The Darkland (3 page)

No one noticed the tiny
woman skirting the edge of the room, gazing curiously at what she had described
to her sister as 'flavor'. Soldiers gnawing on bloodied meat, wenches with
painted faces seated on their lap. There was song and gaiety and the stench of
close-packed bodies filling the air. As Mara made her way to the blazing
hearth, she thought all of it to be rather exciting.

The fire was scorching.
Warming her hands before the blaze, the smell of beef was making her hungry.
Face partially shielded by the wet hood, Mara's gaze scanned the room in search
of a potential benefactor.

In the corner of the
room sat a fat merchant, dining alone on a stew of turnips and mutton. Mara
watched the man for a moment, sensing he was kind and hoping her instincts were
right. Squaring her shoulders, she went to his table.

The man was a loud
eater. Trying to appear as pathetic as possible, Mara clasped her hands against
her breast.

"Kind sir,"
she said dramatically. "Could you find it within your heart to spare a
poor widow a few coins with which to eat?"

The man paused in
mid-chew, his gaze moving the length of her dripping cloak. Swallowing hard, he
coughed loudly and struggled not to choke.

"A widow?" He
coughed again. Then, he looked annoyed. "Go away, lass. Can you not see
that I am eating?"

Mara would not be
dissuaded. "But - sir! I have not eaten in days, and my children...."

"Children?"

She nodded eagerly.
"Nine of them. They have not eaten, either."

The merchant raised his
eyebrows. "You have nine children?" he repeated. "You're hardly
more than a child yourself."

Mara drew herself up,
proudly. "I am a woman grown, sir. And I would thank you kindly for
helping to feed my children."

"All nine of
them."

"Aye, sir."

The man took a bite of
bread, chewing slowly. "You're not a very good liar, lass."

Mara looked innocent.
"Sir?"

He took another bite of
bread. "Who are you begging for? Your husband? Father, mayhap?"

Mara shook her head.
"Myself, sir. Myself and...."

He put up a hand.
"I know, I know. And your nine children."

"Aye, sir."
Mara thought she could sense some amusement in his expression. "Will you help
us?"

He continued to gaze at
her, chewing on his bread. "How old are you?"

Mara thought quickly.
"Twenty-two, sir."

"Twenty-two,
eh?" He put the bread down, collecting his wooden cup.  "You must
have bore your first child at ten years of age."

She refused to recant
her story. Once he had her confession, she was certain he would refuse to give
her any coin. "Thirteen, sir. I... I was a very young bride."

"Indeed." He
drank deeply of his watered ale. A dog came around looking for hand-outs and
Mara shooed it away as it sniffed her skirt.

"Well?"  she
almost demanded. "Can you spare a few coins, sir? Or must I beg
elsewhere?"

He raised an eyebrow.
"Demanding little wench, aren't you? There is a fine line between robbing
and begging."

Mara sighed. "I do
apologize.  'Tis just that my children are starving and...."

He put up a hand,
snorting into his cup.  "No more, lass.  I shall give you a few pence and
be gone with you."

Mara held out her hand
and he deposited five coins into her palm. Flashing him a brilliant smile, she
clutched the money to her breast and made her way across the room. Just as she
neared an empty table against the wall, a large hand suddenly reached out to
grab her.

Mara shrieked as she
plopped into an armored lap. "Let me go!"

Loud male laughter
filled the stale air. "Relax, sweetling. I won't hurt you."

She twisted violently,
her hood coming off in the process. Silky black hair cascaded down her back,
drawing a sigh of appreciation from the table's occupants.

"Ah, what have we
here?" The knight gripped her with both hands, studying her beauty.
"A fine, fine catch, I'd say."

She struggled to be
free, smelling the liquor on his breath. "I demand you release me
immediately!"

"But why?" He
shifted his grip, touching her face with a thick finger. "Christ, you're a
lovely one. Name your price."

Grimacing with exertion,
Mara shoved an elbow into his throat, managing to dislodge his hold. But no
sooner had she bound to her feet than another knight grabbed her.

"Hold, lady,"
he growled. "Not so fast. He asked you to name your price."

Mara knew what they
meant. She's spent too much time exposed to the atmosphere taverns to interpret
any other meaning. Her indignation was joined by a healthy measure of fear as
she struggled to free herself from yet another accoster.

"No price,"
she hissed. "Let me alone!"

The knight was strong.
He and his three companions were enjoying her torment, drunk with too much food
and alcohol.

"I shall give you
five gold pieces, lass." The first knight who had grabbed her, an older
man, was searching for his purse in spite of the fact that she had shoved her
elbow into his neck.

"I told you,"
she grunted, succeeding in freeing one hand. "I am not for sale. Find your
pleasure with another."

 "The whole world's
for sale, at the right price." The knight who held her captive received a
slap on the chin for his troubles. "Come on, love. We shall be gentle, we
promise."

With a grunt, Mara
yanked herself free and stumbled over a chair, struggling to get away. The
knights laughed, the older man rising to his feet in pursuit. Mara managed to
get around the chair, planning to duck out through the kitchens when a powerful
arm grasped her around the waist.

She could smell the ale
on his breath, making her gag as his lips pressed against her ear. "Come
along, sweetling. It's been a long time since I have tasted flesh as sweet as
yours."

Mara's feet were
dangling off the ground, her slight weight nothing against his strength. For
the first time in her life, she knew what it was to sense panic. And she had a
load of it. Kicking and twisting, she refused to let him take her without a
fight.

Wondering, as he
struggled to get her up the stairs to his rented room, if the price of her
spite against Kirk Connaught would be too high.

                            ***

It was exceedingly late.
The rains had lessened again, the highs and lows of harsh winter weather,
leaving the landscape wet and miserable. The only light was from the fire or
the torches men carried as they went about their rounds, protecting the camp
perimeter and the ladies it housed.

Kirk had been tending
Corwin's charger, the animal having pulled a tendon during the journey. Leaving
the charger with a wrap on its leg and a worried master, he made his way
through the wet foliage and into the hub of the smoky encampment.

He passed Niles, sound
asleep in a make-shift tent.  The sound of the man's snoring was enough to wake
the dead and Kirk kicked the knight's exposed foot as he passed by. The man
rolled to his side and the obnoxious sound quieted.

The ladies tent was set
away from the others purely for privacy's sake. Kirk was almost to his tent
when he paused, thinking to check on the women before he turned in for the
night. Wondering if the little she-devil had managed to fall asleep in spite of
the fact that the drooping structure wasn't her precious inn.

He paused outside of the
tent, listening. It was completely silent. Carefully, he lifted the edge of the
flap, peering inside; Lady Micheline was sleeping soundly, curled on Edmund’s
furs. But the bed next to her was empty and Kirk threw back the covering, his
stone-gray eyes blazing.

"Lady
Micheline," he hissed. "Micheline!"

Micheline jolted awake.
"M-My lord?"

"Where is your
sister?"

Micheline blinked,
looking at the bedding beside her. Touching it, as if to make sure it was truly
empty, she shook her head.

"I d-do not know,
my lord," she said truthfully. "Mayhap she is in the bramble...
relieving herself, as it were."

"She's not in the
bramble. I have sentries all over this camp and someone would have told
me."

Micheline struggled to
clear the cobwebs of sleep from her mind, thinking. "She was perturbed
that you refused to take us to an inn. Mayhap she..."

That was all Kirk needed
to hear. He was half-way across the encampment, heading for the tethered
chargers before Micheline realized what was happening. Plain blue eyes wide
with fright, she hovered at the edge of the tent, watching as Kirk thundered
from camp astride his great red beast. Dazed and apprehensive, she had little
choice but to return to the huddle of Edmund’s furs.

But she did not sleep.

Oh, Mara... what have
you done now?

                              
***

The broken pitcher had
cut her hand when she smashed it on his shoulder. Bleeding and sobbing, Mara
remained under the bed where the knight couldn't reach her. He stomped about,
issuing violent threats as she continued to resist him, refusing to sate his lust. 

In hindsight, it hadn't
been the wisest decision to leave camp. She should have remained, by
Micheline's side, safe and sound as Lord Edmund’s men watched over her. Even
Kirk. He had saved her from falling to her death yesterday, but she doubted he could
save her from what was about to happen. The results of her own stupidity.

But that was the problem
with Mara. Always regretting her hasty actions, allowing her impulsive nature
to rule her common sense. Micheline attributed her foolishness to her youthful
years; Mara hoped she was right. She hoped that with age would come sensible
maturity. And as the knight continued to rage and drink, Mara prayed she would
live that long.

As fearful as she was,
she grew even more fearful when the shouting finally stopped. She could hear
footfalls pacing about the room and just when she thought, mayhap, the knight
had given up, she was startled when a massive hand reached under the bed.
Unable to move away fast enough, the knight had her by the skirts and pulled
her out in a flash.

"There you are,
sweetling." He threw her on the bed, his heavy body landing atop her. Mara
swallowed the bile in her throat as he tried to kiss her. "You were a
naughty girl, hiding from me. Now is your chance to make amends."

Mara twisted, turning
her head and struggling not to vomit. He was heavy, crushing her slight body
into the mattress. The knight's slobbering lips were on her cheek, her chin,
moving down her neck. As Mara gasped and fought, he brought both of her hands
up and pinned them above her head.

With one free hand he
could do a good deal of damage. Starting at her round breasts, he squeezed them
roughly and Mara screamed. The minute she opened her mouth, he put his tongue
in it.

She spit and twisted,
weeping as he laughed. The hand moved down her torso, fumbling with her skirts,
and Mara's struggles increased. A calloused hand ran the length of her leg and
she lashed out, managing to kick him as his attention focused on the unfurled
flower between her legs. The knight grunted, using a knee to spread her legs as
his hand moved to her bare buttocks.

Sharply, he slapped her
white bottom. "Cease!" he growled. "Since I have no intention of
releasing you, I would suggest you learn to enjoy it."

Mara ignored him, still
twisting and bucking. If she wasn't enjoying the encounter, then she would make
sure he did not either. She simply couldn't believe her foolishness had led her
to this point, her innocence about to be taken by a drunken knight. The only
thing of personal value she possessed was about to be stolen and she vowed at
the moment that if God would allow her to come through intact, she would never
do anything so stupid again.

But her prayers were cut
short as the knight's hand moved to the black ringlets between her legs. Mara
screamed again, trying desperately to avoid his probing fingers. He grinned
lewdly, stroking the dry folds.

"Give me a bit of
dew, sweetling," he muttered, his breath coming in heavy gasps.
"'Twill make it easier on you."

She had no idea what he
was talking about, panic filling her. A thick finger wormed its way inside her
and she screamed again.

"Just a little
bit," he rasped against her cheek. "Just a little and I shall end
your torment."

There was a knock at the
door. The knight turned his head away from Mara long enough to bellow at the
interruption.

"Leave us!"

His finger was moving
inside her, uncomfortable and foreign. Mara whimpered, tears trailing down her
temples, as the knight's wriggling finger suddenly stopped. His eyes widened as
he stared at her.