by Lexi Lane
“Where are you taking us?” Isolda heard the edge of fear in her voice. She straightened her back, willing away the fear. “And why?”
“You and your sister, and the rest, are coming to my village. It’s a ride of a day and a half, if our passengers do not slow us down. We’ll have to stop for the night.” He shifted behind her again, one hand around her waist, holding her tight.
“As to why, it’s really none of your concern.”
“None of my concern! And how can being taken from my home not be my concern?”
She twisted on the horse, trying to look at Gerold, trying to get away from his hold. He only held her more tightly, his hand splayed across her stomach, reaching up to caress her breast. She could feel the hard muscles of his arm, as it pressed against her body. His chest against her back felt as broad as a mountain. And she suspected the hard bulge she felt against her back was his growing erection. She realized there was no way she could overpower this giant of man.
Isolda was practically panting with a mixture of anger and fear. “Why? Why take us?” She managed to crane her neck, looking up at Gerold.
He sighed. “I can see you’re going to be a challenge, in many ways.” He shifted on the horse yet again, his hold loosening slightly. Isolda twisted further, able to see him as he spoke.
“How much history do you know about your village? Your peaceful little farming village? You call us savages. Do you know what savage acts your father and brothers have committed?” Gerold’s voice had dropped to a low growl.
“Do you?” He looked down at her, scowling, his blue eyes blazing with anger.
Isolda shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve been farmers for as long as the village has been…there.” She looked past his shoulder, where she imagined her home was, the still green fields, the snug stone cottages. She looked up at Gerold. “I know no other life.”
“Well, let me tell you of your village’s truth then, girl. The men of your village, that is.” Gerold paused, ducking beneath a tree branch.
Isolda watched as Gerold’s face grew flushed.
“My wife was taken in the night, under the cover of darkness. We tracked her to a village, but then she was moved. And moved again. We lost her.
“But she escaped, found her way back to her home. And told us what happened to her. How she had been forced to lie with village men, one after another. How they had taken their pleasure with her.” Gerold closed his eyes briefly.
He looked down at Isolda. “And when she came back to us, she was sick. She lived for only a few days and then died. That was a year ago, before I became chief, before my father died.” Gerold made a disgusting sound deep in his throat. “I should say before the coward who would do nothing to avenge her death died.”
Gerold stopped talking, and they rode in silence for several minutes. At length, Isolda spoke.
“So taking us, women from our village—any village—is revenge for your wife?”
“Simply, yes. I made a vow to avenge her death.” He looked down at her. “It’s not ‘any village’ we chose though. This was the first village we tracked her to. We know the men of this village were the ones who took her and then either sold her or traded her to another village. It all started there.”
Isolda shook her head. “I cannot believe this. There were never any strange women in the village. I knew everyone who lived there. You are wrong.”
Gerold snorted. “You’re quite naïve then. Or blind. It’s easy to overlook a ‘savage’ when it’s convenient. We are, as you say, beneath your contempt.”
“You’re wrong,” she repeated.
“And I really don’t care what you think, girl. I can have you gagged as well as bound.” Gerold shifted on his horse, pulling her hard against him again, forcing her to face forward. “Enough talk. I know your father took her: I suspect your father kept her and used her, and then sold her.”
“And I intend to use his daughter—daughters—in exactly the same way he used my wife.”
They rode in silence for many hours. Gerold continued to grope her breast, occasionally sliding his hand down between her legs.
Isolda caught sight of Gisela occasionally, slumped on the pack horse, miserable and cold. She tried asking Gerold for a blanket for Gisela, but he only threatened to gag her if she spoke again.
They stopped at dusk, the men working to build a small fire, other men producing rabbits for the spits. Gerold led Isolda to where Gisela was sitting.
“I’m loosening your ties so you can eat.” He looked up at Isolda. “But I’m binding your feet so you cannot run. You are far from any village; this forest is very inhospitable to young girls on foot. Your safety lies in staying with us.”
Isolda stretched her arms, turning her wrists, sighing as the feeling returned to her hands. She tied the torn ends of her dress together, covering her exposed breasts. She looked at Gisela, her head drooping, blonde hair covering her face. Wrapping her arms around her, she pulled her sister against her, sliding part of the blanket over her shoulders.
Gerold brought them a portion of rabbit and a flask of wine. Isolda wanted to refuse, but her stomach had been growling ever since the tantalizing smell of roasted meat began to drift over the camp. She divided the rabbit between herself and Gisela, passing the wine flask between them. They ate in silence, the men clustered across the fire, watching them with hungry eyes.
Gisela suddenly yawned, leaning against Isolda. She looked at the girl. Her eyelids were half closed, her eyes were glazed, her face slack.
“Gisela!” Isolda reached to shake the girl, but the sudden movement made her dizzy. From a distance, she heard laughter. She struggled to focus on the voices, her head spinning. Gerold broke away from the small group, walking toward her.
“I see the wine has taken effect.” He reached out, running his hand through her hair. “Just a little fortified wine, with some special added ingredients. It helps you relax, and keeps you just off balance enough to make it difficult to run away.” Gerold touched her cheek. His voice dropped lower.
“And makes you much more accepting of my advances.”
Isolda looked up at him, her eyes traveling over his face. She felt the overwhelming desire to lean against his hand, to rub her face against him. A voice in her head was telling her she was drugged, this wasn’t how she really felt. But as she looked at him, she was mesmerized by his blue eyes, reflecting the firelight. She tried to bring one hand up to brush his hand away and found herself instead running her fingers through his blonde hair.
Gerold laughed. “Ah, well, the wine’s done its trick.” He looked over at Gisela. “For one of you at least; it seems your sister drank a little too much.” Gisela was slumped over on the ground, her eyes closed.
Pulling Isolda to her feet, Gerold wrapped his arm around her shoulder, taking her away from Gisela. Isolda cast a glance back over her shoulder, dimly aware she shouldn’t be separated from her sister. But her thoughts were scattered; she could only focus on the feel of Gerold’s arm around her, the feel of his warm body against hers, his masculine scent. She closed her eyes, letting him lead her where ever he wished. The calls and jeers from the other men faded away.
Gerold took her to where he had laid his blanket on the ground, set away from the rest of the group. She sank down on the blanket, vaguely dizzy.
“I’m going to untie your bonds, girl. You’ll not run, even if your limbs could carry you. Do you hear me?” He tilted her face to his. Isolda nodded, her eyes focusing on Gerold’s face, searching his blue eyes.
He pushed her down on the blanket, kneeling down beside her. He reached down and undid the carefully untied the knots holding her dress together, letting them fall to the side. Isolda watched with distracted fascination as Gerold ran his hands over her breasts, stroking the skin, running his hands over her nipples. She felt them puckering, tingles of sensation radiating out as Gerold pinched and rubbed them.
Isolda arched her back against Ge
rold’s hand, a soft moan escaping her lips. Gerold lay down beside her, pulling her to him, bending his head to one breast. He pulled one hard nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, fondling her other breast with his hand. She rolled toward him, winding her fingers into his hair, holding his head to her.
Gerold ran his hand down her back, cupping her ass, pushing his hard cock against her stomach. She moaned again, more loudly, rubbing her hips back and forth, throwing one leg over his hip. Gerold groaned against her breast, pulling her hard against him. He broke away from her breast, rolling her onto her back. Isolda cried out, reaching for his face, trying to pull him back to her kiss.
“All in good time, girl. All in good time. I’ve not even begun with you yet.”
Sliding his hand beneath her dress, he pinched the tender skin of her inner thigh. Isolda let her legs fall open, pulling Gerold back down to her, kissing him, her tongue thrusting at his lips.
Through the haze of the wine, Isolda felt a slow fire start burning low in her belly, moving lazily through her arms and legs. She felt leaden and slow, but deliciously relaxed, almost as if she were floating. She wanted more, she wanted this man to touch her everywhere, kiss her everywhere, and suckle at her breasts. But her mind couldn’t get the thoughts to her lips; all she could do was moan and gasp at his touch.
Gerold pulled her dress up, her legs exposed to the cool night air. She felt him fumbling between their bodies and then felt his hard cock pressing against her thigh. Knowing what was going to happen, a tiny voice in her mind began screaming this was wrong, she should fight him off. But her body was already reacting, her hips rising to meet Gerold’s body, suddenly aching to know what it would feel like to have a man inside her, to have him thrust his cock into her waiting body.
She felt the head of his cock rubbing against her slit, probing her. And then she felt him pushing slowly into her. There was a brief sharp pain and then he was in her, filling her. She tipped her head back, a long soft cry escaping her parted lips. The pain drifted away.
Isolda wrapped her legs around Gerold’s waist, rolling her hips up to meet his body, relishing the feeling of his cock buried in her body. She pulled his head to hers, kissing him deeply, her fingers back in his hair. After a moment, he pulled away, looking down at Isolda.
“Oh, god, you’re a beautiful girl.” He brushed a tangled strand of red hair away from her face. “Were you only this willing to bed me without the wine, life would be much simpler.” He buried his face in her neck, one hand rubbing and stroking her breast.
Gerold pushed himself deeply into Isolda, holding himself buried completely, pulling back slowly. She rocked her hips, meeting him with each stroke, arching her back as he pulled back.
Soon Gerold was thrusting hard, grunting against Isolda’s neck, clutching spasmodically at her breast. She unwound her legs from around his waist and was pushing herself violently against him, her hands clutching the blanket beneath her. The heat that had started in her belly now shot through her limbs, rising up through her chest, warming her against the chill night air.
A small corner of her mind was still crying out that this was wrong; but then she was consumed with sensations, wave after wave of intense pleasure flooding through her body, as she lay, shuddering and gasping, arching against Gerold. She cried out, twisting and thrashing beneath him.
Gerold’s thrusts grew erratic; he was crying out with each stroke now. Looking up, she watched his face, the firelight casting shadows across his features. She saw the look of ecstasy that crossed his face, marveled that she created it. She lay beneath him, her own body recovering, and waves of pleasure changing into warm ebbs of contentment.
Gerold held himself still inside her for one brief moment, his body tense, and then he thrust hard into her once, twice; she felt liquid heat filling her as he came, his cock throbbing and pulsing. He buried his head in her neck, moaning against her skin, as his body shook with the force of his orgasm. She felt him jerking, clutching her against him, his body holding her down.
Finally he relaxed, the tension slowly leaving his body. He remained on top of her, one arm wrapped around her shoulder. After a long time his breathing grew slow and deep: he had fallen asleep.
Isolda shivered in the night air; almost instinctively Gerold pulled the blankets around their bodies. He pulled her close, curving her body to his, arms and legs wrapped entangled with hers, burying his face in her neck.
Isolda tried to fight the sleep that was taking over her mind and body, tried to will herself to get up and run, but the effects of the wine were still affecting her. She tried moving out from beneath Gerold, but he only pulled her closer.
“Sleep now, Ravenna. It’s late…” Gerold murmured against her neck. “I’ll keep you safe and warm.” And then he was asleep. Moments later Isolda was as well.
***
Isolda heard voices, someone was shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes. The brilliant morning sunshine was like a dagger through her skull. Rolling over, she pulled the blanket over her head.
“Get up. We can’t be lying about all day waiting for you.” She recognized Baldric’s voice.
Isolda sat up. The pain in her head increased and she closed her eyes.
“Here. Drink this. It will help.” She looked up. Gerold was crouched in front of her, holding a cup in his hand.
“More of that vile potion you fed us last night? No, thank you.” She made a face, struggling to pull the tattered remnants of her dress together.
Gerold laughed. “No, girl, not this morning. We have many miles to cover. I can’t have you retching all over me and my horse.” He still held the cup. “Here, watch.” He took a drink, grimacing.
“Anything that tastes that horrid must do some good.” He set the cup on the ground. “Drink. And then we must leave.” Gerold stood. “Oh, I brought you this.” He tossed a garment on the blanket next to her.
“It’s not a dress, but a jerkin. At least you’ll be covered since your dress has, well, been through a lot.”
Isolda looked up as Gerold turned, shouting at the men who were breaking camp. She saw Gisela, still on her blanket, looking pale, clutching a cup of what Isolda assumed was the same vile liquid Gerold had brought her.
Picking up the cup, she sniffed. It did smell vile, but her head was aching and her stomach was heaving and rolling. She took a small sip and instantly spat it out. Her stomach rolled again and she retched violently.
“If you feel that bad sitting still, think how bad you’ll feel on the back of a horse.” Baldric was back, standing in front of her. “We need to pack the blankets.”
She stood, retrieving the jerkin. The thought of even climbing on a horse made her head spin. Holding her nose, she drank the entire cup of liquid. Her stomach threatened to send it back. Isolda closed her eyes, willing herself not to retch in front of Baldric.
“You know, your sister’s a fine girl. If Gerold had half as much pleasure with you as I had with her, he was a lucky man.”
Isolda spun around at Baldric’s words. “You swine!” She flung the empty cup at him. Too surprised to move, it caught Baldric above his left eye. Blood instantly welled from a gash on his face.
Baldric wiped his hand across his forehead, looking down at the blood on his fingers. “You bitch!” He lunged at her, swiping at her with his hand. She ducked, his blow glancing off her shoulder, knocking her to the ground.
He was standing over her in an instant, his dagger drawn. Isolda looked up, saw the fury on his face and she instinctively covered her head with her hands. The she heard a gasp, and Baldric fell face down on the ground next to her, clutching his neck. She watched as a pool of blood spread between his fingers, as he twitched and gasped.
Scrambling away, she looked up. Gerold was wiping the blade of his dagger on his pants. He reached down, grabbing Isolda’s arm, pulling her to her feet. She took one look back at Baldric, his sightless eyes and the blood staining the ground, and turned away, retching violently.
&n
bsp; Gerold took her to his horse, tossed her up and mounted behind her. He whistled once and the rest of the men mounted, and the fell in behind Gerold’s horse.
They left the clearing, Gerold’s arm tight around her waist, Isolda surprised that her hands were left unbound. She was wearing the too-large jerkin, which smelled of wood smoke, cooking grease and unwashed body, but she was relieved to be wearing something that covered her breasts. Gisela was back on the pack horse, her hands tied loosely. She saw Gisela had been given a blanket, which the girl clutched about her shoulders. Gerold had not let them speak to each other; she did not know if what Baldric had said was true or not. It was a long time before she worked up the courage to speak.
“You took advantage of me last night.” Isolda tried to control the anger in her voice.
“Yes, I did. And I enjoyed it very much. And you enjoyed it as well.”
“You drugged me. I had no choice.”
“There are always choices, girl.” He was silent for several minutes. “But look at it this way: either drugged or not, willing or fighting, it was going to happen. I was going to have you. That you enjoyed it was an unexpected benefit, I’d say.”
“Baldric said he…that…he and Gisela…did he take advantage of my sister?” The words stuck in her throat.
“No, that he did not. He is…was…a liar and boastful. He did not have his way with your sister.”
“Thank the Gods for small favors.” Isolda breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well, yes, since she is to be mine as well. He knew that; I’d have killed him if he’d have taken her against my orders. Besides, she was a limp bundle of bones, sound asleep before too long. It wouldn’t have been much sport having her.”