Ramsay liked nothing more than to hear his wife moan as he took her. He enjoyed it even more when he finished inside of her and then panted for breath. There was something about her groans which Ramsay loved to hear. But he had never brought her to the brink of pleasure. He used her for his own means and that was as far at their relationship went.
He rolled off of her once he had finished for the third time that night. Running his hand over his forehead, he took a deep breath whilst she remained still on her back, her hands flat on the mattress underneath her.
"I have to say, Eleanor," he spoke, "you have been more than accommodating tonight. Perhaps I should thank Robb Stark for trying to steal you back."
Isabelle kept silent as she listened to him and he slipped from the bed, silently pulling his breeches back onto his legs. Isabelle stared at the ceiling above her, the pain in between her legs evident even without moving. It took her a few moments to gather the courage to reach for her nightgown to slip it over her head, pulling it over her body to cover herself up.
"I'm always hungry after a good fuck," Ramsay suddenly declared, his shirt covering his chest. "Do you want anything from the kitchen?"
"It is the middle of the night," Isabelle spoke. "There will be no servants down there to cook you anything."
Isabelle laced her nightgown over her chest and pulled her hair over one of her shoulders, her fingers tangling through it and pulling the knots from it. Ramsay nodded at her comment before offering her his hand.
"You were a serving wench, were you not?" he checked with her and she took a few moments to understand that he wanted her to make him something to eat. Inwardly grumbling, Isabelle took his hand, allowing him to haul her to her feet. She groaned in visible pain and Ramsay looked down at her.
"What is it?" he asked; his tone completely uncaring.
"Nothing," Isabelle responded.
She kept her hand inside of Ramsay's hand as he led her through the darkened corridors. She could feel the cold in the air through her white nightgown. She kept on moving, her legs aching and Ramsay kept on looking at her. He could see that she was in pain, but he failed to care about her. She had done her job and that was all he had asked from her. Anything else was not his issue.
"Pork sausage," Ramsay spoke once they entered the kitchen.
The Dreadfort at night was more eerie in comparison to in the light and Isabelle didn't think that was possible. She lit some more candles in the kitchen whilst Ramsay sat down in his seat, his hands running through his hair. He watched Isabelle move around the kitchen, searching for what he had demanded from her.
"A raven came from House Barton today," Ramsay suddenly spoke, "I would have told you earlier, but I did not think it important. Your parents never really did care for you, did they?"
"You would know about that," Isabelle replied in a mumble, hoping that he didn't hear her. Unfortunately Ramsay had good enough hearing to pick up on her comment.
"I am the heir to the Dreadfort and your holdfast," Ramsay reminded her and Isabelle shook her head. Ramsay deserved nothing from her parents. He deserved nothing from anyone and the fact that he was to inherit her home sickened her. "My father recognises that."
"Not enough to make you his true son," Isabelle spoke. "You are a Snow and not a Bolton, Ramsay...and to begin with I thought that was why you treated me like you did...and I thought...I don't know...I tried to love you, Ramsay. I tried so hard to make you see that there was someone who did love you...I was willing, but you never were."
Ramsay listened to her as she turned to look at him. He could see the naivety in her stare. He could see that she was speaking the truth to him. She did not lie, nor did she not deny that she had tried to love him. She had thought it possible the first night she met him before she heard the tales and saw him with the girl he had flayed.
He had never meant for her to see that, but he suspected that it was for the best. He didn't have to hide then.
"It doesn't matter," Isabelle said, feeling foolish for thinking that she could change him years ago. She thought that he had just been deprived of love, but now she knew better. "None of it matters anymore."
Gulping, Ramsay took in her words and looked down to the table. He was so shocked that he didn't bother to yell at her or slap her to the floor and tell her to watch her tongue. No, Ramsay had no energy for that. He knew who he was and he knew what he did. He did not need his wife to think that she could change him.
"I have no intention to hurt you," Ramsay suddenly informed her and she finally began to cook the sausage he had demanded. "I never did have the intention to. Perhaps you will learn to love me like you should again."
Isabelle kept mute, her back to Ramsay and she closed her eyes. She knew full well that she would not love Ramsay like she had wished she could years ago. He didn't deserve her love, nor did she want to give it away.
...
It was three days later when Robb Stark received word from Isabelle. The sight of her scrawl filled him with hope, but he then read the words on the parchment and felt it evaporate from within him. He remained seated on the log, the battle having finished and Jaime Lannister now found himself sat in a pen with guards watching his every move.
Dirt still covered Robb's cheeks and the back of his hands were covered in blood. But he didn't bother to go and wash once he had received the letter from his squire.
"What is it?" his mother asked, settling to sit down next to her son as men wandered around them, each one muttering about the battle and the capture of the Kingslayer. Roose Bolton had watched the young wolf with narrowed eyes, seeing how well he fought.
There could be no denying that he had been trained. He was better than Ramsay. His own bastard preferred to slice at anything which stood in his way. Robb had skill which only a master at arms could have taught him. Roose dreaded to think what would happen if the two men ever came in the way of each other.
"Isabelle," he whispered her name. "She says that the men I sent were killed and flayed alive...she says not to send anyone else in an attempt to rescue her. Ramsay tortured the men until they told him who they were. She has bought Ramsay's silence by swearing never to leave him...apparently she is happy with him..."
Catelyn scoffed and Robb handed her the letter to let her look at it. Catelyn cast her eyes over it before sighing and looking at Robb with annoyance in her veins. She could almost scold him for how stupid he had been to send men after her, but she didn't bother with that. He was suffering enough already without her yelling at him.
"If Lord Bolton finds out then he will remove his men and your support would be weakened," Catelyn merely warned her son. "You need to think, Robb."
"All I have done is think," Robb complained to his mother. "Is there anything else to do? Is there any more bad news to come?"
"Not so long as we keep fighting," Catelyn promised her son and Robb nodded, standing up and screwing the parchment in his hand into a small ball. She watched him go, not knowing that more bad news was on its way to her.
...
It was the following day when Isabelle heard the news. She had wandered into the kitchens to ask after Merika, only to be looked at as though she was a piece of dirt. Her mother was stood over the stove, her tears rolling down her cheeks. She had no energy to yell at Isabelle, but she could sense what had happened. Merika had died from an infection to her wounds.
Isabelle had left the women to their business before she leant against the wall in the courtyard of the Dreadfort. People passed her, curtseying quickly as they went. Isabelle ignored them, her own tears falling down her face before she pressed a hand to her mouth and stifled a sound she had never heard inside of her before.
She wanted to run. She wanted nothing more than to go down to the dungeon and sneak out of the Dreadfort. She knew that there was a way. It was the way Ramsay took his prey if they had not served him well enough. But would Lord Bolton's men flee from Robb's army if she escaped again? She would not leave any evidence that she would go to Robb Stark.
But they would think that.
And Ramsay would tell his father that Robb had sent men after him and that would surely be enough to remove the support.
For the second time in her life Isabelle felt alone and hopeless.
There was no way out and she could almost see that the rest of her life was to be spent carrying Ramsay's children. Children she didn't want. Perhaps it would have been easier for her to have drained all of the poison that day.
"M'lady!"
Isabelle looked up from her thoughts, the sight of a young woman approaching her enough to make her wipe the tears which had formed in her eyes. The girl was a pretty thing, big doe eyes and long brunette hair which hung in curls down her back. Her cheeks were prominent and her eyes were a dark blue colour like the sea.
"Yes?" Isabelle wondered, her voice unnecessarily curt.
"M'lady...I know that I should not come to you of such matters...and I know...I am risking a lot...everything..."
"What is it?" Sarah wondered and the girl looked as though she was about to burst into tears.
Isabelle moved with haste, looking around to make sure her husband was not anywhere to be seen. She took the girl by the arm, linking it with hers and keeping her eyes on the ground. The girl clutched Isabelle's arm as though she were the only thing that mattered.
"Try not to cry," Isabelle spoke lowly. "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong."
"I know," the girl spoke. "I am just so scared...so scared of everything..."
"Why?" Isabelle wondered back.
"They say that you lived in Winterfell as a maid," the girl whispered. "You fell in love with the eldest Stark boy and he would have married you one day if this war had never begun. People say that you are a honest lady and kind...that Lord Sno-"
"-Bolton," Isabelle interrupted, fearing that someone could be listening into their conversation and she knew how Ramsay resented being referred to as a Snow. "He is Lord Ramsay Bolton."
"Apologies," the girl responded, "but he does not treat you like his lady. I have heard what he does to other women...and...I saw him this morning...he went past my mother's house and he saw me...he told me that he would come back..."
Sighing, Isabelle knew what her husband intended to do. She knew then and there that she would be his next victim. Shaking her head, Isabelle stood still and looked to the girl. She could not be much younger than herself.
"I'm a virgin," the girl spoke. "I don't want him...not...in the woods..."
"I know," Isabelle promised her, moving her hand to hold her shoulder.
"I don't know why I came, m'lady. I was worried."
"I cannot save you, but I can try," Isabelle whispered softly. "Become my handmaiden and I will do my best to protect you from him. You should know by the stories that I cannot protect myself from him, never mind anyone else."
"I know," the girl replied.
"Then it is final. Come with me and I shall find you a gown to wear," Isabelle took the girl's hand and led her inside again, looking over her shoulder to make sure that Ramsay was not lurking behind her or anywhere else.
...
"There is a girl, my Lord."
Tyrion Lannister was well aware of the female gender. He had seen many girls before in his time, but more women. He was sat down on his chair as he listened to Varys. The eunuch had just entered the Hand of the King's chamber and taken a seat at the small table just across from the door. Tyrion was sat reading through a book instead of attending his nephew's name day celebrations.
He had just returned to the Capital after the news of Ned Stark's beheading. Everything was in complete disarray.
"And who is this girl?"
Varys folded his hands together on the table and leant forwards, looking at Tyrion with a narrowed stare.
"A girl who has stolen the heart of the young Wolf King."
"The young wolf is to marry a Frey girl," Tyrion reminded him. "Who he loves is irrelevant. Besides, I met this girl in Winterfell when she was with her wolf. She was a serving wench."
"The girl posed well I suspect," Varys responded, his lips in a straight line. "The Lady Eleanor of House Barton is married to the bastard of the girl faked her own death to escape him, but she has been recaptured. The North is doing well to avoid disarray. Robb Stark sent men to return this girl to Winterfell. He failed, of course. How Lord Bolton does not know of his treachery is something which troubles me, but he still supports the North and their claim."
"Of course you would know something which Lord Bolton does not know," Tyrion mumbled and looked up from his book. "But how is this relevant to anything?"
"You could broker an alliance," Varys suggested. "Returning the girl to Lord Robb would appease him from this conquest he is currently on. You could buy Lord Bolton's allegiance with a simple holdfast...he does not see eye to eye with his son. I do not doubt he would agree if the price was right."
"And Robb Stark's sisters?" Tyrion wondered back. "He will not give up this vendetta nor will my father. Too much has happened and one girl cannot solve this. Regardless, she is married and he is betrothed. Nothing can be done...although if the rumours of the Bolton bastard are true then I pity the girl."
"Robb Stark has your brother," Varys reminded him. "You have his sisters and could potentially have this girl for him. There is potential for peace, even after all of this."
Tyrion scoffed and arched a brow. "And why do you care, Varys?"
The eunuch looked away for a second, his face neutral as he did so. "I care about the realm as much as you do. I also know that this war will end badly for thousands of people. I simply wonder why people cannot sue for peace instead of have their discussions with blades."
...
Isabelle sat at her dressing table as her new handmaiden brushed her hair for her. The girl had given her name as Talia and she was proving to be a sweet creature. She had just celebrated her ten and sixth name day before Ramsay saw her. Isabelle had told her not to speak once Ramsay noticed her. She would do her best to protect the girl.
It wasn't until later when Ramsay stormed into their chamber, the door slamming on the wall behind it before he slammed it shut again. Isabelle looked at him in the mirror's reflection, Talia's hands working slowly through her hair once she heard him.
"Is something matter, husband?" Isabelle dared to ask from him and Ramsay looked to his blonde wife, his jaw firmly set as he struggled to believe what had happened. The girl had gotten away from him. She had escaped into the forest and the hounds could not find her.
That had never happened to him before, nor did he intend to discuss it with his wife. It was only when he noted the girl brushing her hair did his face scrunch up in confusion.
"Nothing, sweet wife," Ramsay responded, slowly moving to the dressing table and standing behind the maid, looking at her in the mirror. "And when did you acquire a new handmaiden?"
"Oh," Isabelle said, her tone nonchalant as Ramsay placed his large hand on the girl's shoulder, watching as she gulped and continued to brush his wife's hair. "I bumped into her this morning and she said that she was looking for work. The other handmaidens look at me as though I am nothing more than a speck of dirt. As the future Lady to the Dreadfort I wanted someone who would do as they were told without any judgment."
Ramsay's grin grew as he moved his hand down the girl's shoulder, trailing it down her back until he grabbed hold of her backside. The girl winced and Isabelle felt the motion as she pulled the brush through her hair too quickly.
"I hope you don't mind," Isabelle said. "I didn't wish to bother you with something so trivial."
"No," Ramsay spoke, "although I think that she came to you for another reason?"
"Do you?"
"I saw her this morning...pretty little thing...I would have loved to chase her through the forest...pleasured her...but now I find her here and with you. How convenient."
"I did not know," Isabelle responded and stood up, taking the brush from Talia and resting it on the dressing table. She looked to Ramsay as he continued to grope the girl and then she sighed, looking at him with a stern glare. "She is a nice girl, Ramsay. Can you not let me have one handmaiden in this place?"
"You had handmaidens."
"And you have other women who you can chase through the woods," Isabelle retorted. "I want this one thing. Would you deny it of me?"
Ramsay looked at her, noting how she refused to back off on the matter. "You are in no position to be making demands from me," he informed his wife and she nodded in agreement with that.
"I know," she spoke. "Please, Ramsay, just let me keep her with me. I ask you this one thing and one thing only. Do you know how miserable I am without any company?"
Ramsay considered her plea for a second, wondering just how much she was willing to be for this girl's life. Perhaps it would not be too bad to spare one life. Ramsay smacked the girl on the bottom and she jumped before he moved around the room, pulling his shirt from his body along with his jacket.
"Ready my wife for bed," Ramsay demanded the girl.
Isabelle nodded and the girl fumbled with the laces on Isabelle's gown, pulling the garment from her body to reveal her in her undergarments.
"You may go," Isabelle said and Ramsay shook his head.
"She goes when I say," Ramsay spoke. "And she has not readied you for bed."
"I am perfectly capable of removing my own clothes," Isabelle complained to her husband and Ramsay went to lay on the bed, knowing that his wife would obey him or suffer the consequences for not doing so.
"Do it," he said each word slowly and deliberately.
Talia looked at Isabelle with worry and Isabelle nodded, allowing the girl to remove her underclothes from her. Ramsay watched on as his wife was revealed naked in front of the other girl. He took another moment to adjust his head on the pillow before speaking.
"What do you think, girl?" Ramsay wondered. "Does my wife look ready for me to take her?"
Nodding again, Isabelle urged the girl to speak.
"Yes, m'lord."
"Come along then, Eleanor. You have your little pet...you saved her from this fate..."
Isabelle moved over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, only for Ramsay to sit up, his hands moving under her arms to cup her breasts. Talia stood awkwardly as Ramsay groped at his wife, his hands snaking in between her legs and Isabelle had no other option but to allow him to pull her thighs apart and continue his intrusion.
"What do you think?" Ramsay asked Talia as he moved his finger inside of Isabelle and she forced a moan from her throat to please him. "She's very wanton...why don't you take a seat and then you can see how grateful you should be to her?"
Talia took a seat on the bench at the dressing table as Ramsay whispered in his wife's ear.
"You wanted her?" he checked. "You can have her punishment..."
He withdrew from her and leant back on the bed.
"Get on your hands and knees," he demanded and Isabelle felt fear rise up inside of her.
She didn't look at Talia as she yelled out in pain for the entire night whilst the girl remained silent on the bench, remembering never to forget what Isabelle had done for her this night.
...
A/N: Thank you to Heartless-Princess33, jean d'arc, 23guuns and Minii for reviewing the previous chapter and I do hope you will all let me know what you think! Thanks to anyone following too! Please review!