I love Julie Garwood's books and I simply loved Ramsey in the book "Ransom."
After having read the book and her series a million times and not finding enough on it I decided to write fanfiction.
As much as I love her works, I'm fed up of your average medieval romance heroine. The so-called exquisite beauty 'spitfire' who's too stupid to live and keeps whimpering about her divine superhero lover.
I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS. I'm simply borrowing them for my own entertainment. I can't make any money of this and I sincerely apologize if I piss anyone off.
There is a lot of freedom taken with Historical characters and I humbly beg pardon of their souls
If you are reading this - I would love your opinion. I will thank you for a compliment, accept a constructive critique and ignore nasty remarks.
Never in her life – had she cause to fear them.
They were her people – her subjects – they were her friends. They were her soldiers. They were her brothers.
Never in her most sordid of dreams would she imagine that she could see anything in their eyes except admiration – honor – respect…love.
The hungry dogs that encircled her were not the brothers she knew. Their faces were familiar – her soldiers. Men she had granted ranks – honors - protection. Her men.
Yet, their eyes - full of murder, their mouths breathed curses that made her stomach turn, their stance beheld rage and an animalistic hatred.
They meant to humiliate her.
Sigun felt her wrist waver for the first time, since she was a child. Her back flattened against the wall of her throne room – she tried to calm her trembling person, but the shock and horror of what would happen began to sink in.
A giant with dirty hair and dirty teeth groped his crotch with his free hand, advancing towards her, rotating his flail in slow, menacing pitches, lashing it out in the air, laughing wickedly.
Ingmar. He was the captain of fourth Fähnlein. He was the captain of the wall - guardian of her keep.
Disgust filled her as he massaged himself, sadistic pleasure and fury all mixed into one ugly composite on his face.
Ingmar who protected the walls of her kingdom. Ingmar who swore his allegiance to her. They were her men. She’d sworn to protect them. They’d sworn to protect her.
It was at that moment that a chilling reality struck her. She had not experienced a man since she was a child. Her husband – a ghost of a memory which she barely remembered had lain with her only few times in their short marriage. She faintly remembered the pain of the union, however she distinctly remembered the shock of the act and the tears she shed ever time – after all it had been only one summer since she had bled before she was married. She never had to endure another man since her husband.
And now - now, she would be raped - mercilessly.
If she were by a miracle to survive the first ten men who cornered her, she would not survive the remaining fifteen.
By her men. Her soldiers.
The men who once addressed her as “your imperial highness – my queen – your majesty”, now breathed the most heinous profanities, shredding her dignity with their words – equating her with less than their common whores – less than objects. Spewing out vile descriptions of lewd acts they meant to commit with her.
...and her corpse.
A whispered prayer escaped from her trembling lips. She took a deep breath and exhaled. Forcing her racing heart to slow down – reining her scattered mind into focus.
The quivering of her wrist stopped.
With practiced weight she tensed her knees - holding her sword, the pain of horror giving way to guarded anticipation. She examined her attackers – calculated their distances, scanned for physical weaknesses - recollected her training in her mind and posed for the first one to come forward.
Signehilde of Kimbriske had never stood at the helm of battle lines unless she intended to win.
And this was war.
But this time – she was the only one behind the lines.
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