Across Ages

The black charger's hooves thundered on the packed dirt of the old path winding through the woods. Racing at a hard gallop, the mount's rider turned his head to look over his shoulder at the sun settling below the tops of the massive oaks lining the path to the west. His hair whipped around his eyes as he again turned to face front and hunkered lower in his saddle. With the setting of the sun, the temperature began to drop rapidly, the cold stinging his face and hands as it dried the fine sheen of sweat that covered his exposed skin.

Along both sides of the well traveled road, great black oaks stood like a line of brigands at an execution which did nothing to settle his anxious nerves. Beneath his mail shirt and tunic, a claw hooked into his gut and pulled sharply down. Weak, he felt as if he would collapse in on himself. He so very badly wanted to just let himself slip from the saddle, to find darkness and oblivion when the hard, bare ground caught him. Movement to one side of the path caught his eye, but he was rushed past too quickly to see anything.

As he turned forward again, a lark's shrill made him bolt upright in the cantle. The sudden jerk on the reins caused the stallion to bark around the bit in its mouth and they surged on. A quick hand caught the horn of the saddle and kept its owner from falling from his perch and living the fancy he'd just picture. He cursed himself, owing the near slip it to nerves and not some premonition. Stretched out along the length of his charger's neck, he apologized and encouraged the swift beast; urging it on faster and faster towards night's coming veil.

For a second he swore he'd seen a pair of eyes peering out between the heavy limbs of an oak as he'd reasserted control of his ride. But another lark's call issued from the lofty branches and he did not bother a second glance should the startled horse try to leap out from underneath him again. He forced his stomach to relax and his mind to blank, his eyes locked on the path directly ahead of them. The thoroughfare straightened into a long corridor where the oaks grew together more densely than the outer fringe of the wood.

Suddenly a girl burst from the heavy underbrush and scrambled along the embankment of the road a quarter league ahead of him. Even at that distance he could see her wild hair was a tangled nest full of leaves and other debris from the forest floor. A long patch work skirt and muslin blouse she was wearing were both torn and streaked with dirt. The chapped, pale skin exposed through the gaps in her clothing was flush and reddened.

He began calculating the closing distance between them as three large, huddled shapes came crashing through the gap in the trees the girl had emerged from. The fatigue in his limbs disappeared as he saw her fear widened eyes as she stumbled over the ruts in the road left from peasant ox cart. Already he could hear her shrieking, pleading for his aid above the noise of the horse's hooves and his own coarse breathing.

When she was but yards from him, he pulled hard on the charger's reins bringing the massive creature to a shuddering halt. In a single fluid move he swept down from the saddle and grasped the maiden by the waist, pulling her up to him. Once she was seated, he placed her hand on the reins wrapped around the saddle horn before swinging down to the ground. Now, all three of her pursuers drew up short, the dust wafting around them obscuring the tree line.

They were a dirty sort, heavy of limb and chest, their dark hair and wild beards hung off of leathery faces marked by soot or ash. Equally filthy skins and rags composed their attire, heavy oak war clubs dangled from their hands by leather thongs. Eyeing him, the stood abreast, almost spanning the entire width of the path.

Suddenly, the one standing in the middle grunted something in a Slavic tongue and two more of his barbarous brethren emerged from the wood line behind him. Looking at the newcomers, he again cursed himself and the girl's attackers. He could find no simple solution to the problem.

Positioning himself between them and the girl on the horse, he drew his long saber and braced his feet for an attack. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he looked into the flush face of the maiden and saw the tender pink of one nipple poking through the tear across her blouse that she modestly held together in one white knuckled fist. A smudge of the same ashen filth as on the face of the Slavs on that innocent bud awoke a savage hatred in his heart.

One of his challengers saw the opportunity and lunged; he feinted on his left and thrust the nimble tip of the saber at the Slav's face. The point struck home and the burly lump of cloth and fur hit the ground gurgling through the wound in its neck. Outraged, his four brethren bellowed in their coarse tongue. He allowed himself a small smile, having shown that they attacked no mere knight errant. He backed into the horse, to try and wheel it towards the gap in the barbarian's barricade, when he looked again at the girl. However, all the desperation and fear in her face was gone.

Instead her face was contorted into a mixture of anger and disgust. She looked down on him as one would any sort of creeping, crawling vermin and raised her hand. In the tight little fist he saw an ironwood cudgel like sailors carried on the bounty...and then he saw no more as it crashed down upon his crown.

*** He slowly opened his eyes and stared up at a bare stone ceiling. Through the haze of pain robbing him of his thoughts, he vaguely remembered the girl, the barbarians, and the obvious ambush he'd walked into. Lying there, he didn't have to look down to know he'd been stripped to his simple leggings, feeling the light cotton along his legs without the familiar weight of his armor pressing down.

Fighting the dull ache at the back of his head, he tried to move but found himself bound. Rawhide thongs tied his arms and legs apart as he lay on what felt like a bedding of fur. He looked down at himself and was surprised to feel his hair slightly damp. His tunic was gone, dressed in only his leggings, the damp hair—he'd been stripped and bathed. Surely these robbers thought him of some importance and were holding him ransom. They'd be sorely surprised to find no one waiting for him any where—nothing to be gained by holding him captive.

But why wash him? He let his eyes wander about the room. He was indeed on a bed, a large expanse of silk, satin, and furs heaped upon a dais rising out of the floor in the middle of the room. The chamber was immense; light cast by a dozen odd candles on various plinths could only accent the gloom with orange yellow light, adding to the shadows that gathered in every dark corner. A large fire place stood open across from him, a fire blazing happily in the open edifice. A wrought iron grate hung above the portcullis giving the image of a blind demon opening its maw to gobble him up, a tasty morsel for its burning gullet.

To the right of the fireplace were a series of short tables around a great oaken chair draped with more furs. Each table was stacked high with books, the spines visibly cracked with pages of text sticking out the front like obscene tongues. A short stool in front of the chair had an open tome and a decanter of some crimson fluid. A draught of the drink sat at hand in a fluted crystal glass. In the deepening shadows beyond he could barely make out the edge of a book shelf equally over laden as the tables.

He turned his head and began inspecting the left side of the room. This side of the room was much closer to the bed, perhaps some 5 meters beyond the edge of the bed. In the furthest corner next to the fire place were a low bench and a rack of arms. He could see his own mail and saber tucked in among the many kinds of armor and blades. He noted the peasant girl's clothes heaped to one end of the bench on the floor and his heart sank.

He'd been so foolish. He should have listened to his apprehension, but it did him no good to chastise himself now. He could only wait and hope for an opportunity to escape before his kidnappers realized he had nothing to offer them. He tenderly dropped his head back to the soft mattress. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. It was a tired, defeated gesture, but when he opened his eyes he found himself with something worse than he could have feared.

He stared up in the beautiful eyes of the fair maiden. Looking into those eyes his breath was stolen...and then he saw the pennant over her shoulder. Hung high between two pillars behind the bed was a crimson flag, a pair of long swords crossing a black heart. She glared down at him with a cruel smile tugging at her lips when his eyes shifted and his jaw clenched around a stricken gasp.

She turned her head to follow his gaze and he was torn between the slender, pale neck of his beautiful assailant and the terrible coat of arms she admired. She again turned to look at him, savoring the fearful, wary look in his eyes as he studied her face. She slowly stalked around the edge of the bed, watching his eyes track her every movement. Even though his arms and legs lay limp, the muscles beneath his smooth skin were undoubtedly tensing. Ready. Waiting for her next move.

She stopped at the food of the bed, her body outlined by the roaring fire in the grate. She wore a simple leather bodice and crimson short skirt made of the same material as the accursed coat of arms. Her long, dark hair had been tamed into a knurled bun at the back of her head and held in place by a long, silver bodkin. A ruby inset to the pommel of the stiletto gleamed wickedly as the fire passed through its red heart.

His knitting brown amused her, his eyes shining defiance. He lifted his head and looked down at her and again she found herself looking into the dark eyes that had barely passed over her face before pulling her onto his mount. A shiver of anticipation ran over her spine and now she did smile, exposed the two long sharp fangs hidden behind her full, red lips.

"You recognize the pattern, yes?" She asked as she sat down upon the edge of the mattress between his legs.

He remained silent.

"How noble and swift you were to aide me. I always find Chivalry adds spice to certain men."

Still he remained silent.

"My gypsies are always so chivalrous, and loyal, however; much too undignified for my pure blood." She said as she dragged one long nail down his left pant leg. "After all, a dog may adore its master, but the master wouldn't take it as a lover...it merely buys it favor."

Again she smiled her harsh, toothy grin. "Not that your purpose is such either, but you already knew that didn't you?"

And still he remained silent, the muscles tensing along his jaw.

She suddenly reached behind her head and with drew the bodkin from her plaited hair, letting the dark mass sweep out behind her shoulders. She crawled onto the bed, kneeling above him, the tips of her hair brushing lightly over his taut stomach. Holding the ruby pommel between her finger tips, she traced the line along his abdomen with the tip of the blade from his navel to the tip of his sternum. Her eyes grew soft and she sighed wistfully.

"What a shame you killed Gorstaff, he was a most doting dog. I know he attacked out of fear for me, but had he damaged you he would have suffered the same fate." She said, looking down at him, her voice dropping to a softer tone.

"There is something special about you...I sense it. As a pure blood, my tastes require more than the blood of the common man. Surely you'll understand that, I'm sure."

"I understand," he said, "what it means to feed upon the living."

She turned on him with her eyes burning a fiery red.

"And you'll understand if it were not for that need I'd have already tossed you to my dogs for killing their brother and a fine pet."

Gripping her dagger in her fist, she did not so much crawl as she slithered her way up his body. Her ample bosom, contained within her leather bodice, pressed down upon his bare chest as she lay atop him. Her bare legs moved against the fabric on his legs and the hem of her skirt pressed dangerously against the base of his manhood. Tied down as he was, he lay perfectly still even when he felt her breathe tickle against the hairs on his neck. The soft skin of her cheek brushed against his freshly shaven face and he felt his loins stirring.

"And that," she whispered into his ear, "is why I had you bathed and freshened...I want you keenly aware of what is happening to you."

He could feel her shift against him, again sending blood to his most sensitive region. He held his breath in anticipation, yet she merely continued to nuzzle his cheek in contrast to her heavy threat.

"Warriors I have taken never lasted long...these were superior men to you and it was quick and simple. This is going to be an adventure in pain. I will make you suffer such that you will lose your insolence and the ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. And when you are fully mine...I will let you live long enough for my gypsies to dismantle your body while you can still feel anything at all."

She sat upright, still straddling his waist, and tossed her mane of raven dark hair over her shoulder. Again, the swaying of her hips ground the soft cloth against his manhood and he felt his distended member pulse inside his pants. She felt this and responded by grinding herself against him forcefully.

"You see? It's already begun." She said as she again laid herself atop him, placing the knife at his throat. "You, like all men, when even at death's door cannot control the simple lust within your body."

Suddenly she kissed him. Her body pressing down, she planted her lips against his. The blade biting at his Adam's apple never wavered as her lips pressed against his, gently teasing the soft skin. He surprised her by not resisting, their mouths parting slightly as she rubbed against his hardening mound. He felt light headed and dizzy as her nimble tongue quickly darted out and flicked across his.

The hand not holding the dagger then gripped his hair and pushed his head back into the mattress. Their kiss broke, and she gasped in triumph. She then glanced down to the point where their hips met as she felt his length press up through the cotton against her behind. His mouth involuntarily opened in a silent gasp as her free hand reached around and gripped his shaft. Her head lolled back, he eyes closed tightly, as she ran her tongue against one fang's sharp point.

"Well now, wasn't that rewarding?" She softly chuckled. "Is there something you'd like to say...Pet?"

Yet, despite his previous remark, he was again quiet...his great, dark eyes still filled with defiance. Those damned eyes...she felt them boring into her. Despite their situation, she felt as if she was the one nude and tied to the bed. It excited and frustrated her equally. She had sensed something about this man when he'd come rushing down the path. And again as her gypsies, all more than accomplished with taming beasts, had failed to quail his horse when she'd dismounted and gone rushing off into the woods, seemingly disappearing at the bend of the road.

And now in her private bedchamber, she felt the same strangeness tickle the back of her mind. She wanted to tear this man apart, to taste and feed of his essence. Despite her hunger and the suffering she wanted to give him, she had to savor the feeling of his skin against hers. The wrought iron pole rising between his legs and the warmth of their kiss. She shook her head as a horse would to rid itself of a bothersome fly. Again she clasped his hardening manhood and felt his pulse through its corpulent girth. Sitting there, straddling him, she ran one long finger of the hand holding the dagger down the line between his sternum and his navel.

"In olden times, they would stake men to trees and pierce their liver," she said, jabbing her finger into his stomach just above the organ, "slowly letting them bleed to death. But seeing how your blood is being collected elsewhere, mayhap we bring it back...up."

Slowly, she flipped the razor sharp knife over the back of her hand and brought its point a centimeter from his right eye. And yet he still did not flinch or make noise. Letting the knife hover over him, she brought the point over his body before letting the tip rest against his right breast. With a flick of her wrist, the blade drew a thin red line across his pale skin.

Immediately blood welled to the surface a deep crimson in contrast to the pallid skin. She stared into his eyes as she bowed her head to the wound, his face the same impenetrable mask. Still watching him, her tongue coyly slipped between her lips and dipped to the wound. His taste exploded on her tongue and she closed her eyes in pleasure, his blood burning down her throat like a fine liqueur and igniting her senses.

Losing all pretenses, she drank deeply of him. She could feel his heart beat through his skin, making her think of her family crest with its black heart emblazoned on a field of scarlet. She could still feel his hardness pressing eagerly into her rounded rump and she squirmed against it feeling her own arousal take bloom between her legs.

Finally she sat up, breathing heavily, her face flush, and he again saw the face of the young maiden he'd intended to protect. She gazed at him with wild eyes, obviously lost in a see of mixed feelings.

"Am I spiced?" He asked in a soft, young man's voice.

Her empty hand lashed out and struck him across the cheek, making stars burst before his eyes. He could feel the corner of his lower lip split against the force of the blow and a wet feeling as blood seeped from the wound. Then she was upon him, sucking at the corner of his mouth as she again furiously wormed her increasingly warm thighs against his hidden member.

Instead of turning away from her, he pressed his lips to hers and was rewarded by a hungry kiss. Their tongues entwined as they locked lips and he could taste his own blood. With a moan, she again sat up right and gripping one side of the bodice, ripped it open. Thusly exposed, he admired the well shaped flesh of her breasts as she leaned down and offered a pert, pink nipple to his mouth which he sucked on greedily.

He watched, transfixed, as her free hand slipped down to the dark place hidden between her legs. Casting aside the knife, but within easy reach, she sat up and removed her hand from beneath her skirt. In the yellow candle light he could see the faint glimmer of moisture along the tips of her fingers. As she examined them, her right hand cupped the breast he'd suckled and gently pulled on the erect nipple.

Her slender fingers extended out towards his face, and he opened his mouth to let them in. She noted the bit of blood from his broken lip upon the soft, pale upper-globe of her breast as she lifted it up, her tongue amazingly graceful as it licked it clean. His eyes, at last, closed; she reeled in her pleasure. It had been far too long since she'd been in the company of a man. A true man, not some simpering victim or her disgusting but faithful servants.

She pulled her fingers from his mouth reluctantly. She then lifted her hips enough to permit the hand down inside the waistband of his leggings and gripped his bare, hard shaft. In teasing him she'd felt its girth, but was unaware of its true nature. Positioning it pointing upwards from his groin toward his stomach, the length was such that the purple head emerged from below the waistline of his cotton pants.

Leaving it there, she braced both of her hands atop his shoulders as she slowly and seductively gyrated atop him. It took every ounce of her being not to make any noise as she felt it burn like hot iron against her skin. The distended head was right below the nubbin of her clit and the combined heat and friction sent tendrils of pleasure throughout her body.