought the Princess to his side, the better to protect her. As he did so, he was comforting the Princess, who was crying without interruption due to fear, with gentle words.
“Whore! If I had known this would happen, I would have obeyed instructions, and murdered you once we arrived in France! What are you crying for, you ungrateful, stinking whore!” So hard pressed by the Marquess's sword was he that the Earl was nearly unable to breathe. As he was backing up, he was chewing out Princess Caroline, who was weeping continuously in Walker's arms.
Although he knew that the Marquess was adept at sword fighting, but when he saw that Wainwright's sword had nearly pierced him several times, and the sounds of clashing metal as the two sharp blades met kept ringing in his ears, Walker's anxiety was no less than the Princess's.
Wiltshire and the Earl attacked each other with swift and fierce sword strikes as the circled each other with fluid movements --- the Earl did not seem to be some nondescript neophyte, he had obviously been specially drilled in knowing when to advance or to retreat. The blade of his sword nearly managed to cut down Wiltshire quite a few times; fortunately, he managed to narrowly escape, thanks to his quick agility and honed skills, although it had to be said that luck was also on his side.
The Marquess curbed the superior attitude with which he had approached the combat at the start, and began to concentrate on going on the offensive. He seemed to forget about everything else, only caring to continuously make fierce attacks, as the speed of his strikes got faster and faster; Walker could almost clearly hear the Earl panting --- after all, he was older than Wiltshire by a good ten years or more, and although Earl Wainwright was proficient in fencing, but his physical fitness obviously could not be mentioned in the same breath as that of the young Marquess.
After a sequence of brilliant attacks that dazzled the beholder, Wiltshire ended the long contest with a divine move that struck home --- the point of the longsword was against the Earl's neck, forcing him to toss away the sword in his hand.
“Who instructed you to bring the Princess to France?” Wiltshire's green eyes flashed with a fierce light, the sword in his hand again moved forward infinitesimally, pressing firmly against the Earl's flesh, causing beads of blood to slowly seep out.
The Earl gave a scornful snort and suddenly, beyond anyone's expectations, he threw himself onto Wiltshire's sword. The Marquess turned pale with fright, but it was already too late for him to retract his sword and he could only look on as the sharp point of the sword pieced straight through Earl Wainwright's neck, ending his life with frightening speed --- as the Earl toppled onto the floor, the Princess began to cry out in fear uncontrollably.
“Let’s leave fast.” Fearing that the Princess's cries would attract the attention of the estate's guards, Wiltshire had Walker help the Princess down the stairs while he hid the Earl's body under the bed inside the room and gave the scene a cursory clean-up, after which he rushed off in the direction where the two of them had headed off to.
Under the guidance of the princess, the two of them quickly found a little pier behind the tower. After they had gotten into the boat and were about a hundred meters away from the shore, they saw some guards of the estate rushing to the pier as quickly as the wind. They were carrying weapons, but they could only look on as the people who had killed their master sailed away in the boat --- there had been only one boat docked on that small pier, and obviously, it would be too late even if they were to transfer a boat over from somewhere else.
Wiltshire's misgivings had not been lessened by the Earl's passing; he knew that the Wainwright family was rather highly influential within the area of Brest. Without allowing even a moment to rest, he hired a carriage after they had reached the road and rushed to the nearest port with Walker and the Princess. Thus, they did not stay even a single night longer in France.
Even when they were once again on British soil, Walker still could not believe that their mission had been accomplished so smoothly. With ease, the two of them had vanquished the evil fiend who had abducted the Princess and in this fashion, they passed into legend as gallant knights and heroes.
But when they heard the Princess's tale, they very much felt that this matter had not really come to a conclusion --- Wainwright wasn't the extremely vicious and utterly evil villain of their imagination, it's just that he still harboured some fantasies about the beautiful Princess, which was why he had brought her to his family’s seat of power when he should have killed her instead. Even when he had imprisoned her in a tower in his castle, all he had done was to try and woo her every day. The person who had really wanted to murder the Princess should still be somewhere in London, it was even possible that he was somebody who had access to the Prince Regent.
Portland and Wainwright had merely been the sacrificial lambs in the whole affair, the person who gave them cause to shiver all over even though they did not feel cold was the puppeteer who had handed over money for the death of the Princess behind-the-scenes.
“My dear Brett, what do you think we should do to uncover who that person is?” Sitting in the lavish drawing room in Bulanmu Palace, the still-obese Prince Regent was sampling the very best exotic fruits as he was querying Wiltshire, who sat opposite him.
As a subject who had rendered outstanding service when he saved the Princess with Wiltshire, Walker had been bestowed with the honour of meeting the Prince Regent. As he sat by Wiltshire's side, he looked a little ill at ease, but the cheerful manner of the Prince Regent did much to alleviate his discomfort.
“Don't conduct a large-scale official investigation for now. Since he hates the Royal Family so much, he will surely attempt another plot. We should bide our time.” Wiltshire seemed to be quite relaxed at that moment.
Perhaps because he was too overjoyed at finally having his daughter safely returned, the Prince Regent also did not seem to have the inclination to pursue the whys and wherefores of the whole situation. Very quickly, he indicated that Wiltshire and Walker should withdraw, and he busied himself with soothing his precious daughter, who had had to experience many months of shock and fright before returning to his side.
After having experienced such a journey, the feeling of finally returning to the Marquess's residence at Leicester Square was wonderful.
This time, the Marquess did not take any notice of the Butler's disapproving eyes, and directly brought the Scotsman into his bedchamber.
“Please prepare bathwater for Mr. Robinson and me.” Having given instructions to the maid, the Marquess indicated that Walker should have a seat on the brocade couch that was by his bed, after which he doggedly squeezed himself beside him.
“Don’t… this is your home…” He knew all too well what the increasingly dangerous look in the Marquess eyes foreshadowed, Walker hurried to catch hold of his hands, which were getting increasingly restless and threatening.
“My Lord, the bathwater is ready.” A timely knock on the door by the female servant averted the disagreement that the two of them were on the verge of having. Wiltshire darted over and opened the door, and they watched as a few burly menservants carried two large wooden tubs filled with hot water at the maid's behest.
Although Wiltshire’s bedroom was uncommonly large, having two large wooden tubs planted inside still made the space suddenly appear to shrink considerably.
Signalling for the servants to withdraw, the Marquess stood by the tub with his arms akimbo and looked at the Scotsman with a shadow of a smile on his face as he asked: “Walker darling, are you getting undressed yourself or do you wish for me to help you?”
Images flashed through his mind, of several fiery entanglements he had had with the Marquess while they were both naked in a tub. His face immediately flushed red, and his hands unconsciously pressed down on his buttons, as though he wanted to repel and refuse the Marquess's passionate invitation.
“Ah…” The Marquess heaved a soft sigh, and pulled Walker up from the brocade couch. Leading him to the big tub, Wiltshire had him settle against it.
“You are called my attendant, but every time, I am the one who is serving you…” The Marquess put on a grudgingly helpless look, but there was humour in the tone of his voice. His hands did not pause for rest as, piece by piece, they undid the Scotsman's clothes and threw them onto floor; by his doing, the man was quickly standing naked in front of him.
“So beautiful…” Squinting while he assessed the male body before his eyes, Wiltshire was wearing an enthralled look upon his face --- because of the toil of the previous months when they had been constantly rushing about, Walker had gotten somewhat thinner, but he was also more muscular. The colour of his skin was closer to bronze than it used to be, conferring upon him an air of bravery and wildness; at the same time, the bashful expression on his face made him appear even more enchanting.
“Darling, you’re making me lose control…” Unable to help himself, Wiltshire bent Walker over the tub, with his back to his chest. His right hand also directly grabbed hold of the sex organ at his lower body, kneading it forcefully, until the Scotsman began to moan softly with excitement.
“Not enough, Walker! Not enough! Call out more loudly, I want everybody in the word to hear the sounds of our lovemaking!” The same time as the Marquess was saying this loudly, he was stripping off all of his own clothes. After that, he caught hold of the Scotsman, and tossed him into the tub headfirst.
“You’re mad!” Walker cried out in alarm, but it was already too late for him to prevent the bathwater from entering into his lungs. With great difficulty he struggled to get a good footing in the tub, but he was promptly pressed against the side of the tub by the Marquess, who had opportunistically taken unfair advantage of the situation.
“It hurts!” The buoyancy of the water made it easy for the Marquess to raise both of the Scotsman's legs, opening them to an angle they had never attained before --- Under the dim lights, Walker's back entrance was fully presented to his sight; due to apprehension, that delicate wall of flesh was contracting in a regular rhythm, and the desire at the Scotsman's front was also hard and upright because of anticipation mixed dread, the Marquess could feel the heat as it pressed against his abdomen.
“You’re the best! Darling…” He was almost prattling as he titillated Walker. Without preamble, the Marquess actually knelt down on the base of the large tub and just like that, he propped the Scotsman's legs on his shoulders and in that position, he took Walker's erection into his mouth.
“Ah…” Although this wasn't the first time he was fellated by the Marquess, it was the first time he was receiving it from such a precarious position --- all of his weight was resting upon the Marquess's shoulders, and Walker could only grab onto the rim of the tub to maintain his balance. However, making love in such a precarious position caused his manhood to get ever more distended in the Marquess's mouth, it only took a few casual licks and sucks and he was already shooting his entire load.
At first the Marquess was staring blankly, a little stumped for words, apparently because of the liquid in his mouth, which carried a fishy smell. But very quickly, he recovered and swallowed without hesitation. As the Scotsman was staring at him with his eyes wide open with astonishment, he changed the focus of his attack from front to back, beginning to lick at the Scotsman's anus.
At the moment when the Marquess inserted his tongue into his secret passage, the sensation, together with the warm water that flowed in, made Walker unable to keep from moaning with pleasure. Seizing upon the opportunity, Wiltshire extended three fingers inside, although this move to stretch Walker was indeed fierce, but because there was also an influx of more hot water inside, the feeling of discomfort it produced was greatly eased.
“Ah… ooh…” Although he knew very clearly that it would wind up being pleasurable in the end, Walker was still a little bit afraid of the moment when the Marquess’s enormous manhood would enter into his body. The jitterier he got, the more sensitive his body became. Very quickly, he almost fainted because of the movements of the Marquess's nimble fingers and could only cling to the edge of the tub with his soft and pliant body, allowing the man who had him balanced on his shoulders to do whatever he pleased.
Countless times, Wiltshire pressed down on the most sensitive point within the Scotsman's body, but he evilly clamped down on the desire at his front, not allowing him to release. In just such a position, the Marquess slowly entered into Walker's body, which had already been sufficiently stretched, at that point, he was willing to bet that at the moment of entry, Walker was already so disoriented that he could not differentiate between his fingers and his penis.
“Ah…”
So tormented by the hot water and his pent-up desire that he was nearly giddy, Walker could only allow the Marquess to move in and out of his body wantonly. To have a man insert himself into the deepest part of his intestines, that sensation made him feel a kind of nausea, but that obscene friction still made him ejaculate into the water multiple times.
At the moment when he was suspecting that the clear water had changed colour because of the semen that both of them had released, the Marquess finally helped him up from the tub --- in the second tub, the two of them really did have a bath. Although the Marquess still took advantage of the Scotsman's addled state to carefully caress that body which he had pushed almost to the brink with his torture, the two men did have clean bodies when they finally left the bathtub and lay on the bed.
“My god… [2]” But the Scotsman rapidly discovered that the Marquess did not care that they had already had a bath. After instructing the servants to carry away the two bathtubs, the scene of their earlier licentiousness, the Marquess crawled on top of Walker's body, seemingly not having the slightest intention of winding down for the night. Not heeding Walker's struggles and protesting groans, he fiercely inserted his weapon inside his body numerous times, only letting him off when Walker was on the verge of crying out for mercy --- but he still entwined himself around him like an octopus, still choosing to snuggle up tightly against the Scotsman in that bed that was clearly wide enough to sleep four or five people comfortable. In this manner, they slept until the sun was shining brightly in the sky.
End of Jus Primae Noctis Volume 2, Chapter 9
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[1]: My best guess for why they would need to duck into a side room before hiding in the bushes is that the drawing room might be in an auxiliary building, and the main building is actually enclosed, and shares a common courtyard with the smaller building, or something like that.
[2]: This line is in English in the original text.
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