Emery smiled. “It’s a fair game. Someone do the honor of fighting Mister Lancelot here to the death.”
Reluctantly, a foot-bound warrior with barely any armor on stepped forward. Dying for the king was certainly a waste. But in the event that he won the duel, the warrior knew he would become the right hand man.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Heads will roll, stranger.”
The warrior and Artair went into their fighting stance. The warrior was less experienced, obviously, as he was moving his sword back and forth in panic, shielding his chest with his uneven shoulders. Artair barely moved but hovered his sword in the air ready to plunge.
“What is your name, by the way?”
“My name is Artair.”
“Nice noble name. Do you require full concentration to win a fight, Artair?”
“No, Emery. This fight is already over.”
“Is it now?”
In a snap, Artair grabbed the boy’s arm that was sticking out because of his awkward shoulder position and slammed the sword out of his opposite hand in one swoop. He spun in reverse and clipped the boy’s knees from under him with his sword, causing him to fall to the ground.
The boy scurried to jump up but by then Artair had thrown his sword into the air and grabbed the sharp end with one hand. He used the dull handle of the sword to knock the boy unconscious.
He looked back at Emery and nodded, minus a smile. “You want to kill him, kill him yourself. I grow weary of blood.”
Emery was impressed, stunned to a frown. But he did motion to his other warriors to go and kill the loser. Artair tilted his head in annoyance as they killed the screaming boy with their swords, punishing him for simply losing to the better man. If only they knew just what kind of a better man they were dealing with.
“I see what it is,” Emery said, taking back that look of madness. “You’re a virgin. Aye? Too afraid of blood? Stomach too weak to look a woman in the eyes before you rape her?”
The others laughed. Artair looked at the group before returning his face to Emery.
“You want me to kill you? Or shall we go our separate ways?”
An awkward silence followed until Emery decided to walk back over to Artair, trying to provoke a strong reaction.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, O Great Saint among men. You are going to come with us. We are going to raid the village of Estandia down there. And you’re going to help us. Because if you don’t, we’re going to treat you the same way we treat them.”
Artair sighed. He should have known these men were up to no good. But how could he fend off so many of them and keep his strength and concentration strong for the upcoming Game with the other highlander?
These men were not going to take no for an answer. It sounded like an easy job. And the promise of a meal and a place to sleep certainly sounded like a better idea than starving in the forest another night. After all, what obligation did he have to the people of Estandia? He hardly knew any of them.
Well, except one. He thought back to the little yapping woman he met the day before, showing her fierce teeth even while standing not a chance of survival, prayer or not.
“All right. On one condition. You spare the women and children.”
Some of the group laughed and Emery seemed insulted at the thought. “Are you insane, Artair? Look at these men. They have no women. That’s the whole fucking point of the raid! We take the women.”
Emery was slightly unnerved at Artair’s serious disposition. “Fine…we leave the children. We take the women. No more negotiation.”
“Aye. Oh and Emery?”
He looked over at Artair, having already mounted his horse.
“The Saints will know if you break a promise.”
Emery shook his head and took his horse down the valley. The gang of marauders followed, hollering and clanking their weapons, their thirst for blood and women obscenely apparent.
They were already marching in. This was the moment of truth. He couldn’t save everybody, but maybe he could save a few.
**
III
Men shouted at the top of their lungs as women sought shelter in the cottages and the wells. The marauders stormed the village quickly and the men there, as predicted, didn’t stand a fighting chance. They were a village of old men, young boys and drunken fools, the only alphas among them were men who could barely stand on two feet due to their liver disease.
Screams filled the air as the raiders looted and ransacked the village. True to his word, Emery and his men took the women. They tore their clothes off before they even finished killing the men. The men of Estandia themselves were cowards, running away in terror as the warriors pillaged. Some ran off into the forests with beer and wine, saving their most precious possessions instead of fighting for their women.
Artair could barely make it down to the village before he saw the carnage taking place. There were too many men to cease the takeover. But he did think back to the one curly-haired woman that plagued his conscience. All he remembered about her was her scarf and the fact that she was a married woman, available to no man.
The marauders couldn’t care less but Artair felt compelled to help her keep her promise. He ran past the carnage looking around for a familiar face.
In the corner of his eye, he saw a woman in a purple scarf seeking shelter in a small wooden home. Running with her was a child, not ten years old, the both of them terrified at certain death. Hiding out in a home was the least sensible thing to do, as the marauders were lazy bastards and only felt obligated to raid the village and not venture too far into the wilderness.
Artair ran over to the home and opened the door. He beat another warrior to it, and gave him a firm nod as if to say, Let me have this one. The other man acquiesced and went rioting in the opposite direction.
Artair lowered his sword when he saw the terrified face of Nessie, the same purple-scarf married woman he encountered twenty-four hours ago, as fate might have it.
“I had a feeling you would come back.”
“I’m not with them. I came back because I feared for your life.”
Nessie folded her arms. “Oh really now? And since when does a pirate with a sword care about a woman?”
“I don’t know. You’re asking me if I’m a hero. No, I’m not. You’re asking me if I know how to save the village, I’m afraid not. But if you’re asking me to get you out of here, I can help you.”
Nessie flinched at the thought, still not trusting the stranger one length. Artair looked around the small interior room but saw no sign of the boy she entered with.
“Where’s the little fella you entered with?”
“There is no little fella. I sent him away through the window to escape this horror. He ran into the forest.”
“Smart thinking.”
Nessie stared a hole through Artair, not sure what to make of a savage man who had no interest in defiling her just because he could, and because everyone else was certainly doing it.
“Listen…I know you said you were married. Find your husband. Tell him to come with us. I think I can figure out a way to get you out of here through the forest.”
“My husband?”
“You said you were married. It’s a vow you took seriously. Woe is me if I don’t honor it myself.”
“Oh…okay.” She seemed perplexed, as if finding her husband wasn’t even a portent of any importance. She was almost embarrassed at her own lack of appreciation for Artair’s gallantry. “Yes…I think he’s hiding in the barn. I can find him.”
“Better get to it. If we sneak out of here to the outskirts we can get to the forest within less than a mile. Just pray that the rascals are having too much fun to notice us.”
But Artair’s simple plan was a bit undercooked. Artair and Nessie did venture outside and did watch the havoc unfold in front of them. Men slicing away at anything that breathed, even the children. Emery hadn’t kept his word, and why would he? Th
ere was no honor among thieves. These people only understood fear.
Artair shook his head in disgust. The little bastard had a beheading coming if he ever found him alone. But finding him alone was the problem, since men were running all over the place and in every direction.
Within moments, a warrior-thief spotted Nessie and wobbled towards her, shaking his spear and drooling all over his ratty face.
Nessie shrieked as the man grabbed her arm and tried to lift her up for the taking.
“Hey!” Artair said in fire, waiting until the marauder saw his stoic face. “This one’s mine. I claimed her.”
“I don’t see your name on her arse, O Great Saint.”
“Then I’ll carve her name into your face, you bastard.”
“Bleeaaah!” he said, losing eye contact and wandering away from Nessie to find other spoils.
Artair went over to Nessie and grabbed her in his arms, putting her body over his shoulder and walking back to the forest.
“I’ve got me one!” he announced to the others. “I’ll be back for more.”
“You better be,” Emery said from a distance. Too far away to strike, unfortunately. “This is only the first village on our list, you know. Deserters of our clan are seen as traitors.”
“Oh believe me, sir,” Artair said, carrying Nessie who was trying to stay calm, praying Artair was lying about his claim. “I have every intention of coming back.”
“Good!”
Artair quickly ran into the outskirts of the village, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone and hide behind walls whenever possible. He ducked behind a hill for a few moments, letting Nessie stand on her feet.
“Stay low. They’re trained to see men standing tall. Threats. Crawl your way over to that tree stump over there.” He pointed Nessie in the right direction and they took off, crawling with all their leftover might.
As soon as they approached the outer edges of the forest they stood up. Too far away to be seen by the raiders, they took their time and walked into the forest.
As soon as Nessie felt safe, she began staring at Artair, unsure of what to think about the mysterious stranger. He said himself he was no hero. But he was surely unlike any other man she ever met.
“What do you want with me?” she said, still staying a distance away from him, as Artair relaxed, picking berries off a bush.
“I don’t know, woman. Frankly, I’m getting kind of sorry I saved your life. All these questions you’re asking about me moral compass is not worth the one good deed.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Any other man…you understand…”
“Believe me I know. To answer your question, I guess on some level I relate to you. A long time ago, I had a wife. And while she was alive it was a promise I took seriously. So call me sentimental but a promise is a promise. Maybe I can’t save everybody all the time. But if I can save one happily married woman then it’s a deed worth doing.
Nessie stared at him in instant regret. Everything he said was heart-breaking. If only any of his perceptions were true. She was the unhappiest wife in the world and the day before her village was raided, she only prayed that God take her life along with her dignity.
“My name is Nessie, by the way.”
“Altair. I do pray we find your husband alive.”
“I’m sure he prays too,” she said blankly.
Altair nodded uncertainly a bit startled by her lack of concern.
“How did your wife die?”
“I guess you could call it natural causes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She lived a long and full life. Maybe she was the lucky one.”
“And you’ve never been with anyone else ever since…?”
He almost answered but remained silent. He looked at her in confusion and went back to eating his snack.
“Well…God bless her and you for having a soul. Maybe you don’t see the good in your heart. But if more people were like you, it would be a better world, Artair.”
“Yes well…maybe if I were like more people, I would have cared enough to save the entire village. But I couldn’t.”
“You’re just one man.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, a bit foul. He became agitated and walked a few feet away from her, exhaling in silent grief. “Maybe I could have done more, a lot more. But I’m saving my strength. I go into battle soon. It may be my last battle. And to be honest, there isn’t much more I have to do on this earth.”
Even as he retreated, she found herself walking closer to him, eager to feel his intense discharge of energy, his strange but wonderful presence of otherworldly confidence. His voice, his temperament and his blue eyes did seem almost godly and not that of an ordinary man.
Artair noticed she was walking closer and instinctively walked further away.
“Easy now,” he said, as if warning an enemy about getting too close.
“What? What are you afraid of now? Afraid of a woman’s attention?”
“I’m not afraid of you, woman.”
“Then of what?”
“Perhaps what I fear most is myself. My nature.”
“Which tells you to do what?”
She walked closer to him and practically forced him to look at her ample bosom, waiting behind white rags. It wouldn’t take but two pulls and a tear to rid her of her clothes. Even as she wore them she looked too inviting. Her cleavage was perfectly shaped and her raggedy skirt barely covered her firm legs.
He tore himself from her body to find her eyes. Ashamed of his own thoughts he answered, looking at the ground in defeat. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know. How am I to know your mind?”
He could take her now. Whether she consented or resisted, no one would ever know and no one could stop him. His desire was strong, more than it had been in years. His desires as a man were in full bloom, even at his age—a few hundred years past his prime. Just her scent and her presence not but three feet away from him, caused his manhood to stir. It had been too long since he felt a womanly touch. And it always was the cure for what ailed him.
“STOP,” he said, pointing his large and battle-weary rough finger. “You’re married.”
“What are you talking about, sir? I’m just having a conversation, am I not?”
“Get away from me,” he said reaching his hand out and creating a barrier. He dropped his arm but still eyed the acceptable distance from which she had to keep.
She “saw” his imaginary line. She knew that if she invaded his space again, his warrior instincts would kick in. He already gave her fair warning. If she valued her life she wouldn’t test him.
She eyed him cautiously and then slowly tiptoed into his private space, not even two inches into personal space.
He breathed in a deep exhale with the sound of aching rage. He grabbed Nessie into his arms and inhaled her scent. Recently washed, natural and only slightly damp from a good run. He kissed her fervently, tasting that lost sweetness that he hadn’t known for so many years. She didn’t kiss him back but she let him kiss her. Let him feel her lips and sample her tongue, allowing his strong hands to do as they please to her.
He broke the kiss against his own raging desires. But seeing her hair fall back into place after a wild shake and her come hither eyes for him changed Artair’s mind. He pulled her back into his grasp and kissed her a second time, this time with passion, this time with great hunger. He felt guilt burning inside, but it had been so long since he knew the intimacy of a woman.
His rough unshaven face pricked at her cheeks and skin but it only teased her to come back for more, more touching, more burns across her face as their skin touched together. Her scent captivated him and within a few breathless moments he was tearing those rags in two. Maybe it was a skirt and a blouse but it looked like rags, and it was begging to come off. He tore her clothes into two long shreds with his burly hands and exposed her heaving breasts.
She was already panting a
t the thought, her heart pounding at the look in his eyes. Her body had been stripped of all covering. He looked longingly at her breasts and her genital hair, so perfectly feminine, her body heat so inviting. He scooped her up in his hands, letting her balance her weight on just his strong arms. He put his hot and exhaling mouth to her breasts, placing kisses all up and down her warming flesh. She groaned out loud not just in heat, but in reluctance. The feeling of helplessness, and the guilt of cheating and wanting to say no, made it unbearable to breathe.
He sucked her thick nipples into his mouth, tasting her forbidden fruit while grunting like an animal. Just as he got too consumed with the moist taste of her bosom, she broke away from him, shoving his face with hard force. She broke his grip but they both wanted more. It just felt better somehow to resist the intensity. The second time he went for a kiss she welcomed him back, smooching him on the lips and then sending him down to suckle at her tits.
She groaned aloud, feeling a sharp pang of pleasure. When he was through sucking on one she gave him the other, moaning even louder as he put her delicate pink nipple into his mouth. He used his teeth, his tongue and his lips to sample her curves.
As soon as he realized he was overdressed, he tossed her to floor, loving the look she sent back to him as she raised her head off the grass and asked him with her shivering, deep-breathing face to come back.
His clothes burned like fire and he tore at his own furs, and belts and shirts, stripping down to a vest, then to an undergarment. He ripped the white t-shirt into shreds, leaving only his open and hairy chest. She put her soft hands along his abdomen, tracing his muscles one by one. He pulled off his pantaloons and showed himself fully erect: a monster indeed, with that ten-inch girthy cock exposed.
She smiled into his eyes after taking a long moment to study his gifted member. Imagine a fit and honest man, with his cock not compromised by bad blood flow and overdrinking. A firm body and all the energy she could handle—for once.
He lowered himself down to her and impatiently waited for her to lie on her back. He shoved her down onto the grass and forcibly spread her legs, eager to see the inside of her pink pussy waiting for him, soaking up for him.
The Captive Bride (Scottish Highlander Romance) Page 62