Elena's Conquest Page 20

  They were good, she could see. Even though they laughed and joked as they waited their turn, their concentration was intense. Two of the men looked so alike that she kept confusing them; they must be brothers, she decided, both bronzed and handsome in their soft leather tunics and boots, with long, wayward blond hair bleached by the sun.

  Just then, one of the brothers glanced across the clearing towards her. Catching her eye, he grinned and winked; she smiled back shyly.

  ‘Hands off, convent girl,’ hissed a voice at her shoulder. Elena whirled round to see Sahild standing behind her; the beautiful outlaw girl dropped to her knees to face her, her eyes malicious. If you’re looking for a man, you should have stayed with Aimery le Sabrenn. They say he’s incomparable as a lover. What a pity you didn’t wait to find out!’

  Elena took a deep breath as Aimery’s name jolted through her. Then she said, steadily, ‘You don’t like me being here. I’m sorry, for I mean you no harm. Leofwin is my friend.’

  The girl’s mouth twisted in a slow smile. Then you can help us kill the Breton,’ she said softly. ‘You’ll enjoy that, won’t you, seeing as you hate him so much?’ And, without waiting for a reply, she went quickly across the clearing to join the men in their archery practice.

  Elena watched her, dazed by her venom. Just then Gyrth, who had been watching from a distance, saun­tered over to sit beside her, his bow across his knees.

  ‘I’m out of the contest’ he said ruefully. ‘Mind if I join you?’

  Still shaky from Sahild’s hissed words, Elena forced a smile. ‘Of course not! I don’t know how you can decide on a winner - you all look so good to me. Especially those two, the ones who look so like each other.’

  The twins, you mean? Wulf and Osric. Yes, they’re the best we’ve got. And Sahild is as good as any man with her bow.’ Gyrth frowned a little into the setting sun, his hands clasped loosely on his knees. ‘But we need to be even better. You know, some say that it was because of William’s archers - the Bretons, the Flem­ings, the men of Maine and Poitou - that we lost the day at Hastings. They fired high above our shield wall, and killed King Harold. But some day soon, we’ll drive the Frenchmen out!’

  Elena suddenly remembered that night when a band of mail-clad knights, with Aimery le Sabrenn at their head, had ridden out menacingly into the blackness of the night to hunt down rebels such as these. How could Leofwin, Gyrth and these men, however brave, hope to defy the might of King William’s armies? She shivered suddenly; Gyrth laid his hand gently on her shoulder.

  ‘Why don’t you rest for a while? You look exhausted. And Elena, take no notice of Sahild! She doesn’t speak for the rest of us, you know!’

  Elena nodded, trying to smile. ‘Where are the rest of your womenfolk?’

  He shrugged wryly. ‘You’ve met them. Freya and Sahild, that’s it.’

  ‘And Leofwin? When will he be back?’

  He hesitated, just like Freya did when she asked the same question. Again, the air of mystery. ‘You’ll see him soon enough’ he said finally. ‘Now, you must rest. I’ll fetch Freya to attend to you.’

  Suddenly, Elena realised how very tired she was. Freya took her to an empty hut; she longed to curl up on the straw pallet in the corner, but first she decided to go down to the stream to wash the dust of her journey away.

  The sun was setting at last behind the trees as she scrambled down the bank towards the water’s edge.

  Then she stopped, frozen. Further downstream, where the water eddied into the deep, limpid pool fringed by overhanging alders, two people were already bathing. A girl and a young man. And the girl was Sahild.

  As they rose gasping and laughing from the clear water, the droplets streaming from their naked bodies, Elena saw that the man was one of the twins she’d admired earlier. She wondered if he was the one who’d grinned at her. Then he emerged further from the water; and she saw, with a shock that brought the blood coursing to her cheeks, that he was already hugely erect, and the suntanned, crop-headed girl was fondling his penis happily, whispering endearments in his ear and rubbing her small, pointed breasts against his muscled chest.

  With a husky laugh, the man lifted the girl in his arms and carried her to the soft, grassy bank on the other side of the stream, laying her down eagerly. Then he cupped her slim, boyish buttocks with his hands and eased his pulsing erection deep within her, groaning aloud in ecstasy as Sahild clasped him to her.

  Elena gasped aloud as she saw the second brother move out of the shadows, smiling. He, too, was naked; he crouched lazily beside them, fondling his own rav­ening penis, waiting patiently.

  Elena tore her eyes away and hurried back upstream to wash herself, splashing her burning cheeks with the cool water. Thoroughly shaken by the shameless plea­suring she’d seen, she walked quickly back to the hut Freya had shown her and curled up on the straw pallet, closing her eyes and shutting her mind to everything except sleep.

  With sleep came her dreams. She saw a faceless figure, a knight, lying bound and helpless in the centre of the clearing. Instead of the sunlit, friendly forest scene she’d been part of today, everything was dark and sinister; the trees reached out gnarled black fingers in silent threat, and the bound man was surrounded by a ring of fierce, menacing figures, who gathered round him with knives in their hands, ready to plunge them into his helpless body. Elena tried to cry out, to stop them, but her throat was closed up with fear. She ran to the man and threw herself across him, to protect him from the knives; he turned to look at her, and his strange, silver-grey eyes were filled with hatred. ‘Aimery,’ she whispered, agonised. ‘Oh, Aimery. No …’

  She woke up. It was pitch black in the little hut. Her heart raced wildly, and her eyes were still wet with tears from her dream. She pulled herself up, and buried her burning face in her hands.

  Just then, the door to the hut opened softly, and Freya stepped inside. ‘So you’re awake. Good.’ There was a hint of suppressed excitement in her carefully controlled voice.

  Elena jumped to her feet. ‘Leofwin - he’s here?’

  ‘Yes - ‘ Again, Elena noticed the slight hesitation. ‘You must follow me.’

  The clearing was deserted. It was a warm, sultry night and to Elena the air seemed almost oppressive as Freya led the way deeper through the trees into the blackness of the forest. High above them, an owl hooted softly and Elena jumped, her heart hammering.

  She saw the ring of lights first. Small fires, flickering eerily like will o’ the wisps through the tangled trunks of the forest. Then she saw the people, sitting cross-legged in a circle round the fires, their heads bowed as if in prayer. Only they weren’t praying but murmuring, chanting low, mysterious words to themselves as if they were in another world.

  Elena felt the shock juddering through her at the unreality of the scene. Were these really the same people who inhabited that sunlit, peaceful clearing? Yes, there they were. Garth, Freya, Sahild and the twins, the other men.

  But tonight, here in this mysterious moonlit glade, hemmed in by ancient, gnarled oak trees, everyone seemed different - frighteningly so. And in the centre of the ring, dully illuminated by the low, flickering fires, was a huge, flat slab of stone, cold and grey and ominous.

  Elena whirled round to flee, her throat dry with fear. She realised now. The nuns had spoken in hushed whispers about the old religion, the gods of ancient Britain, surviving still in the darkly remote forests and the wild northern hills. Sickened, she remembered morbid rumours of rites and magic, of stern, cruel priests and human sacrifices. This was a sacred grove …

  Freya’s hand closed round her wrist, preventing her escape. Her voice was low and hypnotic. ‘Sit here, Elena, beside me’ she whispered. ‘And don’t be afraid. Remember, Leofwin will be here soon.’

  Helplessly, Elena sank to her knees in the circle. Where else could she go? The soft droning of muttered voices throbbed in her head. Someone leaned forward, breaking the tight circle to throw a scattering of dried herbs on the tiny fires.
The pungent smoke assailed her nostrils like incense, sweet and heady. She was aware of the girl Sahild watching her coldly and felt another pang of fear; but Freya’s fingers stroked her wrist soothingly, and as she breathed deeply she felt strangely calmed.

  Someone was passing her a brimming bowl. She drank obediently, finding it to be rich, honey-sweet mead. The potent liquid hit her stomach almost instantly, making her limbs warm and melting. She held the big bowl wonderingly. It seemed to be made of silver and was carved with strange inscriptions: bulls’ heads, birds, spoked circles, and a single crude engrav­ing of a tiny, ithyphallic man, his lewd penis rising to his shoulders.

  Her eyes widened at the startling obscenity, yet she was unable to draw her eyes from it, until at last someone gently prised the bowl out of her hands and she let it go, reluctantly. From across the circle, one of the twins smiled at her mysteriously; she smiled shakily back, dazzled by the sudden warmth of his smile, feeling dizzy and unreal.

  Something was about to happen in the forest that night, and she felt wildly, terribly excited. The image of the tiny silver man and his enormous member seemed to dance mockingly before her eyes in the darkness; she suddenly realised that she was hot and moist, and her pleasure bud was pulsing hungrily.

  A tall man stepped silently out from behind the dense, shadowy oaks. An intense hush fell suddenly over the kneeling circle. The man wore a long, dark cloak and Elena saw with a shock that a mask covered his face; a strange, sinister mask made of bronze with black, staring eyeholes. Elena shuddered in nameless fear as the man started to speak in low, vibrant tones. The time has come’ he said softly. Surely his voice was familiar? Yet it was so muffled by the mouthless mask and her senses were swimming, from the scented smoke fumes and the mead.

  A murmur of excitement ran through the circle at his words, and he held out his hand commandingly for silence. ‘Which of you is the chosen one?’

  There was a deathly silence. Shivers of fear ran up and down Elena’s spine. Then Freya stood up slowly. Her face looked strange, and her eyes glittered unnatu­rally. ‘Here, master,’ she whispered. ‘It is I. I am to be first.’

  ‘And who have you chosen as your menfolk?’

  The brothers, my lord - Wulf and Osric!’

  The two young men, the twins with their lithe, muscled bodies and long, sun-streaked hair, got to their feet, their heads high and proud. They looked as if they were in a trance; Elena gazed and gazed at them, hypnotised by their youthful, masculine beauty. This could not be real.

  A soft breeze moaned through the trees, wafting the sweet smoke from the fires all around the clearing.

  ‘Summon your men, Freya’ said the tall masked man in a low voice. ‘And prepare for the final sacrifice.’

  Sacrifice! Sweet Jesus … Half-forgotten tales of grim rituals, of live burial and hideous impalement, tore through Elena’s subconscious mind. She leaped to her feet.

  ‘I - I must go!’ she stammered out in confusion. ‘I should not be here.’

  Sahild laughed unpleasantly. The little convent girl doesn’t approve of our ceremony. I told you she wouldn’t!’

  But the men on either side of Elena pulled her gently down. ‘Stay’ they whispered soothingly in her ear.’ There is nothing to fear. All you will witness is pleasure. Stay, and watch!’

  They gave her more mead to drink; the little ithyphallic man grinned up at her, mocking her, and she felt the languorous warmth of the potent honey drink seep meltingly through her veins. When she looked up again, the two men, Wulf and Osric, were standing on either side of Freya, undressing her with deliberate care. When she was completely naked they bowed in silent homage before her. Elena watched, her throat dry. But she had thought that Freya was Gyrth’s woman! And Wulf and Osric, she’d seen them earlier, with Sahild! Yet Gyrth was smiling, and Sahild too looked spellbound.

  Slowly the twins caressed the naked woman, kissing and licking every inch of her plump, golden flesh. One of the brothers reached for the half-empty bowl of mead and trickled some of it over her full breasts; then they each took a brown nipple in their mouths, licking and sucking the sweet, sticky liquid over her breasts, while caressing and stroking her with their hands.

  Freya stood very still, her eyes half-shut in rapture, for as long as she could bear it. Then she sank to her knees with a sigh, and her eyes closed. Raptly, the men slipped their own clothes to the ground, while everyone in the circle gazed in silence. Elena could hardly breathe. The two men stood there in blond, muscular beauty, their magnificent twin phalluses rearing proudly over the kneeling Freya’s fair curls. Then, with tender care, they lifted her in their strong arms and laid her on the cold, waiting stone.

  Elena felt the low, aching pressure building up relent­lessly in her loins. Her breasts swelled and throbbed; little tongues of desire arrowed to her abdomen, setting her flesh on fire. She moistened her lips at the powerful eroticism of the moonlit scene unfolding before her as Freya writhed voluptuously on the grey stone slab, the secret flesh between her thighs already plump and glistening.

  The two men stood at her head and feet, naked, muscular, beautiful. Wulf bent to kiss her, thrusting his tongue deep within her swollen mouth. Then, with a soft smile that turned Elena’s heart over, he started to rub his engorged phallus against her nipples, and Freya groaned aloud, her legs threshing with desire.

  Gently, Osric grasped her thighs, parting them widely so that everyone could see the wet, shiny folds that emerged from her golden fleece. ‘Please’ she was murmuring hotly. ‘Oh, please …’

  Osric grasped his thick, solid penis with his right hand and dipped it purposefully towards her throbbing vulva. But instead of entering her, and giving her what she craved so much, he rubbed the velvety glans gently round her entrance, just brushing against her hungry pleasure bud. The touch of his swollen, massive member drove her to distraction; she gasped aloud, her breath coming short and fast, and began thrusting her hips wildly against him.

  The masked man stepped forward. ‘Enough. She is ready.’

  And, with a nod to the twins, who stood obediently aside, he took his place at the edge of the raised stone dais. He lifted Freya’s legs gently, bending her knees and pulling her towards him so that her quivering plump buttocks rested almost on the edge of the stone. Then he parted his long cloak slightly, so that his enormous phallus reared forth, dark and mysterious, as if it had a pulsing life of its own.

  Meanwhile, Wulf and Osric stood at Freya’s shoulders. Matching each other’s movements, smiling conspiratorially at one another, they began to gently rub one another’s pulsing shafts, pushing them down­wards to brush against Freya’s hard brown nipples. Freya moaned and arched her hips desperately, making little animal sounds of pleasure in the back of her throat.

  The masked man gripped his penis, stroked gently with it at her hot vulva, and thrust himself in up to the hilt.

  Elena felt her own hot, wild excitement racing through her body. Her own secret parts were wet and slick as the mysterious masked man slowly withdrew his magnificent length, now shining wet with Freya’s juices, and drove himself in, again and again, while the twins masturbated one another with loving care over Freya’s plump breasts.

  Freya was beside herself with rapture, gripping and writhing at the masked man’s deliriously satisfying penis. She came quickly, racked by an intense, vora­cious orgasm, as the faceless man thrust firmly into her, his hands resting on either side of her on the big stone slab. With wicked grins of delight, the twins pumped each other to a state of frenzy, shooting their milky sperm in ecstatic spasms across the girl’s breasts, rub­bing their shafts lasciviously in the pooling liquid and letting their heavy balls drag along her silky flesh until all of her upper body gleamed with their deliriously mingled seed.

  Freya lay sprawled on the stone, sated and flushed, her blonde hair spread out in thick curls around her shoulders.

  The masked man let the cloak fall over himself, and drew back into the shadows.

 
‘The first sacrifice’ he said softly. ‘Who is next?’

  Elena was so aroused that she ached. Her blood coursed through her veins like fire; her breasts burned to be touched, while the flesh between her thighs was swollen and damp. The mead pulsed through her in dizzying waves.

  ‘Next?’ repeated the masked man. She couldn’t see his eyes through the black holes of the mask, but she knew he was looking straight at her.

  Sahild stood up eagerly; the masked man shook his head, still watching Elena. Wulf and Osric, at a nod from the man, walked slowly towards her; Elena stood up shakily.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, yes! ‘ am next …’

  Chapter Fourteen

  With gentle fingers, the twin brothers divested Elena of her clothes and lifted her carefully onto the stone slab, stroking her, soothing her. They turned her over, face down, so that her throbbing breasts kissed the cold stone. Catching her breath in delight, Elena rubbed her hardening nipples against its flat surface.

  The brothers were moving down her body, kissing her with delicious feathery strokes, but it was the faceless man she was thinking of, waiting there in the shadows, ready to thrust his hugely powerful shaft into the aching void at the pit of her belly.

  ‘Raise yourself.’ One of them - Wulf, or was it Osric - was muttering in her ear. She twisted her head and saw that he had a tiny, arrow-shaped scar at the base of his tanned throat. ‘Raise your hips, beautiful Elena -yes, that’s right …’

  Blindly she did as she was told, thrusting her quiver­ing buttocks into the air, not caring about her shame, about the watching silent circle drinking in her white, firm flesh, the dark bottom cleft, the pink, glistening lips that twitched and trembled hungrily. Oh, please, she begged silently, let it be soon!

  Wulf - or was it Osric - was pouring scented oil into his palms from a phial. Then he began to stroke and pull at her dangling nipples, lengthening the dark teats, sending exquisite shafts of pleasure through her sensi­tised body. And the other twin was softly parting her buttocks, and licking slowly; starting at the top of her crease and sliding down with his wicked tongue.