The Pain that Made Her Beautiful

PMHB ch31

She stood back up with a hand gently placed on his chest. He backed away with her walking forward. At the same time Neorah stopped, Brenden did. She walked around him and untied his thick leather armor, letting it clatter to the floor, following suit with the one tied around his waist. All he had on now was a short, simple beige toga fastened with a sash of the same color.

Neorah walked back around to face him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Rising to her tiptoes, she tenderly kissed him and then dropped back down, looking up into Brenden’s eyes trustingly. He returned her gaze and bent, gingerly kissing her back. Brenden gathered her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Picking her up, Brenden walked to the bed. He tried to push her back but he couldn’t. She had her arms planted in the bed, immovable.

“If you say that I am yours as much as you are mine, prove this to me by making it official.”

“What do you mean?” Brenden was confused beyond belief at this point. What did she even mean?

“You will marry me before you consummate anything. Then, and only then, will I gift you with the treasure that you seek.”

Oh no… the “m-word”… marriage. He may be young, but he was getting older swiftly and he needed to leave his namesake to a son, not one out of wedlock, but his son. His parents were getting old and wanted a grand child soon. Why not marry her? She was just the kind of girl he was looking to marry. She would be a good mother, an excellent wife, and was beautiful beyond recognition.

Brenden took a knee. He took Neorah’s hand and looked in her eyes saying, “Neorah, I will prove it to you. Will you be my wife tonight and for the rest of my life?”

“Yes, but, where’s a minister? We must be married.”

Brenden ran to his door. Stopped with his hand on the lever. Why would I be looking for a minister? When we get to Rome, we can get conjoined then.

Brenden walked back toward Neorah. He looked at her. She was beautiful. Why would she care if she were married before she consummated this pledge?

He asked. In answer, Neorah said, “Because I believe in a God that does things differently than your host of gods. He will not allow sexual immorality before I am permanently married to a man.”

She was one of those Christians. They had been the reason why many of his friends had to leave his side and die in a stink hole of a city on Vespasian’s orders to sack Jerusalem after the amount of grief that they had been faced with by those snooty, rude, haughty, and completely righteous Jews. As Brenden thought the last word, he suppressed the urge to spit. She was one of them! This kind, docile, innocent, humble girl could not be a Jew. She was too beautiful, for one, and didn’t have any self-righteous behavior in her manner. He had heard a lot of news, however, the Christians of Jerusalem were almost, what seemed, a different race. There was no way of telling why they were that way, but some of his friends, who had come back alive, were converted to the monotheistic religion.

“You’re one of those Christians, “ Brenden almost spit the word out, ”aren’t you?”

“Yes I am. Why do you ask?” Neorah said. She ignored his angry body language and looked at him in the eyes, her right hand resting on his cheek.

Her touch calmed his hot-blooded rage and Brenden immediately reduced the intensity of his stare. She was so beautiful. However, now that he know Neorah was a Christian, Brenden would be hard pressed to convince his parents to allow them to be joined. She was the only woman he had met in months, if not years, that was worthy of the title “mother”; even more importantly, mother to his children.

He was about to answer her calmly presented question when his door opened. One of his men poked his head in saying, “Brenden, sir. It is time we depart at sun down.”

Brenden did not even turn his face toward the door. He just replied, “Very well. How long until we board the wagons?”

“Three hours sir.”

“Retrieve me twenty minutes beforehand.”

“It will be done as you wish, sir.”

The man closed the door and Brenden turned back to Neorah. He wasn’t going to let some little tradition get in the way of his pleasure. She wasn’t worth anything until he married her anyways. She was still a slave.

He advanced. Neorah shrunk back.

“What are you doing?” She asked frightened.

He didn’t answer. All he did was undo his the sash around his waist and throw open Neorah’s gown. It felt so good to be with a woman again. She shrieked and tried to push him away. She was still sitting on his bed, legs pushed outward. There was no reason for her to even try and push him back. Neorah would never escape. Forward, back. Forward, back. It became a habitual movement. He pushed her back on the bed and continued the cycle. She still fought him. Trying to beat him off with her hands, trying to close her legs. She wouldn’t prevail. Neorah had to have known that, but she still fought with every fiber of her being, screaming until she was hoarse, but still screaming. She was so little. She would never be free until Brenden was finished.

The feeling, the release, the relief; Brenden would never forget this. She was so… beautiful. Finally, she realized that her fight was hopeless and just lay there, terrified, loathing, will-shattering tears rolling down her face as she he got his sick pleasure out of it.

*                                                *                                                            *                                                *

Avel sat on the cot on his room. His head was in his hands. His eyes were clenched shut as he silently prayed for Neorah’s safety. Avel’s whole body was drenched with sweat. He didn’t love so much as a prospective wife as he loved her as a mentor to Heaven and a close, dear friend.