“This is Joy,” the old lady said, and the blonde girl curtsied to me with a wide smile on her lovely face. “Her family live near the river, up north, and her father is ill; she needs to go home.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said to her, still holding her small hand. She was dressed for riding; tight fitting breeches and high boots, a frilly shirt beneath a short jacket and not a sign of stays. Her pale hair was tied back like mine but her queue hung well down her back like a waterfall. Five-three perhaps and, I guessed, eight stone, she was obviously healthy and happy with quite womanly hips and a proud prow for one so young. She looked all of sixteen, but I knew she must be older or she would not have been one of the nieces.
“You are to chaperone her to her home just as you did for Priscilla. She says she can go alone, but, of course, that’s impossible, especially these days.” The old lady made a face and folded her fan. She handed me a heavy little purse. “Eat well and sleep secure,” she said, arching her eyebrow at me. “And both of you, mind your manners.”
The girl mounted a young gelding, swinging her leg over the saddle in a most-unladylike manner, and I got on my trusted mare, and we were off on a cool morning, heading north and a bit east when we got the chance. The roads were firm and the air was soft. It was good to be young, and I spent some time admiring her bouncing body as well as the green countryside.
By the time the sun was at its zenith we had covered ten or twelve miles, letting our horses walk along between trotting now and then. We got down and walked for a while, talking about nonsense and forgetting the war as best we could. I tried not to think about how she would look unclothed and writhing beneath me. I failed. I have no idea what she was thinking, but she was flirting now and then, giving me looks that were open invitations.
She saw the roadblock before I did, and we both mounted quickly and galloped into the woods, not stopping until we reached a stream and let the horses snort and drink. All four of us were heaving by then.
“Think they saw us?” she asked, standing with her hand on my chest, breathing hard.
I put my arm about her shoulders. “Maybe, but they didn’t follow. We’d have heard them by now.”
She put her arm about my waist and turned toward me, chin up. “The girls say you’re the best there is.”
I could feel her firm breasts against my ribs and her belly at my thigh. “Do they now?” I said, bending to capture her mouth gently as she stretched up on tip-toe. The tip of her tongue explored a bit.
“Now ain’ that nice,” said a gruff voice behind me as my cock firmed.
“Yes indeed,” said another. “Look at that sweet piece.”
I turned and released the girl as two good-sized Redcoats, both carrying muskets, waded the small stream, their eyes more on the girl than on me.
“You kin go sit down over yonder an’ watch, yokel,” said the one nearer me as the other soldier ripped Joy’s jacket open, yanked her pendant from her neck and stuck it in his pocket.
I grabbed the musket jabbed at my belly and yanked the big Brit to me, smashing his nose with my forehead and his stones with my knee. He let go of his weapon, and I clubbed down the other man with it before he could get turned around, in fact he still had the girl’s coat in his hand when I broke his skull open along his brow ridge.
She struggled loose as he fell and then watched me bash the other man’s head to pulp with the butt of his gun, crushing it like a pumpkin. Then she vomited, bending over and heaving until she was dry. I retrieved her necklace.
“Sorry,” I said quietly as I held her to me, patting her shaking back.
“Did you have to?” she asked with a sob.
“Yep,” I said. “Shooting would bring more of them. We’ve got to get going.”
I helped her back on her horse, patting her firm rump, did a quick and fruitless search of the bodies, took their ammunition and mounted up. We stayed in the woods, giving the road a wide berth before turning north again.
“I’m awful hungry,” she said an hour or so later so we stopped at the next brook and ate our bread and cheese, washing it down with creek water.
“Why did you kiss me back there?” she asked, sitting Indian style with her back to a small tree. Desirable is a weak word for her.
“Felt like it,” I said, feeling blood sloshing toward my member. “Because you’re so pretty.”
“Poppycock,” she said with a smile. “I look like a mud dauber compared to most of those girls.”
“Your mirror must be crooked,” I said.
She made a face. “Do you want to make love to me?”
“Of course,” I said. “Naturally. Such a question!”
She laughed and then her eyes widened. A young British lieutenant with his sword in his hand stepped into the clearing. “You are under arrest, both of you, for murder,” he said. I jumped to my feet and then felt a bayonet poking me in the back, jabbing hard.
“Tie his hands, corporal,” the young officer said. “You may have her after I’m done with her. Girl, strip off your clothes. I like to see what I getting.”
Joy yelped and ran, and I whirled, ducked, tripped the soldier and then kicked him in the jaw, probably breaking it and knocking him unconscious. The lieutenant swung at me, a wide slash that nicked my shirt, and I sucked in my stomach and then leapt at him, driving him back to the tree where the girl had been sitting. I got my hands on his neck, and he struggled and squirmed for a minute or two until I managed to crush most of the things in his throat. I let him drop, cut the corporal’s throat and looked around for the girl.
I heard her before I saw her and then she appeared, very white, trembling. I held her some more, added a good purse to my exchequer, and we mounted up. Back on the road and well beyond the roadblack, we galloped some and then rode into a stableyard at a sturdy inn.
“My,” she said, after we had eaten and enjoyed some good wine, “this has been an unusual day.”
I smiled at her, tempted to tell her it was far from over. Relaxed, full of red wine and good humor, I was not prepared for the knife that was put to my neck from behind.
“Jes’ set still, y’stupid bastid,” said the voice, pulling my head back by my pigtail, “an’ y’might live to see the sun rise agin.”
My hands and waist were tied behind my chair with heavy cording and a rough gag was put in my mouth as the inn-keeper barred his doors and smiled at me. He and two of his burly friends hauled Joy from the table, her feet kicking, weeping and begging, and tied her to a post in the middle of the room, pawing her while they were at it. Then they stripped her, starting with her fancy jacket and frilly shirt, in no hurry, enjoying their work.
“Now ain’ that a purty l’il jug?” the bearded inn-keeper asked his friends, grabbing Joy’s left breast and squeezing it hard, pinching her berry-like nipple. The girl squealed, still crying and begging as her pink tit distended and hardened. The three of them pulled off her boots and britches despite her wild kicking. Then the tavern owner slapped her hard, bringing blood from her nose and mouth.
“Be quiet, y’little bitch,” he yelled, spraying her face with his spittle. He yanked out his turgid cock and stroked it while one of his cohorts got a loop of rope around one of Joy’s ankles and yanked her leg out and then back, making it impossible for her to kick.
Busy as I was working on my ropes and trying to figure out what to do, I could not help but admire her small body and the blonde triangle of fur that lay between her white thighs. Her slit was small and inturned.
When all three men were busy deviling the girl and the inn-keeper was just about to rape her, I struggled to my feet and jumped back against the oak bar, smashing the chair I was in. Freed, but with pieces of chair back and my hands still roped behind me, I charged, butting the would-be rapist in the small of the back and then kicking one of his friends in the stones. The man who had held a blade to my neck pulled his knife, and I felt him stab at my shoulder as I drove him back to the wall, knocking the air from him. I kicked him in the belly and then in the chest when he slumped and then turned to face the other two as his eyes rolled back.
The man with his cock hanging out growled and charged at me, but I sidestepped and tripped him up. Then I stomped him in the belly hard enough to open a keg of nails. The fellow I had kicked in the stones was still on the floor, rolling around and holding himself so I untied Joy quickly with my teeth, and she was working on my knots when he got to one knee and found the pistol he had dropped. She yanked me loose as he stood, wobbling a bit.
“Hole it!” he yelled at us and he pulled the trigger. His pan did not even flash, and he was still looking at his weapon when I picked him up and broke his back by throwing him against the post where the girl had been tied. I still had a piece of chair dangling from one wrist as I went around checking the three men and then dispatched each more in anger than is sparing them additional suffering. The girl sat at a table and hid her face as I dragged the bodies outside and dumped them near the privy.
I came back in, found a bottle of whisky and sat down beside her. She dressed my shoulder wound, saying it ought to be sewed, and poured some whisky on it. I had another drink and then took her up to bed, thoroughly aroused by the bloodletting and the fact that she was wearing nothing but her long-tailed shirt.
We found the biggest bed, and she rolled under the quilts and lay back waiting for me to undress. She did not have to wait long.
After we kissed and fumbled at each other briefly, I spread her legs and mounted her, my hands filled with her firm buttocks, lifting and driving upward, grinding us together until she squealed and spasmed. Her back arched. I eased her down once I was fully seated in her tight precincts, and she smiled up at me and wiggled, gritting her teeth. It had taken some effort to get the thing into her, but it was well worth it; it always is.