With all the strength she could muster Aishlinn stood firm. On legs weak from fear, she teetered for a moment and tried to stare him down. “Nay,” her voice was but a mere whisper.
Intense anger and fury filled the man’s eyes as he threw another blow to her face. Her mouth filled with more blood as sparks of white light burst behind her eyes as she fell to the floor.
“How dare you!” he yelled as he towered over her. “I am your lord. I am the Earl of Penrith and you shall give me what I demand!”
Her breathing was labored, her heart filled with fear and hatred. Wiping her bloodied lips on the torn sleeve of her dress, she took a deep breath. Through eyes so swollen she could barely see she looked up at the earl and told him once again, “Nay.”
A loud growl escaped the earl’s throat. An impatient man to begin with, he was furious with her stubbornness. He had bed countless women over the years. Many had been willing partners while others had to be persuaded a bit more firmly to give into his demands. But this wench was different. For some reason she would rather be beaten near death than to simply give him what he wanted. He was an Earl after all, and no one denied him anything. Ever. He was a man of privilege.
Appointed to this God-forsaken land by the King of England, the earl was accustomed to having anything he wanted. It mattered not to him if this wench surrendered willingly or fought him every step of the way. He would have what he wanted.
He stared down at the trembling heap lying on the floor. When she had first arrived in his room, he had tried to be gentle, yet firm. When words had not worked to convince her to warm his bed, he had gone with a much sterner approach. Still, she refused him, even after several slaps to her face and some well-chosen blows to her body. And the leather strap he’d taken to her back and legs had done nothing to change her mind.
It had been her willful disobedience that had angered him more than anything else. Now she lay upon the floor before him, battered to the point he no longer recognized the beauty that had caused him to want her in the first place. Her face black and blue, her dress torn and bloodied, she still refused him. Who on earth did this young whore think she was?
She tried to steady her breathing to keep from passing out. Every inch of her body hurt and she was exhausted beyond measure. But she simply could not give in, could not submit to his demands.
She had no idea how long she had been in the earl’s room. It had been very late when Baltair, one of the guards, had come to her room. When he had told her the earl wished to see her, fear shot through her veins for she was certain there could only be one reason why she would be summoned to his room.
Baltair had respectfully turned his back while she slipped back into her dress before escorting her to the earl’s room. “I’m sorry, lass,” he had whispered before opening the door to the earl’s chambers. Aishlinn was certain she had seen a glimpse of genuine sadness in his eyes when he had closed the door behind her.
She had heard many a story about the earl and his lust for women. She also knew that he was ruthless man who would inflict instant punishment on anyone, regardless of age or gender, who had either defied or displeased him. The earl was merciless.
Aishlinn lay now upon the floor of the earl’s chambers and prayed. She prayed that he would grow weary and give up or that God would strike one of them dead, preferably the earl. She was saving her purity for a husband she knew she would probably never have, but saving it nonetheless. As far as she was concerned, the earl could shove hot coals up his arse; she would not bed him.
It was no longer important to him to hear her utter the word ‘yes.’ He bent down and grabbed Aishlinn by her arms. His eyes were filled with rage as he lifted her and threw her upon his bed.
Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces as she flew through the air. No matter how hard she fought, no matter what she did, he would have what he wanted.
The next moment he was straddling her and she felt the cold hard blade of a dagger against her throat. A repulsive smile had formed across the earl’s face when he saw the first hint of fear in her eyes. Grabbing the top of her dress, he began to cut it from bodice to hem. His movements were careful and slow and he would pause frequently to glance at her face. The fear flashing behind her green eyes excited him more.
She could no longer fight him. In the recesses of her mind, she heard a small voice tell her that if perhaps she gave in to his demands, then afterwards she could flee this place. Maybe she could find safe passage to London and start her life over. No one would ever have to know what the earl had done to her this night.
As the last bit of her dress gave way to his knife the earl angrily tugged at her sleeves. Rolling her out of her dress, she landed face down on the mattress. She gasped when she felt his knee in her back and his hand grab her hair. Violently he jerked her head back and she could feel his hot breath on her ear. Droplets of blood from her cut lips ran down her chin. Angrily he whispered in her ear, “You have a decision to make whore. Do you choose life or do you choose death?”
Aishlinn had no fight left in her. Let him have his way and then she could be gone. If she had to walk all the way to London she would. Surviving the night was all that mattered now.
Nearly retching on her own words, her throat and mouth dry, she answered. “I choose life.”
Though she could not see the earl’s face she knew the evil smile remained upon it. Victory was his; defeat hers. When he rolled her over onto her back the sordidness in his smile terrified her.
With the dagger still in his hand, he grabbed her dress and wiped the blood from her mouth. It mattered not to him that her lips were cut and swollen and still bleeding, he kissed her anyway. Harshly and savagely his tongue found its way into her mouth. His breath smelled of whiskey and onions. The vileness of it caused her to gag. Her stomach churned with disgust and shame. She had never been kissed before and this was not how she imagined her first kiss would be.
He stopped for a moment still displaying that same nasty smile, “You’ll be choking on more than my tongue momentarily dear.”
Aishlinn had no idea what he meant and dreaded the thought of finding out.
More revolting kisses came as he began grabbing at her shift, tugging at the sleeves. Trepidation, fear and disgust washed over her. Thoughts and images of her family came rushing into her mind. She saw her father’s face, shaking his head and telling her he had known all along that she was no good. Then her three brothers appeared, laughing and taunting her. “’Tis what you get for thinking yer better than ya really are! Yer worth nothin’.”
Then she saw her mum, beautiful, strong Laiden, with a curious look upon her face. ’Twas her mum who said “Nay! Do not give in!”
Aishlinn’s heart sank when she felt the earl pulling her shift down, his hot hands upon her small breasts, squeezing them forcefully. ’Twas then that Aishlinn realized he had made his first mistake. He had both hands upon her breasts. Where was the dagger? She turned her head and saw it lying upon the mattress and realized it was in reach. She could still fight! Perhaps if she could grab the knife she could threaten him with it. She could threaten to cut off his manly parts or stab him in the heart if he did not stop.
Slowly, she reached for the dagger. She would pretend for a moment, repulsive as the thought was, to enjoy what the earl was doing. Pretend just long enough to grab the dagger. When she feigned a soft moan of pleasure the earl mushed his face into her neck and bit her. She could feel his manhood growing as she carefully wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the knife. ’Twas then that the earl made is second mistake; he believed she was truly enjoying his hands and mouth upon her. With his face still buried in her neck he said, “I told you that you would enjoy this.” ’Twas then that he moved his mouth to her breast and bit.
The pain was unbearable. A low growl escaped her throat and without thinking, she plunged the dagger into his back, pulled it out and thrust it in a second time. She had not intended to harm him but she could take no more. The earl
lifted his head and looked at her. The victorious grin had been replaced with a look of complete bewilderment. As he let out a long, slow breath, he said, “You whore!” then collapsed upon her.
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Prologue to Findley’s Lass
Findley’s Lass
The Highlands, Spring of 1344
They were just children. Five boys, ranging in age from eight to ten and two and not one of them had any sense of direction. But what they lacked in that regard, they certainly made up with fierce determination and tenacity. And rock throwing skills.
At first, Findley was certain the boys were nothing more than a ruse to keep suspicion away from some group of men, cowards more likely than not, who had actually stolen the thirty head of cattle. Who would hang a group of lads that young for stealing cattle? Let the lads take the blame, and mayhap a beating, instead of placing guilt where it should really lie.
But the more Findley, his younger brother, Richard, and their good friend, Tall Gowan, interrogated the thieves, the more Findley believed their story: They had stolen the cattle, not only to feed their people, but to prove to their mum they were indeed fine warriors. The only thing the lads would admit to was the fact that four of them were orphans who had been adopted by a fine woman named Maggy and that their clan had been wiped out by a pox years before. They refused to divulge much else.
Now Findley and his men were leading the boys and the cattle down the small hill toward their home. Findley shook his head, pitied with the sight before him. One hut made of mud with a thatch roof surrounded by a few tents -- all of which had seen much better days -- sat between a meandering river and a dense forest.
A small garden sat near the edge of the forest to the south of the home. Chickens picked away at the dirt. Not far off stood a small, fenced area that apparently housed the three plow horses the reivers had managed to use in their theft of Angus McKenna’s cattle.
Although the small farm was not nearly as grand as the castle that Findley and his men called home, it was still clean and tidy in appearance.
Several very auld women sat around a long trestle table, chatting away as they appeared to be mending clothing. The smile on the oldest looking woman -- if such a thing were possible as they were all rather ancient looking -- disappeared as she saw the men and boys approaching on horseback. Her wrinkled face, brown from years of exposure to the sun, looked more like a dried apple with tiny eyes attached to it. If looks were arrows, Findley and his men would have died instantly from the glare she shot at them. Within moments, the other women who sat with her, followed suit with glares of their own. Clearly Findley and his men were not welcome here.
The chickens squawked their contempt and displeasure as Findley and his men disturbed their late morning feast. They went scattering about as the group walked their horses through the yard. The boys sat tense and nervous on their mounts, casting each other looks of despair and dread. Findley supposed they were anxious about seeing their mum and owning up to their transgression.
As they drew nearer, one of the old women left the table and disappeared inside the hut. Moments later the door flew open with a loud bang and the most beautiful auburn-haired lass Findley had ever seen came running out. His mouth suddenly felt quite dry and his heart thrummed rapidly for several long moments.
She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her. Three large Highlanders sat atop massive steeds and they had her boys. Her stomach tightened as her emotions bounced from relief at seeing her sons alive to anger that they’d left their home without a word to anyone.
The Highlanders alarmed her. Reflexively, she slowly dropped her hands to her sides to make certain her sgian dubh was still in her pocket. Her first inclination was to demand they let her boys go. If that didn’t work, she was not above thrusting her knife into each man’s heart.
She eyed Findley and his men suspiciously as she stood motionless some twenty feet away.
“I take it these reivers belong to ye, lass?” Richard asked as he dismounted. He flashed a smile that normally made young lasses giggle and twitter, for he was considered a very handsome man. His smile apparently had no such affect on the woman standing before them. Her face had turned to stone as she continued to stare.
The two youngest boys, each of whom had been riding with an older brother, slipped down from the horses. They went running toward her, happily crying out. “Mum!” as they flung themselves around her waist. She hugged them closely, never once taking her eyes off the men.
“Who are ye?” she asked, her voice catching slightly as she fought back her burgeoning fear. Strange men coming to her home was never a good thing.
“I be Findley McKenna,” Findley said, finally finding his voice as he dismounted. “This be me brother, Richard,” he said with a nod in Richard’s direction. “And that be Tall Gowan,” he said with a nod toward his friend. Tall Gowan smiled and bowed slightly at the waist before he, too, dismounted.
The three older boys quietly slid down and stood by their horses. “Mum,” said the oldest before realizing he didn’t quite know how to explain the chain of events that led to this moment.
“Robert,” she said, still clinging to the smaller boys. “Ye are well?”
“Aye, we’re well. They’ve done us no harm,” he said, looking first at the men then down at his bare feet. He and his brothers stood side-by-side, hands shaking as they waited for the skelping to begin.
“Collin? Andrew? Does he speak the truth?”
The boys nodded and muttered ‘aye’.
She took a deep breath before speaking. “Come here,” she told them.
Solemnly, as if their feet were encased in stone, the boys went and stood in front of her. She eyed each of them for a moment before opening her arms and pulling of them to her. Tears began to stream down her face and she trembled as she held them. The boys’ shoulders finally relaxed and they returned her embrace.
After a few moments, she let them loose and wiped the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I swear if ye ever do that to me again, I’ll skin each of ye alive!” she seethed. “What on earth possessed ye to leave in the middle of the night like that?”
Each of the boys took a few steps away as she thrust her hands to her hips and glared at them. “Do ye have any idea the fright ye put me through?” her voice rose, angrier than she could ever remember being with them. “Do ye have any idea how we’ve all worried over ye? No’ knowin’ if ye be dead or hurt or kidnapped?”
She began pacing in front of them and the more she yelled, the more the boys’ shoulders sagged. They kept their gaze firmly planted on the ground as their mother continued to chastise them.
“Of all the foolish things to do! And for what purpose? Where on earth have ye been and what have ye been doin’?” She aimed her last question at her oldest son, Robert.
He cleared his throat before answering. “We went to get a cow.”
Maggy stared at him, quite baffled. “What?”
“We went to get us a cow.”
Her brow furrowed into a deep crease. “A cow? And how did ye plan on buyin’ a cow when ye’ve no’ a coin to yer name?”
Robert started to speak but thought better of it.
“Speak the truth, Robert, do no’ stroll around it,” she said bluntly. “Ye went to steal a cow.”
Robert stood upright, squared his shoulders and looked his mum straight in the eye. “Aye, we did.”
Maggy eyed him for a moment, hands once again resting on her hips. “I’ve taught ye all better than that.”
“Aye, ye have, mum. But --”
She wouldn’t allow him to finish. “But? There be no but. Stealin’ is wrong and ye ken it! There be no reason on God’s earth to be stealin’!”
Robert found the courage then to speak his mind. “Aye, stealin’ is wrong, but ’twas more wrong listenin’ to me brothers’ and me family’s stomachs growl all the time from hunger! I could no longer stand to list
en to it!”
“So ye took it upon yerself to go steal a cow?” she demanded. Aye, she understood well enough how he felt, for it angered and saddened her to no end to listen to the hungry stomachs of all those entrusted to her care. But that didn’t mean she could allow her sons to steal.
Robert decided it would do him no good to continue to speak on the matter. His mum’s mind was made up and there would be no explaining it to her.
Maggy looked at Findley. “If ye plan on hangin’ me sons, I’d ask that ye hang me instead.”
Her sons gasped and began to protest at her offer to take their places. Findley and his men however, threw their heads back and laughed. “Nay, lass, we do no’ plan on hangin’ any of ye!” Findley said after he got his laughter under some semblance of control.
Maggy was not amused. “Whatever ye plan on doin’ to me sons, I ask that ye let me take their places. Whether it be a skelpin’ or other form of punishment.”
Findley shook his head, unable to to stop smiling at the beautiful young woman, before it finally occurred to him that she was quite serious. Apparently she had dealt with men less kind, less honorable than he. “Lass,” he said as he walked toward her. “I’d never beat a child, or a woman, no matter what their transgressions might be.”
He could tell from the fear that flashed in her eyes that she did not believe him. He also took note that she had slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress. “I’d have done the same, to feed me own family, if the circumstances were the same.” He stopped just a few feet from her and crossed his arms over his chest with his feet spread apart.
One only had to look at the scrawny forms of the boys and the gaunt faces of the auld people around him to sum up the situation. This was a disparate group of poor people, thrown together under less than desirable circumstances. And the beautiful woman standing before him was doing her best to take care of them and teach the lads right from wrong.
Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series Page 43
