by Mia Pride
Would Jeoffrey come? Was he on his way now? Or had he truly believed she abandoned him? Was he in the gathering hall right this moment, drowning himself in ale to forget the woman whom he believed abandoned him a second time? Please, find me, Jeoffrey.
Jerking her around forcefully, Gregory turned her toward a large shrub and pointed into the darkness. “Relieve yourself if you must, then we continue.”
Keeping his grip tight around her upper arm, she winced when he pulled her along. When the reality of his intention to stay close sank in, she felt herself shiver. “May I have some privacy?” she asked as calmly as possible.
“I will turn away, but I will not release you.”
“I will not run. I have nowhere to go,” she snapped. “And I cannot lift my skirts well enough with only one hand. I will soak myself. Do you wish to travel with me covered in my own waste?” She did not care if she disgusted him. He disgusted her far more. Mayhap she should piss herself. Then he may be reluctant to touch her. The thought made her force back a devious grin, but fortunately Gregory thought the better of it and released her arm forcefully, almost making her topple over into the shrub.
“Be quick,” he growled. Looking up to his height, she felt like a flower beneath a towering oak. He was built like an oak, as well, with broad shoulders and legs the size of trunks. His white tunic was covered in dust and mud, proving he must have been traveling hard and likely roaming through the forest for quite some time, awaiting her presence…more like waiting for the scheming lass to trick her into following her, over the most ridiculous lie about flowers and dye. And yet, she was the fool who had followed.
Squaring her shoulders and straightening her back up to her full height, she refused to cower in his presence. She had never been one to lack pride, and now was not the time to start. She may be the daughter of a poor serf, but she had proven her worth ten times over and no man would belittle her.
Scoffing at him indignantly, she spun on her heels and carefully descended the small slope of land that would bring her behind the shrub. Small loose pebbles crunched and rolled beneath her leather slippers, causing her to lose her balance and slide down the rest of the way on her backside. “Oomph!” With the night so dark, she should have been more cautious and her arse paid the price.
She could hear Gregory guffawing at her from a few feet away, but ignored him as she found her way around the bush. “Turn around,” she demanded, making sure he understood that she may be his captive, but only because he physically dominated her. When it came to strength of will and staunch stubbornness, she would win that battle every time. He must have known this after several years living with her, for he grunted and turned away to give her privacy.
When she finished, she leaned forward and slowly climbed up the slope, using her hands to bear down as needed until she reached Gregory’s side again. He put a hand out to help her, but she ignored it. She did not want or need the help of the man who admitted, in not so many words, to killing Harrold and his own wife.
As he gripped her waist to haul her back up on the horse, she tried to shift away from him, but he was much quicker. With little effort and no finesse, Gregory threw Clarice up on the horse again before quickly mounting behind her. No more words were spoken as he kicked the horse’s flanks and sent them barreling through the woods once more. Anger, fear, and sadness all warred within her mind, causing her thoughts to pull in every direction. Looking above her head, she saw the branches of the towering trees flying past and the black sky dotted with twinkling stars and hazy clouds. Several hours had passed and the chill of the night air had caused her limbs to go numb. With no cloak to warm her and this beast of a man gripping her tightly around the waist, she felt dread overcoming her more and more with every hoof beat of the large speckled steed.
Keeping her eyes on those bright stars shining above like beacons of hope, she sent up a prayer one more time. Please, find me, Jeoffrey.
Chapter 9
A few more hours of traveling in silence passed with Clarice feeling Gregory’s hot breath against her neck. As unpleasant as it was, her neck was the only part of her not completely numbed through by the chill. Gregory had a cloak tied around his thick neck and any man of manners would have long ago offered it to her, but Gregory was no man of manners. Nay, he was a man who saw to his own comforts and took his own pleasures as he saw fit.
That thought made Clarice flinch and pull further away from him on the back of his horse. He was a man who had even killed to get what he wanted. Why did he want her so badly? There was nothing special about her in the least and she had nothing to offer him whatsoever. And yet, he felt that killing his brother and his wife was a fair trade for marrying her? He had no soul and she was certain that he would dispose of her just as thoughtlessly if she refused to marry him.
Her torn yellow dress did nothing to stave off the cold and if they continued much longer without warmth or food, she feared she may very well blackout. As welcome as the bliss of oblivion may have seemed, she knew she needed to keep her wits about her as long as she was held captive by Gregory.
She felt his large forearms pull on the reins of the horse, bringing them to a sudden halt and snapping Clarice out of her darkening thoughts.
“We rest here,” he said gruffly as he dismounted and brought her down with him in one swift motion.
Looking around at the dark woods surrounding them, Clarice ran her hands up and down her arms vigorously to try and bring the circulation back. Her legs felt weak beneath the sudden strain of holding up her body after so many hours of riding and she had to sit herself down quickly on the forest floor before she collapsed completely. Tucking her legs up into her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and turned herself into a small ball to try to keep warm. Shivers wracked her body now that she was resting and more aware of her surroundings. They were truly in the middle of nowhere with only trees and rigid mountains in the distance. Any manner of wildlife could see fit to have her for their next meal. As much as she wished to flee, she was wise enough to know that she was safer, for now, staying close to Gregory.
Watching him stomp around their makeshift campsite gathering rocks and twigs to no doubt start a fire, anger bubbled up inside of her. “Give me your cloak.” She tried to sound stern but her clattering teeth and cracking voice made her sound much more vulnerable than she had intended.
He stopped in his tracks and glared at her as if noticing her for the first time. For a split second, she worried he would strike her for speaking to him so boldly and she had to hold herself back from flinching as he stepped forward. Then, to her surprise, his thick fingers began to fumble at the circular brooch clasping the cloak around his neck. He tossed it to her abruptly, causing her to remove her hands from her knees and catch the thick, wool garment.
“My thanks,” Clarice murmured as she wrapped herself in its warmth and pulled the hood over her head. The cloak dwarfed her in size. It was made to fit this giant of a man and it smelled musty and sour, as if it had been balled up while wet and never allowed to dry out. Still, it contained his body’s heat and it staved off the cold wind blowing all around. Leaves rustled high above and the fallen foliage on the earthen floor swirled around her feet as a gust of wind swirled around her.
“I cannot have you catching a chill and dying on me before we even wed,” he said testily as he pulled a flint stone and rod of iron out of his satchel to begin starting the fire. He squatted low to the pile of branches and dry leaves for kindling and began striking the iron and flint together, creating sparks that seemed to dance around like faeries in the dark of night. Finally, the fire began to burn and he moved back to his satchel and began to dig again.
“Here. Eat.” Before she could even think, a hard piece of salted dried pork meat bounced off her folded hand still gripping the cloak and landed with a thud against the floor of the woods. What an arse, she thought to herself as she picked up the piece of meat and wiped the dirt off one side of it. Fortunately, most of i
t had landed in a small pile of dry leaves. Hunger gnawed at her gut. She was no spoiled noble lass. Growing up as a serf, she had learned long ago not to be overly choosy about her meals. It was sustenance and even though the man who gave it to her was a soulless beast, she would eat it all the same.
“Can’t have me starving to death before we are even wed,” she grumbled under her breath just before taking a large chunk of the savory meat into her mouth and chewing slowly so as not to choke. Would not that be an embarrassing way to end her life? Had she survived Elim Mac Conrach, the journey to Alba, and four years living with Gregory…and now his abduction, only to choke on meat and die? She snorted at the thought and continued to chew.
Gregory eyed her suspiciously when he heard her amusement, but said nothing as he plunked down beside her, his enormous body bumping into hers. Shuffling her feet away from him, she turned her body so her back was against his right arm and she could look into the depths of the dark woods without having to see the face of the man who so looked like Harrold, but owned the black soul of a ghoul from the Otherworld.
“He will not come for you.”
She could hear his large square jaw clicking in that most aggravating way it often did when he chewed food and she clenched her own jaw to keep from losing her temper. She knew it was caused by an old injury he had suffered before fleeing to Alba with his family and was no fault of his own. Still, she clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Most men would not prefer to wed with a whore. Fortunately for you, I am willing to overlook your willingness to spread your legs for the men in my family, for I plan to plow you every night and enjoy doing so.” His jaw clicked again as he ripped off another hunk of meat and began to chew.
“You are vile,” she sighed. His words did not hurt her as he wished them to. His opinion of her mattered not to her. She was no whore. She had lain with one man in her entire life and bore him a son. Had not Gregory come along to steal her away, she would be with that man now as his wife and they would all be a true family. It had hurt to hear Jeoffrey call her such a name, but Gregory? Nay, he was not worth her consternation. “Jeoffrey is Wee Jeoff’s true father, as I see you have surmised,” she confessed to Gregory with a whisper.
He grunted at her words and though she could not see his face, she knew he was nodding his head in understanding. “I figured as much.”
“And yet you tear me away from my child and his father. For what purpose? To take me as your own? You claim me to be a whore, so why bother with me? Why not take another lass as your wife?” She could feel anger building up inside her again. Gregory could use all of his large bulk and strength to make her do his bidding, but he would never control her heart or her spirit. Nor could he control her tongue, for not even she could ever master her words when rage took hold. “You are a foul beast of a man and I hate you!” she shouted and tried to stand up abruptly, but fell back hard onto her backside. She realized a large part of Gregory’s thigh was on top of the cloak tied around her neck, pulling against the fabric and forcing her back down ungracefully.
She fell over his lap, bracing herself against the floor of the forest with her outstretched palms. His hands wrapped roughly around her waist and he flipped her over swiftly, knocking the air from her lungs as her back hit the ground. Gregory rolled on top of her, bearing all the weight of his hips down on hers and effectively pinning her beneath his weight. “You want to know why I want you and only you?” he questioned silkily, with more emotion than she had heard from him in all the years she knew him. “I have wanted you since I was a lad in Ériu. You were always the bonniest serving lass in Elim’s camp. I knew what you did with Jeoffrey late at night when you both met, believing the entire camp to be asleep.”
Rubbing his finger down the slight scar over the left side of his jaw, he growled. “Do you know who gave me this scar? Who cracked my jaw and sent me away from camp?”
She saw pure unfettered hatred blazing back at her from his dark blue eyes and fear crawled up her spine. Words escaped her for the first time in her life. She shook her head back and forth against the cold ground as he continued to bear down on her.
“Your lover did this to me. He knew I wanted you. He challenged me to a fight one night. I would have bested him, but the ground was soggy with mud from the heavy rains that winter. I slipped just as his sword came at me and grazed my cheek. But that was not enough to take me down. I steadied myself and knocked him back, making him lose his sword. A lucky strike of his fist landed just here.” He touched the side of his jaw that always seemed to click. “Broke my jaw, he did, then told me to leave camp and never come back or he would have me killed. I could have taken him out…but not without repercussions from his father. Once I was casted out of the camp, there was nowhere safe for me in Ériu. So, I left with my parents. We left Harrold behind to keep fighting for Elim, to honor our family…”
His voice faded away and even though his gaze still bore into hers, she saw flashes of pain within their ocean blue depths and for the first time in all the years of knowing Gregory, she saw a human side of him, one that was aching to be loved and accepted. And yet, as his eyes flashed again with pent up emotion, a dangerous grin slid across his face. His hips began to push further into hers as he thrust his hardness against her. Any sympathy she had born him, even for a moment, fled as true fear consumed her mind. He was in a dark place, remembering all of his angst…and it was clear by the determined look in his gaze that he blamed her for all the pain he had endured, even though she had never known of his fight with Jeoffrey.
She had always assumed Gregory and his family left Ériu to escape Elim’s cruelty, as so many other warriors, nobles, or serfs had done. It was safest to flee to Alba. Not only was it just a short boat ride across the sea, it had been the home of the true High King Tuathal Techtmar for almost twenty years before he came back to Ériu to stake his claim. Any man, woman, or child fleeing Elim was welcomed into Alba peacefully, as his family still remained renowned and powerful, offering sanctuary to those in need.
Gregory’s harsh, strained voice knocked her out of her thoughts as his labored breath spread over her ear. “Imagine my shock when my brother arrived in Caledonii years later…with you. Imagine my disdain when he claimed to have married you. Imagine my contempt when your belly began to grow. You were meant to be mine!” he growled and thrust into her again. “I had loved my brother well. He knew of my desire for you. I left him in Ériu to make us proud. Instead, he fled, and with him he took you. Like a specter from my past, you came to taunt me with your bonny face and luscious curves…sharing my own brother’s bed, yet never touching him.”
Panic welled up inside her, causing her to writhe beneath him and try to break free of his overbearing hold on her small frame. He was speaking in a low, chilly voice as if speaking to somebody only he could see. “I could not understand how Harrold had won you from Jeoffrey and convinced you to run off with him. I hated Harrold for having you when I could not. Then I heard Harrold one day telling you Jeoffrey had killed Elim and was rumored to be here in Alba. You were planning on finding him…I could not allow that. It was hard enough seeing Harrold with you every day, not loving you the way you deserved to be loved.” Gregory’s hardness ground painfully into her pelvic bone, causing Clarice to cry out in pain.
“Harrold loved you!” Clarice sobbed and strained against him, knowing escape was impossible and yet needing to try.
“If Harrold had loved me, he would have told me the truth!” Gregory spat. “He was never your true husband, was he?” Clarice shook her head and flinched. Usually, Gregory’s anger was followed with a strong blow across her cheek. Aye, he never dared to touch her while Harrold had lived, but ever since Harrold’s death…or murder it would seem, Gregory had allowed his rage to run wild.
“I love you, Clarice,” Gregory bent low to lay his lips across hers but she turned, presenting him with her cheek instead. She did not even have time to prepare before the familiar crack of
his hand across her cheek snapped her head to the side. “I will have you.”
“Nay!” she screamed, jerking beneath him, trying desperately to bring her knee up to his groin, or any part of him she could make contact with. “Please, Gregory! I have never done anything to you!”
“You did not love me!” he roared, spittle flying out of his mouth and splattering against her face. “You do not have to love me to wed me. And I do not need to wed you to bed you.” One of his huge hands gripped both of her wrists and pulled them over her head as his other hand came down to the torn hem of her soft yellow gown, the one she had worked on tirelessly for her wedding. Now, she heard the delicate fabric ripping away as he tugged and yanked to pull the dress up her legs.
Cold fear threatened to consume her. She was helpless, pinned beneath his weight. The man was several hand-spans taller than her and several stones heavier. There was no way she could ever defend herself against him. He would take her here, now, in the middle of the forest with nobody to hear her screams or save her from her fate.
“Please…nay…” she pleaded with a soft voice, hoping that some part of Gregory could still be reasoned with. “You need not do this…”
Another ripping sound rent the heavy early spring night air around them as he yanked her dress over her knees and swiftly began to tug on the string of his trousers. “Aye,” he grunted, struggling with the knot, “I do need this. I need to bury myself in you, Clarice,” he panted. She could see his manhood straining against the wool fabric of his trousers. By some gift of the gods, his trouser string had become tangled and his face turned purple with frustration and rage as he tugged harder, trying to release himself. Whatever was beneath his trousers looked painfully large and unfettered fear ripped through her entire body.
