Chapter 8
Nathalie was not at all sure that she would not have been better off without clothing. The feel of the satin sliding back and forth across her sensitive flesh was much too erotic to be borne for long. She shuffled over to the window and stared down at the village so far below. She tried to focus her thoughts, concentrating on the little valley that had been home to her for so long, but it was extremely difficult. Her breasts and belly slid about in the satin with every breath, and her privates prickled with sensations.
It was easy to pick out the cottage that had been her home, in spite of its tiny size, since it nestled beneath the shadow of the white clapboard church. The tall shingled spire rose above all-the center, GO the hub of the village. Her eyes lingered longingly upon the cross that crowned the proud steeple.
In reverie, she allowed her eyes to trail down the main street, pausing to greet this resident and that, until she reached the end of the village and turned toward the cemetery on the hill. Slowly, she trudged up the path. The small graveyard was outlined with a whitewashed picket fence that crowned the summit. In her mind, she could even see the single evergreen wreath on each of her parent's graves, though the graves themselves were obscured by the distance.
She wondered about the villagers. Could they possibly have known-could they have even guessed the terrible things that were going on atop the huge bluff that overshadowed their village? She remembered the shiver that passed through many of them when they looked up at the gray mass of stone and granite. The place had never struck her as ominous at all. It had even seemed a bit exciting perched at the edge of the high cliffs. Why, then, had others found it so frightening? Could they possibly have known? If they had even an inkling even the merest shred of evidence or gossip, then this was an infamous act, sending her to the Bjorn-sons. Her father had done more to help the people of the valley than any other individual. They certainly owed his memory something! The more she thought about it, the more she remembered the looks that had before seemed meaningless and the more she became convinced that she had been dumped here for the sake of expedience alone.
Tears welled up into her eyes and she leaned her forehead against the cool pane as the valley dimmed into a misty, shimmering mirage.
How could they do this to you, Father? she asked miserably, and slowly her tears dried as the rage welled up in her. Pushing away from the pane, she started to pace toward the fireplace, but was jerked up short by the hobble.
Stop this foolishness! she thought. You have no real answer. It is much too easy to jump to conclusions when you have been reduced to such a low circumstance. Be careful! You cannot fight them unless you can control yourself!
They were brave thoughts-defiant thoughts, but they could not help with the real problems that faced her. Before she had taken more than a dozen mincing steps, her mind could not maintain the upper hand over her throbbing loins. She looked frantically about the room, searching for anything that would take her mind off the miserable ache of desire. Then her eyes caught and held on the huge, ornate bed in the center of the room. Quickly, she shuffled over to it and climbed awkwardly in beneath the covers.
I will not go naked and I will not put up with this revolting curse of sensations! she told herself firmly. I shall simply stay in bed and not move at all.
For the rest of that day, the night, and most of the day that followed, Nathalie stayed in bed. Food was brought and set by the fire and, when she was too hungry, she ate, but most of the time she lay as quiet as possible in the big bed. She recited as much of the Bible as she could remember, and went through nursery rhymes and Norse sagas, but it was hard work, demanding a great deal of concentration. Even the act of breathing caused her body to move against the satin, and when she dozed, she dreamed, and the dreams were erotic and sinful.
"Oh, no!" she moaned when she awoke aching with the hot fire that burned miserably in her loins. How could such thoughts come to me? I have never dreamed of such things before. Dear God, forgive me!
For what! her other self demanded. Is not the Lord himself supposed to watch over us when we sleep? Has anything that has happened been avoidable? How, in God's name, could I have stopped any of if?
There was no time to search for the answers, for at that moment, Nathalie heard the sharp click of a key turning in the lock of her door.