A Warrior's Perception

by Stevens, Spring

  This cannot be happening! Please Dagma save me from this!

  He tied her feet together and slapped her bottom, leaving a red handprint on her bare butt. He jerked her up and flung her to the table. She lost her balance and fell across it. She pushed herself to stand and was slammed back onto her chest. Her exposed bottom flinched in pain as Pierre's hand created multitudes of red welts up and down her backside. Her angry sobs eased as the onslaught stopped.

  “Do not worry, my sweet, I will not break your maidenhead, I will take what I deserve for suffering your touches. I will pleasure myself where it leaves no trace of entry. Our secret will be safe,” he feverishly stated as he pushed himself into her backside.

  Andra stiffened in pain and screamed as his head entered the forbidden place. She pulled away and grabbed the edge of the table as he slammed hard into her. She screamed as she twisted and tore away. She drew her legs up as she turned onto her back and used every ounce of her strength to kick him squarely into the chest. Pierre fell backwards and she pulled herself upright and untied her feet. Her bottom ached as she squirmed off of the table and landed on her feet. He came up trying to caught his breathe as her fist connected with his jaw. He cursed and backhanded her. She fell sideways and landed with a thud against the wall where training weapons hang loosely from rusty nails.

  The weapons and shields fell around her from the wall. Her head pounded as he pulled her to her feet and flung her to his bed in the far corner of the room. She fell to her knees, vaguely feeling her kneecaps rip open. From some far recess of her mind she felt the sword under his bed and grabbed it's hilt. The room was spinning as he grabbed her waist and pushed her onto her stomach across the bed. His hands spread her backside open and he put his shaft into position. He paused as a look of shock crossed his face.

  Pain exploded into his groin and he looked down. The edge of a blade penetrated his tender sac and was grinding deeper into his manhood. His guttural scream escaped from his mouth as he stood and grabbed his balls. Andra flipped over and stood. She swaggered toward him with sword in hand. She knew she was going to be sick as blood filled her mouth and coursed down into her eyes. She swung with all her might.

  The blade sliced his arm as he dodged it once, twice. The third swing left a trail of blood across his chest. He howled in anger as he charged her. She swung and the blade cut deep into his shoulder, slicing through the skin and muscle, lodging into the bone. Pierre fell to his knee in agony and looked up into the face of his most formidable opponent. He had taught her well, too well it seemed. His vision blurred as he fell forward at her feet. She pulled the sword from his body and kicked him in the face. Her nostrils flared as she triumphantly stepped over him and vomited. Her insides twisted and lurched, emptying itself of all its contents.

  As a final note of her anguish, she turned to his twitching form and buried the sword into his stomach. A profound satisfaction filled her very being. How dare any man touch her, how dare any man take from her what should only be given, and if Dagma wouldn’t save her then so be it that she save herself!

  With her head held high, she marched out into the morning sun. Her father's men gaped at her naked, blood splattered body. They stared speechlessly at her as she walked to the keep and disappeared from their sight. They looked upon each other silently wondering what had happened. Captain O'Darvin pulled himself together and hurried to Pierre's quarters.

  Laird Kagan arrived at Shinonoble at noon. He had come to see his bride to be, a day early, but he was in no state to wait for his woman. An arrogant smile lay upon his lips; he had prepared himself to deal with her wily seductive body. He would be in total control thanks to the vile of potent elixir he had obtained from the local gypsy clan. He dismounted Demon and handed the stable boy the reigns, wondering why he had not been greeted at the gate by the Duncan's guards. No matter, today was to be a day of days.

  He walked to the keep's entrance and frowned, still no welcome met his arrival. He entered the keep and knitted his brow, his warrior instinct sent shivers of dismay up his spine. Something was wrong within the keep's walls. He stalked down the corridor and rounded the double doors to the ballroom. His mouth had opened to reprimand Adalie of the disgrace, when his eyes fell upon the mess stretched out on the table.

  The table was covered in white strips of bloody linens and an old crone was hunched over a bald man with a thick long mustache. His head was bruised and battered. A linen was tied around his left eye, blood had soaked through and dried on the fabric. The old crone was stitching the man's shoulder the best that she could. Kagan inspected the damage; the wound was to the bone, hacked and sawed beyond repair.

  If the man survived the gaping wound to his stomach, his right arm would be useless as well as his left eye. His chest and arms were laced with newly scabbed wounds; the blade had been extremely sharp and left no pity in its exit. The old crone coughed as she pulled a stitch tight and tied it in place. Blood oozed down the man's neck and crept down the table, pooling on the stone floor. The man groaned as he bit harder into the small piece of kindling that lay between his teeth.

  “What pray tell has happened here?” he boomed to the Duncans who stood at the windows.

  Adalie turned to his guard and hastily ordered him to leave at once. Kagan eyed Adalie as the guard left. The crone straightened and nodded at Adalie, “Ha'e done all I can, the rest is left up to his will power.”

  The old crone left, leaving Adalie, Crimm, Kagan, and the wounded man behind her bent frame. She smiled as she closed the door and wondered who would pay for this deed. She would hold her tongue and allow the girl to deal with this ordeal as she saw fit. Men were ignorant of a woman's feelings and fears and her old heart wished Andra the best. She was so like her mother, so full of life, and the old crone did not want to see Andra get broken by a man.

  She had seen Andra run to her room and had followed, letting herself into the girl’s room. She had told her that if she ever needed solitude, she could find it at the abbey. The nuns there would keep her presence secret if she desired it. The girl had paused only briefly enough to thank the old crone with her eyes. The old crone nodded and had left as quickly as she had come.

  Kagan stood with his legs firmly planted to the floor beside of the groaning man and growled at Crimm as he stepped away from the window, “Out with it!”

  “Guston was attacked in his quarters,” he forced himself to continue, “Andra was there.”

  Kagan eyed Crimm, “Where is she?”

  “I do ‘na know. She ran from the keep yesterday morn 'fore we were aware that this had happened.” Crimm dropped his eyes from Kagan's viscous stare, “Aran is trailin' her as we speak. He will find her and bring her back.”

  “Who attacked 'em?” Kagan roared at his friend.

  Crimm ran his hand through his hair, “Andra attacked Guston, Kagan! She did this to him, she's gone mad, and then she ran without explanation.”

  “She...she was...mag...magnificent,” whispered the wounded Guston, “She fought so hard and.”

  Kagan's hand went to his hilt and turned to look down at the man on the table, “Why did she attack ye?”

  Guston laughed, spurting blood onto his lips, “One last lesson. Her body was mine. I beat her. Submission. Took my sword. I took her from ...behind.”

  Kagan's rage filled every inch of his frame; his howling war cry breached the keep's walls and echoed across the hillside as his sword danced through the air. The clang of steel bit into the table underneath Guston and the hilt met Guston's chest. Kagan's wild eyes watched the man drag his last breath in as he pulled his long sword from the table and Guston's body. Blood poured out from the wound and covered the floor under the table. Kagan wiped his sword on the linens beside Guston and sheathed his sword as the blood rolled under his booted feet.

  “Feed him to the buzzards and lea'e his bones for the wolves,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

  Adalie fell to his knees in heart wrenching agony as Crimm answered K
agan's order, “It is done!”

  Kagan turned as Crimm continued, “I ha'e dishonored ye, I failed ye, my life is in ye hands. I swear by Dagma that she will be found!”

  Kagan was laird and could not let his emotions be shown, “Find her and lea'e her be. I will deal with her in due time. Waste na time in returnin' to me when ye find her.”

  “Aye milord, it will be done!” Crimm vowed as Kagan stalked out the double doors.

  Chapter 6

  Davonna Abbey – Scotland - 1573

  Andra clapped her hands as the children from the nearby orphanage finished their puppet show for the nuns at the abbey. The recipients smiled in delight as the sparingly dressed children bowed with puppets in hand. The children were orphans from the wars that plagued the highland clans. The nuns had found them huddled and half-starved in an abandoned shack on the outskirts of a destroyed village. Andra had been at the abbey for at least six months when the children came.

  They had been a godsend, bringing Andra out of her depressive state of mind. She had taken to them like flies to honey and they had welcomed her loving hands. Smiles, happy tears, laughter, and long nights of storytelling were indeed the cure that the children brought with them.

  The children piled around Andra as she kissed their foreheads and praised them. They loved her from the very start and wormed their way straight to her heart. She laughed and smiled as the children rapidly talked and danced around the small abbey hallway. They made their way to the schoolroom at the back of the abbey and took their seats.

  Andra had taken it upon herself to teach the children how to read and write. She spent hours with them each day as they pondered through what few books the abbey possessed.

  Months flew by as Andra's heart melted and she finally cried for herself. She cried in agony and the tidal waves of pain eased as she accepted what had been done to her. She vowed to herself that it would never happen again, she would never trust another man, and she would use what little she had to get what she wanted.

  After her breakdown she moved into the make shift orphanage and met Flaron, the abbey carpenter. He had built the orphanage rather quickly as the demand had warranted and kept the abbey in repair.

  Flaron was quite a man with a nice friendly smile and a square jaw. His intense blue eyes sparkled with kindness and his smile puffed his cheeks up in pink mounds. Andra liked him but kept her distance. Andra guessed him to be in his late fifties by the streaks of white in his red beard and braided hair.

  The nuns had told her he was widowed twenty years past and had no children of his own. Andra had watched him work from a distance and was slightly impressed by his stamina. He rarely ever talked, but his eyes sparkled and his smile made her hand wave in greeting. But he was a man nonetheless and she would not fall for his kind eyes.

  Andra ran her hands through the tall blades of grass as she watched Flaron work on the abbey wall. Sweat poured from his brawny back and his skin glistened in the sunlight. He looked up and cheerfully waved at her. She dropped her eyes as he turned to the children that came up behind him laughing. He chased them around the abbey and through the field towards Andra.

  Panic attacked at her heart but she forced it down refusing to let the children see fear in her eyes. She had downed one man and she could do it again if necessary.

  “Save us from the ogre. Save us Miss Andra!” they squealed as they ran behind her.

  She laughed and shooed them behind her skirts, “Stop beast or suffer my hand!”

  He stopped and put his hands on his thick hips with a twinkle in his eye, “But milady, I promise I will'na harm the wee ones.”

  She laughed in delight despite her panic as she pointed behind him, “It is'na the bairns I am worried 'bout.”

  He raised his brow and roared with laughter as the littlest one punched him in the gut. Andra scooped her little hero up into her arms and rewarded him with a kiss on his cheek. His little face flushed and he wiggled out of her grasp. The children ran toward the orphanage as Flaron sat at her feet, propping himself up on his elbow. He picked a blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth. Andra sat beside of him as they watched the children play.

  “They like ye,” Andra noted as he laughed at the least one's antics.

  “I always wanted a house full of bairns,” he admitted, “but Keyra was'na able to ha'e 'em.”

  “I am truly sorry,” Andra whispered.

  “She left me long ago. She disappeared as if she were a dream,” he returned with sad eyes and heavy heart, “She was a good woman.”

  “Ye loved her very much?” Andra asked curiously as Flaron's eyes misted with tears.

  “With all mine heart,” he breathed as he looked to the heavens, “I take comfort in knowin' that she waits for me in Valhalla.”

  “How did ye know ye were in love with her?” Andra asked.

  “From the first time I saw her, she captured my heart,” he smiled, “Keyra was a fine lass. Her heart was as strong as a bear and as tender as a lamb. I could'na stop thinkin' bout her, she haunted me day and night ‘til I realized I would'na e'er be happy without her.”

  Andra frowned, “I did ‘na mean to pry, forgive me.”

  Flaron's soft smile melted Andra's heart, “There is nothin' to forgive. It was my good fortune to ha'e loved her and I thank Dagma that I had the time that I did with her while she was here.”

  “She must ha'e been wonderful to ha'e a man love her so deeply,” Andra commented as Flaron patted her hand, “How did she pass?”

  “She was indeed wonderful and lovelier than the sunset. The priest at Geldamar said she died in her sleep after a long illness. She was taken to bed with a fever one night and lay sick for months while I was fightin' at Laird McKregan's side,” he stated with ragged breath, “The priest said that her body disappeared that later that same day''.”

  “Laird McKregan? Kagan McKregan?” she whispered.

  “Nay, was ‘na Kagan, it was by his father's side that I fought. Laird Kain McKregan,” he replied.

  “Ye were a warrior?” she asked in awe as she studied the scars on his arms and legs.

  “Aye,” he answered as he stretched out onto his back, “but it was long ago and the past is sometimes best left where it lies. Can'na live for tomorrow if yesterday holds ye heart.”

  “Ye speak kind wise words, unlike the warriors I ha'e known,” she replied, “Do ye say what ye think I want to hear or do ye speak the truth?”

  “Ha'e na reason to lie to ye lass,” he grinned, “I am much too old to try to court ye.”

  Andra frowned and narrowed her eyes, “Good thing ye be so old and I respect my elders or I would ha'e to wallop ye.”

  Flaron's laughter rang out across the hillside, “And where is the man that lea'es ye in a place such as this?”

  “There is na man,” she stated unable to understand his humor.

  “Nay. I am sure that all men fall at ye feet,” he sat up and took her hand, “Tell me who has captured ye heart and won ye love.”

  Andra turned her head and peered at the tree line in the distance, “Men donna fall at my feet less I conquer ‘em in battle.”

  He sighed, “Is love na a battle of the hearts?”

  “I would'na know, na man has e'er been interested in me enough to pull on the strings attached to my heart,” she replied as thoughts of Laird Kagan crept into her mind.

  “Ah, I see, ye be afraid to let a man get close enough to melt ye pride,” he paused, “But one day, a man will thrill ye beyond reason and ye hard cold shell will melt revealin' all that soft delicate woman underneath.”

  Andra stood and crossed her arms in defiance, “I am'na soft and delicate and I ha'e na desire to be with any man. Men are bastards that only take what they want.”

  He stood and went to her side. He took her soft hand in his calloused palm and lifted it to his nose. He breathed deeply and ran her knuckles across his jaw. Sadness filled his eyes as she flinched under his touch. Her scent was glorious and her hand h
eld a fire that longed to be released much like his Keyra's had.

  “I smell a woman caged inside ye mind, trapped and full of fear of the unknown, fear of love and fear of her own harnessed desires,” he whispered softly, “I smell the woman who longs to be released from her prison.”

  Andra jerked her hand away, “Ye be mistaken. I desire nothin' and fear nothin'. My back is strong enough to carry me through life on my own, I donna need nor do I want a man.”

  “If I were fifteen years younger, I would attempt to prove ye wrong,” he commented, “Alas, I can only offer ye my protection and friendship.”

  “I donna need to be protected! I take offense to ye belittlement of me,” she tried to look sincere but her soft smile crept onto her lips, “but I will accept ye offer of friendship. For now.”

  Flaron smiled and threw his head back in laughter, “I donna know what has caused ye to come out here in this dreadful place, but whate'er ye reason, I am grateful for ha'eing the honor to meet ye.”

  Andra choked down her memories of Pierre and let Flaron put her hand in the crook of his arm. They walked toward the abbey as Andra shuddered under his warmth. He was a gentle, kind man and Andra prayed he would not prove her impression wrong. She stiffened and must have squeezed Flaron's arm a bit too hard. He stopped and turned to face her. Her hurt angry look saddened him and tore at his heart.

  “Someone has hurt ye, ha'e they lass?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she whispered unsure why she had answered.

  “I will'na hurt ye. I promise ye I will'na.”

  “I know, I can feel ye speak the truth,” she replied as the empty spot in her heart yearned for comfort.

  “Is that why ye came here, to get away from a man?” he asked.

  “Aye, to get away from all men,” she answered grimly as she pulled her hand from his, “Men are beasts that only want to hurt women in one way or another.”

  Flaron watched her as she walked away. She held her head high and proud, but he could see the pain and sadness in her face. Someone had indeed caused her grief and tried to break her spirit. He smiled knowing this lass would not bow to any man or beast. She would not be broken or captured. He felt a small twinge of hope pull at his giant heart. He knew the perfect man for the job.