Chapter One

 

To tell my tale, I must harken back many years ago, to a meadow, a place where the first blossoms of springtime and a warm sun caress the shoulders of a young maid and her robust lover. Their flaxen hair and fair skin reflect the sun's light, making it look, perhaps, as if they're glowing in their nakedness, their arms and legs entwined in a lover's celebration to the new season.

Her sensuous giggle rises into the air as if it had wings to carry it; but it's just a breeze that catches the sound, and soon that tiny gust of song-filled air will die away. These lovers kiss with their whole mouths, with tongues joining as surely as their limbs. They laugh uproariously at some private jest. But when the young man's thick rod penetrates the silky maidenhead between his lover's thighs, there's the deep guttural sound of commingling, offering the sky and trees and singing birds an ancient melody-the great creative ode to spring and the resurrection of the earth.

Her honey breasts taste sweet to him as his hands explore their full ripe virtues. While there is still a youth's fuzz about his cheek, and his young eyes are all too eager, his firm chest is a sign of his strength, as manhood makes him more than a gangly adolescent. Such strength makes her succumb to him gratefully; such purpose and fervent hunger, and she gives up everything to know him in the carnal sense. To lay with him, to strip away all barriers to their union and copulate with him on this spring carpet of green, secures her in his love. In reply, a bounty of affection he bestows on her, a bounty that will last forever.

I was that young maid, Gwendolyn. My lover, Stuart, from a long line of passionate Stuarts in our fishing village in a remote region of England. I remember that spring morning with him. I will remember it always, as if happened just seconds ago. I can still smell the air with the fragrance of lilac, still feel the warmth on my skin, especially on my belly when I lay back for him, and he leaned in and teased my navel with his tongue. I remember the sounds of birds, and the buzz of insects in our secluded hideaway, and the sight of nature's palette of wildflowers sprinkled amongst the grasses.

I remember that spring morning most of all my times with Stuart, even more than the day in the barn when he took my virginity, and I so willingly tossed it aside as a useless impairment to my happiness. I remember that day more because it was our last day together, when into the gentleness of the early hour came the sound of hoof beats thundering recklessly into our tranquil village. The appearance of this band of rogues, this tribe of thieves and scoundrels, this host of barbarian brutes, would forever change the course of my once pre-ordained future as a humble fisherman's wife.

The dozen men that rode through our streets on horseback dropped their gifts: their scowls, their fiery torches that burned our homes, and their scornful epithets that I can still hear ringing in my ear as plainly as I hear the sound of my lover's lust.

Stuart and I, hearing the raucous clamor reverberating across the valley, attended to our hearts suddenly driven by fear.

Oh! How I wish we'd remained in our meadow, happily stealing our pleasures from each other. Oh! How I wish we hadn't answered the call of our loved ones. What good did it do that we responded to the awful din, rushing to dress ourselves and scurry back to our homes? Ripped apart, Stuart attended to his father's business, trying desperately to protect it from the storming fiends; while I returned to our thatched roofed home, and hid in the corner of our kitchen with my mother and sisters, hoping that the wild hoard of men would not find us.

My noble desires to protect my family were met with disaster, as I was torn from the hands of my tiniest sister and dragged away to ride behind a savage angry villain. Thundering away on a massive stead, from the only home I'd ever known, my last glimpse of the once well-ordered village was marked by the flames and ash and smoke that clouded the spring sky with death and sadness. I was fated never to know who lived and who died that day, though I assumed by all accounts from the men who abducted me, that it had been a victorious raid-our village stores plundered, our maidens deflowered, and the bravest of our clan who dared fight back, left to be buried by the few that survived. I could only conclude that Stuart was among the dead.

 

***

 

"What's your name, wench?" the hairy brute demanded of me. His teeth were foul, his swarthy smile much like the others around the bed where I lay shivering. "She was the prettiest one." He had my hair in his thick sooty hands, his fingers running through the mass of tangles so it hurt. Though I'd never cry out.

Another man lifted my skirt.

"Ah, such white thighs!"

"No! No! You're not going to . . . " I cried out.

"You're our prize, little fair one. You give us pleasure, we treat you well, you live."

I shrunk back seeing the knife blade at my neck.

My skirt was at my waist, my whole sex naked. A hand reached in and tore away the bodice of my dress, so my breasts with their puckered nipples taunted their lusts more. A hairy head bent down and captured one breast with lips and teeth. If his ardent sucking was painful, I didn't know. I was too afraid to feel a thing. The man that spoke, the one with the foul mouthed smile and the knife in hand, opened his pants as a prelude to the inevitable act. I closed my eyes, wishing myself away from this horrible fate, clamoring with all my soul to be somewhere, anywhere but in the midst of thieves that would take away my peace and any shred of decency.

As I waited for the first thrust of rape, a voice suddenly thundered above the cackles and jeers of the men around me.

"Hold on!" the voice boomed.

"You'll have her in turn," the man between my legs barked back. I could feel his thighs against mine as he opened me further. My eyes jerked open to see the men's faces again, their blazing eyes and hot-fired confrontation.

"I'll have her now! She's mine!" the newcomer declared.

"She's our spoils, man. You'll have her when I'm done."

"I'll have her now, Jorn. Step aside."

"By who's rule is that?"

"By mine. She's mine, I found her. I claim her. There's another whore in the other hut. Go to her. She's a lusty bitch with a good tongue."

The men faced off with even scowls of contempt. I saw their anger flare like smoke was rising, but that was only illusion. There was no smoke, just simple fury, and a clenching of teeth and fists ready to come to blows. But my attacker backed down, and moved away. Whatever power this bearded interloper had over his ugly counterpart, it was enough to make the man, Jorn, and the others waiting, turn about and leave me alone. I breathed a sigh of relief, and yet, I was certain that this simply postponed the assault I feared.

"You'll stay in my hut with me," my would-be rescuer told me, as he dragged me off the pallet and to another crude shelter that he called his. Once there, he bound my hands behind me with ropes, my feet the same, and left me to myself. A youth was posted at the doorway to keep anyone from entering and taking me away.

"I shall have you later," I was told, as the stunning face of the rogue disappeared into the light of day.