Fantastic Tales: Volume 2

The Barbarian: Part 2

Grinda huddled in the corner of the tent as the wind howled, snapping and whipping at the walls. It was late in the day and almost as dark as night, the clouds black, the rain thick. The trees rustled and creaked all around her. Large droplets were pelting down, and she wondered how the tent didn't leak. Her home had leaked all the time—before the barbarians had burnt it to the ground at least.

She could hear the other women screaming as the men took their pleasure. The storms were making it worse. It meant the barbarians were stuck at the camp with nothing to do but drink and fight and rape.

All the women suffered. All of them, except Grinda.

She looked up as the tent flap opened. Mock smiled at her as he entered, carrying a parcel under his arm. He was saturated, dripping all over the furs on the floor.

'Food,' he said in his language. Grinda knew basic words but little more. He crawled into the middle of the tent and unwrapped the parcel, revealing nuts and berries. She smiled at him as she helped herself. He frowned. 'No meat. Too wet,' was all she understood.

She shrugged, smiled. 'That's fine.'

As Mock dried himself off, Grinda gazed at him. He could break her neck if he wanted, rape her, make her suffer like the other women did. But he hadn't touched her since that first time. It was so strange. She had thought him a monster. When he had laid her out in that field, she was sure her life was at an end.

Now, her life had never been better. Mock always made sure she was fed, warm and safe, and she didn't have to work: no baking bread, no milking cows, no carrying pails or serving the men. For the most part, she just slept, for hours and hours, catching up on years of lost sleep. And he let her. Sometimes she woke to see him watching her, but he never touched her, never violated her, just watched.

That first day he brought her to the barbarian settlement, he seemed to hate her, throwing her in his tent like she was a flaming torch. But day by day he became more tender, the sharpness in his eyes softening, the anger in his voice blunting, until his frowns turned to smiles, though he never seemed to laugh.

How could she not fall in love with him despite the terrible things he'd done?

'Mock,' she whispered.

He looked up.

She crept into their bedding and lay down, holding out her arms. 'Hold me.'

There was silence a moment, then rustling as he crept over. He gazed down on her, much as he had done out in the field, but this time she felt no fear. He lowered himself and she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

His kiss was soft, and she giggled as his beard tickled her chin. He grinned, kissed harder, his tongue pushing against hers, then slipped his hands under her shirt. Grinda gasped as he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, so gentle and soft, turning them hard and making her whole body erupt into goose bumps. Then he pushed his hand between her legs. She stiffened.

He stopped kissing. 'Grinda?' He said it with such an accented 'a' that it made her chuckle. She smiled, touched his face, brushing her fingers through his beard. He waited, trembling at the strain of keeping control. She kissed him, took his hand and pushed it deeper between her legs. He stroked her opening, then pushed his finger deep inside. And this time she was wet.

He quickly unfastened his pants. And there it was. Grinda stared. She had only seen an erection once before, on Pentash, the village stallion. But this was very different. She touched it, tentatively at first, then ran her hand along it, more confident. It was hard and yet so smooth and velvety. Everything she had ever learnt from her parents, from the church, from the other village women, told her to abstain, to protect her virginity. It was the most valuable thing she would ever have. But as she gazed up at Mock, none of it seemed to matter anymore.