Before I was taken my name was Marie and I lived in a small village in the countryside, about a weeks ride from the capital. From when I was young I was known as a teller of tales. My imagination reached up to the highest mountains and down to the darkest seas. When I was old enough I was given a job at the inn and paid to tell my stories to entertain travelers. Word spread quickly of the beautiful girl who could capture a man's soul and ignite his adventurous spirit with a simple tale. I suppose the rumor that I was beautiful spread to make coming to my small village more enticing because most people found me quite ordinary in my gray wool dress and head scarf. My hair is an ashy brown and I have always lacked the generous curves most men find fetching. My mother always called me slight and over the years I have remained so. I have always thought my eyes to be my best feature, a light mossy green that most people have a hard time looking away from.
I lived in my stories and only visited the dreary world occasionally to do the chores around my mother's house or visit the market. There was one light, however that bridged the river between the real world and my fantasies and it was in the form of a dark young man who continued to visit the village every few months. He could only be three or four years older than me but he carried himself well, despite his humble traveler's garb. Each time he visited I would notice the subtle changes in his features that months apart make obvious; longer hair, jaw line more pronounced, slimmer build. He would sit near the back of the common room and listen to my stories with such rapture there were times, I must admit; that I began telling them to him alone. Unlike some of the other men who came through who would turn to their tablemates at the end of my story and talk about how they'd love to get a girl with my imagination in bed; he would offer a single smile and a nod, finish his drink and turn in for the night.
By the time I turned eighteen I had been working at the inn for three years. The young man had been visiting for about half of that time; no one knew what business took him through our village month after month and no one thought to ask. On my eighteenth birthday my mother made me a beautiful blue cotton dress, much different from the old shift I always wore. This dress had an embroidered bodice that helped prove I was a woman and a thin waist that widened at my hips, the skirt flowing loosely down to my ankles. Feeling like a princess in a priceless gown I made my way to the inn that evening walking on clouds and conversing with the stars.
It must have been the dress, making me feel so feminine that made me look more intently at the young man that evening. I told a story about a prince who rescues a peasant girl from a terrible beast only to discover that she is in fact a princess who was stolen from her home when she was but a small child. I spoke of their passion as if it were my own; and I spoke it to him. In the middle of my tale I almost faltered when he stood up and moved to an empty table close to me. Once he was closer I could not bring myself to look at him as intensely and so I let my gaze wander around the room as I finished my tale. My audience offered a small applause and a few asked for another story. Jed, the Inn Keeper came out and told them I'd be back the next evening if they wanted another story and encouraged them to stay another night. When I dared to look over at the dark young man he had the strangest look in his eye. I didn't want to call it a hunger, but there was something primal in it. I received no nod from him as he finished his drink and instead of leaving the common room he sat back in his chair. I could feel his gaze upon me.
As I gathered my things and chanced a look around the room I could feel tension building. The men at other tables, some easily twice my age were looking at the young man with what seemed like anger but then they would look back over at me, as if insinuating a connection between us. The tension seemed animalistic and I saw each face contort into the snarl of a hungry wolf. Because I did not know what else to do I took my things and left the inn hurriedly. The moon was full and cast long shadows before me, confusing my senses. When I heard the inn door slam I didn't dare turn back to face my pursuer, I increased my pace. Terrifying images played before my eyes, I saw myself being torn apart by manlike beasts, being impregnated with a child I wasn't ready for. I could see my swollen belly and hear my screams. I broke into a run, hot tears splashing onto the dirt. Rounding the corner into the woods I could hear heavy foot falls coming closer. Had I kept my wits about me I might have escaped my shadow but I chanced a look behind and in that moment my foot caught on an exposed root and I tumbled onto the ground, landing hard. The next think I knew I was screaming in pain as I was grabbed by the hair and pulled up. He lifted me by the roots and brought me close to his face. I could smell his warm sour breath caressing my neck and I shuddered. He threw me back on the ground and before I could begin to fight back I realized that the beast who assaulted me was the beautifully silent young man from the inn. As he pushed himself on me and tore at my clothes the fantasies of being heroically rescued by this man vanished and a painful hatred began to arise.
I fought as hard as I could against him, kicking and punching, biting and clawing at his face. All the while I screamed; nothing coherent, I just screamed as loud and as long as my breath would permit. By struggling I added to my pain, however, he was not afraid to beat me into submission. I felt like I was covered in blood and my breath finally ran out and with it my strength and will to fight. A wolfish grin crossed his face and I saw a darkness in his eyes I had never noticed before, he would not look back on this night with regret or remorse. The top of my dress ripped and my exposed breasts heaved as I tried to keep breathing. His ravaging hands started there and moved down while he giggled like a little boy who had gotten what he wanted after repeatedly being told he could not have it. As he grabbed the remains of my dress and began pulling them off, I closed my eyes tight, not wanting to witness the defilement of my body. My mother had taught me about sex, saying that it can be very enjoyable. But she warned me it would hurt until I became use to it. She told me about this when the action was mutual, not forced. I hated to know the pain I would soon feel but I tried to prepare myself as best as possible.
The pain, however, never came. His hands vanished and I could hear a man's gruff voice threatening my attacker. I dared not think what a more powerful man would do to me and so I started backing away into the brush. Before I could get even a few feet, large strong arms scooped me up. I surprised myself by kicking and flailing in his arms, sobbing and screaming. In a quiet voice he spoke, trying to calm me.
"You're safe now, you have no reason to fear me ." And for some reason, whether because of the calm timbre of his voice or the gentleness in which he held me, I knew I could trust him. He set me down for a moment, wrapped his large coat around me, and then picked me up once again. Collapsing in his arms I wept and shook and when we entered the warm glow of my mother's house I wept harder. He set me in a large chair by the fire and exchanged his coat for a softer and larger quilt my mother handed him. I could hear their conversation as mother boiled water to see to my scrapes and wash away the blood that covered me.
"I came before he was able to do anything irreversible, ma'am. Your daughter is quite the fighter, she kept the bastard at bay for quite a while it seems. He won't soon forget what messing around with a girl with such spirit costs; I'm pretty sure she broke his nose, most of the blood on her is his."
Mother thanked him and showed him to the door. When he asked if he could call on me the following day to see how I fared. Mother hesitated, I did not. Shakily walking over with the quilt wrapped around my torn dress and body I told him quite calmly that I would be honored if he visited. Taking his hands I held them for a moment feeling the thick calluses from years of hard work. Looking up I studied his face. I had seen him before; he lived just outside of town and came regularly to the inn to listen to my stories. He had kind grey eyes that showed such concern I felt my lips begin to tremble with unshed tears. His own full lips raised in a questioning smile as I stood and studied his features. Soft tawny hair was chopped short and uneven but a few curls sprang up around his face. Wide, strong shoulder supported a massive frame and the loose shirt he wore, now stained with blood could not hide the muscles that lay beneath it. He was solid, and although in the back of my mind I remembered that a man of such build could be dangerous, I remembered his soothing voice and gentle touch. Going on my tiptoes I kissed his cheek.
"Thank you." I said and returned to the seat by the fire.
We were married a month later.
We were not the blissfully in love couple I sometimes spoke of in my stories, but I did love him. He was gentle and kind, understanding and hard to anger. His name was Bryant and he was fifteen years older than me. Our wedding was simple, held in the local church. Many of the regulars from the inn came both because of their familiarity with me and their friendship with Bryant. Jed held the reception and for a few hours everyone celebrated our union with food, drinks, music, and dance. I was surprised to find that Bryant was a very talented dancer despite his size. The whole evening if we weren't dancing we were sitting side by side, his large arm wrapped around my waist or shoulder possessively. I will admit it felt wonderful to be pulled into his embrace and know that he cared so deeply for me, despite the short time we had truly known each other. As the evening wore down, Bryant spent less and less time paying attention to our guests and more and more time nuzzling into my neck and laying sweet and gentle kisses along my jaw and collar bone. Since meeting Bryant I had felt safe and wanted in his presence. He had kissed me a few times before the wedding in ways that made my toes curl. But on this night, whenever I pulled his face up to try and kiss him properly in an attempt to dull the passion I felt beginning to boil, he would pull away and smile at me with fire in his eyes.
"Are you ready to retire, Mrs. Westover?" he whispered silkily into my ear, causing me to tremble with unrecognizable lust. I had never felt this way before, never had a man so close. I nodded dumbly, unable to piece words together as all of my sense seemed to be solely focused on Bryant's hands on my body, the sound of his voice and the feel of his warm breath dancing across my neck. He stood, pulling me to my feet and cleared his throat letting everyone know we would be leaving. Knowing whistles and cheers erupted around the room, causing a blush to quickly rise to my cheeks.
"I have never seen anything so beautiful as when you blush," he whispered and kissed my neck one more time. I desperately held back a moan.
