The Raid of Balvenie and the Maiden Who Survived

by Cheri Gillard

Horatius had his hands all over her. Jean had to keep scooting away, which was difficult within the crowded confines of the smithy and Horatius’ huge size. Counters lined the walls, covered with iron tools and half finished metal objects. Backed up against the workbench, she was slithering her way around the entire periphery of the room trying to put some distance between herself and Horatius. They knocked many tools in a clattering jumble onto the floor, but the noise was lost in the raging thunder storm crashing down outside the small blacksmith’s hut.

  He was kissing her neck when she ducked to the side even one more time.

  “Why do you keep resisting me?” he said, bewildered. “You are the one who enticed me to come.” He’d arrived already more than a little drunk. Jean wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. She hoped it would help him believe her inconsistent words.

  “I just need a little time, all right? You’re going so fast.”

  “I thought you wanted me here.” Lightning flashed through a small window and it illuminated Horatius’ features. In his drunken state, his face looked like his feelings were hurt.

  “Of course. I do. But you must realize. I have never been alone with a man. It’s just that I’m nervous.” She needed to figure out how to get him to drink the elixir before anything happened between them.

  His unguarded grin showed his surprisingly perfect teeth—white and straight with none missing. She’d never met anyone with so many, and all of them lined up. They glowed in some rapid flashes of lightning. The booming thunder came almost at the same moment as the light, rattling the smithy with a deafening sound. Horatius said, “You should have some ale. It will help you relax.”

  She’d already put two cups on the anvil, having set up for their meeting before Horatius came in, soaked and dripping with rain. She’d carefully put Panahasi’s elixir in the larger of the two cups. “I’ve poured us some already. They’re right over there.” She hoped he hadn’t knocked them over in his clumsy, impetuous efforts to make love to her.

  When the lightning wasn’t flashing, the light in the smithy was quite low—just a small candle Jean had set by the far wall to keep from the wind and from glowing out the window—and so it took a moment for Horatius in his drunken state to focus on the anvil and see the cups.

  Then his eyes opened wide. “Ah, you like romance. I should have brought you a flower. Your beauty deserves a bouquet.” He searched around like he might actually find a flower in the iron shop to give to her. He picked up a small brush, and before Jean’s very eyes, somehow he flicked his wrist and tricked her vision. Or probably it was the lightning that fooled her. The brush seemed to have become a fistful of lovely red blossoms, their fragrance heady and sweet.

  “How did you do that?” Jean gasped. “You made it look like—where were those hiding? It looked like they actually changed in front of me!”

  “For you,” he said, bowing and offering the bouquet. “Beauty for beauty.”

  Jean took them. “That was incredible!”

  His teeth glowed. “I’m glad you are pleased.” More thunder boomed.

  For a moment Jean forgot what she was there for. Then the remembered task rushed back with renewed anxiety and letdown. “Let’s share a drink, shall we?” She needed to get him drinking so Panahasi could do whatever he had planned, and Jean could get the night over with.

  She took his hand and pulled him toward the anvil. She was laying down the flowers when he lifted the cups and handed her one—the larger one—and said, “To passion and beauty.”

  Jean’s heart thumped hard and fast. He was offering her the wrong one, the one with the drug in it. She tried not to panic and reached for the smaller cup in his other hand. “Here,” she said trying to pull it from his grasp. “I’m so much smaller than you, I can’t drink the amount that you can. I’ll fall over if I have the same as you.”

  “Then just don’t drink as much.”

  She was afraid that insisting on the smaller cup would look suspicious. What should I do? She froze, uncertain of her next move. He wasn’t letting go of the smaller cup and still held forward the larger one.

  “Go ahead. You’ll relax,” he said. “Have some. Have a lot.”

  She pulled on the smaller cup and it suddenly came loose from his hand. But she didn’t have a good hold on it, her hands shaking as they were. The cup fell to the floor, spilling the contents across her feet and splattering up onto her ankles.

  Horatius chuckled. “Oops. Now we’ll get to share a cup.”

  As Jean bent down to pick up the dropped cup, her mind was racing. What should she do? She’d never asked Panahasi what his elixir did. Could she risk even touching it to her lips? Would it kill her instantaneously?

  When she stood up, Horatius—with the ever-present grin he had when he was intoxicated—held out the larger cup with the poison in it. “Don’t worry about it. Please, drink. For both our sakes. You really will feel better.” He thrust it forward and waited for her to accept it.

  With trembling hands, she took the cup. With no other option, she put it to her mouth and clamped her lips down tightly while she lifted it high. If she died—she suddenly realized—it would matter little to her. There was no one left who loved her. She wasn’t living anymore. Not really. For the first time she felt life wasn’t precious. If death came, she would welcome it. The cool liquid washed over her lips while she pretended to swallow. She nearly took a mouthful, just to get it all over with. But Horatius spoke and snapped her out of the dreamlike moment.

  “Save at least a little for me.” He chuckled.

  When she lowered the cup, her mouth was wet with the ale. And Horatius was right in her face.

  He put his lips on her mouth before she knew what was happening and gave her a long, soft kiss. It was nothing like the kiss Angus has forced on her. After a moment of allowing the deep, ardent connection—completely knocked off guard and swept away by his gentle passion—Jean whimpered and tried, at least a little, to pull back. But he cradled her head with his huge hand and held her firmly in place. She almost didn’t mind.

  When he finally ended the kiss, with her head still resting in his enormous palm, he licked his lips, tilting his head in thought.

  “That’s an interesting flavor. What is that?” He gently released her head and wrapped both of his hands around the outside of her hands, trapping them between his own and the cup. He pulled the cup along with her hands to his mouth, seductively keeping his eyes locked on hers. After a lengthened moment of gazing at her, he looked down into the liquid and sniffed. He took a small sip. “That is different.”

  He’d detected the elixir! The enchantment evaporated and her heart slammed against the inside of her ribs. Would he know what she’d done? What will he do to me? A crash of thunder made her jump. She barely suppressed a scream.

  “Not bad.” He downed a long swill. “Where did you get it?”

  Jean shrugged in the midst of her trembling, afraid to say too much. “William?” she tried, her voice breaking, still afraid he knew something was off. “His cellar?”

  Horatius laughed. “He certainly has a good stock of ales. He’s never shared this one with me.” He let her hands go and held the cup by the stem in one hand, taking another sip and letting it sit in his mouth while he breathed deeply through his nose. After he swallowed, he said, “I’m an expert in ales you know. And in scotch whiskey. I make my own. I create one like what you would find at Glenfiddich distillery. Well, not you. It won’t be in existence until the nineteenth century.” His words were slurred and they made no sense whatsoever to Jean.

  He took another deep drink then offered her another turn.

  “It burns my throat,” she said, remembering her mother once saying that she didn’t like ale because of its burn.

  “But you haven’t had enough yet for it to relax you. You should have more.”

  She pointed to the jug on the counter. “There’s more if I want it.”

  He gave a quick nod. “Okay then.” He t
urned up the bottom of the cup and drained it. He set it down hard on the anvil. Then he turned his heavily lidded eyes to her in a new seductive expression. “Come here,” he crooned. “Let me show you the ways of love. Relax and trust me. I’ll take good care of you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet into his overpowering embrace, and pressed his body against hers. The edge of the counter behind her dug into the small of her back. He kissed her neck and collarbones. The last thing she could do was relax. His hands roved up and down her body. As soon as she pushed away one hand, his other would move back where she didn’t want it.

  “Don’t fight me so,” he murmured as he nuzzled her shoulder.

  “This isn’t comfortable.” She squirmed to the side. “It’s hurting me.” He pulled her back.

  “Relax,” he mumbled against her. “It’s okay.”

  No, it isn’t! She didn’t know how long she could take it. Where is Panahasi? Suddenly, she decided. It was too much. She wasn’t going to do this. She had to make it all stop!

  CUCKOLDED