Fire Witch (3 page)

The brute grunted and twisted her hair into a knot as he shoved her toward a stand of trees surrounded by gooseberry bushes. She staggered repeatedly with each shove he gave to her back. Once, she fell and thought that perhaps he wouldn't wait any longer. Her fingers clutched at moss, thinking she would throw handfuls of it in his eyes if he pinned her to the forest floor. Instead, he grabbed her foot and dragged her the rest of the way. She dug her fingers into the ground, trying to resist but he was too strong and she was far too tired. Her arms ended up flung awkwardly ahead of her until he flipped her over with the toe of his boot.

"On your knees," he said.

"You want to take me like a dog, is that it?" she said with disgust.

"And you a bitch, yes," he said, chortling.

She tried to crab away but he was fast for a large man and his hands gripped her by the hips and pulled her toward him. He wasn't gentle when he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her torso to the forest floor. The heel of his palm pressed into her voicebox, cutting off her air and her ability to scream. She bucked upwards, hoping to knee him in the back or kick him with her heel in the kidneys as she squirmed.

He only laughed. "You're as fiery as a badger," he said. "Maybe I won't share you after all."

A thick hand crammed itself beneath her shift and probed between her legs. She gasped when he pushed his finger inside and then withdrew so quickly she thought perhaps he had decided to rethink his intent.

No such luck. She felt the air assault her bare bottom as he yanked her shift up above her hips.

"My mother will kill you," she said. "Or what's left of you when I'm done," she growled.

"There'll be about two ounces less of me at any rate," he said.

His member pushed against her inner thigh, seeking entrance, but she managed to squirm away just enough that it missed its mark. His other hand went down upon her thigh, pressing her legs wider. She managed a weak cuff against the side of his head, but the lack of air was making her head swim. She thought she heard a rustle in the bushes, but the bastard was so obviously still intent on his task that she didn't dare crane her neck to see if someone else had entered the copse. In the next instant, she saw a blur of black curls and the butt of a sword crashing into the brute's cheekbone.

He fell off her, holding his hand to his face. Two heartbeats later, he was on his feet, facing his green-eyed comrade. She scrambled backwards, trying to get to the underbrush before either one made a grab for her, but coming up against a man-sized boulder.

"What the devil, Chelan?" He growled at the younger. "You can have her when I'm done."

"You won't have her at all," Chelan said.

The older man faced off against Chelan unarmed, and yet Aislin believed he was not unmatched. This Chelan might be quicker, but the older marauder was broad enough to be climbed by a mountain goat.

"She's mine," the older man said. "I was willing to share. Now, not so much."

"That's not why we're here," Chelan said.

Blood seemed to remember how to make its journey back through Aislin's limbs now that her throat was free of the captor's grip. She didn't care what happened between the two of them, who won, or what the victor decided to do with the loser. This was her chance to get away and she didn't intend to waste it.

She inched her way sideways, thinking that all she had to do was get far enough away while they were occupied that she could scrabble to her feet and bolt through the bushes.

"It's not why we're here, but a man doesn't thumb his nose at the gods of Fortune."

"Then I claim first rights," Chelan said.

"First rights are for the captor, you fool, which I am. Or for the leige, which you aren't," the brute said. "Here you are just another warrior. A disgraced warrior at that."

Chelan grinned, flashing teeth so white Aislin believed he painted them with limestone. "You forget why."

"What does it matter here?" the brute said. "You'll be dead." At that he lunged for Chelan but found empty air at the end of his leap. He shook his head like a wet dog and Aislin inched at least three handspans backwards.

"You're quick," he said. "I'll give you that."

Aislin pushed another hand span toward the trees as the two men made for each other in one great launch. The younger swung his sword with expert skill, but the second managed to duck low enough to leave Aislin wondering how such a boorish physique could manage such dexterity. In the next second, he was out of sword's reach. She pushed on, her left hand reaching behind her and feeling something cold and round. A stone that fit perfectly into her palm. She wrapped her fingers around it, not willing to let it go just yet. Another few paces, and then she would spring to her feet and run. Only then would she give up the weapon.

Chelan had found a way to corner the bigger man against a tree, but he had several bruises already rising on his cheek and eye; Aislin could even see them from her distance. That would be sore come morning. Not that she cared. She'd be long gone.

"Walk away, Feran," he said.

Feran snorted. "So you'll have her to yourself, then?"

Chelan said nothing, only pressed the point of his sword into the older man's belly. "Half a hundred times if I so please."

Sweet goddess. It was an exaggeration, surely. Even so, the thought struck horror into her belly. She'd be damned by the goddess if she went calmly into that dark cavern. She was close enough now to the brush that she felt she could ease to her feet and sprint off into the trees. Even as she uncoiled her legs beneath her and made ready to swing her entire body towards the woods, the brute realized she was on her feet.

"Looks like once is too many for that fox." She heard him say with a chuckle just as she made a break for the bushes.

She pushed through the branches, not caring when they scraped at her skin or whipped her legs as she ran. She only cared that she put as much of her energy into each pace as she could, that she pumped her arms to add speed when the trees grew sparser. It would be foolish to run back towards the grassland and the village, she be far too vulnerable then as she ran in the open, and a quick jump on a horse would run her down in no time. But she knew the woods, had played there, hunted there, searched out wild herbs there her entire life. All she needed was a landmark to tell her where she was. All she needed was for her mind to stop racing long enough that she could concentrate on what she was seeing.

It was impossible; panic had spread through her limbs, soaking them so thoroughly that they pumped on, oblivious to the commands her mind tried to send them: to slow down, to take in her surroundings, to make and take decided action.

She might have gotten far enough into the woods that she could lose them, and she began to think she might actually make it when she didn't duck in time to avoid an overhanging tree branch. She collided hard enough into it that it took her legs out from under her and dropped her to the moss. The stone rolled from her hand. There wasn't even time to get to her feet before Chelan was on her, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to her feet.

He shook her as he searched her face.

"You fool," he said. "Where do you think you'll go?" He gripped her by both shoulders and squeezed.

"Home," she shouted. "The woods. Anywhere."

"Anywhere isn't exactly safe."

"And I'm safe with you?" She gathered up enough spit that she could hock it at his feet.

He looked down at it but said nothing. Like Feran, his arms were bare but for the metallic bands wrapping his arm and a thick torque collar that rested on his breastbone. His leathers looked more oiled, as though his own skin had become part of the well-worn vest. She had the feeling he slept in them, ran in them, fought in them until they had become like his own skin.

She was still trying to catch her breath beneath his mossy and unflinching gaze when Feran sidled into view. He was panting, as though winded, but a few moments later, Aislin realized it was something else. He was clutching his side, where blood leaked from between his fingers.

"Well, " He demanded. "What are you waiting for?" His black gaze pinned itself to her hips in a revolting stare.

She fought, then, letting her hands and feet do what they would to her captor. She felt the young warrior's skin beneath her nails as she raked down his neck, felt the suppleness of his boot beneath her sole as she tried to kick his legs out from under him. He shook her still with both hands, and her teeth clacked together.

"She's fiery, that one," Feran said. "Shall I call the lads over to help you tame her?"

Aislin could swear her heart stopped as she saw Chelan go rigid. His fingers convulsed into hooks on her skin.

"Lift your shift," he hissed.

She shook her head. She'd be damned if she'd be compliant.

He pushed her against a wide-trunked tree so forcefully the bark bit into her shoulder. Instinct would have sent her hand to soothe it, but she wouldn't let him see her weakened by his brutality. She clamped her lips closed tightly enough that she wouldn't be able to give in to the primal instinct to beg. He wrestled her so that they were both fully behind the tree trunk. She could barely see around the breadth of it to Feran's beastly face and when she did peek, what she saw horrified her. He had lifted his leathers in curious inquiry and was inspecting the gash on his side with filthy fingers, peeling aside the skin and poking his finger inside to test the depth of the wound. He grunted with satisfaction but not with pain, and then set to winding a strip of leather around his torso, effectively tourniquetting the wound. She had the feeling that if he had fire nearby, he would have seared the wound shut.

The man was an animal. They all were, obviously.

"Do as I say," Chelan said, tearing her attention away from the grizzled man. Something odd in his voice made her stomach clench and she stiffened her own spine as she looked at him.

"The Goddess take you," she bit out, and he shook her again until she thought her head would fall off her shoulders. When he stopped, she couldn't tell whether the trembling that had taken over her body was an echo of his aggression or her own fear.

"Damn you," he said. "Just do it." He ran a hand through his bushy curls and she could see that his fingers were bloodstained and calloused.

She realized this was the last moment she would ever feel unspoiled. A different kind of panic bloomed in her throat, nearly choking off her air.

"Just you, " she begged, hating to hear the beseeching tone in her voice, but hoping that at least she would be spared the humiliation of having to take on the entire group of men.

"Perhaps not even me," he whispered, fisting the bottom of her shift. She bat at his hands like her own fingers had become part of someone else's body, with as much control over them.

He gave her one piercing look that seized her muscles entirely. Then he forced her back to, pulling her bottom against his hips in one movement. He leaned in so that his mouth was against the back of her ear.

"Scream now," he said.

She obliged him until her voice was hoarse, but for the life of her, she couldn't understand why she was doing so. He had an erection, certainly. It was as solid and unyielding against her bottom as the limb of an ironwood tree. Even so, he made no move to penetrate her. Instead, he let it but up against her bottom almost chastely. She had thought this hardened warrior would force himself on her right there in the woods with that disgusting brute just on the other side of the tree. She thought she would have to steel herself against the invasion and then do so again and again until she was nothing but a husk of flesh with no spirit within.

She didn't expect the man clutching her hips to pantomime the intimate act or to send his calloused thumb over the cleft of her bottom like a whisper promising gentler intimacy. That changed when he hissed into her ear.

"I told you to scream," he said. He balled his hand into her shift and he used the material to yank her against him rhythmically, bucking against her and forcing her to pantomime the act with him.

She thought she had been screaming, but evidently she hadn't sounded frightened enough. His elbow snaked around the front of her neck and he yanked her forcefully against his chest, crushing her voice box with the crook of his arm as he did so, and then she did scream. It came out as a curdled warble, but at least it seemed to have been appropriate affect. He grunted in her ear with satisfaction and then after one final thrust, pulled her shift down, smoothing it over her thighs before throwing her onto the moss just in sight of the brute who had by then taken a seat on a smooth boulder nearby.

Chelan rounded the tree, making a great show of buckling his leathers. She wasn't certain what had just happened, or why, but she was grateful. When she met his eyes, she realized she couldn't keep his mossy gaze and instead collapsed on her side on the forest floor, hoping that the ordeal was well and truly over. Now that she'd apparently given one of them what he wanted, they'd leave her and flee these woods that lined the village her mother ruled before she sent men out to fetch the bastards who dared invade her town. She tried to keep her eyes on the ground, hoping for their departure, but when the brutish man made a sound like he was disappointed, she flicked her gaze in his direction without meaning to.