Bruise Pristine

I was thirteen the day I wed him, a good marriage age by most standards, but little more than a child in truth; and ill-prepared, for I'd had no mother to advise me.

His women-folk had attended me, in cold silence; disrobing me and combing out my hair. They'd put me into my husband's bed, a stranger's bed, where I'd waited alone for him to join me.

I'd never known time to drag so slow, wishing it haste, though I dreaded his arrival.

He was borne through the door with loud jests and laughter, the men well into their cups; leering at the frightened girl they found. 'Bed her well, Thornton! What I wouldn't give to fuck such a sweet virgin...'

And they'd left, cackling and bellowing, too drunk to undress him.

His eyes had settled on me, gleaming with lust as he crept across the floor.

I'd wanted to run to my brother and beg him to take me home, but I knew what he'd have told me - Home is with your husband, Isabella...

He'd pulled back the sheets and I had frozen, barely breathing as he climbed upon the bed and knelt over me. He'd lingered, relishing the sight of his young wife, unspoiled in her wedding-night silk. How he would rip it from her body...

I'd trembled as his fingers deftly plucked the lacings of my chemise, as his hand found my knee beneath the silk and crawled along my thigh. He'd laughed as he felt me shake, a harsh, humourless bark.

He'd clutched the fabric at my breast, tugging it sharply until it tore, slowly exposing me before he ripped it off entirely. I'd tried to cover myself as he leered at me, my eyes prickling with tears as he pried my hands away.

'Let me see you, wife.' He'd snarled, gripping my wrists tight and pinning them either side of me. I'd closed my eyes in shame, but could feel his own eyes devouring me. I'd heard him sigh, satisfied.

'Undress me.' He'd growled - striking my cheek when I did not move. 'Look at me!' His fingers knotted in my hair and I'd cried out as he jerked me up, grasping my chin and forcing my gaze to meet his. 'I am your Lord, and you will obey me, as is your wifely duty.'

I'd struggled to unlace his hose from his braies, my hands clumsy through fear, unnerved by the bulge between his thighs. He'd shoved me away impatiently and removed them himself, his tunic and undershirt following them to the floor.

I'd curled up on my side like some frightened creature, tucking my knees to my chest protectively; he'd taken hold of me, roughly set me on my back. I'd sobbed as he forced my legs apart, pleaded with him to leave me be. The back of his hand had slapped hard at my face. 'Still your tongue, woman - lest I should cut it from your mouth!'

He'd settled close above me, his bare skin touching my own, repulsing me. A hand fumbled between us, he'd moved closer still - and I'd let out a shrill squeal as he tore into me. Warm tears streamed from my eyes, for the pain was like nothing I'd felt before, and it struck me again and again with each thrust of his body. For all my cries, he did not stop, but thrust harder and faster inside me.

I'd tried to push him from me, twist out from beneath him - and choked as his fingers grasped my throat. Still he'd persisted.

It had seemed endless: his body stabbing mine as I fought for breath, his laboured breathing, and the sound of his flesh hitting my own, until at last his face contorted and he ceased moving.

Panting, he'd slithered from me, slumping beside me and succumbing to sleep. I'd lain awake til dawn, aching and despairing. The first of many such times.

I knew hatred that night, the first I'd ever felt for my brother, and hoped to God he had not known what manner of man he was giving me to.