Emma left the house shortly after, she was given a meagre cloak and roughly ushered from her room by a gruff old man with a huge, unsightly belly.
People seemed to be everywhere, as though every man and woman who came to the great home had heard of her shame and had come to gloat. The looks on their faces told everything – they had heard all about her, perhaps even heard her with Amity and the Mistress – and they smirked at one another, enjoying her discomfort, sharing whispered gossip behind their hands.
She raised her chin to play at feeling brave, but stepping out of the house into the cutting wind she felt afraid and alone. She could scarcely believe that Gellir, only the morning after they had made love like equals, had finished with her, and discarded her in the way.
The crushing sensation in her chest felt unbearable, and the thoughts of him coiled in her mind with a mixture of passion and betrayal. Could he really pretend so easily? For her the fusing of their bodies, with her full and happy consent, had been a mark of something great between them, but for him, it seemed it had made her undesirable, an unnecessary distraction – something to be removed.
The man ushered her forward and motioned for her to mount the horse before her, and she shook her head rapidly. Emma had never ridden before, and had never the wealth to afford a horse, so the beast in front of her it seemed wild and enormous. She stepped back and tried in vain to explain her fears, but the man did not comprehend and casting a glance behind him to an unknown person he got his orders to place her how he could.
For a short man he was squat and burly, stronger than he appeared, and he lifted her easily, and in spite of struggles he mounted her across the horse's back like a sack. Emma howled in fear and humiliation, hearing the laughter of the watching audience. The horse's rough hide rasped against her face, and the animal smell assaulted her nostrils, her feet flailing in midair. The man tethered her tightly, pulling her hard against the horse until she feared she would not be able to breathe.
The horse, justifiably alarmed by his reluctant rider shied and whinnied, twisting around until the man stepped up to calm him. With the movement Emma could now see the house and see the figures standing and watching her with great humour. Amongst them was Amity, laughing fiercely 'till her shoulders shook, and within the entrance was the Mistress, jealous and vengeful, eyes alight with triumph.
The old man jumped easily onto his own horse, and with the reigns in his hand he led Emma away, the watchers went back to their duties quickly, the distraction only short lived, but Gellir's wife, Cwen, watched them until she couldn't even hear the horse's hooves. She smiled at the image of the Emma as unceremoniously seated cargo, and took satisfaction in the woman's humiliation.
Her life had been a hard one before she came to this place; she had travelled far with her father, a trader, and had fought hard for every scrap of comfort life had ever afforded her. Her only goods to barter were her looks and she had traded them well – finding a fine, eligible husband. He was wealthy, powerful and handsome, and she would be damned before another woman would come between them.
She waited for him to return from his morning ride, and had banked on him being long enough for her to rid them of the girl. Indeed when he did return the horse, the girl and the servant were long since gone, and all that lay before her was sharing her actions with her husband.
* * *
Deep in the woods Emma found the steady motion of the horse begin to comfort her, she was cold, but her horse's body provided some warmth. Her tears had dried and she felt numbly resolute. With the trees thick around her she noticed a change in their motion. Turning her stiff neck she saw the manservant dismount, he tethered both horses against a branch and glanced up at her guiltily.
He walked around the horse, patting its nose and coming around behind her. She tried to speak, but he made no response. For what felt like minutes she heard and felt nothing, then slowly she felt colder air against her already shivering legs, as the man lifted her clothes and exposed her.
Algo, the servant was a lonely man: his wife was as ugly as he was fat, and he felt no interest in having her. Having this beautiful young woman in his charge had felt like a gift, and whilst he knew he shouldn't touch goods that weren't his, he couldn't imagine when he would get another look at a fine young pussy like this.
Lifting her frock he found her legs more lovely than he could have imagined and to see the little secret at the top had him almost fill his breeches there and then. He had never really looked at a woman closely like that, and to see the delicacy, the softness – it was so inviting he simply couldn't help himself.
He would have liked a stool or something to stand on, so that he could have pushed his squat little knob in-between those pretty petals. He didn't dare cut her free, for if he lost her he would surely die for it. So, he looked and he lusted and he palmed himself in his fat hands until he could feel himself ready to explode.
He stepped back around towards Emma's face crooning softly to her.
"So pretty, my girl. Uncle Algo loves your pretty little pussy."
She could see his ugly little shaft in his hand and heard his gruff foreign words, just in time to have him shoot his seed in a high arch, landing like streamers in her hair.
* * *
Cwen had been ready for her husbands rage, and she weathered it in spite of the hurt it caused. It was only the sight of his face, white with rage, which brought home to her just how great a threat the other woman could have been. She told him in their private chamber, away from the servants, but his shouts could be heard by all. He railed and threatened and she tried hard to soften him without success.
"You were going to give her away, you said you would – she was a gift to Stefan!" he grunted in uncertain agreement.
"Of course, but not yet. I'f have given her when I was ready, after all, she was mine to give - not yours. You forget yourself, woman, you are as much my goods as she was – be sure you don't overstep your mark or I might give you away instead."
She slapped hard at him, lashing out in fear and sorrow as well as in anger, and he lashed out hard in return. Fighting was not new to her – in her homestead there had been many men to fight with, brothers and cousins and neighbours all willing to take something from her if she was not ready to stop them. She had grown up fighting for food, shelter and her chance to sleep unmolested, so fighting her husband had been an anticipated part of her life.
