New Camelot's Sally the Whore

By Brenda Gable

“I want my inheritance and ye want to avoid the hangman. Are ye gonna be me wife or not?” How can a girl resist such a romantic proposal? Sally the Whore has no choice but to flee to the Highlands with Conall MacKenzie. The dratted bear of a man has discovered that she’s killed to defend herself from rape and now he knows about her hidden sorceress powers. Despite her deep love for him, she knows the emotional scars created when she was sold into slavery as a child make her unacceptable as a wife. Conall must wed a sorceress wife or forfeit the lands of Kintail to his cousin. When he discovers that the whore he’s obsessed with is a sorceress, he changes his mind. She will not be his mistress. She will be his wife, even if it takes heavy handed tactics to get her out of the brothel and into his bed. With their love at stake, Conall must find a way to heal the damage done to Sally so she can truly be his. With their lives endangered, Sally must find the one responsible for the deaths of Conall’s family before the murderer strikes again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda Gable
• Release date: Feb 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311547545

Brenda Gable

An award-winning author, Brenda Gable is a graduate of North Carolina State University and the Air Force Institute of Technology. She is published in southern magazines and anthologies. The mother of two adult children, lover of an absentminded yet brilliant husband, and caregiver to a clowder of cats, one hyper dog, and a noble horse, she's a very happy woman. Brenda enjoys sports and daydreaming up “what if” scenarios while she attacks the weeds in her flower and vegetable gardens. Her twisted mind has produced a series of New Camelot tales. She hopes you enjoy reading them as much as she enjoyed creating them.

Book preview

Tales of New Camelot

NEW CAMELOT’S

SALLY THE WHORE

By

Brenda Gable

Book Eleven

Book Twelve License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN-13: 978-1505652000

ISBN-10: 1505652006

New Camelot Books in Publication

Rogue Prince

Crystal Sorceress

New Camelot’s Thief

Black Sorcerer

Fire Sorceress

Bernard the Bard

High Sheriff of New Camelot

New Camelot’s Lion

New Camelot’s Brewster

Rogue Dragon

New Camelot's Sally the Whore

New Camelot's Fafnir

New Camelot's Bronson

New Camelot's Tarnished Knight

New Camelot’s Dragon’s Breath

New Camelot’s Baker

New Camelot’s Merchant Prince

Kingston Books in Publication

Vindication

Redemption

Retribution

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the hidden siren in us all.

Chapter 1

The tap room door of the Squealing Pig opened inviting in the early spring wind and accompanying sleet. Sally normally didn’t pay any attention to newcomers when she was setting up a mark. This time there was a fluttering awareness in her belly. Carefully setting the flagon of ale down onto the table before Merchant Gort, she turned to the threesome blocking the door of the renowned brothel.

Wild as the animal pelts they wore as protective cloaks and boots, the Highlanders scanned the room, assessing the mettle of the men therein. Deciding they could out fight any of the customers seeking warmth, spirits and solace; the Scotsmen crossed over the threshold and shut the door. The two rusty-headed younger MacKenzies forged their way through the crowd over the thick rush mats to a glowing peat fire in the hearth.

Conall, the largest of the threesome, remained by the door, his amber eyes searching the patrons that came to this oasis of comfort between two major cross roads in the northlands of New Camelot. Curly blond hair matted from the cloak’s silver-furred cowl matched the full beard on his square chin. Broad shouldered and boasting a chest of heavy muscle, he bore the aura of a born warrior. Head and shoulders above everyone in the room, he was a golden-eyed predator looking for his prey. Those deep-set orbs stopped their hunt when they landed on her. She held his burning gaze, unafraid of the message in it.

I want you.

Well that was plain as the nose on his face. Every time the golden giant came out of his highland den, he sought her and every time she refused him. Tonight would be no different.

She deflected the warrior’s will that threatened to erode her determination not to yield to him. You can’t have me.

At her telepathic rejection, he jerked as if she slapped him. The lush beard quivered from his jaw tightening in anger. His leonine eyes narrowed in annoyance under heavy brow ridges. Black flames cascaded off his shoulders and down his muscular arms in a revealing announcement that he was a Royal—a man possessing the ability to create power in his spine and use it as a powerful weapon.

Oh, how she wanted to lie safe and protected in those arms, but she’d not have him as a customer, not even for all the gold in Wolfrick’s treasury.

Conall was at the Squealing Pig because King Wolfrick Asarlaís, head of the most powerful clan of sorcerer-warriors in New Camelot, had signed a treaty with magic deficient Scotland, thus opening up trade between the two countries. That exchange included wives. If a Scotsman could convince a New Camelot sorceress to marry him and he obtained the parents’ approval, then they were permitted to wed, provided an incident wasn’t created during the wooing. For the past year, the golden bear periodically traveled from the Highlands of Scotland to New Camelot in search of a sorceress wife, stopping at this rocky mountain outpost in Four Corners for sustenance and a roof over his head for the night.

Cor, the Bear is in a foul mood. I guess wife hunting didn’t go to his liking.

Black-headed Tamberlin’s observation was an acute one. Her striking deep-blue eyes, full figure and enthusiasm in bed made her a favorite among Bertie’s clientele. Sally snorted at Tamberlin’s quip and turned her back on Conall.

He looks like he wants to eat you, Sally.

Sally tossed a glance over her shoulder to her peer. Wheat-headed, green-eyed Aslynn was indeed a vision as her name defined. Her soft curves completed the stable of whores in Bertie’s brothel. It wasn’t a hard life and they earned a lot of money that they shared with their master. He in turn, gave a cut to the king in the form of taxes. Bertie was a kind man, for a brothel proprietor, and saw to it that they were protected. One scream and he energetically used his cudgel on the guest. He’d paid too much to have them damaged by a heavy handed traveler.

Angry at something she couldn’t put a name to, Sally snapped, Well, he’ll have to eat elsewhere. Turning from her sisters in trade, she beamed at her current customer gulping down the flagon she’d set on the table. A few more and he’d be ready to go upstairs. There she’d employ her magic and delude him into believing he was once again a virile stallion.

* * * * *

Sally turned her back to him—again. It took an effort, but Conall forced his power back into his spine. King Wolfrick would cease the bride hunts if he so much as passed gas in a crowded room. He wanted Sally and she kent it. He’d offered her ten silver coins for her favors, five times the going rate for a tumble. Yet, she refused. He upped it to twenty, forty, a hundred to no avail. When he told the proprietor that he wanted that insolent wench in his bed, Bertie merely shrugged and said, They pick their own customers. Choose one of the others. They’re all equally talented.

He didn’t want one of the others. He wanted the red-head with the sparkling green eyes. The one who made his loins burn in wanton possession. The one who kept him restless at night. She was the reason he couldn’t find a mate. None of the women open to moving to the wilds of Scotland compared to her beauty, her spirit, her pure stubbornness.

His cousin Fergus, bellowed over the crowded room, Are ‘ye gonna grow roots there, Conall?

Eager to enjoy the special amenities the Squealing Pig offered, Fergus grabbed the passing blond around her waist. She squealed in surprise then sat in his lap. Running her fingers though his coarse rust-colored hair, she leaned into his shoulder, whispering promises and prices.

Meanwhile, Ian eyed the black-headed beauty. Her hands full of flagons, she shook her head at him while her snapping sapphire eyes said yes. Conall turned his attention back to Sally. She was playing with the tunic cowl of the man at the table. Round in girth and spare in leg, he was so drunk, he could barely sit on the three-legged stool.

Her eyes sought Conall’s as she whispered into the sot’s ear. A big sloppy smile crossed his face. The traveler dug into his money sack and extracted two silver coins that quickly disappeared in Sally’s slender fingers. Conall’s hands fisted in rage when her emerald eyes dared him to challenge her as she continued to whisper in the merchant’s ear.

Why that sot? Why not him? He kent how to pleasure a woman. He had the coin. Why did she continue to refuse him? His only consolation was that Sally also refused his kinsmen, Ian and Fergus.

Fergus grabbed him by the shoulder. Come wi’ me. Ye’re aboot to erupt in flame. Aslynn said she do us both, one at a time or together. That’ll put ye in a better frame of mind.

Conall snarled. Not interested. When he prayed to Danu to find him a noble sorceress he could love, he didn’t know at the time that the goddess had a warped sense of humor. Upon first opening the door to the brothel, he saw her, the one woman he’d scoured the countryside for. Beautiful, intelligent and with an irresistible allure, she was everything he’d asked for and he said a quick pray of thanks to the goddess. Then a hammer slammed into his gut with awareness. The woman he desired with every fiber of his body was a whore.

Fergus shook his head. Ah, cousin, ye’ve been naught but howling mad since ye laid eyes on that red-headed witch. Aslynn says she can make ye forget her.

Conall’s hands fisted on the table. No one could make him forget Sally. That was why he was returning empty handed, again and again. These bride hunts were costing him a fortune in coin and time. Neither one could he spare.

Go on. Have yer pleasure.

If ye don’t want to participate, why don’t ye watch? That’ll get a rise in yer blood.

Conall stood, his flames barely suppressed. Go with yer whore a’fore I throw ye through the wall.

Neither Fergus nor Aslynn were impressed at his empty threat. Fergus nuzzled the tow-headed whore’s neck. Weel, lass, it’s just you and me.

Conall sat back down, snatched the flagon before him, and downed it. It was going to take more than one serving to make him forget what Sally was and the carnal things she was going to do to that stranger.

Bertie, he shouted over the din of the room. More ale!

* * * * *

Bertie grabbed Sally’s arm and pulled her away from Gort. I’ve got some nobles in the private rooms wanting a meal. Tamberlin and Aslynn are busy servicing the MacKenzie lads. Go to the kitchen and fetch their diner to them.

Sally gave Gort a quick kiss on the cheek. Hold those thoughts. I’ll be back in a trice.

In the Squealing Pig, as elsewhere in their medieval realm, the facility was divided by caste. Over by the choice location at the fire were noble warriors and rich traders. The serfs and tradesmen had to be content with proximity to the bar. For those too refine to rub elbows with the riff-raff, a private room was made available. Typically, those paying for their privacy were noble families in route to some location. She hated serving them.

Gritting her teeth, she trudged through the sleet and followed the savory smells to the kitchen located in a building several yards away from the brothel. When she and the cold air entered, Lavonia looked up from a pudding she was cooking and waved her large spoon in greeting.

The cook and Bertie’s relationship was a marriage of opposites. Whereas Bertie was small-framed and shriveled. Lavonia was as round as she was tall. Wearing a homespun brown kirtle and a grey wimple, she ruled over three drudges with an iron fist.

Lavonia’s salutation was welcoming. Cor. It’s not fit for man nor beast. Is it, luv?

Sally returned Lavonia’s cheerful heat-flushed smile. No. Danu can’t make up her mind to snow, sleet, or rain so she’s doing all three.

Lavonia pointed to a sideboard. I’ve a sweet tart for your friends when you get back. Now, hurry along and serve the noble family before their food gets cold.

Sally hefted the serving platter laden with precariously arranged roasted venison, boiled lamb, bread, cheeses, and scones. Quickly walking around the taproom, protecting the food the best she could from the harsh wet winds, she entered the private room from a side door. A warm hearth and several candelabras lit the room. Unlike the crowded taproom that reeked of peat smoke, body odor and stale rushes, this parlor was clean and comfortable.

Shut the door wench, you’re letting in the cold.

The curt command was from the mother. Two teenaged daughters lifted their chins in haughty disdain and returned to their needlework. The father turned from the peat fire and ogled her figure. Sally resisted the urge to tighten the loose ties of her kirtle when he licked his lips in appreciation at what he saw.

The reception was typical. The mother was cruel, the father lusty and the siblings jealous. Sally didn’t let their elite boorishness affect her. She’d be away in a few seconds, and if she knew her men, which she did, the father would be seeking her favors after they dined. Her lips tightened in determination. He wouldn’t get them.

Placing the salver down on the table, she arrange the trenchers and bowls of food. While she was bent over the meal, she surreptitiously removed a scone and eased it into her pocket. A quick bob of her head and she returned to the gale outside, for it was considerably warmer than the reception she’d just received.

This is how she’d learned how the noble caste talked and behaved. Through brief moments of contact, she observed their mannerisms, their dialogue, their treatment of those beneath them. Sometimes she picked up snippets of conversation about the latest fashions and warrior heartthrobs from the women. Other times, she overheard business discussions or political concerns from the men. She never left a room without learning something. Tonight’s lesson was a reiteration of an old one: the poorer the noble, the worse he treated the hired help.

With Lavonia’s kitchen sweet tart secure under a strip of linen, she left the kitchen and returned to the taproom. Immediately upon entering she heard a bellow. Over here, Sally!

She turned to the summons and frowned. It was Monashan waving an empty flagon. Possessing an air of entitlement and groping hands, he was exactly the type of patron she avoided.

After giving Monashan a brief tease of a smile, she turned away to assist Merchant Gort up the stairs with one hand while balancing the tart with the other. She had to string Monashan along for Bertie wouldn’t like it if she deliberately antagonized the Squealing Pig’s patrons. However, she didn’t have to service him.

She guided Gort into her room then pushed the inebriated man towards the narrow bed. He landed in a sprawl. Righting himself, his bruising fingers groped at her breasts under the woolen kirtle. Gritting her teeth in repulsion at the crude assault, she pulled him to her. Gort’s jaw went slack the second her hands locked onto his temples.

Releasing more of her magic, she commanded, Sleep and dream. Dream of your renewed virility. Dream of immense pleasure. Dream of complete satisfaction. So satisfied, you’re going to give the whore another silver coin for pleasuring you so well.

Sally took her hands away from his head and tapping one forefinger to his forehead, pushed him down onto the coverlet.

Cor, he’s right snookered.

The laughing voice came from her fey friend, Tulip. Dressed in a gauzy violet tunic, the diminutive fairy flitted over the sleeping man. Her sister fairies swarmed past Sally to study the inert form on the bed.

Sunflower, dressed in yellow, furrowed her brow. He’s ancient. Does he really think he can perform like a stallion?

Sally flipped the sand timer. In his dreams, Sunflower. In his dreams.

Sally removed the scone from her pocket and laid it beside the tart on the single table. Here my dears. The patrons in the private room won’t miss this. Breaking both offerings into smaller pieces, she spread the crumbs about the surface. The troupe of ten fairies promptly alit and voraciously attacked the sweets.

Tulip said over a mouthful of berry tart, Why won’t they miss the scone?

Their noses are so high in the air, they can’t see what they’re eating.

Aster, dressed in dusty blue, let out an unladylike guffaw. La, Sally, you do have a way with words.

Sally flipped up the hem of her linen under kirtle and sewed the silver coins she collected from Gort in the taproom into separate little silent pockets. She would hand over the extra silver her customer would give her upon awakening to Bertie for his share of her services. Sally didn’t trust strong boxes. Instead, she kept her funds upon her person at all times. She loved her sisters in trade and respected Bertie, but she didn’t trust their nimble, inquisitive fingers.

The two whores, Bertie and Lavonia were her family. She didn’t remember ever having anyone else. He had bought the three of them at a premium price off various flesh peddlers when they were just coming into womanhood. Since they’d been ruined by the slavers and were no longer fit for marriage, they lived in the haven Bertie provided. As whores possessing broad ranging reputations for sensual delight, they had nowhere else to go.

After she devoured her portion of the tart, Tulip asked, Any excitement in the taproom tonight?

Sally shook her head. No. It’s a quiet night. There’s no stray sorceresses, no errant knights, no lovesick Asarlaís warrior defending his beloved.

Ah, but there’s a lovesick bear growling in the taproom, isn’t he? asked Samfire. Conall MacKenzie and his cousins are in town for the night.

Sally put her hands upon her hips. If you knew they were there, why did you ask me?

Tulip shrugged. We’re just curious to see if you would admit it. His absence on your tongue speaks volumes. You love him, don’t you?

Sally threw her hands up in the air and rolled her eyes. Love! There is no such thing for a tavern whore. There are only clients to befuddle and ale and food to serve.

Tulip flitted up to eye level. Aye. For now. The Bear won’t wait much longer. His passion for you grows with each visit. He’s likely to do something drastic to claim you this time.

He knows the marriage rules. He won’t make a fuss or the bride hunts will cease.

Tulip waved a slender arm at Merchant Gort. Wouldn’t you rather serve just one man than have to deal with all these sots?

Sally snorted. As Conall’s mistress? Not likely. Why, as virile as he is, he’d have me with child by the month’s end. Then where would I be? No. I’ll not be a man’s mistress. Besides, we don’t even know each other.

She kept her problem of being intimate with men to herself. She couldn’t stand their touch on her. Even thinking about a man caressing her bare flesh triggered her gag reflex and generated a shudder of revulsion. So long as she was in control of the situation, she could tolerate their hands on her clothing until she got them to her room. Then she quickly put them to sleep to dream of sensual delights.

Aster released a tinkling laugh. There’s always time to talk while recovering between bouts of lovemaking.

Sally tightened her lips into a firm line. Her distaste of being touched was so strong, only in her imagination could she go to Conall’s bed. The experiences in her past had scared her so badly that she’d be no fit wife for any man, even if it was the one she knew Danu had made for her.

Bye the bye, Sally. We won’t be visiting for the next few days.

Sally started. Tulip was her best friend, her confidant and the only one she could tell her hopes to and not be rebuked. Keeping the panic in her voice down, she asked, Oh? Where are you going?

’Tis our turn to guard the Crystal Sorceress and her family. We’ll be back in a week. See if you can get Cook to save the dried apples for our return.

In a bright flash, they were gone, leaving a cloud of pollen to sift slowly to the floor.

Merchant Gort’s moans diverted her attention away from Tulip’s