Orphan 1600s Ch. 01

*All characters are over 18 years old*

By the year 1651, Guillaume Allard taught himself how to live free. Raised in an orphanage from infancy, he knew how to fight to survive. Bigger and stronger boys found it was better to leave him alone than risk his controlled and calculated revenge. As Guillaume grew up, he found that protecting the younger and the weaker children gave him strength in numbers. Alliances meant peace through strength.

Becoming bored with the monotony of school lessons, tales from the New World beckoned Guillaume. So, he ran away from the orphanage and became a stowaway on a ship bound for the Hudson Bay colony. The sailors were a hard lot, but fair for the most part. They put Guillaume to work, performing tasks a boy could manage, although they were some of the dirtiest jobs. Through numerous trials and errors, Guillaume learned important lessons, like do not empty the slop buckets into the wind. He did his chores without complaint and to the best of his ability, garnering the respect of his shipmates. Always curious, he asked questions when time allowed. Knowledgeable sailors were typically glad to teach. Navigation by the sun and stars intrigued Guillaume. Soon he knew the important constellations and how to find true north, south, east, and west.

At the end of their voyage, Captain Marchand decided he enjoyed having a cabin boy and explained to Guillaume why he could not leave. Because he was a stowaway, he must stay aboard for five years to pay his debt. When the ship anchored, Guillaume escaped in the middle of the night by stealing the captain's skiff.

The freedom Guillaume found in the colony was both a blessing and curse. It was a blessing to go wherever you pleased, accountable to no one, and a curse that no one cared. Survival of the fittest ruled the day. Fortune was with him when he wandered into a Jesuit mission. They gave him food, shelter, and a purpose. As the years passed, he grew to manhood, tall and strong, doing physical labor, like chopping wood, learning to hunt, trap, and fish, living on God's providence. Their missionary ideology became his. He devoted himself to the care of the young, the sick, and the doing of good works. He traveled by foot with the missionaries and settlers to their outposts, where he met the native people, the Wyandot. Guillaume became enamored with their lifestyle of living off the land, one with nature. At first, the Wyandot's rejected Guillaume's efforts to befriend them. Then, one day, in the woods near the mission, Guillaume came upon French trappers impeding the movement of a young woman from a nearby Wyandot camp. When one man grabbed her from behind and another began pulling on her tunic, their intentions of rape became clear.

"Let her go!"

At first, the three men were startled, but when they saw he was just one young man alone, they laughed, and answered, "Go away! Mind your business."

"I said unhand her," he demanded, pulling the stone club from his belt as he approached cautiously.

Rather than let her go, the biggest man turned around, smiled, and said, "Just wait your turn, arsworm." The others laughed as he turned back to the struggling girl.

A fair fight was not an option. He hit the man with his club between the shoulder blades and kicked him between the legs. One down. Two left. The man holding the girl was reluctant to let her go. He began choking her to stop her thrashing. The second assailant pulled his dagger and slashed toward Guillaume stomach. In one motion he dodged the blade and made solid contact with his attacker's temple. Down he went. The last man released the girl to join the fight.

Guillaume readied for the attack, while yelling, "Go! Run away!" But the girl just fell to the ground unconscious.

"You're dead, boy!" growled the last man, as he pulled a flint lock pistol from his belt and fired.

Guillaume dodged, and the shot went wide. Furious, he charged the man through the black powder smoke and clubbed him over the head.

The first attacker revived and charged with his blade at Guillaume.

Overcome with rage, Guillaume put him down again. This time he would not get up. The young man looked at the carnage around him and vomited. He'd never taken a life before. Now, from the looks of their deformed skulls, he'd taken three.

The girl lay still. Guillaume saw her chest rise. She still breathed. When he bent down there was a sharp pain in his side. Adrenalin had cloaked a wound momentarily, but the gash revealed itself with a warm gush of blood. As the pain worsened, he decided the first thing to do was return the girl to her people.

Cradling her in his arms, he headed in the direction of the Wyandot camp, hoping to save the life. When the camp came into view the girl began to revive. At first, she began to struggle.

"You're safe. I'm taking you home," he said softly, trying to calm her even if she didn't understand a word he said.

Hearing his voice and recognizing her champion, she relaxed and closed her eyes.

The wound throbbed. His leggings, wet with his blood, grew heavy. Guillaume cleared the tree line, and yelled, "Help!" before falling to his knees and laying the girl on the grass. Her eyes opened. Guillaume smiled down at her, happy to have made it this far. He took a deep shuddering breath. The air smelled wonderfully fresh with the newness of spring. Nature bloomed all around. So different than the dirty streets of Le Havre. His head swam. There were yells and angry voices approaching, but weakness overcame him, and he fell back into darkness, believing this was heaven on earth, but now he was on his way to God, and heaven above.

Guillaume's eyes fluttered open. The room was dark and smelled of wood smoke and bodies. Was he back in the orphanage? No, he remembered the fight and... the poor native girl. He shivered with chills. Sweat covered his naked flesh. 'Infection', he thought. Plenty of men died from unseen blood poisons. He felt down to the pain in his side. The knife wound was cover by some kind of grassy poultice.

Guillaume heard someone nearby groan. He lifted his head to find the source. A few feet away he saw the silhouette of a bare-chested woman moving up and down. Her breasts bounced wildly as her motion increased. Her long hair, wild and free, covered her when she collapsed. There was someone underneath her. Arms appeared, wrapped her waist, and rolled her over. Against the faint fire light, Guillaume could see the man's penis penetrating the woman repeatedly. A shocked gasp escaped his lips, as he dropped his head and turned away, embarrassed. When he opened his eyes again there were eyes looking back, inches away. He gasped again and his body jerked away in fright. Then he groaned from the sudden pain that shot like lightening from his side.

"Sshhh," a gentle finger was placed across his lips. Soft, foreign words were spoken. The speaker rose on an elbow to run a hand across his chest, stroking gently to calm his pounding heart. From the faint outline Guillaume saw the soft curve of breasts beneath black hair. Quickly he closed his eyes and tried to relax. The embarrassing situation unavoidable until he could move without pain. He sensed movement and opened his eyes a crack. The girl beside him got up, stepped over him, and walked away. In that moment, he saw she was nude and closed his eyes against further sin.

There were distant whispered words, in an unintelligible language. A few minutes later Guillaume heard the soft footfalls return. This time he kept his eyes shut, as his neighbor sat next to him. The sound of dripping water was followed by a cool cloth dabbed across his forehead. She spoke gently, soothing his fevered brow. The cloth was removed and refreshed from a bowl. When it returned to his body, she rubbed it across his chest, washing away the sweat. She continued down his torso, frequently renewing the water. The room was silent except for the occasional splash of water or a snoring sleeper. So feverish was he that Guillaume didn't realize he was naked and exposed until the cool cloth laved down across his stomach to his thigh. Raising his head quickly, Guillaume covered his cock with one hand and grabbed her wrist with the other.

"Stop."

In the dim glow, she looked at him with concern, not understanding. He recognized her as the girl he'd saved from the trappers. Satisfaction that she was not injured filled him and he lay back, still covering himself with one hand.

With her wrist now free she continued to bath him, first one leg and then the other. Occasionally he would peek at her. Emboldened by her indifference to their nudity. He'd never seen a naked woman before. Both the desire to see and the shame for looking ate at him. But soon another desire overcame all others. The sound of water and the feel of it on his skin produced the need to empty his bladder. Guillaume clenched his legs together. His bather noticed the tension immediately and looked into his eyes with concern.

"I have to... go," he said, and tried to sit up.

She pushed him back down, shook her head, and said something that sounded like a stern command.

He pointed at his hand-covered cock and motioned an explosion by thrusting his fingers open wide.

After a few seconds she nodded understanding, gave him a wait sign with her palm, and left the bed.

Guillaume closed his eyes and concentrated on squeezing off his flow.

The girl was so quiet, and Guillaume so concentrated on holding his water, he did not hear her return. Swiftly she pulled his hand away and slipped something over his cock. He recoiled at her touch and then groaned in pain from his sudden reaction. Tipping his head forward, he saw what looked like a hollowed-out gourd encasing is manhood. She waved at him as if to say 'go'. The need overcame embarrassment and he tried to sit up for a better position. She helped him from behind by pressing her breasts against his back to support him. The feel of her flesh against his made it difficult to relax. Never had he experienced this kind of intimacy. Everything he'd been taught by the Jesuits reminded him this was a carnal sin. He should run from the contact. But another need was greater, and after taking a few deep breaths Guillaume released the pressure. The sound of the stream splashing in the container embarrassed him and he reflexively clenched again. The girl noticed and looked over his shoulder into his eyes. She nodded her head several times in the direction of the container, as if to say, 'Go! What are you waiting for?' And then returned to pressing against his back. The need finally won out and he was able to finish.

When the sound of his stream ended, she said something in his ear that sounded like a question. He nodded, believing he understood. She quickly removed the gourd and set it aside. Then help him lay back flat.

He covered himself, and whispered, "Thank you."

She smiled at him as if she understood, and then picked up the cloth from the bowl and wrung it out. Once again, she grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from his groin. Too weak to protest Guillaume closed his eyes while she tenderly washed his cock and balls. She did not tarry, completing the job swiftly. The experience felt more than pleasant, arousing him even in his weakened condition. He could not control his physical reaction to her touch.

"Sorry," he said, as his erection grew.

She didn't respond. Instead, she got up and left with the bowl of water and gourd of urine. Guillaume fell asleep before she returned. But it was not a peaceful sleep. He relived killing the three fur trappers. Their gruesome corpses kept rising and attacking him over and over no matter how much he destroyed them. The Indian girl appeared and stood between him and the trappers, shielding him. She took his hand, and they ran, leading him to an open field where she pulled him down onto the sun warmed grass. Suddenly, they were naked, his fears soothed by her warm flesh pressed against him as she hummed in his ear and stoked his hair. Then Guillaume slept peacefully, until awakened by a sharp pain from his wound. Opening his eyes, he spied a group of girls staring down at him while an old woman tended his wound. She had covered his morning erection with a soft fur, but it tented lewdly.

"What are you doing?" he said, trying to sit up, but forced back down by the familiar hand on his chest. His night nurse, the girl he'd saved, knelt on the opposite side. She shook her head and clucked at him harshly. At least she wasn't naked any longer.

The old woman looked him in the eye and said something in her language. One of the girls left, returning a minute later with Growling Wolf. Guillaume recognized him as one of the Indian guides for the Jesuits. The old woman spoke to him and he translated in passable French.

"You will live. Fever gone." He pointed at the old woman, then waved his hand over the group, and said, "Walking Doe teach."

"How long have I been here?"

"Six suns."

"Six days?"

"You hurt bad. Get... sick."

Sudden pain shot up his side. Guillaume looked down his body. Walking Doe spoke to the girls as she applied a new poultice to his oozing wound, sewn closed with sinew. At least his erection had subsided. "I need my clothes. I have to tell someone about the... men I killed."

Growling Wolf shook his head no, "Clothes ruined, burned. Dead men gone. Hidden." He pointed at the girl kneeling beside him, her hand still resting on Guillaume's shoulder. "You help her. She help you. You belong her clan now." He put his hands together, entwined his fingers, and clenched them together.

Guillaume nodded in understanding. There was a bond between them. Debts repaid. "Thank you," he said, looking from face to face. "All of you." When he looked at the girl beside him, she smiled and rubbed his arm.

"What is her name?" he asked Wolf.

He spoke her name in their language and then translated it to French. "White Fox." Then he pointed to a shelf above his bed. "We take dead man things. Belong you now. What your name?"

"Guillaume. Call me Guy."

The old woman finished her wound care, said something to the girls and they all laughed, surprising Guy when she pulled away the fur covering his groin. Quickly he covered himself with his hands.

"Hey!"

She got up to leave, saying something to White Fox.

Guy turned to Growling Wolf and asked, "What was that all about?"

Grinning, he answered, "She covered you so girls not distracted by your..." he pointed at Guy's shielding hands and then spread his palms wide, followed by a word in his language. Laughing, he turned to leave.

"Wait! I need clothes."

Wolf pointed at White Fox. "She take care of you now."

"But she's a girl," he complained.

"No," said Wolf, "Woman now. Many moons. Not girl anymore. Her man killed." He entwined his fingers once again and made one fist. "Now your woman," he said, and walked away.

Disregarding the pain, he sat up. "What? Wait!"

Growling Wolf continued walking out of the longhouse and out of sight.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?" he muttered to himself. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. White Fox made eating motions with her hands and then pointed at him. She spoke to him in her language.

He nodded, as if he understood. "Yes, I am hungry, White Fox." He tried to say her name in the Wyandot language.

"Guy," She smiled and left to get food.

While she was gone, only a few older women remained inside. With a great deal of pain, he stood up and looked around. They ignored him. He found a deer skin near his bed and wrapped himself up. Gingerly, he walked outside, determined to relieve himself in private, thinking maybe he should just keep going and find his way back to the Jesuit's. By the time he made it to the tree line Guy felt exhausted. Walking any farther was out of the question. As he relieved himself behind the nearest tree, he heard a girl frantically shouting, "Guy...ome! Guy!"

Finishing his toilet, he covered himself with the skin and stepped out.

Looking in another direction, she didn't see him. "Fox!", he shouted, and, despite the pain, waved when she turned in his direction. The relief on her face made him surprisingly happy. His heart leap because someone cared about him. It was a new and wonderful feeling. As she hurried to him, he leaned against the tree and admired her. She was an attractive young woman, but not as young as she first appeared. Her hair, now in thick braids, bounced as she marched toward him. The scowl did little to detract from the lovely oval face, high cheek bones, and large, brown eyes. She was thin, which made her look younger than her years. The deer hide frock made her chest look flat, which he knew from last night was not the case. An image of her naked, and the memory of the copulating couple sprang to mind. He'd heard stories from the trappers that the Jesuits refused to live with the natives because of their nudity and open sexuality. It was obviously more than a rumor. He shook the unholy thoughts from his head as she stood before him, frowning.

She said something in an angry tone, handed him a warm bowl of stew, and led him by the arm to a nearby log. She pointed at it. He sat, grinning up at her forcefulness, until she sat beside him and tapped on the breakfast she'd prepared. It looked like stew. There were chunks of meat and vegetables, floating in a thick gravy, smelling delicious. His empty stomach growled.

Using the wooden spoon provided, he scooped some into his mouth and his tastebuds exploded with delight.

"Mm, this is wonderful," he mumbled through the mouthful, and quickly reloaded the spoon. "Thank you!" he said, looking at her with the heartfelt sincerity.

She didn't understand the words, but the sentiment was easily interpreted by the sound of his voice, and the look on his face. Her body relaxed. She smiled warmly at him and placed her hand on his deerskin covered thigh. Guy stared at the hand for a distracted second, before continuing to eat. Never having experienced a woman's touch, it was impossible to ignore the hand rubbing and squeezing his leg. Unseemly ideas bubbled up. There were tingles in inappropriate places. An erection began to form. He shouldn't be having these sinful feelings.

Leaving the spoon in the bowl, Guy grabbed her hand and removed it from his leg. "No."

Her eyes grew large at the rejection. She folded her hands in her lap and looked sullenly at the ground between her moccasins.

Still, Guy could not stop the thoughts. Using the bowl as a shield, he tried to hide the tent in the deerskin, but she noticed anyway and kept stealing glances at it, which embarrassingly made it grow more and more distinct. Brazenly, she began to stare at his groin and then grinning, she looked up at his face. He did his best to ignore her and finished his meal.

Trying to cover himself with one hand, Guy held out the empty bowl, and said, "Thank you. It was delicious." She took the bowl and handed him a large gourd filled with water. He was thirsty and it was heavy. He needed two hands to hold it.

Maybe if they spoke the same language White Fox might have used words to convey her appreciation for Guy's intimate bodily reaction to her, but instead, while his hands were full, she reached out and grasped his cock through the deerskin to show her delight. Guillaume choked and sputtered water, dropping the gourd and groaning in pain from the sudden reflexive retreat. White Fox released him and sat back in horror, uttering apologetic sounds with distressed hand motions. The deerskin separated, exposing him. Quickly he covered and recovered enough to wave at her in a sign of forgiveness, while leaning forward to relieve some of the abdominal pain, just what he needed to drain the blood flow from his manhood.