Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter II

They rode for what seemed the better part of a day. Though it seemed much longer to Bianca, the unruly journey was uncomfortable and disheartening. The further she left the sea and drew closer inland, the more her heart sank. Once or twice the riding group stopped to eat or relieve themselves, making lewd comments and often a big show of their manhood. The brunette protest simply turned her head and sent a silent prayer.

The sun had set set in the far eastern point of the sky when they finally drew close to rise of a stone castle, lit by the orange glow from the many widows. It was truly a magnificent sight, one Bianca had never seen before. She had lived in modesty, the smallest of huts on the fringe of her village. A flag bearing a family crest fluttered proudly in the late night breeze. Though she had to squint to see, the blue and white colours shone in the darkness, three boars heads snarling in union.

The twisted faces of the boars brought an image to Bianca's mind of the man who commanded the murderers of her people. A boorish man, short and plump, with twisted features not unlike his banner. The dim sound of music and laughter sounded from the imposing stone walls, growing ever louder the closer they got. The merriment sounded out of place, but the stolen priestess noted that the closer they got to the castle, many of the men's spirits began to lift. Their hunched shoulders rose and their lined faced broke out into smiles. Even Angus behind her seemed to change in his demeanour, an air of excitement and glee clinging to him.

The draw bridge lowered and each horse made forth as if they were coming home too. Whilst every beast alive seemed joyous in their return, Bianca could feel the dread rise up in the pit of her stomach. The looming question of her fate hung in the air like the thickness of smoke. She had been spared, but for what? What could a humble priestess have to offer a clan of barbarous Scots who had ransacked the wealth of her people?

The castle was far grander up close. A stable boy met them, far younger than Bianca with ruddy cheeks and an agitated air about him.

"Wee Willy!" One of the men crowed, dismounting to embrace the boy. "Too young fer the feast, are ye?"

"Away!" Little Willy batted at the oaf of a man but took his horses' reins, cheeks pink in colour. "Da will be lookin' fer you."

Bianca frowned, thinking as she saw the exchange. Little resemblance was shared between the two, though they undoubtedly shared the connection as brothers.

Her gaze must have borne some form of weight because young Willy looked up, his freckled features scrunching up in consideration. "Who's the lass?"

Bianca now found many eyes on her all at once, as if she had become a forgotten presence until now. Behind her, Angus stirred and dismounted before jerking Bianca down with him. She gave a muffled squeal of surprise but said little else. It had kept her alive and mostly out of harms way as of now.

"Some Irish bitch," Willy's brother muttered before turning his head to spit on the ground. "Say Angus wants a bride." A few men laughed as the crude joke and Bianca felt her cheeks flame, eyes turning away.

"Fer Callum," Angus grunted, tightening his hold on her arm.

"Callum?" Willy's brother arched a brow. "What does he want with a foreign whore?" He cut a dark look at Bianca. "Plenty of fine highland lasses fit for him."

Angus grunted but didn't day much else, moving towards a hidden doorway at the wall of the castle, dragging Bianca along with him. "Mind ye business."

The castle was surprisingly warm, the heated air stung at Bianca;'s chilled skin, the difference making the exposed flesh prickle. Torches lit the walls of the stone, lighting a long and narrow hallway. The stone beneath her footing was smooth and cool, a pleasant sensation that Bianca would have enjoyed should she had been permitted to. But Angus dragged her towards the wooden door at the end of the hall where the music and shouting grew loud, making her believe with little doubt that behind it would be the source of merriment and life.

As if stepping into the heart of a body, the source of all life, heat and joy exploded Bianca's senses. Men roared with laughter and cheered, children running about screaming with unadulterated pleasure as shaggy dogs chased after them, tongues lolling out of their wide mouths. Women danced and sang whilst the large party feasted in the tables upon tables of decadent foods that had intoxicating smells.

Angus pusher her forward, eyes turning in curiosity. Bianca could see at the far end of the large hall sat two exquisitely carved thrones, one empty, the other dominated by a long, muscled figure, legs outstretched, the picture of comfort.

Brought before the throne and the man who occupied it, the hall had turned a deathly silent. The music had stopped, children had returned to their mother's skirts and the dogs had even drilled, watching expectantly.

"Angus!" The throned figure rose, his tall, imposing figure coming to full height. Bianca could see that he was nothing like the boar she had imagined, but strong and muscled like a wolf, with a shaggy spell of inky black hair and a shorn beard to match. Two starry night sky blue eyes stared down at her, unreadable as he took in her torn, dirty and unkept appearance.

"What do ye have?" The brogue was thick and commanding, a voice for orders and anger. Bianca shivered and held herself tighter as if her mere arms could protect her.

"An Irish virgin," Angus' hand pushed at Bianca so that she stumbled, her knees hitting the stone floor forcibly. Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd and Bianca felt her cheeks flame. "My laird."

"A virgin?" The dark haired laird stepped down, drawing closer to inspect Bianca. The brunette did not dare to raise her head, only allowing her gaze to be fixed on the big, black
leather boots that came into her view. "How do ye know?"

Angus grunted. "The lass does nae ken the touch of a man, she almost shits herself of one is te even look at her."

"Who is she?"

"Someone important. Her people fought for her more than they fought for their gold."

A low spell or talk grew as the crowd drank in the conversation, eyes burned Bianca's back so fiercely hot she no longer felt the Scottish chill.

The leather boots stopped before Bianca, there mere presence alone demanded that she look up to their owner.

It was hard to read his face, what with the unkept hair that covered most of his features. But the eyes were dominant and demanding.

"Who are ye?" His thick, deep voice barked, thick brows pulling together.

Her voice was soft in comparison, weak from lack of use. Her throat felt tight from unshed tears. "Bianca," she whispered.

"And are you a virgin, Bianca?" The voice demanded.

"I am a priestess," Bianca lifted her chin, for once proud and not ashamed to show it. "I care for my people. I pray for them."

The dark figure laughed. "Prayers didn't to them much good, did they?" Dismissively, he turned away from her, focusing his attention to Angus.

"What will you have me do with a virgin priestess?"

Angus shrugged. "Whatever ye want, Callum. Use her around the castle. Sell her. She can be a gift to te Macintosh clan. Fuck knows."

Callum crowed in consideration, his gaze turning to Bianca once more. "She'll serve some purpose, I am sure. Take her to Mrs Lowe and have her deal with the girl."

And with that, Bianca's fate was sealed by the whim of a black haired, Scottish brute.