by Van ©2022
		Chapter 1

The Cottage of Dr. Lori Ryder
Professor of Medieval History @ Lewis & Clark University

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Dr. Lori Ryder

Lori's cottage was not quite fifteen miles from campus, situated on the edge of the very minor suburb of Klenaquah, where Union Creek empties into Fairwood Lake.  It was isolated and surrounded by mature cedars.  Her nearest neighbors were all some distance away, and she liked it that way.  Lori was neither a recluse nor an unfriendly person—far from it—but "The Cottage" was her sanctuary from the Trials & Toil of Academia.  Also the cottage was reasonably far from the bustling campus while being close enough to allow a tolerable daily commute.

The structure itself was an Arts & Crafts style bungalow with five bedrooms.  Perhaps it was a little too spacious to warrant classification as a "cottage," but Lori had always wanted to live in a cozy cottage, so cottage it was.  Only two of the bedrooms were currently being used as such.  One was the master bedroom, of course, and the other was maintained for guests.  The other three had all been converted into a home office and extensions of the cottage library.

By their numbers, it might be said books lived at the cottage, and as long as Lori was reasonably diligent about the dusting they were nice enough to tolerate her presence.  That was why she'd bought such an oversized "cottage" in the first place, to house all her books.  Balfour and Miss Havisham, the resident felines, demonstrated tolerance, like the books, only their primary interest was a never-ending supply of Hill's Science Diet, rather than dusting.

The cottage was surrounded by charming flower gardens, all of which Lori carefully cultivated.  They had a definite Secret Garden vibe.  Half the species were native to the area, while the others were favorites from "Old Blighty," which in Lori's case was Reading, England.  There were delphiniums, rambling roses, peonys, hollyhocks, lavender, foxgloves, etc., etc.  Okay, these particular foxgloves were natives, but they were more-or-less identical to the foxgloves Little Lori remembered from her childhood.  There were also large quantities of native "weeds," but all were present to support the local bee and butterfly populations.

At the moment, Lori was in her back garden, wearing sneakers, jeans, a powder-blue cotton-synthetic blouse with long sleeves, gardening gloves, and a woven sun hat with a broad brim.  It was a nearly cloudless early Saturday morning, and while the air was still reasonably cool, Lori's fair skin always demanded protection from the direct sun.  For Dr. Ryder, the line between a healthy glow that might be considered a tan and an angry sunburn was poorly defined.  Her straight blond hair hung in a classic pageboy, framing her perpetually smiling face.  Currently, she was on her knees and using clippers and a weeding tool to deal with clumps of long, tasseled grass that were trying to infiltrate an iris bed without authority.  The irises were past season and had already been trimmed down and mulched to await the next spring, but the lawn still needed to be kept at bay.  She paid a neighbor kid to mow the lawns, front and back, but maintaining the verge was her job, at least with respect to the flowerbeds.  Also, she very much enjoyed the work.

Peyton Frazier

Suddenly, the cottage's back door opened and a smiling redhead strode into Lori's startled view.  The newcomer was in her forties, like Lori, and kept herself in fit and trim condition, also like Lori.  She was wearing an expensive and very attractive sundress, and was showing a lot of smooth, firm, freckled skin, as well as suede sandals (unlike Lori).  She had a friendly smile, but it was not returned.  Lori's notoriously quirky smile was noticeably absent.

Lori quickly climbed to her sneaker-clad feet and turned to face the approaching redhead, the weeding tool still in her gloved right hand.  This was for several reasons: (1) she was not expecting guests; (2) she was sure she'd locked her front door; (3) she knew the identity of the smiling redhead; and (4) the intruder was most emphatically not welcome in her home, her office on the Lewis & Clark campus, or anywhere else Lori had a say in the matter.

The redhead was Peyton Frazier, an extremely wealthy and famous/notorious philanthropist and collector of medieval antiquities, including artifacts, books, and documents.  She was something of a pariah in respectable academic circles, thanks to the questionable provenance of many items in her large private collection.  While extensive and remarkable, most of the "Frazier Collection" was rumored to have been acquired by questionable means.  However, despite the noise and fury that followed in Peyton's wake, nothing it had ever been proved she had done had been enough to land her in prison.  Last year, Peyton had approached Lori after a guest lecture while she was visiting Cambridge and offered to hire her, claiming she had recently "discovered" several documents of "great historical significance" that simply demanded Lori's expert attention.  Lori had refused, of course, and in no uncertain terms.

"Dr. Lori Enid Ryder, Professor of European History at Lewis & Clark University," Peyton said with a wide grin and a graceful bow, "world renowned expert in the Mercian and West Saxon dialects of Old English.  What a quaint and lovely little hovel you have."

Peyton's smooth, firm skin was dappled with freckles, and her body slender and athletic, but Lori was unimpressed.  "What do you want, Ms. Frazier?" she huffed.  "Whatever it is, the answer is still no, but you might as well tell me before I summon the police."

Peyton laughed and shook her head, causing her long, copper-red curls to sway.  "Oh, Professor," she chuckled, "are you always this rude to your guests?"

"You are not my guest," Lori said evenly.

"Your visitor, then," Peyton purred.  "I was hoping you would be more reasonable this time."

"As I told you in Cambridge," Lori stated, "I have no interest whatsoever in materials illegally looted from formally un-excavated archeological sites or stolen from poorly curated and protected private archives.  Feel free to donate anything you wish to Lewis & Clark or any other reputable institution, if you are candid about the material's provenience, but I will have nothing to do with helping you tidy up your so-called collection.  Now, either see yourself out, via the side yard, or I will summon the police."

Lori dropped the weeding fork, removed her gloves, dropped them as well, reached into her hip pocket for her iPhone—"MRRRF!"—and was grabbed from behind!  A strong hand clutching a plastic breathing mask with some sort of perforated mouth-plug was clamped over her mouth and nose and inside her gaping mouth!  There was an annoying hissing sound, and unpleasant fumes—Some sort of halogen compound?—filled her nostrils and were making her head spin.  Lori struggled and fought, but her unseen attacker had her arms pinned by the elbows behind her back and she was strong!  Lori thought her attacker was female, anyway.  What felt like a pair of breasts were pressed against her back.

"One way or another," Peyton purred, "you will help me."

"Mrrrmpfh!"  Lori's squirming efforts to break free were growing weaker, and her field of vision was narrowing, as if she was being dragged backwards into a dark tunnel.  The iPhone dropped out of her hand.  Then, her blue eyes rolled up in her head... and she went limp in her captor's arms as she lost consciousness.

Heidi Haas

Saturday was Heidi's special day, reserved for working out, and that meant a nice long run in the morning (weather and/or season permitting, and a nice long swim in the campus indoor pool if not)—followed by a light and healthy lunch—followed by a leisurely workout in the Student Fitness Center with free weights, punching and kicking the bag, yoga, and/or Mixed Martial Arts sparring with one of her fellow sweat enthusiasts—followed by an equally leisurely bask in the steam room.  And if she was a good girl and pushed herself, she gave herself permission to cook something special from her ever-growing list of "exotic kitchenette recipes" when she got home to her graduate student hovel.  Heidi's box mac-and-cheese with diced spam was widely acknowledged as "killer."

Granted, Heidi worked out during the week, but not nearly as hard or as long, and only as her class and workload allowed.  Doc Ryder was a brilliant, friendly, and demanding person, and she was also Heidi's Major Professor and Heidi was Doc's Teaching Assistant.  When Heidi wasn't grading exams and papers, she was fetching priceless books and manuscripts from the restricted section of the F.E. Campbell Library, providing the Professor with casual reading material.  Normal everyday academic peasants (like graduate students) weren't allowed to waltz out the library with irreplaceable documents.  No, scholastic peons (like Heidi) had to conduct their research in one of the library's secure reading rooms or study carrels.  Only members of the Academic Peerage, meaning the all-powerful Faculty (like Doc Ryder), were granted the august privilege of studying semi-rare and/or semi-valuable manuscripts in the cozy comfort of their very own offices.

And speaking of leisure... what's that?  Heidi had her own research to conduct.  That and squeeze in a few paltry, inadequate hours of sleep.

Anyway, Saturdays were special... or they were supposed to be.

Heidi was swinging back through campus, nearing the end of her morning run.  She passed Marburger Hall (History)... Stanton Hall (Philosophy)... Bishop Hall (Mathematics and Physics)... and Koontz Hall (Computer Science), when suddenly her iPhone began vibrating and playing the infamous "graduation march" from Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1, aka "Land of Hope and Glory," aka Doc Ryder's ringtone.  She accepted the call (of course).

"What's up, Doc?"  (It was Heidi's standard greeting for her major professor), but instead of hearing Doc's standard response—("Hidee-ho, Heidi Haas!")—she heard a click.  Doc had hung up on her!  How rude!  Heidi stared at the phone in annoyance.  Maybe Doc butt-dialed me by mistake, she thought.  That would mean Doc was wearing jeans, which means she has to be gardening.  Any other time Doc wouldn't be caught dead in jeans.  Heidi was about to call her back when... Gleep!  ...she received a text message.  It was also from Doc.

"Check your email and bring all to my place asap very important!" Heidi read aloud.  She did indeed check her e-mail, and found a list of more than a dozen documents, complete with F.E. Campbell Library catalog numbers, and all were checkoutable (which wasn't a word).  Anyway, the first five digits of the numbers told her the documents were to be found in the Raffish Archives and were "restricted," but her student ID was electronically tagged as having Doc Ryder's permission to abscond with such documents as if she was faculty and not a lowly fetch-and-carry grad student.

Heidi perused the list.  "Dammit!" she muttered under her breath.  It would take her at least three hours to gather all the listed documents, and then she'd have to drive them out to Doc's cottage in "Flora," her ancient, usually-reliable, buttercup-yellow VW bug.  "Ok will do," she texted back, "but u owe me dinner and it better be good."  Doc Ryder was a good-natured tyrant, as well as a demanding but devoted mentor, and she wasn't usually this dictatorial, abrupt, or impolite.  Heidi loved her to death, and whatever was going on almost certainly was "very important," which meant it would also be very interesting, but that didn't mean Heidi had to like it.  No afternoon workout!  Wah!

Heidi jogged back to her campus housing studio apartment (one of the few perks of being a grad student), pulled on the spandex jacket that went with her running outfit, and drove Flora to the library.  She could have taken the time to change out of her running shoes, anklets, knee-length/capri-style exercise tights, and sports-bra, but with the addition of the jacket she met the library's liberal and poorly policed dress code, so screw it.  Doc would scold her for dressing casually and not in the manner expected of a serious scholar—in her prim, disapproving, and highly entertaining English manner—but Heidi would counter that it was all Doc's fault for ordering her to hurry and not even saying "please."  Doc would have no choice but to acknowledge that the not-saying-please part was a bona fide faux pas and it would make her blush, and Heidi loved it when she found a way to make Doc blush.  It was a hoot and a half.

Heidi checked out the documents with only minor difficulty.  The senior librarian on duty gave her grief, saying some of the requested materials were very valuable and not to be treated in such a cavalier manner, but Heidi showed her the text from Doc and that settled the matter.  However, the librarian muttered under her breath about "irresponsible faculty members" the entire time she crisscrossed the stacks gathering the documents.  Heidi offered to help, but the librarian thanked her in a decidedly cool manner and explained that only professional library staff with special training were permitted beyond the security barriers of the Raffish Archives.  Heidi nodded in polite understanding.  Whatever.  In any case, historians make a point of never pissing off librarians.  The results were never good.

Finally, and surprisingly close to Heidi's three hour estimate, Doc's documents were all pulled from the stacks, properly checked out in Doc's name with Heidi's signature so whatever happened to them would ultimately be her fault (as the librarian coldly explained).  All were sealed in plastic, water-proof envelopes, a prudent precaution given the university's rain-prone geography, and resting in a milky-white plastic box similar to a post office sorting carton, but with "F.E. Campbell Library" and "Lewis & Clark University" neatly stamped on the outside, instead of "U.S. Postal Service," and were now on their way to Doc's cottage.

Heidi pulled onto the cottage's winding driveway and parked Flora in her usual place, a gravel-covered niche tucked between two giant rhododendrons and reserved for visiting grad students and other lowlifes.  She carried the carton of historically significant documents that only a handful of scholars might feel motivated to try and read towards the cottage, up the front steps, and through the front door.  Heidi enjoyed no-knock privileges at the cottage.

"What's up Doc!" Heidi shouted as she carried the carton through the living room (which Doc called her "Receiving Room") and down the central hallway towards Doc's home library and office.  On the way, she passed a sitting room Doc had converted to one of the annexes of her home library—and froze in wide-eyed shock!

Heidi had been expecting Doc to shout her usual "Hidee-ho, Heidi Haas!" by way of greetings and to let her know where she was, but now it was clear why that hadn't happened.

Dr. Lori Enid Ryder, Professor (with tenure) of Medieval European History at Lewis & Clark University, was sitting in one of her well-padded and comfortable arm chairs, and several yards of white nylon rope were making sure she stayed there!  Her upper arms and body were lashed together and to the chair's back, and her arms bound to the armrests, from wrists to elbows.  She didn't appear to be happy about her situation, but a rather thick folded strip of white cloth tightly cleaved her open mouth and was tied at the nape of her neck, under her signature blond pageboy.  It was keeping her from explaining.

Also, Heidi knew Doc liked to putter around in her garden for a few hours most weekends, and she was dressed for the occasion... almost.  She was wearing a light blue, long sleeve shirt, and by the size and shape of the tag on the button-down flap of the left breast pocket, it was probably one of those Columbia fishing shirts designed and marketed for lightness of weight, moisture wicking properties to combat "glowing", and UV light protection to minimize sunburn; however, the shirt was completely unbuttoned and hanging open, exposing Doc's bra, panties, and a lot of smooth, semi-tan, fair skin!  Yes, panties!  Professorial panties!  The footwear, socks, and jeans or khaki pants that should have completed Doc's gardening costume were completely missing!

But that wasn't all!  A small reading table had been cleared of its usual clutter, positioned close to Doc's chair, her bare legs were resting on its surface, and more of the same white rope that was binding her to the chair was lashing her legs together at the ankles and knees and to the table!  And whoever had done the deed knew their stuff.  The ropes were all neat and strategically cinched.  Doc could squirm and wiggle as much as she wanted, but she wasn't going to get out of that chair, lift her arms off the armrests, or her legs off the table, not anytime soon, anyway.  And as a final touch to Doc's bondage, her big toes were tied together with what looked like a sneaker lace and tied back to her ankle-ropes, with the lace taut enough to severely restrict Doc's foot movements.

Standing at Doc's semi-naked, bound, gagged, and wide-eyed side was a smiling redhead in a pretty sundress.  She was about the professor's age, her right hand was resting on the chair's back, near Doc's wide-eyed and gagged head, and she was twirling a large white quill in her left hand.

All of that Heidi processed in a flash.  Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she decided the feather the redhead was twiddling with was probably from a domestic goose, but at the moment that was relatively unimportant.  Heidi's fitness regime had included Mixed Martial Arts classes since she was in high school, so if she had anything to say about it, the redhead (the obvious perpetrator of Doc's naked captivity) was about to get her clock cleaned, courtesy of one Heidi Hass!  Without saying a word, Heidi's shocked expression became an angry frown, she set the library carton and its intellectually precious cargo on the floor, off to the side, and out of the way.  She then formed her hands into proper fists (thumbs excluded), dropped into fighting stance, and locked eyes with the redhead.

It was time for a few words, to be immediately followed by action!

"Who the hell are you, and what the hell—Hey-urmpfh!"  Someone had grabbed Heidi from behind and a hissing plastic mask with a rubber plug emitting some sort of unpleasantly tangy gas was tightly clamped over her mouth and nose and in her mouth!  Worse, Heidi's reflexive and usually effective roll and break maneuver had been countered with stunning ease.  Obviously, her attacker was even better trained in the martial arts!  Heidi's next move was to try and entangle the attacker's feet and flip her on her side to break the hold, but that didn't work either and the horrible mask remained in place.  That left Heidi with only one logical option: fake passing out, wait for her attacker to lower her guard, then turn the tables!  Heidi's big brown eyes rolled up in her head, her muscles went perfectly limp, and the attacker in question eased her apparently unconscious form to the carpet, still holding the mask over her lower face.  It was an Oscar-worthy performance, but unfortunately, the anesthetic gas being delivered by the mask was real, and so was Heidi's unconsciousness.

Heidi woke to find herself in an unusual position, so unusual that it required a detailed analysis.

She was lying on her stomach on the thick carpet of the same cottage library annex/sitting room where she'd discovered that Doc had been kidnapped by some rando smiling redhead—she'd had been about to give the redhead the beat down she so obviously deserved—and then was kidnapped herself!

Someone had removed Heidi's jacket, as well as her running shoes and anklets.  That reduced her ensemble to her calf-length, capri-style running tights and sports bra.  Her hands were tied together behind her back with her wrists crossed, her ankles were also crossed and bound, and her wrists and ankles more-or-less lashed together into one immobilized and semi-flexible unit.  It was a hogtie, and a stringent, severe hogtie at that!  Seriously, the connecting rope was so short it might very well be more lashing.

And from what she could see and feel, her bonds were rope, the same kind of white nylon rope the redhead and/or her unseen accomplice with the chloroform rag had used to tie up Doc Ryder.  And more of the rope lashed each of Heidi's lower legs to their respective thigh and pinned her upper-arms to her torso.  Also, everything was cinched and interconnected (maybe, somehow).  In any case, for all practical purposes, her bondage was one tight web.  Squirming was possible, so she did... but it didn't do her any good.

"Mrrrfh!"  And then there was the gag.  Something soft, silky, and substantial was stuffed in Heidi's mouth, filling it more-or-less to capacity, and tight bands of some sort of tape encircled and essentially mummified her lower face from just under her nose to well under her chin.  Her hair was still in its work-out ponytail, so it had been spared the tape. 

As a final touch, Heidi's fingers and hands were tightly wrapped in overlapping layers of silver-gray duct-tape.  She could see the resulting flippers when she turned her head to examine the ropes.  Logically, her stringent gag was more duct-tape, but she couldn't be sure until she encountered a mirror or some other highly reflective surface.

"Mrrrpfh!"  That was Doc, or someone with a very similar soprano-pitched voice who also happened to be present (and gagged).

Heidi turned her head in the other direction, causing her ponytail to flop, and focused across the room.

Doc was still in her chair with her shirt still unbuttoned and open under the ropes lashing her in place; however, her legs were off the table, which had been dragged off to the side and out of the way.  Her ankles and knees were still lashed together, but now her ankles were tied to the chair's lower left chair-leg.  The sneaker lace was still binding Doc's big toes together, but the long free end that had been tied to her ankle bonds was flopping around as she squirmed and struggled and wasn't tied to anything.  Doc's legs were tucked slightly to the side, binding her in a demure, lady-like pose, or as demure as was possible given her missing jeans or pants and stringent bondage.  Finally, Doc's gag had been changed.  Gone was the tight, mouth-filling cleave-gag, and in its place were horizontal, neatly overlapping layers of silver-gray duct tape mummifying her lower face and head.  Like Heidi's long brown ponytail, the Professor's blond pageboy was free of the tape.

This increased the odds that Heidi's tape-gag was also duct-tape, but in the absence of direct evidence, it was still prudent to reserve final judgement.  And oh-by-the-way, whoever had done all this binding and gagging had also taken the absurdly unnecessary precaution of giving Doc her very own pair of duct-tape-flippers.

Heidi blinked her alarmed and distressed brown eyes, and Doc blinked her blue eyes in return.  They were both in quite a pickle, as Heidi guessed the Doc might have put it.

Kassidy Roth

"Oh, good, you're both awake."  The mysterious redhead in the pretty sundress was entering the room, and at her side was a quite muscular and obviously physically fit brunette wearing boots, jeans, and a black tank-top.  The newcomer and presumed attacker had brown (and cold) eyes and her features were even, attractive, and unfriendly.  She was carrying an empty black trash-bag and a compact, duffel-style bag of red ballistic nylon bearing what Heidi recognized as the Emergency Medical Tech logo, a caduceus superimposed on a cross with two arms.

"We've finished loading everything I've decided to take with us into the truck," the redhead continued, "except for you and your charming student."  She was addressing Doc Ryder, who was glowering at her from her chair in gag-induced silence.

The redhead gracefully strolled over to Heidi and smiled down at the hogtied captive.

Heidi stared at the redhead's very nice and probably quite expensive sandals, as well as her tan (freckled) feet and strong, slender legs.  The sundress she was wearing really was quite pretty, and might very well be a designer original.  It flattered the redhead's trim, fit figure quite well—but she was a kidnapping villainess and thus forfeited all style points, as far as Heidi was concerned.  (Was Heidi scared?  No, she was terrified, but found she was able to control her panic and maintain her courage by thinking about stupid things like fashion and style points.)

"Allow me to introduce myself, Ms. Haas," the redhead purred.

The redhead's smile was lopsided and a little goofy, but still quite attractive, not that Heidi was in any way attracted to the bat-shit-crazy kidnapper, given both the current circumstances and Heidi's natural predilections.  The same went for the muscular brunette who had dropped the EMT bag and was loading the trash-bag with a pair of sneakers (one of which was missing a lace), a pair of white socks, and a pair of blue jeans (obviously the rest of Doc's former gardening ensemble), followed by Heidi's jacket, anklets, and running shoes.  All of this Heidi took in from the corner of one eye.  Her main focus was on the redhead.

"My name is Peyton Frazier," the redhead announced, then paused, as if waiting for Heidi to react.  Apparently (and in fact) the name "Peyton Frazier" meant nothing to the hogtied and gagged young captive.  "Really?" Peyton demanded, then shifted her lopsided smile to her other prisoner.  "Dr. Ryder, I'm disappointed in you.  You haven't trained your student to recognize the names of prominent private collectors with important collections?"  She shifted her smile from the glowering Doc and back to Heidi.  "Anyway, now that we've been introduced, I'm going to call you 'Heidi.' and you may call me 'Mistress Frazier,' or, if the setting is informal, simply 'Mistress'."

Or, Heidi thought, I can call you asshole and kick the living snot out of your smug face once I'm out of these ropes!

"Anyway," Peyton continued, "thank you for volunteering to join Dr. Ryder and myself in our work on the very interesting material I've acquired."

Meanwhile, to Heidi's alarm, the muscular brunette (who she was now 99% certain was the mysterious attacker with the grabby hands and hissing breathing mask with the mouth-plug) had opened the red EMT bag, stripped the wrapping from a disposable syringe, and was charging it from a tiny glass vial!  This was now Heidi's central focus, and the same went for Doc, especially since the brunette was strolling in the professor's direction with her lips curled in an evil smile!

"Mrrrpfh!"  Both Heidi and Doc objected as the brunette pinned Doc's gagged and wide-eyed head with an expert headlock, then administered the injection in the side of her neck!  Doc's eyes rolled up in her head almost immediately... and when the brunette released her grip, the blond head in question lolled to the side.  Doc was out like the proverbial light!

"Unfortunately," Peyton continued, "passenger accommodations in our conveyance are limited, so you and the professor will have to ride in the back with the rest of the cargo.  Heidi?  Are you listening to me?  Heidi?"

In point of fact, Heidi was not listening.  She was distracted.  Also alarmed!  The brunette had charged a second disposable syringe from the same vial, and now was strolling in her hogtied and gagged direction!  The smile on her face was chilling.  Heidi squirmed and fought her bonds, but remained completely helpless.

"Don't worry," Peyton purred, "Kassidy is medically trained.  Believe me, it's better this way."

So, the brunette's name is Kassidy, Heidi thought, as well as, NOOOOO!  "NRRRRR!"  And then, for the second time in the same day, Heidi suffered the indignity of non-consensual anesthesia!