Amanda May - Catriona's Surrender.pdf - Exotika Ellora's Cave - link999

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Catriona’s Surrender

ISBN 9781419918438

Edited by Briana St. James.

Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication October 2008

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in

part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing,

Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

C ATRIONA ’ S S URRENDER

Amanda May

Chapter One

Catriona knew she was not the most pious of Isolyte’s instruments. She was more

like a tender new plant, pale and apt to be crushed underfoot by her lovers. It took

coaxing for her to flower. Only careful touching—though it need not always be gentle—

made her petals unfurl. Some did it well. Others did not. Yet, as a devout priestess of

Isolyte, Catriona was tasked to surrender herself to all without question or protest.

No, she was not the most pious of instruments.

She curled her hands around the balustrade and looked down over the arriving

guests, her thoughts catching on that first time she’d shed her blood in ritual ceremony.

Her memories so often wandered there, every time she saw the man who’d deflowered

her, and that was nearly every day.

Stephen stood by the opal-encrusted entryway to the room of the moon and stars.

He wore a black doublet, which matched his hair, and a dark blue sash, which matched

his eyes. Stephen was but five years her senior, but had a wealth of experience she had

not. Back then, that was.

He was the one who’d taught her to love the touch of rope against her skin. He was

the one who’d taught her to take pleasure from pain.

Catriona was nineteen years old when she lost her maidenhood, a year older than

most Priestesses of Isolyte, although she’d been no stranger to the secrets of physical

love. Her academic training had begun at the age of seventeen, the year her foster

parents had suffered one too many winters filled with moldy potatoes and boiled river

water and could not afford to keep all their hungry mouths for another season.

She could still remember how cold it had been that day, how the wind had ripped

back her threadbare hood as she’d knelt before the Head Matron of Isolyte in the House

Catriona’s Surrender

of Midnight. She’d been so scrawny, her red hair cropped unfavorably close to her head

and her flesh paler than marble.

The Midnight Temple had almost not wanted her. She’d been old, much older than

they normally dedicated priests and priestesses into the service of Isolyte. She had

curled her hands into fists and bowed her head, praying, praying to her Mandan gods

that she would be found unsuited. If they accepted her, she’d planned to run as far as

she could.

Who was this Isolyte that She required Catriona’s body, her obedience, her

submission? Catriona hadn’t been born in the Great Isles under this Goddess’ strange

laws. She had been born in the south, in an entirely different country.

The Head Matron had laid a wrinkled hand on her head. It had felt warm and

oddly comforting. “Come into the light of Isolyte, my child. Give your body to Her

service in sacrifice,” she had intoned. Bitter tears had run down Catriona’s cheeks when

she raised Catriona’s head and the Head Matron had wiped them away.

Catriona had stayed long enough to be bathed, fed and clothed, though it made her

feel guilty. She could’ve walked right out the front door back then, but she’d been too

meek for that. Instead, in the dead of that first night, she’d opened a window and been

halfway out when Stephen had put a hand on her shoulder. “It is not so bad as all that,

girl,” he’d said. “If you leave you’ll be whoring on the street within a fortnight. Here

your work is sacred. Here your body is a holy instrument.”

He’d been right. She was no highborn young lady. She had no way to make her

way in life other than on her back. Catriona had stayed. She had learned to love the

Goddess Isolyte, though she’d never quite felt the devout submission in her heart that

the other priests and priestesses seemed to feel. Her Mandan blood prevented this,

perhaps. Perhaps it was the fact that here in the Great Isles the sexual act was

something ennobling and uplifting, especially when done in the temples. In the place of

Catriona’s birth, it was a thing done behind closed doors, quickly, and only for getting a

child on a woman. To take pleasure from sex was to sin, especially for women.

Amanda May - Catriona's Surrender.pdf

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