Chapter Two #3
The ladies tent was set away from the others purely for privacy’s sake.
Kirk was almost to his tent when he paused, thinking to check on the women before he turned in for the night.
Wondering if the little she-devil had managed to fall asleep in spite of the fact that the drooping structure wasn’t her precious inn.
He paused outside of the tent, listening. It was completely silent. Carefully, he lifted the edge of the flap, peering inside; Lady Micheline was sleeping soundly, curled on Edmund’s furs. But the bed next to her was empty and Kirk threw back the covering, his stone-gray eyes blazing.
“Lady Micheline,” he hissed. “Micheline!”
Micheline jolted awake. “M-My lord?”
“Where is your sister?”
Micheline blinked, looking at the bedding beside her. Touching it, as if to make sure it was truly empty, she shook her head.
“I d-do not know, my lord,” she said truthfully. “Mayhap she is in the bramble… relieving herself, as it were.”
“She’s not in the bramble. I have sentries all over this camp and someone would have told me.”
Micheline struggled to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her mind, thinking. “She was perturbed that you refused to take us to an inn. Mayhap she…”
That was all Kirk needed to hear. He was half-way across the encampment, heading for the tethered chargers before Micheline realized what was happening.
Plain blue eyes wide with fright, she hovered at the edge of the tent, watching as Kirk thundered from camp astride his great red beast. Dazed and apprehensive, she had little choice but to return to the huddle of Edmund’s furs.
But she did not sleep.
Oh, Mara… what have you done now?
*
The broken pitcher had cut her hand when she smashed it on his shoulder. Bleeding and sobbing, Mara remained under the bed where the knight couldn’t reach her. He stomped about, issuing violent threats as she continued to resist him, refusing to sate his lust.
In hindsight, it hadn’t been the wisest decision to leave camp.
She should have remained, by Micheline’s side, safe and sound as Lord Edmund’s men watched over her.
Even Kirk. He had saved her from falling to her death yesterday, but she doubted he could save her from what was about to happen. The results of her own stupidity.
But that was the problem with Mara. Always regretting her hasty actions, allowing her impulsive nature to rule her common sense.
Micheline attributed her foolishness to her youthful years; Mara hoped she was right.
She hoped that with age would come sensible maturity.
And as the knight continued to rage and drink, Mara prayed she would live that long.
As fearful as she was, she grew even more fearful when the shouting finally stopped.
She could hear footfalls pacing about the room and just when she thought, mayhap, the knight had given up, she was startled when a massive hand reached under the bed.
Unable to move away fast enough, the knight had her by the skirts and pulled her out in a flash.
“There you are, sweetling.” He threw her on the bed, his heavy body landing atop her. Mara swallowed the bile in her throat as he tried to kiss her. “You were a naughty girl, hiding from me. Now is your chance to make amends.”
Mara twisted, turning her head and struggling not to vomit. He was heavy, crushing her slight body into the mattress. The knight’s slobbering lips were on her cheek, her chin, moving down her neck. As Mara gasped and fought, he brought both of her hands up and pinned them above her head.
With one free hand he could do a good deal of damage. Starting at her round breasts, he squeezed them roughly and Mara screamed. The minute she opened her mouth, he put his tongue in it.
She spit and twisted, weeping as he laughed.
The hand moved down her torso, fumbling with her skirts, and Mara’s struggles increased.
A calloused hand ran the length of her leg and she lashed out, managing to kick him as his attention focused on the unfurled flower between her legs.
The knight grunted, using a knee to spread her legs as his hand moved to her bare buttocks.
Sharply, he slapped her white bottom. “Cease!” he growled. “Since I have no intention of releasing you, I would suggest you learn to enjoy it.”
Mara ignored him, still twisting and bucking.
If she wasn’t enjoying the encounter, then she would make sure he did not either.
She simply couldn’t believe her foolishness had led her to this point, her innocence about to be taken by a drunken knight.
The only thing of personal value she possessed was about to be stolen and she vowed at the moment that if God would allow her to come through intact, she would never do anything so stupid again.
But her prayers were cut short as the knight’s hand moved to the black ringlets between her legs. Mara screamed again, trying desperately to avoid his probing fingers. He grinned lewdly, stroking the dry folds.
“Give me a bit of dew, sweetling,” he muttered, his breath coming in heavy gasps. “’Twill make it easier on you.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, panic filling her. A thick finger wormed its way inside her and she screamed again.
“Just a little bit,” he rasped against her cheek. “Just a little and I shall end your torment.”
There was a knock at the door. The knight turned his head away from Mara long enough to bellow at the interruption.
“Leave us!”
His finger was moving inside her, uncomfortable and foreign. Mara whimpered, tears trailing down her temples, as the knight’s wriggling finger suddenly stopped. His eyes widened as he stared at her.
“You’re a virgin?” He moved his finger again and she cried out in fear. Sighing raggedly, his gaze raked her pale face. “I can feel your maidenhood resisting me. Oh, sweetling, what a pleasure this will be.”