hadn t seen the horses mate. And the dogs. And the donkeys. The great battering of a thick member, that s what awaited her. The mares had run, the bitches tried to flee their pens, but never, not once, had they stood a chance against the brutes who hunted them down. Once pinned into a corner, the females would hang their heads as they were pounded into from behind with red, insistent shafts.
Shocked and horrified, Christiania had fled the barns. On her hands and knees she had scrubbed the stone floors of the compound until her knuckles bled and her fingernails cracked, trying to erase the picture of brutal male dominance from her mind s eye. No matter how she tired herself, she had been unable to wipe away what she had seen.
Late at night in her narrow cot, heat had rushed through her. She remembered the whinnying of the mare, the hot breath rushing from the nostrils of the bitch. Something warm coursed through her. She was sure such unnatural thoughts, such unnatural feelings, were the hand of evil.
She clenched her eyes shut and prayed.
Just hours ago she had let the nuns bathe and perfume her. They had dressed her in such finery, silks and satins that she was sure she would never become accustomed to. She longed for the thick, coarse fibers of her robe. Her wedding gown showed her curves too well and she was embarrassed by her womanly figure. If her husband was attracted to her, might he mate with her for more than just an heir? Please no, she pleaded silently. Contrarily, she was also worried that her husband would be displeased by her. And if her looks, her woman s gifts did not please him, what would be her fate and the fate of her people? Would he turn his back on all of them just because she could not be the wife he demanded?
She had but glimpsed Marcus one time, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday.
His overly large muscles, the grim set of his lips were her only memories of him. Now, ten years later, at this outdoor ceremony, her idyll at the nunnery 5
was at its end.
The priest s nasal voice wound down and Marcus squeezed Christiania s fingers. She jumped with the force of his hand around hers, unused to the touch of anyone else, let alone a man.
A warrior no less.
The silence in the dark was unbroken, but for the wheezy breathing of the priest. Christiana swallowed nervously, praying to God that she would not faint. Later, when Marcus was above her, plying her open with his enormous rod, she would gladly fall unconscious. If only she knew the question that had just been asked of her by the priest. Were they already at the vows?
The holy man requires your answer, lass, Marcus said, his burr rough with impatience.
Her eyes opened wide and filled with tears. It was certain now, she would be beaten. And it was her own fault for being inattentive.
Marcus sighed, looking no less thrilled with her than she was with him. Will you take me in marriage? he repeated for her ears only. They had already signed the betrothal contracts, but even so, this ceremony was important to seal their union.
Dumbly, Christiania nodded. Yes, she squeaked.
Marcus turned her to face him, his fingers boring into the soft flesh of her shoulders. His mouth came down to fasten on hers, the sweet smell of lemons teasing her skin. Above his shoulder, through the branches of the trees, in the black of the night sky, a star fell.
Oh shooting star, take me to a gentler man , her heart cried.
All went black.
6
Chapter Two
Heading for Scotland, 1320
Her insides were on the outside and her skin had replaced her internal organs. Christina tried to scream, but her mouth was somewhere on the back of her head, so it was no use. An explosion of light reverberated through her like a bomb. Everything shattered. She was surely dead.
The orgasm had killed her.
If she wasn t so pissed off about being dead, Christina would have laughed.
What irony that her favorite pastime should be her ruin.
But then, instead of landing in heaven, she was