Defiant Love

by Maura Seger

  Another scream broke from Brenna before her throat constricted in panic. Barely able to breathe, she was rammed between the two men. The one in front continued squeezing her breasts, twisting the nipples painfully and grinding himself against her until Brenna whimpered in agony. Behind her, the other thegn had pulled up her tunic, baring her slender white thighs which he pawed brutally as he rubbed himself against her softness. Around them, the other men shouted encouragement and exhortations to haste.

  "Hurry up! We all want a turn."

  "Spread her on the ground and get on with it!"

  The man in front grinned wolfishly. "The other lads are so impatient, what do you say we have her together?"

  The second renegade was about to agree when one of the other men objected. "You'll tear her in two, you do that. Then what good will she be to the rest of us?"

  "You split her too much," warned another, "we won't be able to sell her. Plenty of brothels in London would pay good for her, but not if she's bleeding too bad to work."

  Brenna barely heard them. With her nightmare visions coming to life before her, she was sinking further and further into an abyss of pure terror. Reason, courage, hope all dissolved before the horrifying truth. She had fled from the possession of one man only to be raped by many.

  Her skin was icy cold and her breath no more than shallow pants as she prayed for unconsciousness. Let death itself take her before the nightmare become full reality. Anything was preferable to that.

  In the next instant, Brenna was abruptly thrust back to awareness. Her eyes flew wide open and her heart, which had been barely beating, began to hammer frantically as the night was pierced by a blood-chilling roar. The sound, more horrifying than anything a mere animal could produce, ricocheted off the treetops, tearing at the very fabric of the air and panicking her assailants.

  They froze in place, too stunned even to reach for their weapons. Tension-filled seconds passed during which it seemed only Brenna was aware of the swift approach of pounding hooves.

  Again the roar broke through the night, this time recognizable as a battle cry. Out of the darkness of the oaks, rode a warrior astride an immense black stallion. Across the knight's massive arms and chest chain mail gleamed dully. He wore a helmet, the visor lowered. In his left hand, he grasped a shield, its emblem obscured by darkness. Brenna had a moment to wonder at the strange twist her nightmare was taking. Then all thought fled as moonlight bathed a naked shaft of steel and death galloped into the circle of her fear.

  How easily a man can die, Brenna was to think much later. One moment her brutal assailant was standing before her, his face a hideous mask of rage and terror. The next moment he continued to stand just where he had been, but minus his head which, severed by a single swipe of the warrior's sword, bounced dully down the hillside.

  Brenna screamed as blood, hot and sticky, gushed from the pulsing stump. With sickening slowness the lifeless body crumbled to her feet. It was quickly followed by another. The thegn behind her was almost rent in two by a savage blow that cleaved his chest and sent his entrails spilling from him.

  The remaining renegades, realizing it was hopeless to try to fight afoot, dashed for their horses. Whirling his stallion, the warrior followed. Two more fell before the others managed to mount and challenge him on more equal terms. The clash of steel rang out, but only briefly. Brenna had barely time to take a breath before the last of her attackers toppled lifeless from their saddles to lie unmoving on the blood-soaked ground.

  Reining in his charger, the knight approached her with measured steps. Accepting the impossibility of flight, Brenna stood unmoving. Her ebony tresses cascaded over shoulders partially bared by the brutal mauling of the thegns. In the moonlight, her skin glowed like translucent alabaster. Through the thin tunic, the womanly curves of her soft body were clearly visible. Her eyes, wide and unconsciously pleading, stared up at the warrior as he stopped just inches from her.

  The horse's lathered breathing mingled with the sound of her own frantic heartbeat as Brenna waited to learn her fate. She flinched as a steel-gloved hand reached down to flick away a silken strand of hair obscuring the ripe curve of her breasts. A mailed finger, cold and hard as death itself, lingered against her skin.

  "Beautiful," the knight muttered thickly.

  Pride crumbled before an implacable will Brenna knew instinctively was far more dangerous than the brutal violence she had just escaped from. Drawing breath to plead with him not to hurt her, the words died in her throat. The knight had raised the visor of his helmet. Trembling uncontrollably, she stared into the merciless eyes of Guyon D'Arcy.

  Chapter Five

  "I am beginning to suspect," Guyon muttered coldly, "that you are more trouble than you may be worth, my lady."

  All the strength went out of Brenna's legs. She sank to the ground, shaking in profound relief. "Thank God it's you!"

  Dismounting with easy grace, Guyon sneered at her derisively. "Don't be in such a hurry to thank Him, madam."

  In the aftermath of her terrible fear, his warning was meaningless. Brenna knew only that Guyon had found her, protected her. She had never felt safer or more grateful. Dazedly, she whispered, "If you hadn't come when you did, I don't know what would have happened...."

  "You would have been raped," Guyon said flatly. He pulled off his gloves and helmet, running a hand through short tawny hair as he stared down expressionlessly at the girl kneeling before him. Her fragile beauty and vulnerability appeared to leave him completely untouched. There was no softening in his manner as he ordered, "Get up."

  Brenna gazed at him in confusion. Why was Guyon being like this? Why wasn't he comforting and reassuring her? He had a right to be angry, she admitted ruefully. But couldn't he see that she had already been more than adequately punished for running away from him?

  "Guyon..." she began, her hand instinctively going out to him.

  He ignored the gesture, and the plea for understanding implicit in her manner. Angrily, the knight repeated, "Get up!"

  Sensing that this was not the time to argue, Brenna got slowly to her feet. She tried hard not to look at the surrounding carnage. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air, making her tremble. The face she raised to Guyon was ashen, the eyes wide and luminous with frightened tears.

  Once again, she tried to placate him. "Please, don't be so angry...."

  "Angry!" he echoed harshly. "Madam, you truly have no idea of my anger." Ominously, he added, "But you will, I promise that!"

  Leaving her clutching the thin tunic tightly around her, Guyon went to secure his mount and Brenna's chestnut. She watched as he quickly removed both saddles, rubbed the horses down, and made sure they were within easy reach of grass and water. Her eyes widened as he took a blanket from his saddlebag and tossed it on the ground, then unbuckled the wide leather belt holding his sword and laid it close at hand. Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he stripped off the chain mail, before turning back to her. "Come here."

  Brenna stared at him uncomprehendingly. This was not the Guyon she had known all the last week. The laughing, gentle man who told her stories about the wide world, discussed books with her, and made her feel at ease and happy with him was changed beyond all recognition. Before her stood a ruthless, brutal warrior utterly incapable of compassion or mercy.

  Biting her lip, Brenna frantically told herself things were not always as they seemed. Beneath the cold, relentless mask he now wore, the Guyon she remembered must still linger. If only she could reach him.

  On legs that felt as though they had turned to lead, Brenna moved slowly toward the implacable knight. She stopped a few feet away, unable to take another step under the piercing topaz eyes devoid of all feeling. Her head lowered, hands clenched before her, she struggled to control the quivering of her slender limbs.

  "Get undressed."

  Brenna's head shot up, eyes wide with shock. "W-what?"

  "Unless you want the last of your garments torn from you," Guyon grated, "take i
t off now. Otherwise, you will return with me to Thorney tomorrow naked as the day you were born!"

  Instinctively, Brenna stepped back. This couldn't be happening to her! Surely Guyon didn't mean to... "Y-you can't," she whispered fearfully. Realizing the futility of flight, she still couldn't prevent a quick glance over her shoulder. But before she could move another inch, she was seized in a grip of iron that threatened to crush her very bones.

  "I can't do what, Brenna?" Guyon challenged mockingly. "Lie with you? Be assured, I can do that and anything else I choose! The betrothal documents are signed. You belong to me as surely as you will after the priest has blessed our union. And I, my lady, am in no mood to wait for holy sanction to claim my rights!"

  As though it sickened him to touch her more than absolutely necessary, Guyon thrust her from him. Brenna landed hard against the trunk of a tree, where she crouched like a cornered animal. All hope that she might yet be able to reason with him fled as Guyon snarled, "No one does what you have done to me and goes unpunished. You mocked my honor and profaned our union! Never in my life have I encountered such a willful, disobedient woman. But that will change, my lady, and swiftly! Where I would have taken you in gentleness, it will now please me greatly to force your submission!"

  Untying the laces of his tunic, Guyon advanced on her menacingly. "Fight me all you will, Brenna. The more you struggle, the better satisfied I will be." A sneer distorted his handsome features as he trailed a callused finger down the delicate line of her cheek. Brenna flinched beneath his touch, bringing a harsh laugh from Guyon. "You will have to become accustomed to my handling you, my lady. By morning there will not be an inch of your delectable body I have not known. The blood of your lost virginity will only begin to wipe out the stain to my honor."

  He stood only inches from her, his breath warm against her ashen skin. She could see the rippling muscles lightly covered by his tunic, feel the implacable strength radiating from him. Hopelessly, Brenna realized this time there would be no rescue. It was Guyon who would make her nightmare a reality, and when he did something inside her would die forever.

  Numbly, she heard him insist, "I meant what I said, Brenna. Unless you wish to be displayed naked before the entire court tomorrow, remove your clothing!"

  Some vital part of Brenna seemed to be falling down a deep, endless well, spiraling further and further away from the brutality of what was happening to her. What was left behind had the appearance of Brenna, but very little more. It was as though a stranger accepted the inevitability of what Guyon meant to do to her, a stranger lifted trembling hands to unfasten the tunic, a stranger slid the pleated linen from her body to feel the cool night air touch her naked limbs. Brenna herself felt nothing, except a sadness more profound than death itself. Silent tears trickled down her pale cheeks. She mourned as much for the gentle, noble Guyon she had briefly glimpsed as for all that she had not yet dared to dream.

  At the sight of her loveliness, Guyon could not suppress a gasp. She was even more beautiful than he had suspected! Never in his life had he beheld such perfection in any woman. Her skin was flawless ivory, her body delicate yet so ripely curved as to send flames searing through his loins. Beneath the tumult of her lustrous midnight hair and beautiful features, the slender column of her alabaster throat gave way to fragile shoulders and slim, white arms. The deep indentation of her tiny waist made the curve of her breasts and hips all the more provocative. Her legs were long and shapely, separated by a tangle of dark curls into which he ached to delve.

  In the cool night air, Brenna's nipples hardened reflexively. Guyon's heated gaze drifted to them. It was all too easy to imagine how the rosy peaks would feel within his mouth, under the gentle persuasion of his tongue.

  Only the lingering memory of her betrayal forced him to act harshly. Holding her by the arms, Guyon yanked her over to the blanket and pushed her down. He followed quickly, half-covering her body with his own, a sinewy thigh thrown over both her legs to hold her immobile. His hand moved leisurely to savor the fullness of her breast. The tawny silk of his hair brushed against her cheek as he lowered his head to suckle her.

  Guyon had meant to make his every touch bruising and every caress an insult. But he was powerless to stop his response to Brenna. Even as his loins burned and his manhood throbbed, he could not hurry his possession of her. This was no well-used whore to be roughly tumbled and forgotten. Beneath him lay an achingly beautiful child-woman who did not yet begin to suspect her power over him. He longed to taste every inch of her satiny skin, to feel her move against him with desire as potent as his own, to hear her first sweet cries of surrender and fulfillment.

  Though he still raged against the insult she had done him by fleeing from their marriage, Guyon asked himself if this was truly how he wanted to start their life together. Did he really want to initiate her into womanhood with terror and pain? The memory of that would linger forever between them, a legacy of mistrust and resentment that might never be overcome.

  Yet she deserved to be punished, he told himself fiercely. The shock and desolation he felt when told of her flight were still too acute simply to be forgotten. Reminding himself of that, he allowed his teeth to close sharply on her nipple. A soft whimper broke from Brenna.

  Guyon relented at once. Against his worst instincts, his touch became coaxingly gentle. His mouth took hers tenderly, parting her lips to allow his tongue to explore the warm, honeyed recesses. Moving over her carefully, his hand caressed the satiny curve of her hip and thigh. As he stroked her passionately, he trailed a line of fiery kisses clear to the base of her throat and the sweet hollow that might have been fashioned to receive his lips. His hands gently kneaded her breasts, fingers tenderly teasing the nipples before being replaced by his hot, moist mouth. Arching her hips against his hardness, Guyon applied the first tentative pressure to part her legs. When Brenna still offered no resistance, he looked up puzzled.

  Her eyes were open, staring emptily at the waning moon. The deep gray-green pools were the only color in her otherwise ashen face. Her skin was chill as snow. Her body was limp, as though all life had fled from it. He could barely make out her shallow breathing and slow, almost imperceptible heartbeat.

  Very rarely had Guyon D'Arcy ever known true fear. From childhood he had become inured to savagery and death. Yet the sight of Brenna's near-lifeless form spurred terror more profound than any he had ever so much as glimpsed.

  Sitting up quickly, he drew her with him, rubbing her arms and back to warm her. Softly, he murmured, "Brenna, I didn't mean to frighten you this much. I'm not going to hurt you."

  Nothing. She might have been miles away for all the response she gave. More urgently, he tried again. "Brenna! There's no reason to be so afraid. I couldn't really harm you. Brenna, listen to me!"

  Still nothing. Now deeply worried, Guyon shook her hard. He had seen this state a few times before among men who after days of brutal battle withdrew into themselves, simply unable to endure anything more. Left like that, a man would not eat or drink, and could eventually die.

  Cursing himself for a brutish idiot, he wrapped the girl's slender body in the blanket, cradling her tight to his chest. Over and over he murmured reassurances that he was sorry for so frightening her, that she would not be hurt. At last, to his great relief, Brenna's eyes closed. She drifted into what he prayed was a natural sleep.

  Laying her down tenderly, Guyon quickly gathered wood for a fire. When it was burning brightly, he moved her closer to the warmth. Fetching water from the nearby spring, he gently washed away the marks of tears on her pale face. For a time after that he simply sat watching her, somewhat comforted by the slow rise and fall of her breasts under the blanket. Still far too worried to rest himself, he considered what else might be done to aid her recovery from his stupidity. Concerned that she would be distressed upon waking to find herself naked, he fetched her tunic and gently unwound the blanket.

  The sight of bruises inflicted by the renegade thegns on her breasts
and hips made Guyon wince. His fury with himself increased as he realized that in his angry lust he had completely forgotten the fear she must have experienced at the hands of those other men. If any had been left alive, he would gladly have killed them then. As it was, he calmed enough to realize it would do Brenna no good to wake to the sight of bodies strewn about. Adding more wood to the fire, he left her just long enough to drag her attackers' remains out of sight. Peasants in the neighborhood would strip off their clothes and wolves would finish the rest. He felt no hesitation about denying them Christian burial. Too often Guyon had seen the horror men like that could inflict on helpless women. He considered their fate well deserved, even as he painfully wondered just how much better than them he really was.

  Returning to the fire, he eased Brenna back into his arms. She was sleeping deeply now, some slight color returning to her cheeks. Stroking her silken hair tenderly, he leaned back against the broad trunk of a tree and settled down to wait out the night.

  Shortly before dawn, Brenna began to stir.

  Guyon, who had been barely dozing, came instantly awake. Ready to reassure her the moment she returned to consciousness, he was surprised when her eyes opened but remained unfocused, as though her gaze was directed inward to some scene hidden from him.

  Within his gentle embrace, her body tensed. Her head tossed from side to side as she moaned softly. "No... d-don't... don't hurt my mother... p-please..."

  Guyon leaned forward, startled by her voice. This was not the soft, melodious tones he knew from her but the high-pitched whimper of a frightened child.

  "Not my mother... No! You hurt the others... not her! Let her go... please, let her go..."