WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2009 by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

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  WINDWARRIOR

  By

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  © copyright by Charlotte Boyett-Compo, April 2009

  Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, April 2009

  ISBN 978-1-60394-293-5

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  The war had been going on for decades with no end in sight and in Geddyn the dead outnumbered the living. To the west, the country of Merrimuid lay in ruins with no signs of life except for the carrion crows circling the devastation. To the north, the hills and valleys of Bassoil were a wasteland of charred huts and villages, the earth scorched. Along the eastern border, war-weary refugees poured into Treischt with their meager belongings, their starving animals, and their hollow-eyed children too weak to make a sound. Ragged shelters, lean-tos, and torn tents had sprung up overnight in the capitol city of Ghraih—taxing the charity of the already overburdened inhabitants.

  However, what one had, they all shared until it was gone. One mother did not fill her baby's belly so another mother's infant would die of hunger. The female citizens of Ghraih worked together to keep one another alive while their men folk fought the encroaching threat from the south—the feared Tarryns led by the demon Deklyn Yn Baase, Laird of Drogh-gheay, the Black Baron of the WindWarrior Clan.

  A curfew had been imposed in Ghraih for it was feared the Tarryns had sent warriors to inspect the defenses of the city. No woman was safe after the sun went down and only those who had an emergency reason for being on the streets or those who used their bodies to survive were out and about. Either was considered fair game to the invaders.

  * * * *

  "Well, what do we have here?” he asked, reaching out to catch her arm as she hurried past. “What are you doing out so late of a night, tarrishagh?"

  She could smell the liquor on his breath and tried to pull her arm free. “Let me pass, milord. Please."

  "Come into the light and let me see you, dearling,” he insisted, his words slurred.

  His brogue was that of the invading troop, driving fear deep into her gut.

  "I'm not a prostitute,” she said, twisting her arm now in an effort to get free. “I work at the hospital and...."

  "She'll do, my brother,” another male voice said. “I don't have to look at her face to take my pleasure of her."

  "Watch your tongue,” the first man said. He backed her up against the wall, pinning her there with his muscular body. “How ‘bout a kiss, tarrishagh? Can I have at least that much of your sweetness?"

  Though she tried to evade his kiss, he dipped his head and slanted his mouth over hers, his tongue probing hotly at lips she kept tightly pressed together. That seemed to amuse him. He raised his head, squinting to see her face in the shadows of the alley. “You taste of cherries,” he told her.

  She put her hands to his chest and pushed, pleading with him. “Milord, please. There are plenty of women available to you. Please, let me go."

  "Never,” he said, grinding his lower body against her.

  The press of his erection frightened her even more. She struggled against him but she was no match for his strength.

  "She's a whore,” the other man said. “It's just a matter of agreeing to her price.” He reached down to drag the skirt of her gown up.

  "No!” she hissed, beginning to fight him in earnest as his fingertips touched the bare flesh of her thigh.

  "Stop that,” her captor said, batting his companion's hand away. “I want another kiss, pretty one."

  She tried to knee him in the groin yet that only made him laugh as he wedged himself between her thighs, trapping her legs to either side of his.

  Straining to get away from him, she heard him laugh, and before she knew what he was doing, she was hanging over his shoulder with his arm like an iron band clamping her legs together.

  "Help!” she screamed. “Help, me!"

  Nevertheless, no one came to her rescue as her abductor took her deeper into the alley and through a door his companion opened. The room was dark. It smelled of gunpowder, and when she was lowered to a soft mattress, she bucked, trying to scramble away.

  "Oh, no, you don't,” he laughed, grabbing her ankle and dragging her beneath him. He pinned her down with his heavier weight between her legs, his fingers tight around her wrists as he pressed her hands to either side of her head. “I just want a kiss. Nothing more. You taste so good."

  Once more, his mouth covered hers, his tongue sweeping over her closed lips. The second man struck a match and the smell of sulfur filled the air. She blinked against the harsh intrusion of light that hurt her night-adapted eyes as he put the flame to an oil lantern. Golden light filled the small room.

  "Ah, she is exquisite, Reese,” the man above her said in a soft, awed voice. His eyes roamed over her face.

  "What difference does that make? She's a cunt to be used so use her."

  "No,” the man staring down at her said. “She is an angel to be cherished."

  For a long moment, she stared at her attacker. It was a handsome, boyish face with a deep cleft in the chin, and smiling lips that she beheld. His teeth were white and even, his nose straight. Long, thick lashes fanned over dark eyes that were filled with merriment. Broad shoulders bracketed a strong-looking neck. He did not bear the common traits of a Tarryn trooper. This man was nobility.

  She tried appealing to that nobility.

  "Please, milord, I am not a whore,” she said, her bottom lip quaking.

  He let go of her left wrist and laid his palm to her cheek, caressing her tenderly. “I am sure you are not, tarrishagh,” he whispered. “And I am no rapist. I just want a few moments of your time to ease my loneliness.” He tilted his head to one side. “Is that too much to ask?"

  She was mesmerized by the sheer male beauty of his face and the press of his heavy body was doing strange things to hers. There was a clenching in her belly as he smiled gently at her, stroking the backs of his fingertips down the side of her face, sweeping the pad of his thumb over her lips.

  "So beautiful,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I've seen in years."

  He lowered his head to claim her lips once more and this time he coaxed her into opening her mouth to him. His warm tongue slid between her lips to stroke hers. The feel of it was so heady she felt the breath leaving her lungs on a long sigh.

&nbs
p; "Give yourself to me, tarrishagh,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me give you pleasure."

  She knew the Tarryn word he spoke meant beloved and its meaning went a long way in unlocking the hold she had on her control and to dissolving the fear running through her blood. His voice was so soft, so gentle, his eyes filled with tenderness. His mouth was sinful as he brushed his lips over hers in a silent plea to succumb. And his face! His face was that of a god, and she felt as though she was being pulled down into the heat of his dark eyes.

  "You feel it, too, don't you? I don't know why but I want you as I've never wanted another woman,” he told her, his lower body rubbing over the juncture of her thighs. Beneath her gown, her body oozed with heat, her juices flowing for the first time in her young life.

  "Get on with it,” the other man hissed with irritation. “We haven't got all night."

  "Give yourself to me, dearling,” the handsome one said again. He trailed his hand to her bodice to cup her breast.

  She arched her back—thrusting her breast into the strong, warm hard—and groaned. Nineteen years old and never been kissed, never touched or held, or even had a sensual look aimed her way all combined to make her ache for something she didn't understand. It was being offered to her from those beautiful dark, beseeching eyes that would not look away. That looked into her very soul. That made her willpower dissolve. That drew her like a magnet.

  He kneaded her flesh then dipped his head to place his hot mouth over her straining nipple through the fabric of her gown.

  "Oh!” she cried out, her free hand going to the thick ebony of his hair. She held him against her as heat flooded her lower body and her belly clenched once more.

  "I want you,” he said huskily and his hand moved down to the skirt of her gown, inching it up until his palm was against her inner thigh. “I need you. Please don't deny me."

  She moaned. The calloused hand caressing her thigh—moving up until the fingers touched the leg band of her undergarment—made her tremble, her breath catch. Instinctively she lifted her hips in invitation to that questing hand, and she heard him growl low in his throat. Before she could take another breath his fingers slid beneath the leg band and across the heat of her core.

  "Milord!” she gasped.

  His mouth was on her breast again, suckling her nipple through the fabric. His fingers were stroking the folds of her secret place, causing tremors to vibrate down her spine. She writhed beneath his touch. It was setting her aflame with a need she had not known existed.

  "I want you.” He pressed the tip of his finger inside her warm core.

  And she was lost.

  "Aye!” she said. She would have given him anything at that moment for he was sending unbelievable waves of sheer ecstasy through her entire body.

  "Do you want me?” he asked.

  "Aye!” she repeated and pressed his mouth hard to her bosom.

  "You're sure? I won't take you against your will."

  "Please, milord!"

  "You heard her. Fuck her and get it over with, man!” his companion snapped.

  Her lover removed his fingers and tugged at her undergarment. “Help me here, sweeting. Lift your hips,” he ordered.

  All she wanted was that heavy body to work its magic with hers to soothe the ache he had started. She arched her hips for him to pull the undergarment down her hips. She lifted her leg at his nudging. She squirmed as he hiked her gown up higher, pushing it above her hips so the cool air fanned over her heated center. His fingers were brushing at his own clothing and the moment she felt the hard prod of him, the weeping wetness of his cock probing at her sheath, a semblance of sanity returned. For just a second she tried to form the word ‘no', but he was gliding his shaft along her folds and she instinctively lifted her hips in offering even as he clamped down lightly on her nipple through the fabric with his mouth.

  "That's it, tarrishagh,” he said through clenched teeth. “Give us both what we need."

  The vibration of his voice as he held her nipple between his teeth sent waves of pleasure down her sides. He was pushing against her, stretching her. The tip of him was inside her and the heat, the slickness quickened her breath.

  He released her nipple and moved up, slid his left hand beneath her rump to better position himself, his teeth now nipping her chin before he slanted his lips over hers and pushed his cock to the hilt inside her.

  The unexpected pain between her legs shocked her and she pushed against his shoulders, tearing her mouth free to scream.

  "Shite,” he said. “She was a...."

  The other man moved to clamp his hand over her mouth to cut off the next scream. The man atop her had stilled and was staring down at her with a look of intense guilt. She wriggled under him, trying to get free of the ungodly agony piercing her. The moment she did that, she knew she'd done the wrong thing. He began to move inside her, pumping quickly, going deep, stretching her unmercifully, filling her until she felt something jerk inside her several times before he shuddered and went still again, his head down.

  He rolled from her and once more she heard him cursing.

  "The gods damn it!” he said, coming to his feet as he stuffed his manhood back into his pants. “I didn't know. I didn't know!"

  She clawed at the hand of the man hunkered above her, and he gathered one wrist in his free hand and ground the bones together, hurting her. When she tried to pry that hand from hers, he easily snared it as well in his huge paw, slamming both her hands down to her chest to pin them there.

  "Get out of here before the guards are called,” his companion said. “Do it!"

  Her lover turned around, his face a mask of remorse as he looked down at her. “I...."

  "Get out of here! You can't afford to be caught!” the other man snarled.

  "I didn't mean to ... If I'd known...."

  "Get out!"

  The last sight she had of her lover was of him opening the door and exiting into the night. The next thing she heard was his companion's low grunt then the words that chilled her to the marrow of her bones—

  "Now it's my turn."

  * * * *

  Maire sat straight up in bed with a gasp.

  It was the same old dream she'd had most every night for the last ten years but this time it seemed more vivid, more real, the images clearer in her mind, the details more solid. She was shivering from the feel of that other man's rough, pitiless hands bruising her, hurting her, doing things to her no woman should ever be made to endure. He had brutalized her for over an hour—splitting her lip, blackening her eye—before the first man returned, no doubt wondering what was taking his companion so long.

  "What have you done, Reese?” she remembered the handsome one shouting, fury darting from his dark eyes like crossbow bolts.

  "She's just a Vardarian whore,” his companion replied with a laugh. He thrust his fingers inside her torn vagina so cruelly she screamed with agony.

  "Leave her alone! Get off her!"

  The handsome one had pulled the brute from her and while they were fighting—fists crashing into jaws with sickening thuds—she scrambled to her feet and ran. Battered, broken, bleeding in a dozen places, she staggered blindly down the alley until she ran into protective arms that swept her up and carried her to safety.

  * * * *

  Scrubbing her hands over her face to wipe away the memories of that savage night in Ghraih, she swung her legs from the bed to start another long, lonely day. It was the last week of March and the weather was colder than normal. For the next several hours, she drew water from the well, heated it and washed her clothing and the extra set of bed linens. She swept the floor, dusted, mopped, and set about making her meager supper. When the soup was cooking, she sat in her rocker and began mending a shirt, working straight through the morning and into the late afternoon with only a few breaks—to stir the soup and to bring in the wash. By five, her shoulders were aching, her neck stiff, and her fingers nearly numb from plying the needle. She stood, stretched wi
th her hands to her aching back and decided to get a last breath of fresh air. The moment she stepped outside, she knew evil was only a few miles away.

  Shading her blue eyes against the glare of the winter sky above Mount Kaule she stared at the smoke being blown at a steep angle by the crisp northern wind. There was no doubt in her mind that the village of Unita had been set aflame by the marauding hoard. Even from the distance of four miles she thought she could hear the clash of battle ringing through the valley. She knew Yn Baase and his murderous troop had struck the peaceful community a killing blow. It had been only a matter of time before his warriors came to her part of Vardar. The tell-tale smoke bore mute evidence that they were here.

  "May the Wind be at your back,” she whispered to the defenders of Unita. She feared they would most likely all be dead, dying or in chains, the women beaten, raped, and taken for slaves, the children left orphaned and gathered together to be taken to institutions where they would grow up hating all things Tarryn. That was what came of fighting back when the invaders rolled their juggernaut through your country.

  She was uneasy for she feared the Tarryn troops would take the Spansiel Road south to the seaside city of Norvus where their warships were docked. That would lead them within a hundred yards of her isolated hut. Until now—at least as far as she knew—no Tarryn scout had come across her humble abode. Perhaps they would pass her by, believing the rugged hut not worth their time.

  She looked at the lone goat that had been providing milk for her. The chickens were long gone. Her supply of vegetables, which she had canned from her summer garden, would just barely hold her through the long winter but if her foodstuffs and the scrawny goat were requisitioned by the troop, she would surely starve.

  Hurrying into the sparse interior of her home, she quickly donned a coat that had long since seen better days, stuck her feet into a pair of her deceased husband's old work boots and ventured out to the small corral, slipping the tether from the rail to loop it around Jenny's neck.

  "Come on, girl,” she said, patting the skittish animal. “You don't want to wind up in the belly of a Tarryn warrior."