Chapter Fifteen
When she woke she was again in the Shrewsbury cottage, not the lake house. Victoria felt same way you feel when you are on vacation in a foreign country and you go to put your hand on your passport…and it’s gone. This had happened to her in Venezuela once when she was on a business trip with her supervisor. She had that fleeting panic attack until she found it in a pocket of her luggage.
There was no passport for this place. Or was there? She slid from the bed, careful not to wake Jack and set her feet to the floor. It was colder, and she felt different. Her center of gravity was wrong. She lost her balance a little and steadied herself on the edge of the table. She would not forget the porridge this morning.
She knelt to stir the fire and get the pot boiling with water from the wooden bucket next to the hearth. When she braced herself to get up again she felt the difference again. She stopped. The fire flickered in front of her, but she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. She pushed open the shutters and looked out at the fresh morning. When she had gone to bed last night it had been high summer. Now the leaves were all the colors of autumn. Some were on the ground and the moon was low and big as it set on the horizon.
She put her hand over her belly again. I am pregnant. The bulge was small enough that only she would notice it. She lifted her nightdress and pressed her hands all around her belly button. Her uterus felt firm, like there was a softball inside her. She dropped the nightdress. If she went back to her old life, would she be pregnant there? Am I trapped here until the baby comes?
She glanced at Jack stretched out in the bed, still snoring. Does he know?
Victoria frowned. She needed answers. Until now it seemed she had been playing a role, enjoying herself with Jack, exploring the nether realms. This was different. She put her hand over her belly again. Three months? Four? She didn’t know. She could not think of this as a game anymore.
Later, Jack grinned as he ate his porridge, his eggs and his toast. He knew. He went out to the forge whistling and swinging his hammer. Victoria watched him walk away from the door way, drying her hands on a cloth. He had a long striding gait because he was so tall, and his shoulders moved side to side because he was carrying the heavy hammer. She sighed. This would be heaven. This could be everything I ever wanted.
But something was wrong. It had been wrong from the first day she came here. Jasper had warned her. Now the oppressive feeling was stronger. Her day was set out for her. Every day was. There were more tasks than could be done by one woman.
“Mam?”
Victoria jumped. A girl stood in the doorway wearing an apron and smiling shyly.
“I’m here. What do you want me to start on?”
Victoria was flooded with information. The payment for the sword had gone for many things. A servant girl from the village was one of them. She smiled. The girl’s name was Katy. Victoria even knew what their tasks were for the day. “First the cow and chickens, Katy. Then we bake today.” Katy dipped a little curtsy and moved away to get a bucket from the drying board outside in the yard by the well.
Well then. Victoria picked up her own bucket and went to the well for more water. She heard the first ringing sounds of the hammer on metal and the low roar of the fire. She realized that every day she listened for those sounds. Every morning she waited until she heard them before her own tasks could be started. There was something comforting in the regular pounding that told her that Jack was here and that he was doing what he loved to do, and that she could stop what she was doing at any time and go watch him make something useful out of a lump of metal.
He liked it when she was there, but she could not use her time in idleness often. She might hurry today, though. While the last loaves were baking she might have an hour to sit near the forge. She nodded, planning that moment as she set her bucket down and reached for the well handle.
She had not heard him behind her. As she leaned forward to steady the rope someone grabbed her around her waist and jerked her back, off her feet. A gloved hand was pressed over her mouth and both her air and her scream were cut off in a muffled squeak. She was dragged backwards; her shoes were ripped off by her dragging heels. She could see over the hand that Katy was still in the barn. Jack and his forge were hidden by the bulk of the cottage, and as ever, the sounds from the fire and the hammer would mask any sounds softer than a cannon shot.
Victoria kicked as hard as she could, but the man who had her had arms like steel. She was turned and handed up to another man on a horse, hands changed places over her mouth and the horse leaped to the road. As she was repositioned on the saddle by her captor, her eyes spun around to see Katy staring open-mouthed between the barn doors. The ringing of the hammer faded and became the pounding hoof beats of the horse beneath her. Her mouth was free now and she screamed, but knew her voice would not be heard.
She was sick and sore when she was finally taken down from the saddle. She bent and puked her breakfast in the grass. The two men waited for her to finish, then strapped her wrists and ankles with leather thongs. After she was trussed they picked her up and carried her to a two wheeled cart filled with straw hidden among the shrubs near the road. One of them tied a gag over her mouth and buried her in the straw while the other hitched one of the horses.
This ride was not as painful as flopping over the back of a galloping horse, but the straw made her sneeze and the bindings were too tight. Now she was angry. She knew better than to kick or struggle, as this would only exhaust her and tighten the bindings. She waited, thinking. Her greatest weapon of defense was her mind. After all, unlike the people of these times, she had read hundreds of books and watches scores of movies. She would be able to anticipate what was happening to her and come up with any number of scenarios that might get her free.
She guessed she was being taken to Lord Brigayne. That was easy. The time slip was not. She woke up this morning months later. Would she wake up tomorrow even further in time? Could time advance when she was not asleep? She thought about this. She had been shown her wedding night, and experienced it. She had been shown the first few days of her married life, enough to be used to it and realize how much she loved Jack. She had been warned about Brigayne. Now this. The segments of her life with Jack seemed to be selected for particular events.
Obviously this abduction was an important event in the history of their marriage. She waited. The sun was passed midday when the cart stopped and she was carried into a great dark house and up several flights of stairs. She was deposited on a bed and the gag removed. One man bent to unfasten her wrists and ankles while the other stood at the door fumbling with a ring of heavy iron keys. They were gone and the door locked before Victoria could moisten her mouth and inhale to respond. Her hands and feet were numb.
She stumbled as she made her way to the single window set high in stone walls and barred with thick iron rods. She looked out some three stories up in an impressive house. Not the manor, though. This was a country house alone in the middle of a great forest. This was probably what the lord referred to as his hunting lodge. Yes. She was certain of it. Below her she could see two more low stone buildings and heard the baying of hounds. The stable and the kennel. This was his hunting lodge. He was probably out there now shooting helpless animals, and tonight after he ate them she would be the sweet pudding. Jack had warned her. Jasper had warned her.
She turned away from the window and inspected her prison. It was a small room. There was a fireplace at one end and a bed at the other. A low table was against the wall and contained a pitcher and basin on top as well as an unlit tallow candle, underneath the table was a chamber pot. The bed was heavy wood with four posts with a rope suspension. A thin straw mattress was spread over the ropes and a few blankets and a pillow were stacked at one end. This room was well used. She made a face. How many young women had found themselves here at some point on their lives? Probably half the village. She wondered how many of the village children who called their fathers ‘Da’ were really Brigayne’s.
She sat on the edge of the bed. She pointed at the corner and said, “Jasper!” Nothing. She pointed everywhere and called every name she could think of. Nothing. Even “Albert Magnus” got no response, though she did feel a little vibration in her chest as she said his name. She tried again and got the same sensation, but no old man materialized. It felt as though the magic was weakened across the centuries, or perhaps he could not help her. Or maybe this was like a dream and she could not wake up until it had been played out.
It was about to be played out now. The door burst open and her two abductors strode in and had her on her back on the bed with surprising speed. Her wrists and ankles were bound and strapped to the head and foot posts, and then after lighting the candle, the men left with as much speed as they had entered. She lay there staring at the ceiling, breathing hard with surprise. Their movements had been so practiced and coordinated that she had not had time to speak to them or even put up a useless fight. She blinked.
The door opened some minutes later. She turned her head to see Lord Brigayne enter. No surprise there. He took a long step forward as he stripped off his riding gloves and slapped his thigh with them.
“Maggie,” he said with a sly smile. “Welcome to Thornhurst.”
Victoria wrinkled her nose. He smelled like sweaty man and dirty horse. “Not much of a welcome,” she said and pointed her chin toward her wrists.
He laughed. “Most of the ladies who visit are not welcomed with straps, but I knew you were different. They usually lie there still as stone and take it. I knew you would fight, and I have no intention of coming out of this with a black eye or festering scratches. He rubbed his chin with the gloves. “But on the other hand, that might be fun.” He took another step closer and ran his eyes over her body as though figuring how much effort it might take to restrain her. Victoria knew that Maggie’s body was much smaller than her own, barely over five feet. Victoria was five-eight. This little body was stronger, though, from years of lifting those heavy baskets of laundry and kneading mountains of bread. She tugged at the tethers on her wrists. She might not be able do any serious damage, but she could hurt him.
He laughed a little again, but with less humor. “I can see it in your eyes, Maggie. You would be a handful.”
He turned and closed the door, and locked it with one of the iron keys in his belt. He sat on the edge of the bed by her right foot and tugged at his boots one by one.
“Jack will know you have taken me,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m sure of it,” he answered and dropped the boot with a thud. “So?”
“He will be angry.”
“Yes, that is to be expected. He will get over it. They all do.” Brigayne chuckled. “Some bring their wives back for more. I can be generous if they are comely.”
Victoria grit her teeth and reminded herself where she was and who she was. Brigayne continued, “But none are as pretty as you, Maggie. You have been the village’s pride and joy for some years now. Your beauty will last a few more years before it is eroded by hard work and too many babies. Little Martha Mulligan looks to be your successor. She has the golden hair and big blue eyes of her mother. She’ll be ripe in two, maybe three years. About the time I will begin to tire of you.” The other boot dropped. “Then John the Smith can have you all to himself.” He leaned forward, hands on knees and smiled at her before working the buttons of his vest.
She watched him undress, trying to think of what she could do. She kicked, making the bed jump a little, but her traces held her fast. Brigayne looked up. “Oh ho!” he cried as he dropped his vest on his boots and tugged his shirt over his head. “It begins! Excellent.” When he was completely naked, he leaned over the bed and started on her clothing, talking all the while. “This is delightful. I like unwrapping them, like little packages of pleasure. What is underneath? There is always a hint. Some are buxom, others have little buds with exquisite nipples. Some have wide hips, ready to receive my bonny thrusts, others are more delicate and need gentle handling or else they cry and scream. Which are you Maggie? Let’s see.”
“I’m pregnant,” she said. There. Trump card. He has to stop now.
He paused at the laces of her dress and eyed her suspiciously. “Well then, as I said. Let’s see.” He was skillful with all the ties and folds of cloth. His nimble fingers had peeled what he could from her without untying the bindings. He put a smooth hand over her belly and felt it all around, pressing just hard enough to be clinical.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Certainly this is not an impediment, Little Maggie. Perhaps if you were far gone it might.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “That might be interesting though. I have not taken a woman swollen like that.” She watched as his cock rose with the thought and her stomach turned. She had believed this revelation would end this encounter. Now she was left with nothing. Brigayne was immune from all threats. He was the law in this county. There was nothing else she could say…
“I have the French disease,” she snarled at him.
He laughed loudly. “You are a clever one. I know you lie, for you were a virgin on your wedding night, and John is clean. I check with the leech before snatching a man’s wife. I certainly don’t want to foul myself.” He smiled at her. “Jack would not have taken you if he had come back from France with the rot. Try again, little one. You are clever and amuse me.”
He ran his hands over her breasts, which were smaller than Victoria’s and flicked the nipples until they betrayed her by standing erect. His cock grew larger. Victoria pulled at her bindings again. Would she have to suffer through this? She bit her lip in the off chance that she was dreaming and now it was time to wake up. She thought of the lake house and her bird feeder and the espresso machine. I am finished with fantasy.
Brigayne climbed between her spread legs and knelt there. He pulled at his cock while he looked at her half naked body. “Maggie,” he breathed. “Finally. I have waited so long.” His eyes rolled up with pleasure as his hand worked his cock until it was as large and hard as it could get. “I used to watch you in the market with your mother when you were a little girl. I knew I would have to wait for you. You were so small. Sometimes the little girls are ready at eight, but you…even at twelve you were still so little.” His cock was fully engorged. “I didn’t want to break you.” He leaned forward, exploring her cunny with one finger while slowly stroking with the other hand. “But you are a woman now.”
He continued. “Ah. Still nice and tight. I wondered. Jack is such a big man. He might have loosened you up in these last few months. God knows he must be on top of you every night pumping you full of his seed. I would be.” He moved his hips to touch her with the end of his cock. “He sticks it in just like this, doesn’t he?” He looked up to meet her eyes.
Victoria frowned. This constant verbal blow by blow was annoying and would make this rape last longer than necessary. His allusions to Jack suggested he was getting off on thinking about her husband as much as about her body. “Get on with it, you perv,” she snarled.
His eyebrows went up and he sat back. “Perv? What kind of word is that?”
“Pervert. Any man who takes women and children like this is sick in the head,” she kicked a foot again for emphasis.
He closed his eyes and his hand was on his cock again. “Hmmm...pervert...”
He used a thumb to spread her nether lips and pushed his cock halfway inside. “A little dry, Maggie.” He pulled it out again and went to the table where he spread some kind of oil on his cock. “I thought talking about John would slick you up a bit.” He returned and entered her again. There was less resistance with the oil but she squirmed away from him just the same. He was not as large as Jack but his dick was unwelcome. She twisted as far as the tethers would allow and bucked her hips hoping to dislodge him. She glared at him for good measure.
He just laughed and pressed harder. Her tweaked her nipples and squeezed her breasts but she was grateful he did not try to kiss her. He pressed in and out of her in a monotonous way that was not the least arousing. To her, anyway. His eyes closed as he enjoyed himself. She could feel his cock getting harder and as he increased his rhythm she knew he would finish quickly.
He did. He came with a little gasp and a sigh. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Good job, Maggie. Next time you will off the chain. That will be a lark.”
He withdrew his cock, now limp and dripping and wiped it with a twist of the sheets from the bed. He dressed without another word to her and went down to his supper. She lay there for some hours before his men came in and unbound her. They brought her some bread and a hard cheese and a full tankard of ale before locking her in. The night was long and cold and she did not sleep a wink.
She waited at the window, wondering. Jasper had implied that something terrible would happen to Jack on the day he sold the sword. Her cheek twitched. That had been some months ago. I suppose the events were set in motion that day. Here I am in the lord’s hunting lodge. Jack must know I am here. Katy had to have told him. She imagined the girl dropping the bucket of creamy milk and running to the forge. She imagined Jack throwing the hammer down and running to the barn for a horse and then pounding the road with Katy pointing the way.
That is what would have happened in a movie or a romance novel. Victoria pushed a lock of Maggie’s hair from her eyes. But this was real. Jack might not be in pursuit at all. The lord was the lord. She would not be returned until Brigayne was finished with her. Jack had told her as much, and Maggie’s memory confirmed it. Only the homeliest of village girls were spared Brigayne’s lust. Jack might just be sitting at the empty table, waiting for her return. Her stomach clenched, imagining that reunion. How could she apologize? What could she say?
Jack may never forgive her for disobeying him. The pregnancy had not stopped Brigayne. She allowed herself to shed some tears of self-pity. Her happiness, earned with so much effort was too quickly quenched, like the metal at the forge. He may not want her back after he knew Brigayne’s dick had fouled her. This thought brought on a new tide of tears and she sobbed so loudly she didn’t hear the door open behind her.