Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter I

The first foot Bianca O'Reily placed upon Scottish soil brought about a fleeting moment of gratefulness, a blessing to Banba the goddess of the earth for allowing her to find such solid ground. However, it was gone the moment the young maiden realised which land she had arrived in. The crossing had been rough, and the dark-haired girl swayed upon her unsteady feet until a large paw of a hand roughly grabbed at her arm.

"'Tis way." The gruffness was low and impatient, a tone she had become familiar with over the course of her wayward journey from her home to the land across the sea. The towering figure beside her jerked at her arm, and maybe, if she hadn't been so accustomed to the cruel treatment she would have cried out.

But over the course of the twelve days that changed Bianca's life forever, the young girl had felt the strike of a hand, the bite of a rope to her wrists, the heat of a hungry man's stare. All things she had been shielded from since birth. Her life was destined to be one devoted to prayer, to honour the old gods, as were her people's ways. But the barbaric men who had pillaged her land and slaughtered her people have chosen a different fate for the girl. 

She had fought the Scottish invaders when they first plundered her village, had tried to resist their bounds and look coldly upon their leering glares. But what was a young priestess to do? The cries of those she knew and loved had made her ears bleed and yet, no god of hers had heard her pleas.

Bianca struggled to keep up with the heavy pace, long trunk-like legs were too great a match for her slender ones. The jagged earth and stones tore into her feet, bare and numb, though she made no protest. Any sound, any attempt to draw attention to herself was now known to be a mistake indeed.

The cut upon her cheek throbbed in agreement. Though days old and now healing, the bitter sting of the knife's blade and the fearful memory it carried was enough to make Bianca shiver and huddle deeper into the rags she had been given when her robes were torn from her body.

About her, many other Scots gathered their spoils from the ships - gold and grain and other great riches from her land. Bianca would be the only carelessly grabbed treasure that could utter of the horrors she had seen.

The towering men gaffed and laughed about her, their tongues thick with their brogue, so not unlike her own but harsher, more guttural. Most still conversed in their native form of Gaelic, whist few  had slipped into the growing language of the English. She had grown accustomed to the varying languages, could decipher the general meaning behind the words spoken, though it was rare that any were directed her way, save from the occasional bark of command. 

Men and women cheered from further inland, moving to embrace the men who had tore apart Bianca's land and had shoved her among the spoils of their work. Horses and carts were being loaded with the riches, the food and the gold, fine silks and the few weapons and tools her people had never thought they would have to use. 

A large stubby finger prodded her right between the shoulder blades, causing her muscles to tense, her grey eyes wide as she looked around, startled. The leader of sorts who had taken upon himself to oversee Bianca glared down at her, one eye squinted, the other bulging. A man of few words, the shaggy orange haired giant jerked his chin over to where a few horses milled about. 

Obediently, Bianca walked. She had never been one to defy orders, long before the men in tartan kilts came. She lived a life of softly spoken voices, of gentle prayer and peace. 

The soles of her feet stung as she walked, cold and torn but she did not dare voice her pain. Instead, she moved towards where a beautiful grey mare grazed, it's mane long and silvery. Her hands were bounded by biting rope, though she couldn't help herself in running the tips of her fingers through the soft silver hair. The animal stirred at her touch, and kind, gentle brown eyes found themselves upon her. 

"Move girl," Her captor growled, hands roughly grabbing Bianca around her waist and all but tossing her onto the horses' back. She tried to steady herself, her thighs tensing to root herself onto the mare. Her captor followed suit, settling himself behind her, arms firmly clasping the reins to encase Bianca. Not that she could run now - even if she knew how to get home, what home did she have to go to? It was a blood bath of men, women and children.

Bianca shivered at the thought.

"Where te, Angus?" A skinny, scruffy looking Scot leaned over to the grizzly redhead, one bushy fair brow raised. 

"Te Dunnottar," Angus retorted gruffly, jolting the reins to make the grey mare move.  The sudden movement made Bianca jolt, her back hitting the broad chest of Angus. 

Wherever or whatever Dunnottar was, Bianca wasn't sure. But as the party began to move, she had no doubt that she was close to finding out.

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Slow start but hey, why not? Please don't be afraid to comment. I swear the pace will pick up in the next chapter.