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Prologue: Rose’s Beginning
Screams filled the night air. Shrieks of terror mixed with yells of victory as the village was over run. No one was safe, not a woman or child, not even the tiniest of babes was left as they were all gathered together in the center of the conquering horde.
It was a bedraggled group, women ranging from Grandmother Baia to Gaila who had just left the school room. The children outnumbered the women, two were babies, held in the arms of their mothers who kept their heads down, hoping that respect would let them keep their children. The rest were toddlers to young boys not old enough yet to carry a sword and face the fate of their fathers whose bodies would slowly decompose into the soil.
“Gather them up,” the leader bellowed. “We have a long way to go and I want them in good shape for the auction.” He walked to one of the women carrying a baby. “Are you nursing?” he asked her, lifting her chin with his blood covered gloved fingers.
“Yes sir,” she murmured, cringing back as the hand dropped to her breasts, pushing the baby out of the way to lift and knead the sensitive flesh.
“Yes, you have milk.” He chuckled, slipping his finger into the front of her thread bare gown. Pulling slightly, he ripped open her bodice, exposing the creamy white, heavy mounds. Her nipples were huge, sagging slightly. “Beautiful,” he muttered, raising his hand for his man to come and take the baby from her.
“My baby!” she screamed.
“He will be returned to you if you do as you are bid.” He slipped off his gloves, folding them through the belt that circled his waist.
“What is it you want?” she cried, her body shaking as he kept staring at her exposed flesh.
He reached out, lifting one heavy breast in his scarred and calloused hand, his thumb brushing over the engorged nipple. He played with it, gently, hearing the woman’s gasp and sudden inhale as he teased her sensitive flesh. “Stand still,” he ordered her, his voice a husky grunt.
She closed her eyes, feeling his warm lips feather over her nipple, then the heat of his mouth as he suckled her in, drawing hard. There was a heavy sensation, and then a feeling of not quite pain that triggered the let down of her milk. She heard his hum of pleasure as the first thin stream filled his mouth with warm sweetness.
His other hand found her other breast, gently pulling at her sensitive nipple, twisting it slowly until she felt the unwelcome wetness of arousal between her slender thighs. It tore into her soul, for she’d watched this man plunge his blade into her husband’s chest just moments before. He’d killed her Jared, the only man who’d ever touched her in this way, and now, she was giving him the succor of her milk.
“No,” she gasped, her feet moving in place as if she’d try to back away from him.
He lifted his head, a stream of milk still spilling from her nipple, to spray his chin with the watery blue-white liquid. He wiped it with one finger, plunging the glistening digit into his mouth and closing his eyes to savor the taste.
“Does it bring you to heat? Does the feel of my mouth on your teat make you long for a plunging cock?” he whispered coarsely. His hand slid to her skirt, lifting it even as she fought him, finding his way between her naked thighs. Plunging his hand to hold her legs apart, he dipped that same finger between her hairy lips, chuckling as he found moist heat that coated his finger.
Her hands pushed at him, grabbing his wrist in an attempt to pull him away, but he was too strong. He plunged his fingers inside of her, fucking her crudely, before dropping his head to her breast once more.
“No, stop,” she moaned, though her hips twitched as his tongue flicked over her nipple. He suckled lustily, gulping loudly of her sweet milk, his thumb rubbing at the taut nubbin of flesh between her thighs. She came suddenly, her cries mixed between horror and pleasure, flooding his hand with her juices. He lifted his head, his green eyes laughing as they gazed into hers.
“You have no shame, rutting away on my hand, the hand that killed your husband. His blood mixes with your come, lady.”
Sobs shook her shoulders and she gathered the torn edging of her bodice together over her heaving breasts. Tears of shame and fear, of mourning and grief stained her face, reddening her cheeks even as he watched. It made him laugh and he brushed his palm, still covered in her musky spendings, across her face, lifting her chin to drop a hard kiss to her down turned mouth. “I shall keep you for myself,” he whispered to her. “I shall be your master and if you value the life of your babe, you will do as I say.”
He moved away, signaling again to his man who brought her the babe then took both of them to a small wagon. She was leashed inside, a thick leather collar brought round her slender throat, the leash chained to the small metal circle in front. “You are a lucky one, lady, for his pleasures are few and usually quickly achieved. The rest will be auctioned off, used as serfs or bedded for the joy to be found between captured thighs.”
He took one last look at the woman whose eyes were blank, mirroring the emptiness she felt in her soul. She sat there, her babe laid across her lap, her arm wrapped around herself. Only the lusty cries of her hungering infant woke her from her daze and she picked up the small lass, holding her to her naked breast, crooning some song or another to her until the babe had drank its fill.
She could see the others as they were tied together at the ankles, hobbled so that they would constantly fall as they were dragged behind and knew a moment of pain at her own luck at being chosen by the leader. The other young mother, her baby boy handed to another woman was screaming now for two men held her arms, tearing off her blouse, their mouths latching on to her leaking breasts. They drank hungrily until they were forced away by others, her nipples stretching painfully and then more as each man seemed eager to drink at her breast.
It was a shocking scene, one that filled her with dread. The poor woman wasn’t molested in any other way; the men seemed more eager to nurse from her life sustaining milk than to sexually abuse her. There was a jerk and the wagon began to move, the last man wiping his mouth as he moved away from the shivering woman.
She laid down in the wagon, unwilling to watch the village of her birth as it disappeared from sight, dreading the sight of the women and children as they tried to keep up with their captors, falling to be dragged until one of the men came back and roughly righted them. She closed her eyes, cuddling her daughter, her very own Adaira Rose to her naked breasts and falling asleep.
A huge hand rudely woke her from her sleep, pulling her up by her leash as her captor climbed easily into the wagon. He lifted her babe in one hand, staring at the small bundle with her curly dark hair and huge blue eyes that looked back up at him. “Is it a boy?” he asked roughly.
“N…no,” she managed to say, her voice stuttering badly as she made a grab for her child. “P…please my lord, s…she’s all I have l…left.”
“What will you give me if I let her live?” he asked, gazing down at the comely lass, for she was, even with her slightly sagging breasts. She was thin, for food was scarce in this season and the babe drained much from her. But her skin was fair and smooth, her eyes large like her daughter’s and a bright blue. Her hair was blonde, curling under the rag she wore upon her head. Her teeth were white, straight and even, not black and broken as some of the women’s were.
“P…Please, lord. Anything you wish,” she begged, holding out her hands for her baby.
“What is your name, wench?” he asked roughly, eyeing her heaving breasts.
“Madelaine, lord. My h…husband called me Maddie.”
“Maddie, aye it has a sweet ring. I tire of the battles and of the travel. I wish to settle on my land, to erect a home worthy of the title and raise sons that will win the day for me. You’ve bred before, and while I’d prefer a woman known to breed sons, I find you a lusty enough wench. You shall become my wife and if you want this girl child to live, you will not fight me in this.”
“Y…you wish to make me your bride?” Maddie’s voice bore the strain of her surprise. She’d expected ravishment, rape, death at the hands of her captor, not this.
“You find me offensive?” he sat back against his heels, bringing the babe to lie securely in the curve of his arm.
In truth, he was far from offensive, even with the heavy scar that marked his wide forehead. His face was harsh from the life of war and battle, but his eyes were bright with intelligence. Dark green, they stared at her from under a heavy brow. His nose was long, wide at the bridge and slightly crooked from being broken in one fight or another, his mouth was too big, his teeth white and slightly uneven. He was tall, built for war, heavily muscled, he filled the opening of the wagon easily. His upper arms were as wide as her waist, the strength there more than apparent.
He smelled good, male sweat mixed with the tang of the horse and the scent of leather. It was a heady aroma, so different than her husband’s. His speech spoke of learning, articulate and well modulated, something of importance to her since before her marriage, she’d been the village teacher.
“No, lord,” she answered truthfully. “I do not find you offensive.”
“Then what is your answer, Maddie, for I do not have all day to waste. We must be to auction before nightfall.”
“My daughter, she will be allowed to stay with me?”
“Aye, this I promised before.”
“Than I agree,” she whispered, feeling a tug at her conscience.
He brought his free hand to her face, slowly tracing her slender cheek. “It is good,” he said softly, bending to taste of her lips for the first time.
The kiss brought a flush to her face not born from embarrassment. He was talented with that overly wide mouth, teasing her with a gentle swipe of his tongue which promised nights of passionate play. “Now, that this foolishness is behind us, we must get back on the trail.” He backed out of the wagon.
“Wait,” she called as she gathered her babe back to her breast.
“What is it Maddie?” he said, his tone half teasing, half irritated at the extra delay.
“I do not know your name, lord.”
“Aye,” he laughed, mostly at himself. “Would be a sad day when a wench married a man whose name she could not give to the priest when asked. Tis Hawkesmoor, Maddie. But most know me as the Black Hawke.” He gave a tug at his own inky black locks and threw her a wink before disappearing from sight.
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