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I do not stop him when he reaches over and begins to undo the fuzzy braids in my nest of curls. The Beaumont wants to see it loose. He seems almost obsessed with it once his fingers begin their task. I imagine he does not see hair like mine very often. I should stop him. It is unseemly to let a man who is not your husband touch you. I cannot find the words to tell him no. I do not have the strength to push his hands away. No man has ever wanted to see my hair before. None except my attackers, has ever wanted to touch me. I must admit, that he is patient for a killer. It takes a while to free my coils. Christian Beaumont digs his fingers in my hair when it is free. He marvels at the course texture and thickness.
“No, I have never seen hair like yours before.” He admits. “As a matter of fact, I have never met anyone like you.”
Before I can think my next thought, his fingers are locked in it and he is kissing me hard on the lips. His punishing kiss does not leave room for protest. Not that I have one. What is he doing? What am I doing? I press closer to him. His arms come around me. My heart is beating far too hard. I am warm in places that ladies do not speak of. He feels so good that I make a sound in my throat. His arms tighten in response. I shove him away when I do not want to.
“My family is dead.” I snap in irritation. “I should not be throwing myself at the first handsome man to come along. Especially a Beaumont.”
“You think me handsome, witch?”
He smiles that smile again. Is that the only part he heard? Damn him for being so attractive.
“Your mother asked me to marry you.”
“Goodness, Mother.” I groan to myself. My mother would do anything to protect me.
“I explained to her that I am a Beaumont, and you are a lowly peasant and a heathen as well. Beaumont’s marry royalty, not peasant witches. No matter how pretty they are or how soft their lips. No matter how good they feel in my arms.”
He thinks I’m pretty? I push aside the urge to smile. What does it matter if he does? He is a dirty Beaumont. He is so Christian that his family named him Christian. It is a curse that he cannot see. To be named for a pack of Butchers.
“A heathen calling me dirty? I hunt your kind, remember? I have seen the harm that a cunt like you can do to a colony of innocents.”
I knee him between his thighs. He drops to his knees.
“You will pay for that, you fucking witch.” The Beaumont moans.
“I would tell you to go to hell, but hell is too good for you, Christian.”
I pick up my small pack and walk away from him.
“Come back here, damn you.” His demand goes unanswered. “Do not dare run away from me again. Lest I be tempted to spank you with something harder, and bigger around.”
“Pig.”
I shake my head at him. When in truth, desire punches me in the gut. I touch my lips where he kissed me thinking how life-changing it was. It was my first kiss and it was wonderful. I want the Butcher to kiss me again and again. I want him to touch me in the places that no man is supposed to see. I need him to make love to me.
He watches me with bright eyes as he stands. I forget that he knows what I am thinking, and I flush with embarrassment.
“Tell me, witch. Why did your mother not torch the town, or kill us all?”
The Beaumont Prince does not mention my erotic thoughts, to my utter delight. But I can tell he is thinking about them. He dares me to look away as he strips me bare with his penetrating gaze. A gaze that causes a shiver to pass through me. I wrap my arms around myself not from a chill. I wrap them around myself to hide my naked imperfections. I forget what we are arguing about when I get lost in his eyes. We have been arguing since we met, and it has not lessened my attraction to him. I am too old to be fawning over a man and daydreaming of making love at my age. Especially with one as young and handsome as he. What would a young Prince want with a plain, over-the-hill witch like me? I will be lucky to find a man to marry me at all.
“You were telling me why your mother did not save herself if she was a witch.” The Beaumont reminds me quietly. “The rest we can discuss after.”
How is he able to make me blush so? The rest we can discuss after? As if I would discuss my threatening spinsterhood with him. That is not what we were conversing about. What was I going to say again?
“Yes.” I remember now. “Mother did not cast spells. She died denouncing black magic. She is a martyr and died a good death. My sister’s death, was not.”
“Your sister was a very beautiful woman.” The Butcher was taken with Beth-Ann’s beauty. “Her face will haunt every man present today.”
Including himself. I am not surprised that he fell a little in love with Beth-Ann. Men and women have always been in awe of her. It is her sweet nature, and kind soul that made it so.
“It should haunt them.” I swallow my tears. “Elizabeth-Ann was beautiful both inside and out. She was loved by everyone who knew her. What they did today was ghastly. She was with child when they burned her.”
My words sober him. They burned a pregnant woman. It should have been me. My body should be lumps of coal and ash right now. Why did I let an innocent child die for me? I will never forget what I saw today. I will never forget the smells, or the sizzling sound her body made when it roasted on the open fire. She had a baby inside her. I turn away from him.
“I did not know.” He says somberly. “They believed her to be a witch, that is why they burned her. They say she healed a leper and straightened a cripple with a twisted back. She tempted priests to sin with her beauty. They desired her, even after they were given prayer. The Cardinal admits that he himself was tempted by her. Only a witch could tempt a man of God.”
“Horseshit.” I spit the word. “They were tempted by what is between their legs. The same as most men who came before them. My sister loved her husband. She never looked at other men. Your priests are, lustful.”
“Bind your blasphemous tongue, you peasant witch.” The Butcher’s scarred, elegant sword-hand twitches, but he does not reach. His fingers have been to war, but no scars or calluses can hide the graceful movements of his hands when they are not wrapped around a weapon. No dirt or grime can cover the aristocratic arrogance and dominance that shines from him like a light. He threatened to kill me a moment ago and yet, I am taken with him and his ways. I should be hanging myself from the nearest tree for what I let transpire today, but I am shamelessly admiring the Butcher of Beaumont. My eyes burn, and my chest tightens around my heart. I cannot live with this guilt. I want to die with them.
“Shut up!” The Beaumont hisses dangerously. My teeth snap together when he grabs me. “They are dead and there is nothing that you can do about it.” His face is inches from mine. “What will killing yourself do? Except break your mother’s heart wherever she is? You are the last of your line. Your name will die with you.”
“My mother was guilty of loving her child, and my sister was guilty of being beautiful. She never tempted anyone.” I cry desperately.
“The way you tempt me?” He holds me too closely. It is not close enough. “Should I burn you for making my cock hard, witch?”
The Beaumont kisses me with the dirty word fresh on his tongue. A tongue that slips between my lips and turns my insides to mush. I hold onto him because he is kissing the struggle out of me and making me weak. I sigh in defeat and let him kiss me like a prostitute on the wharf. The Butcher squeezes me so tightly that my ribcage creaks. My head feels light and I am not myself anymore. I am under whatever spell he has cast on me. My body yearns for this Beaumont in ways that I never thought I would. This is the feeling that I read about. My arms tighten on their own and my tongue peeks out experimentally. The Beaumont sucks it into his mouth. I feel a tug between my legs when there is no hand there. My breasts ache for his touch. I am in heat for him. He will think I am a whore.
“A whore would have her hands in my pants right now.” The Christian groans. “One on my cock, and the other in my pocket.” He cannot stop kissing me. “I am willing to bet your maidenhead is still intact. Is it Maeve?” His smile fades into a line. “If it is not, I will kill the man who breeched it before me.”
I blush and disengage myself from him.
“It is none of your concern.”
It is impolite and common to ask me such a question. Christian Beaumont will never be mistaken for common folk, nonetheless he is terribly impolite.
“I imagine it is my concern.” He decides. I gasp aloud when the Butcher’s hand squeezes my breast. “I would never risk my neck to save a whore, Princess.”
“It is Miss Payne to you, Beaumont.”
His hand on my breast is shocking. It does not feel this way when I wash myself. It never made me want to touch the other. It is wonderful when he squeezes them together. I am at a loss for words. I pull his head down and kiss him. It is a mistake. The Butcher sees it as an invitation. He pushes me down on the soft ground falling on top of me. We roll in the damp leaves in a fight for dominance that ends with me on top. I am on top because he is letting me be on top. The ridge of his hard cock is rubbing against my secret cave. That’s what mother called it. Others call it a cunt. I have heard both words on the docks. The Beaumont kisses my sensitive neck as his hands squeeze my breasts in unison.
I do not stop him when he raises my dress. I never imagined being with a man could be so enjoyable. Mother told me that it would be nice. However, she never described how sensual it feels to have a man’s hands touching your private places. His hands are touching me all over. I am twenty and eight years. An old maid. And I have never known a lover’s touch. The Christian’s hands are under my dress now feeling their way up my bare legs. I have an ache in my woman parts that shoots up into my belly. What is happening to me? His hand touches me where it hurts. I whimper when his fingers slide over the wet flesh guarding my virginity. He parts my center before a finger breaches my tight hole. I hiss when it hurts. The Butcher withdraws his hand and pulls my dress down.
“Damn it.” He rolls away from me. “You are a virgin. Get up and right yourself before someone sees you. My camp is not far from here.”
I am ashamed. A flush warms my dark cheeks. It is what I deserve for letting this Christian touch me. I came close to giving myself to him. A man that I barely know. He turned me away when I was willing. I gather my wits and my cloak in a hurry to get away from him. The Butcher grabs my arm.
“When I take your maidenhead, and I most certainly will, it will not be in some field like a whore where anyone can come upon us, Princess.” He explains. “It will be somewhere nice and private where I can take my time exploring your body with my hands and my tongue. I will taste the pink flesh between your thighs and make you cum before I bust you open.”
The Beaumont Prince kisses me before he shoves me away. I turn before he sees the excited smile on my face. I wonder if he knows how much desire that he stokes in me. I enjoy kissing him. I enjoy the way he touches me. I watch his handsome profile with my heart in my hands. I am ready to turn it over to him.
I am hopeful when we start on our way again. We are both quiet and deep in thought. Things were better before he kissed me. I cannot stop thinking about it. My thoughts of him push away the screams and the smell of roasting flesh. They drown out the noise of snapping necks and wailing children. The Christian’s seduction changes everything. I draw my sword when I sense a presence. He touches my sword hand to still it. Two people walk out of the bush. I heard them coming five minutes ago. I thought he did too.
“Put your sword away, Princess. They are my men.”
A man and a woman. He heard them coming also and was not alarmed. A Prince knows his own people. The woman is armed and wears the mail of a soldier. She walks right up to him and kisses him on his lips. The Butcher returns her kiss and grabs her generous backside with both hands before releasing her. My mouth falls open in shock. The rake is kissing a woman not long after kissing me! My flush darkens in embarrassment. I have no right to be angry, but I am. Just when I was beginning to think he had redeeming qualities, he does this. I was a fool to think there was anything more to him than what he is. A murdering seducer of women. The generous bastard shares himself freely like a... a... whore. I ignore the warning look he gives me. It is true. You are a whore. He stalks me across the grass. I look back over my shoulder at the forest, tempted to run. I hesitate too long. He grabs me before I can bolt. I fight my way out of his grasp with my chest rising and falling.
“Kindly remove your dirty hands from my person.” I demand hotly. “Do not touch me.”
His eyes flash before he grabs me again. “You do not command me, wench. I am your Prince and master.”
I have no master, Christian. You are a marionette of the church and nothing to me. Take your hands off me or I will cut them off!
The Butcher smiles in amusement before releasing me. I am not some toy to be played with. I am no whore.
“We will discuss this later, Princess.” He says softly. “When we pick up where we left off.”
“I would rather lay with a flea infested dog than let you touch me again.” I whisper angrily.
“Highness, who is this peasant woman who rebels against you?” A man in blue and gold turns up his nose at me. “Do you want I should kill her?”
“No.” The Christian turns away from me. “No one will touch her.”
“Why is this slave wench travelling with you, Highness?” The woman complains. “Her kind cannot be trusted. They carry plague in their blood.”
“This is a free woman of God.” The Christian corrects them. “She was travelling alone and being accosted by highwaymen when I found her. It is our Christian duty to see her home.”
“She is but a peasant, Highness.” The man is confused. A Prince does not bother with lessers. “Why sully your hands or waste your time on this... old slave woman? You should have left her to the highwaymen.”
“Maybe I should separate your foot from your leg and leave you to the highwaymen?” The Christian’s hard face makes the man shuffle nervously. “I meant what I said. We will see her home.”
“Of course, Highness.” The man bows his head in remorse. He is dressed better than the merchants I know from the wharf. “The lady is in need of a proper escort.”
“Why was she travelling alone if she is a lady?” The woman is suspicious of me. “No lady would be on the road alone. I would not trust her, Highness.”
“Lou, she is a maiden.”
“I doubt that, Highness. Slaves like her are meant for a man’s bed. She lied to you.”
“Keep your mean tongue in your head, bitch.” Christian snaps. “I felt her maidenhead with my finger when I wanted to fuck her. It is the only reason I did not. One more word out of you and I will cut out your tongue.”
“Yes, Highness.” The woman blushes. “My apologies, Ma’am.”
“No need to apologize, child.” I say matter-of-factly. “It is your jealousy and a lack of intelligence that makes you speak of what you do not know. Your affections for him are safe, I assure you. He will be back in your bed tonight. I have no interest in your Prince.”
The woman turns purple with embarrassment. The Beaumont’s green eyes twinkle with laughter. I speak only the truth. You should have left me to burn. The Christian shows no emotion as he watches me walk off alone. The fact that he is watching me says enough. I know that look. The Beaumont intends to have me. I turn away and enter the woods to find my supper. It will be a green meal tonight.
I scavenge some roots and edible plants and make my own little camp away from theirs. My small kettle is set on a low fire to boil. I sit staring at the still water thinking about my family. My mother cooked for us every day before I was sent away to live alone. She washed my clothes and combed my hair. She took care of me. How brave and proud they were today. My sister used her last breath to curse them. I felt her words fall over the crowd like cold rain. Most of them were too excited to care. The rest crossed themselves in fear. Elizabeth-Ann is gone from this time. My sister will be born again one day, and I will miss her terribly. I hope to see them again if our spirits cross paths in another time. I pull my knees to my chest and cry quietly. Nothing will ever hurt me this way. Not even if I live for two hundred years. I will hurt for them. And then I will run. Their deaths will not be in vain. I will have children with Payne blood.
I turn when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Are you ill, Miss?” The man asks from behind me. “I have brought your supper.”
I accept his clean rag and use it to wipe my puffy eyes and blow my stuffy nose. How thoughtful of him.
“I am fine, thank you.”
I accept the pewter plate and spoon with a thankful nod. It has meat on it. Meat is good for strength. So are the beans and the hunk of fresh bread. My stomach grumbles loudly.
“What happened that makes you cry so hard? Did someone hurt you?”
I cannot tell him about today without admitting who I am, so, I shake my head.
“No.” I lie. “It has been a long day and I am homesick.”
“Do you have someone waiting for you?”
“I have no one.”
“I understand how you feel. I was left on the steps of the orphanage with my cord still attached. The church is our family now. We must put our faith in God and know that he will provide all that we need.”
I wipe my teary eyes with my hands. This man kills women and children in the name of God. The brainwashed spawn of Satan thinks he is going to live in heaven for killing women.
“Amen.” I say in reply. He nods his head approvingly.
“I have my bible. I can bring it back and we can pray together if you like.”
“Daniel.” The both of us look up at the Prince. “You have work waiting.”
The Christian’s voice startled us both. The mans’ hand comes away from my shoulder. He jumps to his feet blushing like a woman. I stand much slower. He is not my master. I am a free woman.
“If you touch this woman again, it will cost you three fingers.”
“My apologies, Highness. I brought her supper and she was crying.”
“Thank you for your comfort, kind Sir. Your words of encouragement were more than welcome. I look forward to hearing you speak more about yourself and the church.”
I smile warmly. It is not a real smile, but it does not matter. Neither man notices past my dimples. My secret weapon. Daniel blushes deeper. The Christian scowls at me. The serving man hurries away before I can embarrass him anymore.
“I advise you not to flirt with my men. Do not be surprised if Daniel offers you his hand in marriage after this. He falls in love with every pretty girl he meets.”
“Do you think he will?” I ask him hopefully.
“Will what?” The Beaumont scowl deepens. “Fall in love with you?”
“Ask me to marry him, I mean?” I explain when he does not follow.
His green eyes narrow. “You would consider it after what happened between us?” He is upset and not hiding it. “You know nothing about him.”
“Not only would I consider it, I will gladly accept. I find myself in need of a husband. He looks healthy and clean. Why not?” I smile teasingly. “After all, I am a Christian now.”
The Butcher snorts at the idea. “That is enough to marry him?”
“Beaumont, I am alone. This is where my line ends. It is my duty to my family to marry and birth children before I die. The woman is right. Ladies do not roam about alone. I need a man.”
“It cannot be Daniel. He is my first in command. Even my potboy is above your station. Find someone who is not a Beaumont.”
“If your man offers me his hand, I will accept. I am not one of your people to be ordered about.”
The Prince whistles when I turn my back to him. He has every right to be beat me for my insolence.
“I do not envy the man who ends up with you.” He calls after me. “The poor bastard.”
“I have sympathy for whatever woman ends up stuck with you. You are a horse’s ass.”
His laughter is musical. I like this Christian, as much I do not want to. Butcher or no. He made love to another woman right in front of me. Still I want him to kiss me again and touch me between my—
“Enough, Mae.” He puts an arm around my waist pulling me back against him. “If you keep thinking such thoughts, I will walk around with a hard cock until I get rid of you. Or, I will give you what you want and fuck you in the woods like a cock whore.”
My slap snaps his head to the left and leaves a red handprint. I shove him away from me and pick up my sword.
“Go away, Beaumont.” I swing a few practice swipes. “I am lethal with this blade.”
I can kill them all if I so choose and walk away untouched. Lucky for him, I am not that sort of witch. I do not enjoy hurting and killing. I would rather live in peace.
“Who taught you to fight?” He asks curiously.
“The men they beheaded today were Knights. My mother and sister married real men.”
“What else did they teach you?” A dark scowl hardens his face. “Did they teach you the ways of real men?”
“They taught me everything that I need to know, you, butcherer of innocents.”
“You seem practiced, Princess. But not good enough to kill me.”
The arrogant man approaches me without fear. I cut his shirt as a warning. He keeps coming, so, I scratch him with the point of my blade drawing a red welt that stains his tunic. He grabs me and twists my arm behind my back painfully. My sword falls to the grass. I cry out when he twists harder.
“Never draw on me again unless you are ready to kill me, bitch.”
He spins me around in his arms, pinning me against his solid body.
“And Lou kissed me, we did not make love. I do not make love, Princess. One must be in love to make love. I fuck.”
