The
Elven Chronicles
Episode
Three
The
Fugitive Bride
Chapter
2 The
Consumation
Honoria swayed slightly
as her serving woman brushed her hair with the ritual one hundred strokes;
one for each of the minor deities who would be with her
tonight. It was a silly superstition,
but one the common folk clung to and she had no wish to start her marriage
out on any worse a footing than she already
had. Soon Indgar would join her
in the wedding bed and she could only hope that the mood he had drunk himself
into at the wedding feast would pass.
The wedding feast had all
been a bit of a blur. She had
eaten little and drunk too much. As
a result she soon became light headed, a condition that tended to loosen
her normal reserve and she had said a few things that she should
not. It was the minstrel who
had put the forbidden thoughts into her
mouth. He had been singing the
Lay of Valendaria and Ellenif, the story of an Elven princess who leads her
people to victory and vanquishes the vile Grothargs who had kidnapped and
tortured her Elven lover. “It
is unfortunate that Sallia has forgotten that it is not only men who can
perform great deeds,” Honoria had
observed.” Unfortunately
her whisper had carried easily to those near her including the ears of Duke
Indgar.
The Duke, who was well into
his sixth cup of dark wine stared menacingly in her
direction. “Surely, dear
wife, you do not equate the morality of the decadent and cowardly Elves with
that of Men. It is said that
they do not even worship the same gods.”
It was a direct affront,
but Honoria was not so taken by wine that she did not know when to
retreat. She meekly bowed her
head. “I bow before your
superior wisdom, my lord husband.”
“Is it common, your
majesty,” Indgar went on, “for women to voice their opinions so
openly in your court?”
“My daughters have
been known to speak out on occasion,” the King replied without
rancour. “Honoria is an
intelligent and spirited young woman as are my other
daughters. “I welcome their
opinions.” In Honoria’s
case what her father said was more than
true. After the Queen had given
birth to her third girl-child, the King had begun to treat Honoria more like
a son than a daughter, encouraging her to learn some of the manly arts such
as weapons training and the study of war.
He had even had a tutor brought in to teach her to
read. It was well that none of
this was mentioned, however, as was revealed by the Duke’s next comment.
“That is
interesting.” I would not have thought that a woman had any thoughts
worth listening to.”
“Just as the thoughts
of some men are not worth listing
to.” The words were out
of Honoria’s mouth before she remembered to whom she was speaking or
how they would be received.
To her considerable relief
her husband only smiled and replied.
“I see I have married a woman of wit as well as
beauty.” He raised his wine
cup in her direction and drained it at a
gulp. Honoria sat back and shut
her mouth.
Now she waited for her maid
to finish preparing her for the wedding
night. She swallowed and wished
she had consumed a bit more wine.
“You look most beautiful
my lady. Duke Indgar will be
most pleased.”
Honoria looked into the
polished glass mirror. It was
one of only a few in the castle and more valuable than she could have
imagined. A vision of beauty
stared back at her. She had awakened
a girl of sixteen, but now a woman was framed within the oval of the mirror
- a woman with expressive blue-green eyes, a straight nose, full pouting
lips and high cheekbones, framed by raven tresses that flowed like liquid
to her waist. It was, she knew,
partly the application of rouges and shading in strategic areas of her face,
but nothing was needed to enhance the womanly curve of her breasts or the
taut copper-pink of her nipples.
She stood and the maid adjusted
her diaphanous night dress. It
was designed to enhance rather than conceal her
charms. Her heart rate increased
when she considered what her charms were intended to
stimulate. For a brief moment
she thought she might be ill, but she controlled her heaving
stomach. “Thank you,
Erial,” she said to the maid.
“That will be all.”
She watched the maid depart.
The next time the door to her room opened her husband would
enter.
She waited beside the bed,
her manner composed, although inside her guts felt like
jelly. A minute
passed. Then
two. Surely the Duke must know
she was ready for him. What man
would be late for his wedding night?
After ten minutes of waiting
she sat on the edge of the bed. It
was so high that even her long legs could not touch the floor and she let
them dangle. Fifteen minutes
later she was so cold that she pulled the coverlet over
her. Her heartbeat slowed and
her eyes closed and a few minutes later she fell on to her side and
slept.
She was startled awake by
the sound of the door to the room slamming
open. For an instant she was
so confused she had no idea where she
was. Then she
remembered. She could hardly
escape the reality of the Duke of Magdoran standing in front of her, his
dark eyes fixed on her with undisguised anger.
“My lord,” she
gasped, sitting up abruptly.
“I had expected you
earlier.” She noted that
the candles illuminating their bedchamber had burned halfway down, indicating
that several hours had passed since Erial had
left.
The Duke did not answer
at one. Instead he slammed the
door and threw the bolt. The
massive door was three inches of solid oak bound with
iron. With a look of satisfaction
he patted the wood. “That
should keep us undisturbed while I celebrate our
union. I have ordered that for
the next three days we be attended only by my
servants.”
“My lord?” Honoria
queried, rising to a kneeling position atop the bed.
“It should be long
enough to teach you
this.”
The blow caught her across
the left side of her face and hurled her across the
bed. A rainbow of colours swirled
before Honoria’s eyes before her vision
cleared. Half dazed she tried
to struggle to a sitting position, her gut clenching in
fear. Inside her mouth she tasted
blood where the inside of her cheek had been lacerated by her
teeth. Too stunned to speak she
could only watch helplessly as the Duke lurched around the bed to the side
she now occupied. He stank of
wine and sweat and was clearly dangerously
drunk.
“Three days,”
he repeated. “By that time
you will have forgotten that nonsense about changing the place of women and
learned not to shame your lord in public.”
“Shaming you, my
lord?” Honoria gasped. She
was barely able to speak, the shock of being so brutally treated by her new
husband completely overwhelming her.
Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined her wedding night would
be like this.
“Yes, shaming
me. You think I did not notice
the way you hesitated when you took your
vows? I am the most feared warrior
in the kingdom and yet you opposed your marriage to me with your every
breath. Did you not think reports
of your recalcitrance would not get back to
me? You will be taught to behave
as an obedient wife and I will begin by breaking that ‘spirit’
your father the King spoke so highly of.”
“My lord Duke,”
Honoria protested, her voice cracking in
fear. “We are now husband
and wife. I will serve you
faithfully.”
“I like that,”
the Duke replied. “The sound
of fear in your voice. There
will be a great deal more of it before I am through with
you.”
“What are you going
to do?” Honoria quavered, backing away from him across the
bed.
“First a little lesson
in what happens when I am displeased,” The Duke
replied. In spite of his advanced
state of inebriation he struck like a snake, reaching across the bed and
catching hold of Honoria’s wrist.
He dragged her toward him and Honoria did not know whether to fight
or cooperate. She was absolutely
terrified, but the Duke was her husband and she could not believe that he
actually intended to harm a princess of the
realm.
“My father…”
she began.
“Your father will know
nothing, princess. Did I not
make it clear that we will not be disturbed for three
days? I doubt I will need more
time than that. And when we leave
you will have no time to speak to the
King. In two weeks we will be
back in my castle and then I will do with you what I
please.”
“No,” she
gasped. “You cannot mean
what you say. You have drunk
too much wine. No man would treat
his bride this way on his wedding night.”
“And now you say I
am not a man,” the Duke said.
“It is time for your lesson to begin and I have here the symbol
of your subjection to me.” He
held up his hand and Honoria saw that he was holding the silken ceremonial
bindings from the wedding ceremony.
She had taken them off immediately after the ceremony, but obviously
the Duke had ordered them brought to him by one of the
servants.
“No,” Honoria
protested as he pulled her toward him and held both her wrists in one
hand. In spite of her frantic
efforts to pull free he held her and with a few quick turns bound her wrists
together. Then he tied the loose
end of the rope to the bedpost at the bottom of the bed and pulled her onto
the floor. The action left her
standing with her arms over her head and her bare feet touching the
floor. Twisting her body she
turned to face the Duke.
“You really
are a beauty,”
he said, moving close to her.
Honoria had not realized that her action would display her body so
provocatively, but the movement of the Duke’s eyes over her breasts,
belly, and abdomen clearly apprised her of her
mistake. He moved right up to
her and took her left breast in his hand.
Gently he squeezed the firm flesh and then ran his thumb over her
nipple. “Soon,” he
said quietly. “Soon. But
first the lesson.”
“What are you going
to do?” she quavered. She
had endured his examination of her body and his fondling of her
breast. As her husband he had
every right to do that, but she was terrified of his threat and the look
in his eyes as he studied her was not that of a man on his wedding night,
but more like that of a predator about to devour his
prey.
“Turn around and face
the bedpost,” he ordered.
Honoria did as she was
told. She was too frightened
not to. Behind her she could
hear the sound of the Duke undressing.
“Perhaps he will now consummate our union,” she
thought. “Perhaps the sight
of my body has reminded him of his
duty.” It was strange that
only a few hours ago she had trembled in fear at the thought of the Duke
deflowering her; now faced with the brutal alternative and the Duke’s
bizarre behaviour she welcomed it.
She stared back at him over her left
shoulder.
He was removing his
belt. For a few seconds she thought
that he would continue to undress, but then he doubled the belt over and
slapped it into his hand.
“No,” she whimpered.
“You can’t mean to use
that.” Her eyes were wide
with terror, focused on the metal studs that decorated the
belt. In answer the Duke stepped
toward her and picking up two of her handkerchiefs gagged her by forcing
one into her mouth and using the other to tie it in
place.
“Mmmpphh!” Honoria
protested. Too late she tried
to scream for help, but could managed only a muffled
grunt.
“I suspect this is
going to hurt quite a bit. I
wouldn’t want your screams to unset your father and
mother.” The Duke pulled
his arm back and let fly with the belt, striking Honoria across her
backside.
“Mmmppphh!” The Duke was
right. Honoria did scream, but
the sound of her agony was confined to the
room. He struck her again and
again, targeting her backside each time until Honoria continued screaming
in between blows. Only then did
he stop and place the belt on the dressing table near the
bed.
“Now, my princess it
is time to consummate our marriage.
No doubt it is something you have been looking forward to ever since
our marriage was arranged.”
Honoria sobbed as the gag
was removed. She wanted to scream
for help but was in such fear of the Duke she did not
dare. She could only wait helplessly,
sobbing in pain and fear, her arms still bound over her head as she watched
him undress.
Honoria knew all about the
mating process. It was impossible
to live in her society and not be aware of
it. Privacy was something reserved
for the extremely wealthy and powerful and she had frequently seen animals
mating and been well aware of the activities of her
servants. She had even seen soldiers
and peasants bathing in streams from a distance, but she was unprepared for
what came next.
The Duke was powerfully
muscled; not a particularly surprising development for one of the most famous
warriors of the kingdom. But
she had never seen a man so well developed in the region between his
legs. Had she been properly prepared
she might have found the sight arousing, however, in her present circumstances
it brought back her fear of the wedding night with a
vengeance. She could only stare
in undisguised terror at the Duke’s erect penis as he untied her from
the bedpost and still whimpering in pain pushed her down on the surface of
the bed.
“Please,” she
whimpered fearfully, “do not hurt me.”
In answer he ripped her
filmy nightdress from her body and forced her legs
apart. She had time for just
a partial scream before he clamped his hand over her mouth and entered
her. There was no
preparation. The Duke’s
action was not an act of love; it was a brutal and painful
rape. Honoria screamed and writhed
in agony as he took her virginity and then kept on screaming as he thrust
deep within her.
It hurt much more than anything
she had imagined. Coupled with
the animal grunts of the Duke as he took her, and the smell of his unwashed
body, it was a hideous ordeal. And
it was made even more painful by the Duke’s mauling of her
breasts. With his free hand he
squeezed both breasts and twisted her
nipples. Honoria twisted her
body in an attempt to escape the brutal violation of her body, but the
Duke’s weight pinned her down and he violated her without mercy, savagely
raping her until he finally spilled his seed into her.
“Now you are a
woman,” the Duke grunted, as he lifted himself from her, “and properly
my wife.” He lay down beside
her and almost immediately fell asleep, leaving Honoria to whimper in
pain.
She lay beside him for the
next hour, afraid to move for fear of awakening him, her body racked with
pain. She was bleeding badly,
but dared not move even to help herself.
Finally, realizing that the Duke was in a drunken stupor, she eased
out from beneath him and staggered to the
washbasin. It was early morning
and she caught a glimpse of herself in the same mirror she had been seated
before in the evening.
She was almost naked, her
fine silk nightgown torn to shreds.
A massive bruise discoloured the left side of her face and her round
perfect breasts were marked with the bruises of the Duke’s
mauling. The inside of her thighs
was slick with her own blood and her perfectly combed hair lay wildly about
her face. It was almost too much
for her and for a few seconds she wept loudly, but recovering she dipped
a cloth into the washbasin and attempted to stop the
bleeding.
The region between her thighs
was so raw and tender she could hardly bare to touch it, but she had to do
something for fear she might bleed to
death. And she couldn’t
seek help. Not like this.
She had to clean herself up
first.
Somehow she managed, staunching
the flow of blood and washing the evidence of the rape from her bruised
body. Then pulling on her robe
she crept to the door, eased back the heavy bolt, and pulled it
open. She found herself staring
into the faces of two of Duke Indgar’s
men-at-arms. “I’m sorry,
your highness,” one of them said.
“The Duke gave orders no one was to leave the room without his
permission.”
With a sob Honoria fled back into the room. Behind her she heard the door close.
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