“Would you have food, sir? ’Twill not take long to prepare for you.”
“Yea, you are kind,” he answered, his thin lips turning up in a grateful smile. But to himself he admitted the food could wait; his loins could not.
The girl turned her back on him and went to the hearth. In that moment he pulled a knife from beneath his tunic and slipped stealthily up behind her. Enid’s short frame stiffened when the knife touched her throat and the man’s chest pressed into her back. She did not fear for her body, as most girls her age might, but for her life.
“Do not scream, Enid, or I will have to hurt you,” the man said slowly, one hand cupping her rounded breast. “And anyone else who would come to your aid. ’Tis a tumble I want, no more.”
Enid choked back a sob, seeing her newly formed plans dissolve with his words. Such a short-lived dream—to have a husband at long last.
A little to the south of the village, a lone figure hobbled along through the trees, mumbling every step of the way. The horse that had long since thrown its rider was nowhere to be seen, but still the youth turned and, raising a small fist, cursed loudly.
“’Twill be a cold day before I take you back, you pampered nag!”
Pride was more bruised than the rear end on which the rider had landed, and with a hand pressed firmly against the offended area, the youth continued on to the village. Anticipating a place to rest, the youth raised a proud head and endured the curious stares of the villagers.
One woman approached, and without voicing the obvious question—what had happened to the youth’s horse—she said instead, “We have a visitor, Bren. Enid has given him welcome.”
Cool gray eyes turned toward Enid’s cottage and then back to the woman. “Why did they wish privacy?”
The woman smiled knowingly. “You know Enid.”
“Yea, but she does not give her favors to strangers.”
Without another word the youth, sword in hand, crossed the short distance to Enid’s cottage and moved the closed door aside. It took a few moments for the silver-gray eyes to adjust to the darkened cottage, but then they lighted on the couple in the corner, unaware of the intrusion. The stranger was mounted atop Enid, thrusting his slim hips like a rutting boar.
At first the gray eyes were fascinated, watching the mating of the two creatures, the deep plunging of the male between the spread thighs of the female, listening to the grunts and groans that drifted from the corner. But then the flash of silver caught the gray eyes, and like clouds warning of an approaching storm, the youth’s eyes darkened, drawn to the knife in the stranger’s hand.
Without a second thought, the youth crossed the room with purposeful strides and raised sword, then skillfully cut into the stranger’s behind. A shocked scream echoed through the cottage, and the man jumped up off the cowering Enid and scrambled away from his attacker.
Enid gasped when she saw the reason that the stranger had jumped up. “Bren, what are you doing here?”
The youth stood with legs astride and answered without emotion, “’Tis fortunate, I suppose, that the nag I call Willow threw me, or I would not have come in time to see justice done. He forced you, did he not?”
“Yea,” Enid answered and could not stop the sobs of relief that shook her body.
“The girl was not a virgin!” the stranger blurted out angrily, cupping both hands over his bleeding backside.
This was not the girl’s father, the man easily surmised, but just a boy, and a very young boy by the sound of his high-pitched voice. The boy was clearly not of the village, for the youth’s wealth was apparent from the richly embroidered mantle covering the silver cloth tunic which matched the angry eyes of the wearer. The sword that had so accosted the stranger was like none he had ever seen: a broadsword surely, but exceptionally thin and lightweight, with sparkling blue and red jewels encrusted on the hilt.
“That she was no virgin did not give you leave to take her. Yea, ’tis known that Enid is generous with her favors,” the youth said, then added in a lower voice, “but only to those of her choosing. She bid you welcome, and you repaid her in this unspeakable manner. What shall be the punishment, Enid? Shall I sever his head and lay it at your feet, or perhaps that shriveled organ that stood so proud but a moment ago?”
The man sputtered with outrage. “I’ll cut out your heart for that, boy!”
Giggles came from a bevy of females who had gathered in the doorway upon hearing the scream. The naked man’s face turned livid with rage. To add further to his humiliation, the youth’s own tinkling laughter joined the others.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Enid spoke indignantly. “Bren, you should not make fun of him.”
The laughter stopped, and the youth shot her a contemptuous look. “Why, Enid? The stranger obviously thinks he is a match for me. I, who speared my first wild boar when I was but nine, and killed five worthless scavengers with my father when they would do harm to your village. I, who have held a sword in my hand since I could first walk, who have been trained diligently for the seriousness of warfare. This ravager of women thinks he can cut out my heart with that toy in his hand. Look at him! Tall though he may be, he is but a sniveling coward.”
This last insult brought a roar of outrage from the man, and he jumped forward, knife in hand, arm raised, fully intending to carry out his earlier threat. But the youth had not boasted falsely and stepped aside with lithe grace. A slight twist of the arm drew a long streak of blood across the man’s chest. This was followed by a booted foot to his already crimson behind.
“Mayhaps not a coward, but certainly a bungling oaf,” the youth taunted as the man slammed into the opposite wall.
“Have you had enough, rapist?”
The knife fell from the man’s hand when he hit the wall, but he quickly grabbed it and charged again. This time the youth’s long blade cut skillfully from the left, and the man looked angrily at the perfectly formed X on his upper chest. The wounds were not deep, but sufficed to cover his chest and lower torso in his own sticky blood.
“You inflict but scratches, boy,” the man growled. “My blade, though ’tis small, will still find a deadly mark!”
