SAMPLE THE STORY BY READING CHAPTER ONE

She crouched in the shadows, shivering with fear. Her eyes ranged along the deserted country road in the moonlight, the road that ran from Kildare all the way to Dublin Town. There was no help for her, not here in O’Dunn country, where Jamie Butler ruled like the hard-hearted monster he was.

In the distance, she could hear the dogs baying as they tried to ferret out her scent. They were big Irish wolfhounds, those dogs, and they would tear her to pieces if they caught her alone, without their master with them.

Maggie Langdon shuddered. Clad in the rags that were her clothes, her legs naked to the chill winds, she grated her teeth together and swore softly under her breath. Almost at once, as the words left her lips, she crossed herself.

“It’s a sorry thing I am to be taking the name of God in vain,” she muttered. “But God hasn’t been very good to me of late and He certainly knows the trouble I’m in.”

She tried to shrink down even further, hoping the bramble bush under which she was crouched would hide her. Overhead the moon was round and silvery, and it seemed to shed its light more than was usual. Maggie Langdon had never noticed how bright the full moon was, before now. It seemed almost as brilliant as the sun.

Slowly she rose to her feet, staring about her with wild eyes. She shivered in the cool breezes off the river Barrow, feeling her nakedness under the skimpy woolen thing she called a dress respond to that coldness.

She could not stay here, she could not remain crouched down like a frightened hare before the hunters. She must run away, she must flee—no matter where. Anywhere away from Jamie Butler would be fine with her.

For Jamie Butler was out with his dogs, hunting for her this night, and she dreaded to think what might happen were Jamie to catch up to her. Oh, she knew well enough what would occur. She wasn’t all that much of a booby.

Jamie wanted her body.

To play with, to amuse himself with, while he drank himself to insensibility with all his fine wines and his brandies. She had heard the things he did, in his great hall, from other girls to whom he had taken a fancy.

But the way of those other girls was not for her.

She would not give in to him, simpering and giggling —as Mary MacDonnell had done, for one—only to be cast out and sent back to her parents when Jamie Butler tired of her. No. Not for anything would she yield her virginity to that gross Englishman.

She stood now, staring about her. The fields lay before her, flat and grassy, rising here and there in little humps, stretching off toward Edenderry. There was no place to hide on those flatlands, nowhere to drop down and be invisible when the wolfhounds came sniffing along her trail.

A sob broke from her mouth.

“Dear God, help me,” she pleaded. “Show me the way to safety. Don’t let that big fat Jamie Butler take my virginity!”

A distant barking brought her around, staring back the way she had come. They were nearer, the dogs and the men who ran them, grinning to themselves at the sport they would have with her, before they brought her back to fat Jamie.

She turned and ran, racing with a speed and a grace that bounced her breasts and sent her thick black hair flying out behind her. She fled like the frightened thing she was, gasping for breath after a time, her eyes running along the ground for somewhere to hide, to disappear.

There was nothing to hide her, no dip in the ground, no sudden hole that might take her shivering body. She must count on her speed of foot now, and perhaps on a prayer to her Maker. But would they be enough?

She ran through the night under the full moon, ran until her very legs refused to obey the commands from her brain. Sobbing at the air, trying to fill her lungs with the cool, sweet air, she stumbled and almost fell.

It was no use. She could run no more.

She stumbled a few more steps, then fell to the ground. She lay there gasping, knowing the wolfhounds were coming closer, closer. But she could not move, her legs were like leaden weights attached to her body—the body she had begun to hate because it was so pretty, so well-shaped, that it attracted the stares of men like Jamie Butler.

The dogs were closer. They were coming faster, they had picked up her scent now, and were racing toward her with a determination that would see them overtake her within a few more minutes.

Then she would be dragged back to the great hall, where Jamie Butler took his ease amid his flagons of wine and brandy, with a few choice friends. She knew what would happen then. She would be stripped and made to walk about the great hall naked so that Jamie and those friends of his could stare their fill of her.

And after that—

She shook her head. She must not give up. She must not! Surely the God to whom she prayed would not abandon her to that beast in human form known to the world as Jamie Butler. Yet she could not imagine any way in which she might escape.

Certainly there was no place to hide, not here on these flatlands. And she knew well enough that she could run no longer. Her body was trembling from exhaustion. She had run far and long tonight already. She just could not run any more.

“Help me,” she whimpered, staring upward at the sky. “Help me, dear Lord. Save me from Jamie Butler.”

She managed to get to her feet, stood swaying in the cool wind. Her eyes went frantically around her, seeking somewhere—anywhere—for something behind which to hide herself. She stumbled forward, wincing as her thin slippers, worn almost through, let her feel the bite of the stubble that covered the field.

Maggie Langdon told herself it was no use, the hounds were too fast, too close. She could never flee from them. But she must make the effort. She must, she must! She took a few more steps, then bean to run again in a stumbling way.

She turned her head after she had gone on for a time, and now she saw them. Big, they were, and shaggy, those Irish wolfhounds, and their deeper baying told the men who tried to follow them that they had sighted their prey.

She stumbled and fell, and lay gasping.

Then the hounds were on her, baying in triumph, their fanged jaws all about her. She shuddered and closed her eyes, dreading the moment when those fierce teeth would be set in her flesh. They did not bite her, she shivered but felt nothing except their hot breaths as they peered down at her.

Maggie closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the cool grass. What did it matter, now? She had done all she could, she had run until her legs seemed to have fallen off, but it was all no use. Let her rest now, let her pray a little more, before she was taken back to be the sport of those Englishmen.

She did not know how long she lay there, sobbing softly to herself. It was like an eternity before the men came up, panting themselves, and ringing her round. She felt their eyes on her, she knew now how the rabbit felt when the dogs had closed in on it and their masters were there to administer the fatal bullet.

“A ripe piece, for sure,” someone said.

“Aye. Look at the legs of her, all naked.”

“And the tits, man. Don’t forget the tits.”

There was laughter.

Then a man said, “Now how can you know about her boobies, lying on her front as she is? Get her up, Bill. Get her upon her feet so’s we can have ourselves a peek.”

A hand caught her arm, yanked her roughly upward. She swayed before them, the wind taking her long black hair and moving it here and there, half across her face.

“She’s a beauty,” someone muttered, a little awed.

“That she is, with a face to charm the money out of a man’s pocket.”

“Trust the master to know a good thing when he sees it.”

“Aren’t we going to have a peek at the lass?”

“Sure and why not? We can always say she struggled.”

A hand was at the bodice of her woolen dress, yanking. The worn wool tore, and she felt cold air on her breasts.

Maggie gasped. No man had ever seen her this way, with her breasts sticking out. She sought to raise her hands and cover herself, but they sensed this, they held her arms at her sides as their eyes went all over her naked breasts.

Her nipples were lengthening, standing outward.

The men eyed her in something like awe. Her breasts were full and pale, rather heavy, with large nipples. She knew this, she had seen them at times in the mirror of her little cottage, in the cracked glass. She had never looked long, she felt instinctively it was shameful to admire her own nudity.

Yet now she stood between these men, naked to her navel, and she knew they eyed her breasts in that lust that made men into beasts. Maggie told herself she ought to be sinking down through the very ground.

Instead of shame, she felt a sort of pride, suddenly, a hot flush of spirit that made her lift her head and stare at these men, seeing the lusts that moved inside them, knowing it was her flesh that had roused their desires.

“Well?” she asked suddenly. “Am I for the master or for you dogs?”

A man sighed. Another growled, “She has a tart tongue, all right. Well, if she doesn’t please him, maybe the master will give her to us.”

A third man smacked his lips. “I’d like that. I’d like it fine. I know what to do with such as her.”

“Who doesn’t, Mick? But she isn’t for the likes of us.”

“Then let’s be getting back. She’s led us a long chase.”

Hands pushed her. Stumbling before them, trying to cover her nakedness with the tatters of her garment, she moved ahead of them. She walked slowly, and the men were so tired themselves that they did not rush her. They let her set the pace.

Back to the road she went and along it until they came to the winding driveway that led eventually to Butler Hall. Oh, she knew about the Hall, all the girls did, and knew that someday it might be their turn to be summoned before the man who practically owned them, to amuse him and his friends.

The Hall was big, built of stone and with slate on the sloping roofs. Long ago it had been a dun, one of those old Irish forts that had sheltered the clansmen who lived in these parts. Some said that parts of that dun formed a part of the Hall now. Maggie told herself she knew nothing of that, nor did she care.

The front door was opened, and she caught the redness of firelight, from one of the big hearths. Someone came to the doorway, looking out, then turned to move back into the Hall, apparently to tell Jamey Butler that his prey was approaching.

A hand shoved her. “Keep moving, girl. Don’t stop. It won’t be long now before you’re inside, warm and friendly after a mug of wine.”

She would have run away again, if she could. But her body was tired, almost exhausted. She could move only at a walk, and those big wolfhounds would never let her get away. She lifted her chin and, trying to hide to tears in her eyes, let herself be conducted to that open doorway and through it.

She saw a large hall, wood-paneled walls dark and shiny all around it, and high above the equally blackened rafters. She had never imagined such a large room. Her own cottage, where she lived with her mother and younger brother, could have been lost in a corner of this great hall.

There was a raised dais at the far end, and a table set on that dais, where men lounged at their ease. From the walls on either side, she could see the heads of long-dead stags, their antlers gleaming in the flame-light, and on either side of them, swords and bows, with quivers of arrows hung there. She felt small and insignificant as she paced slowly over the rush-strewn floors.

The big man with the golden hair who was Jamie Butler sat up straighter as she advanced. He was half drunk, she saw, with a goblet in a hand which he raised suddenly to his lips and drained.

“You caught her, Sean. Good work!”

“She gave us a long chase, my lord. She can run like an imp from Hell, this one.”

The blonde man chuckled thickly. “She has spirit, then. Good. I like a wench with spirit, damme if I don’t. Here, you—girl! Come forward into the candle-flames so I can have a look at you.”

Maggie lifted her chin. There was defiance in her face, in the set of her full lips. Her blue eyes did not yield as she stared at this man who just about owned the land and the people who lived close to his hall.

She stepped forward. There was no sense in fighting any longer. She had tried to flee, to run away, she had been brought back to the great hall, she was here now to pleasure the master and his friends.

Her hands fell from her torn garment, and her breasts protruded boldly into the flickering candlelight. They were full, heavy. Her nipples stood up challengingly.

A hush fell on the three men sitting at the table. Jamie Butler rose to his feet, eyes glaring at those exposed breasts. He licked his lips and nodded, almost to himself.

“Saw you ever such a pair of beauties?” he whispered.

His two friends were staring also, licking their lips. One of them reached out blindly for a cup, brought it to his lips. He drained the cup, dropped it carelessly.

“Jamie, I’ll buy her from you,” he muttered hoarsely. “I’ll trade you my matched pair of greys for her.”

“Na, na, Philip. The riding I have in mind has nothing to do with horses. This one I keep for myself.”

“A thousand gold pieces I’ll give,” said the third man, who had not spoken until now. “A thousand, Jamie.”

“Not for ten thousand, Ralph. Go away, the two of you. I want to be alone with her, have her all to myself.”

They whirled on him, honestly shocked.

“You can’t mean it, man!”

“Jamie, you were always a sport. Don’t send us away yet. At least, let us see how she strips.”

Jamie Butler seemed to consider this, all the time his eyes ran over Maggie Langdon. He saw the shapeliness of her legs, the fullness of her breasts. He could imagine how the rest of her would look, without that tattered thing she had on.

His hand made a signal and a man came from behind him to pour wine into his goblet. The sound of that wine seemed loud in the stillness of the great hall.

Maggie could hear her heart beating. She was not afraid, suddenly. An inner strength seemed to have come into her. What could these men do to her, other than to ravish her? And she had never heard that rape had killed a girl.

The terror that had been a part of her was gone away, now. She dreaded what was about to happen to her, but there was nothing she could do about it. The hall was her prison, she had heard the big doors at the far end clang shut, locking her in here. She might as well make the best of it.

She was proud, still. They could not harm her pride. She would not let them. Oh, they could manhandle her, rape her as they wanted, but inside herself her pride would sleep, ready to be roused up at the first opportunity.

She moved forward, a little to her surprise. She walked right up to the table and stood a moment before Jamie Butler, knowing his eyes were fastened on her exposed breasts. Then she reached out for a ewer of wine and poured that wine into a cup.

She drank it thirstily. Her mouth had been very dry after her long run, she craved liquids. The wine ran down into her belly, warming her, giving her back some of her spirit.

Her eyes ran over Jamie Butler. He was a handsome man, except for the fact that he was running a little too fat. His doublet was stretched tight across his middle, and there seemed to be another chin of flabby flesh below his normal one.

Again she filled her goblet, but now she sipped, letting her eyes come close to flirting with the blonde man. There was no sense in fighting any longer. She was caught, she would pleasure this man in one way or another. Only a fool would go on fighting in such a predicament.

If she pleased him—who knows? He might grow less wary and she might find an opportunity of escape.

And so she let her full red mouth twist into a smile. She saw the gray eyes widen as they caught the significance of that smile.

“Hey? You’ve come to your senses, then?” he asked.

“Why not? Who values that which falls into his hands without trouble?”

Jamie Butler nodded slowly. He was not quite drunk, though well on his way to it. His wits seemed sharp enough, and certainly his flesh was alive and stirring at the sight of this half-naked girl. He cast a side-wise glance at his two companions.

Ought he let them see this girl stripped to her bare skin? Or should he keep this pleasure to himself? He frowned, giving the matter some thought. They were good friends, he really could scarcely deny them the pleasure.

His eyes slid toward the girl, who was watching him almost insolently, with her teats bare to his stare. She had almost finished the second cup of wine, he saw, and frowned again. He did not want a drunken slut this night. He wanted a girl who could understand the manner of man who was making love to her.

He grinned, his eyes lighting up.

Well, why not? Why not let his friends see what manner of wench he was about to enjoy? Let them catch a glimpse of her privacy, as they could see her tits? Do them a world of good.

He sat down and gestured to the girl. “Come up here, little one. Let us see what you look like in your bareness.”

Maggie came close to shrugging. Why not do what the man asked? She could not fight him, nor his friends and his servants. If she weren’t agreeable, they could probably become very disagreeable. Better to take her own clothes off—what there was of them!—than have them torn off her.

She let her hips switch as she moved about the end of the table and walked toward Jamie Butler. Her breasts bobbed up and down and sideways, they seemed set on springs, almost, but they caught the eyes of the three men and roused their lusts.

Almost to within hand’s reach of Jamie Butler she came, and then paused, smiling down at him. He could scarcely tear his eyes from her protruding nipples. She saw the hunger in those eyes, saw also the flushing of his cheeks. From the wine he had swallowed or from the sight of her near nudity, she could not tell.

Maggie put a hand to her dress, up there at her shoulder. She began to pull down the dress, very slowly. She could hear their heavy breathing, she caught the lewdness of their faces.

Is it I, Maggie Langdon, doing this terrible thing? Is it really I who is standing here taking her clothes off?

She felt like a stranger to herself. There was no emotion in her heart, not any more. She had exhausted all her emotions. Or felt she had.

Yet as her dress slid downward, baring her left shoulder and then her right, as it was caught at her middle by her hands, she knew that a fire was beginning to burn in her belly. Was it the wine, or was it the fact that in a few moments she would be stark naked before these men?

No matter! Her God had failed her, He had not sent those dogs off in a different direction. He had delivered her up to these men. Undoubtedly then, He wanted her to expose herself to their eyes, to join them in whatever wicked games they wanted to play with her.

“Go on,” urged Jamie Butler hoarsely.

Maggie smiled at him. She could not know the temptation she was putting into that smile, she could not guess at the fire she was rousing in their blood. Naked to her bellybutton, she paused before them, and moved her shoulders very slowly.

Her breasts jerked and swung.

“By God,” whispered the blonde man. “Saw you ever such a pair of titties?”

He was answered blasphemously by his friends, who were lifting upward out of their chairs so as to see better what was being shown to them. The candlelight showed her off, there was nothing hidden. They could see everything, she knew.

And—she did not care.

She had tried flight. It had been useless. There was no fight left in her. If this was meant to be, then she would enter into the spirit of the thing.

Abruptly, she thrust the ragged dress downward, until it was across her hips. Her belly was naked, pulsing gently, and the dot of her navel was like a small black hole. Her skin was very white, untouched by sunlight. She moved her hips languorously.

“Hurry,” panted Jamie Butler. “Hurry, girl—or it’s myself will tear that thing from your body.”

She pushed downward, felt coolness about the black hairs on her mons veneris. Not even before her mirror had she undressed so provocatively. The ragged tunic fell to her ankles and she stood proudly naked, aware that male eyes were elating at her exposed flesh, touching here and there with their passion clear to see.

A change came over Maggie Langdon. Forgotten was her virginity. She knew only—and very suddenly— the power her beauty gave her over men. Her smile grew wider, almost lewd.

She reached out an arm for the goblet from which Jamie Butler had been drinking, and which the manservant had refilled. To her lips she bore it and drained it of the wine.

She was aware that his hand was at her hip, now, stroking her smooth flesh. Well, let him. It was what she had been caught and brought back here for, wasn’t it? If she meant to go on living—and she did—she might as well enter into the spirit of the moment.

She leaned forward, brushed her nipple against his mouth. “Do you like it?” she whispered. “Do you?”

That was when Jamie Butler lost his head.

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