Battle Cry and The Berserker

by C. L. Scholey

  The chamber door burst open and Mary entered in a frenzy.

  “Perhaps wine?” Mary cried out fearfully taking in the scene of obvious violent intent.

  “Get out. Stay out. Or so help me, I will run you through,” Rory yelled. Mary raced from the room. Damnation, this was the hardest bedding he had ever been a part of. He felt like he was trying to bed two women. Both equally unwilling. All the while, Constantine continued to bellow loudly and Rory’s ardor began to falter.

  “Constantine, you are not dying, this I swear to you. But cease your caterwauling or you will find my hand over your mouth,” Rory yelled down at her, he managed to capture her wrists in one large hand. He then pinioned her arms above her head with gentle force.

  Constantine snuffled then swallowed a few times attempting to regain control of her emotions. Rory rested his head on the bed over her shoulder breathing deep ragged breaths. He had never in his life tried to maintain so much restraint as he was now.

  “My lord, I realized not I was to pop as well.” Constantine widened her eyes in fear. Tears threatened to fall as she wondered if this was the retribution he had sought all along. Though, she was angered as well. She had tried to be utmost gentle with him on their first encounter.

  Rory lifted his head to look into her dark, accusing sorrow-filled eyes, and not knowing what to say, he kissed her. Very patiently he began again. He gently pulled free of her warm insides. He caressed her tense body while offering over apologies at the pain he had caused. He gritted his teeth as he explored her breasts. Rory painstakingly tried to arouse her. More than anything he wanted to bang his head against the castle wall with his manhood near throbbing in agony at the wait. Rory felt most certainly he was the one being killed.

  Constantine soon realized the pain was now a gentle ache and was surprised as a soft groan escaped her lips as the erotic sensations engulfed her. Rory removed his hand from her wrists and she ventured a tentative caress of his powerful arms. She decided she may have been a bit hasty in thinking Rory’s only intent was to cause her pain, especially when he sounded so sincere. Whimpers and moans emerged from her throat. This coupling was indeed mysterious. Rory’s hands were about her body yet he was the one who appeared to be grunting as if in certain agony. Curious. Rory mounted her with care and Constantine tensed. Her lips clamped shut, her eyes squeezed tight. She knew the pain would come again and she braced herself expecting the worst.

  Rory could feel her body tighten beneath him. He was under no disillusion this time. He knew it was fear and not want. With as much restraint as he could gather Rory entered her, he spoke soft encouraging words, his lips kissing tenderly at her closed lids.

  He vowed this night he would control his manhood; it would not dominate him. Moisture beaded his forehead, his hands tightened on the bed coverings in a death grip. He managed to maintain his control by a tenacious grasp. With tremendous effort, Rory moved inside her, his body straining, his ears tuned to her moans. Be they pleasure or pain he was not sure, and by God he no longer cared... He did care; ecstasy would not get the better of him. He rocked within her once, twice, and groaned. Rory collapsed against her for only a brief moment before rolling off to one side. He was completely spent and lay still. Never before had a joining taken so much out of him.

  The room remained silent but for Rory’s deep breaths to gather air into spent lungs. Rory felt as though he had just finished a long exhausting battle. He was positive he would never move again. If his castle were to be stormed, he would be doomed. Rory could feel Constantine’s slight movements as she rolled to face him. She propped herself up on one arm and gazed down into his face.

  “You were right, my Lord Rory. ’Twas was not nearly so bad as I thought ’twould be. Perhaps we should try it again. To make certain I have it right.” Rory put his hands up to his face and groaned. Smiling, Constantine lay back, positive they would begin again immediately. How wonderful, there was the groaning.

  * * * *

  Rory sat at the long table looking haggard and exhausted. He had indeed made love to his little bride, not once more but twice more until he felt positive she was out to kill him. He offered a small smile up to Devon who came and sat with him. Taking one look at Rory’s strained features had Devon clapping him soundly on the shoulder.

  “All went well I trust?” Devon inquired.

  “Aye, all went well. Though my restraint near killed me,” Rory replied.

  “Think of it this way brother. You need never bed another virgin,” Devon said and smiled.

  “Praise God,” Rory muttered.

  “Come now, it could not have been that bad,” Devon said, smiling with obvious amusement.

  Mary chose that moment to enter the hall. Seeing Rory’s expression she turned and fled the room fearfully.

  “I wonder what ails the woman?” Devon asked curiously.

  Rory gave an evil little smile. “Perhaps she forgot the wine.”

  * * * *

  Constantine settled into a routine. She was quite skilled with a needle and thread and worked diligently on the wall tapestries that were but tatters. The castle bedding needed a sound cleaning, the moldy straw was in need of replacement, and soon Constantine enlisted Mary’s help and that of a few young peasant girls to aid her. The young girls were quite shy and most terrified of their lord. Constantine’s gentle ways and kind words had the girls’ enthusiasm increasing. Though their fear of Lord Broc remained, they were determined not to abandon their sweet and melancholy lady. They returned nightly to their homes spinning tales of the fair young beautiful mistress and the ominous ferocious dark lord. Soon the village could talk of nothing else.

  When word came of how caring the gentle lady was, a young lad, an orphan, began to wait for her near the kitchen. With a smile and ruffling of the boy’s hair, Constantine gave him bread and cheese. She made certain he was fed and had a safe place to sleep. She knew Rory was busy with his knights and took the child into her thoughts.

  Ever handy and wanting the work to keep her thoughts occupied, Constantine endeared herself to the castle knights as well, darning necessary articles of clothing. Though not skilled with healing, she was quick to find clean rags and fresh warmed water if blood had been drawn during training. She was ready with a small smile and a kind word. But all could tell her heart was deeply saddened.

  Rory realized something was gravely wrong with Constantine’s demeanor. At first, he had been positive she would recover from the separation of her sister. Their lovemaking, though gentle at first, had become wild and frenzied, filled with passion. Constantine was eager to learn anything Rory was willing to teach. Yet throughout the day, she remained aloof and quiet.

  Though pleased at her accomplishments in the castle, Rory soon realized her enthusiasm was only a shield to her pain. While his castle near sparkled, the light in his young bride’s eyes faltered. Rory was not the only one to notice. The entire village was talking of their young lady’s dwindling spirit. They all knew of Mary’s attempt to send word to Lady Constantine’s sister. Each day that dawned brought with it darker circles to shadow Constantine’s eyes. Their lord was most certainly killing her. The work he had her performing seemed to be ever increasing. Not a day passed that Constantine was not washing, or sewing, or changing floor reeds.

  The last straw was when Mary informed the villagers Constantine had been made to clean the hearths of ashes. The villagers were outraged. Their gentle little mistress who brought food and sweet treats for the children as she dandled them on her knee, making an effort to learn each and every person’s name. Their lady who painstakingly created clothes for those who needed it from her old dresses. She had even endeavored to create a new dress for a young lass soon to be wed. She was now being forced to submit to menial labor under a callous hand. Hopefully word would soon come from the Lady Juliette. The villagers did not want to lose Constantine but reconciled they must be as giving as she had been. Her suffering must come to an end. They would help any way they cou
ld.

  Dining in the great hall was subdued most evenings. Rory gazed at his men’s pensive expressions. He realized it would take time for the men to come to accept him as they were used to Devon’s commands, not his own. That had Rory trying ever harder. He was relentless when it came to training. He felt if they could see he was a formidable opponent, he would garner more respect. In sword battle, he moved with agility and swiftness. None could best him. He knocked man after man to the ground until sweat ran in rivers from their bodies, Rory’s included. Still they remained aloof. They seemed not impressed with his prowess at all. They actively avoided him whenever able. It was during this dinner that a young messenger raced into the room and sought out Rory.

  “I have news, my lord,” the young man declared with excitement.

  “What news have you?” Rory inquired amused at the man’s animated admission.

  “It would appear my lord, the Lady Juliette is to be wed to Lord Nicholas Christopher,” the eager young man blurted. He did not notice Constantine’s face pale; he noted not that she shuddered a violent spasm. Her bottom lip trembled as an agonized look spread rapidly across her drawn face.

  Rory sat thoughtfully. He knew of Lord Christopher. He was a wealthy lord whose lands bordered the opposite side of Lord Campbell’s castle. It would be a brilliant match for the lass; she would be well taken care of. Rory smiled. This would please his little wife. She had been so sad of late, he feared for her health. All would be well now, he was certain of it.

  “Waa,” came an ungodly howl to Rory’s left and he leapt to his feet ready to do battle.

  One quick glance around the room and Rory realized his little wife was not impressed at all with this news. Her eyes were clamped shut, her fists were balled, and she had only just quieted for a breath.

  “Prepare yourselves, it comes again!” Rory yelled and placed his hands over his ears in anticipation of the next blast.

  Constantine let loose. She could not stand it. The only thing that had kept her going was knowing her dear sister was not overly faraway. Now she would really never see her again. The pain was unbearable, her heart felt shattered.

  Rory was at a loss. Devon moved to take Constantine in his arms to soothe her, but remembering their last encounter, Rory raced to intervene. He did not want his beloved smothered again. Rory grabbed her up in his powerful embrace and clutched her soundly to his chest.

  “Desist, Constantine; it is not as though you will never see her again. Devon tell her,” Rory implored him, needing his aid. But Devon was hard-pressed to hear over the horrific noise his little sister-in-law was making.

  “What say you, brother?” Devon shouted.

  “’Tis not as though she will never see her again,” Rory bellowed.

  “What?” Devon yelled again.

  Constantine quieted in the silent room to take a breath.

  “...she will never see her sister again,” Rory thundered into the silence.

  * * * *

  Rory sat alone at the great table. He had been awake the entire night trying desperately to console Constantine until it became apparent she would remain inconsolable. What to do? The only promise in his entire life he seemed about to break was how to keep his wife happy. It was killing him. Constantine, he knew cared for him. He was certain; she had told him such. She cried despairingly throughout the night in his arms. She sought solace in their lovemaking wanting him close. Her arms ached at the need to have a loved one close by. But when through, she wept again until his heart near bled from her agony. Her pitiful cries continued even as she slept, soaking his shoulder. Rory dropped his head into his hands.

  “Fret not, brother, there is nothing you can do,” Devon said and seated himself near Rory.

  “Her pain impales me,” Rory admitted, his troubled eyes alight with her sadness.

  Devon placed a compassionate hand on Rory’s shoulder. “They can indeed visit,” Devon replied, though he pondered at the men’s angered expressions when Rory tried to explain this to Constantine last eve. It must be apparent to all by now his big brother would move heaven and earth for his love.

  “I fear it will not be enough. I fear I am not enough,” Rory said sadly, his hurt evident.

  “Rory,” Devon began with compassion. “They have had only each other their entire lives. I will admit only to you of my devastation upon your departure for the Crusades and the thrill of your return. You are not just my brother, you are my best friend.”

  Rory shot a thoughtful glance at his only sibling. His best friend. There had never been any doubt as to where Devon would reside. He would remain at castle Braven where he belonged at Rory’s side. Understanding finally dawned. Love between sisters was no less than love between brothers. Determination lit Rory’s face, ’twas as though a hundred candles burned behind his eyes.

  “What are you about, brother?” Devon asked, his glance narrowing. He knew that look about Rory’s now animated and devious expression-filled face. They were in for it.

  “I require your help, brother,” Rory said slyly, his voice calculating, calm stealth settled as his mind began to devise a plan.

  “Of course. What do you wish?” Devon asked, though his heart began to pound.

  “I wish your aid in a venture. I wish your aid to help me kidnap young Lady Juliette Campbell. Are you game, my brother?” Rory inquired, on heated breath.

  “Most definitely, my brother.” Devon smiled broadly. He was most unquestionably interested.

  * * * *

  Juliette stood quietly in the gardens gazing into the distance. She knew not what she sought. Perhaps a miracle would transpire.

  “Come now Juliette, do you so despise your betrothal to me?” Lord Nicholas Christopher asked. He offered a charming smile. The Lady Juliette was more than lovely when close at hand, and he endeavored to move closer.

  Seeking to help Juliette in her despair over the loss of her beloved Constantine, Lord Campbell had gathered a handful of his men and had taken her on an outing. Lord Campbell was feeling his own pain at his first child’s marriage. He was happy at the match but was unprepared for his loss. Thankfully, Emit had come to his aid and suggested he best take care of the sorrowful Juliette. Neither man had ever seen the lass so quiet and withdrawn. She seemed despondent and melancholy. Dark circles were etched under tired eyes.

  Upon riding his lands with a few of his men, Lord Christopher was intrigued at the sight Lady Juliette portrayed. The beautiful and enchanting young woman seemed so melancholy his curiosity was piqued. Soon enough the wealthy lord found himself asking her father for her hand. Lord Christopher cared not she was a second daughter. He cared not for her dowry which would be extensive. Lord Nicholas Christopher was the only child of his parents and had great wealth of his own. The young woman fascinated him. Her lost lonely angelic look haunted him until he could not stay away. Most days he found himself at her father’s castle seeking her audience, wanting her presence close.

  “’Tis not you, my lord,” Juliette said, her tone soft. She maintained her vigil of the distance.

  “What is it you seek, dearest?” Nicholas asked bemused.

  “I have had word of my sister Constantine,” Juliette explained.

  “Oh? How fares she?” Nicholas asked a bit tightly.

  Nicholas was hard-pressed to understand the reasoning behind Lord Campbell’s acceptance of the notorious Lord Broc. He professed to love his daughters. Most certainly he must have heard of the knight’s cruel and callous exploits. Nicholas could not understand the older man’s wish to see his eldest daughter married to such a tarnished man. From Juliette’s description of her fair sister, the poor young lass must be frightened out of her wits. She being so gentle and quiet. Much like his own dear Juliette. Dearest, sweet, gentle little Juliette.

  “Oh, my Lord Nicholas.” Juliette wept.

  Nicholas swept her into his arms, moved by her tears. “Tell me, dearest, what troubles you so?”

  “’Tis Constantine. I have had wo
rd she is ill-treated. Lord Horrible rips at her clothing. He leaves terrible bruising upon her person. He lashes out threats toward her amidst his own people during the supper hour. Now...now…” Juliette rested her head against Nicholas’s chest so overcome with her terrible agony.

  “Tell me, child,” Nicholas implored her. He could not stand her gentle sorrowful weeping.

  “He works her like a slave in his home. She cleans, sews, and sweeps hearths. Deep circles rim her eyes and though exhausted, I am told he takes her to his bed nightly. He threatens the servants if they seek to interfere. I cannot stand the pain, my lord,” Juliette cried distraught.

  Nicholas’s thoughts raced. There would be nothing Lord Campbell could do as he had willingly handed Constantine over to Broc. But perhaps Nicholas could do something to ease his little intended’s agony. His army was more powerful than Broc’s. Perhaps a more subtle approach would be wiser. He could kidnap Lady Constantine and claim ignorance as to her whereabouts. Lord Broc would not be so foolhardy as to attack his holdings. After all, Broc already had Constantine’s dowry. It was not as though he had any feelings for the lass. Smiling smugly, Nicholas increased his grip on Juliette.

  “Fear not my, dearest Juliette. I, Nicholas will make all well.” Yes indeed, Nicholas could just imagine how grateful Juliette would be when she found out her wedding present was none other than her own cherished sister. He, Lord Nicholas Christopher, would reunite her with her beloved Constantine.

  Chapter Four

  Many things had surprised Constantine of late. She gazed wide-eyed and hopefully across the meandering distance in the high tower of Braven castle. Though she loathed and feared heights, Constantine had braved the winding steps in order to cast a meaningful glance toward her father’s lands on the small chance she may catch a glimpse of her beloved sister Juliette. To no avail, none could be seen. Constantine looked across the rolling hillside. The greens of summer had faded to the most wondrous shades of autumn. There would be a fine harvest this year, the fields stood tall without threat of heavy rain in the air. The people would come together soon. Her people now, she realized and she was glad for a moment. Her people would not fear starvation this winter. Nor would they lack warm homes or clothing. Constantine made certain each villager was donned in proper apparel. Rory was in favor of each of her suggestions. Not only was the castle restored but so was the village. Constantine loved them, and she knew the feeling was reciprocated.