Chapter 3 - Chapter Three

The winter was nearing its end. Hardy crocuses pushed their way up through the snow, which was gray and slushy underfoot. Meltwater dripped from the trees. Mabel felt her spirits rise in anticipation of the new season.

Galen’s spirits, however, were still low. His stiff arm hung uselessly by his side, and most days his mood was foul. A visit from a man from the abbey did not improve it. The Abbey of St. Gord owned all the land thereabout. It was the duty of the tenants who worked the land, such as Galen and Mabel, to pay the abbey rent out of whatever they made.

“How is the arm, boy?” asked the churchman. He was wearing a heavy, embroidered robe of good cloth. It was richly woven with threads of red and green and gold. On his shoulders was a thick fur-lined cloak. His stole had a rich brocade. “That looks rather stiff. You swinging an axe yet?”
“Soon,” said Galen, glowering at the fellow.

“You sure about that?” asked the churchman. “Looks to me like your chopping days may be over, woodcutter.”

“The arm is healing, your grace,” said Galen. “I swear it.” He endeavored to swing his wounded arm as evidence. A stab of pain lanced through it. He clutched his arm. 

The churchman sneered at him. “Not quite as well as you thought, eh? Well, that arm had better heal fast, for your sake. We have not seen two coppers from you all winter. If you cannot chop wood, we will evict you and give this land to someone who can.” The churchman turned and started to walk away. Galen spat on the ground.

“What was that, boy?” asked the churchman, turning. 

“Nothing, your grace,” said Galen, and he bowed as low as he could manage.

“Good,” said the churchman, coldly. “Saints be with you,” he said.

“And also with you,” said Galen stiffly. The churchman strode away without a backward glance.

Mabel had watched the whole exchange from the window. She said nothing when Galen came inside. He braced himself against the wall with his good arm and stared absently out the rear window at the forest. She tried to think how she might comfort him. Inspiration struck her. She approached her husband and stood behind him.

“Surveying your domain, my lord?” she asked.

“My… domain?” asked Galen, looking back at her, baffled. 

“Pay me no mind, my lord,” said Mabel, curtseying. “I am but your humble servant. All the lands about these parts are yours. You are such a great and powerful lord that no one can take them from you.” She turned his head back to the window. “See, my lord? Look upon your great wood for a while and think lordly thoughts.”

“Very well…” said Galen uncertainly. Mabel wrapped her arms around him and caressed his chest. Then his belly. Her hands went lower. She tugged his woolen hose down. 

Galen tried to object, but she laid a finger on his lips. 

“Pay me no attention, lord. I am here only to serve you. Look out upon your great domain,” Mabel said. She took the curl of his cock and wrapped her hand about it. It stiffened at her touch, unfurling gently. Mabel reached between Galen’s legs with her other hand and cupped his silken sack. She gently stroked his smooth penis. It now stood at attention, fully erect.

“This is how great lords are treated, my lord,” murmured Mabel. “They have someone to attend to their every need.” Galen was breathing heavily now. “I am a humble servant girl. It is my duty to please my master,” she said. She knelt behind him. Mabel pushed her face between Galen’s buttocks. With her delicate tongue, she licked the rim of his anus. He moaned loudly. She had never heard Galen make such a sound before. She continued to apply her tongue to his rump enthusiastically. He moaned louder. All the while, she was fondling his turgid cock. Fluid oozed from the tip. She spread it all over the swollen head to lubricate it so that her hand would glide smoothly up and down the glistening member.

Suddenly, Galen’s butt cheeks clenched powerfully, forcing Mabel to pull back from between them. “Saints above!” he cried out. He ejaculated, semen erupting from his cock all over her gentle fingers. Gobs of semen stained the wall.

Mabel stood up. Her husband looked at her dazedly. She put her hand to her lips and licked sticky strands of cum from her fingers. Galen watched intently as she cleaned her hand with her tongue.

When she had finished, he took her by the hand over to their bed. There he undressed her and pushed her down. She wondered what he intended to do, since his cock was now limp, its seed spent. It surprised her when he spread her tender thighs apart and knelt between them. He stuck out his tongue. Holding her gaze, he gave her slit a long lick from the bottom to the top. Mabel moaned.

“Do you like this, sweet?” he mumbled, his face buried in her muff.

“Ooh, very much my lord,” said Mabel. “If you wish to pleasure your humble servant, she must graciously accept it.”

“Do you want me to put a finger inside you?” he asked.

“Three fingers, if it please my lord,” she said. Gently she put her hand on the back of her husband’s head and guided his lips to her clitoris. “Suck upon this little nub lightly, my lord,” she breathed. He did so. It felt wonderful. She pressed his face harder against her. It took only a little stimulation before he brought her pleasure-starved body to the brink. A sudden tidal wave came over her like water breaking through a dam. Her whole body trembled with heedless pleasure. “Oh, Galen!” She didn’t say it, she screamed it. “Husband!” 

Galen lifted his head from between her legs. He looked at her with concern. “Are you well?” he asked.

“Oh yes, yes!” Mabel panted. “I have never felt better. That felt so good, my love.” She smiled at him and ran her fingers through his hair. His chin was flecked with the creamy fluid that was oozing out of her. “Your mouth made my pussy weep tears of joy,” she said.

 “I did not know you could do that,” Galen said

“Do what, my love?” she asked.

“Cum.”

“Why, of course, my husband,” she said, puzzled. “All women can.”

Galen stood up. She saw he was erect once more. “Let me see if I can make you do it again,” he said. Then he mounted her. 

Her breasts bounced with each thrust inside her. Her milky juices were flowing freely. They coated her husband’s cock as he slid in and out of her. She squeezed him tightly. Before long she began to cum again, even harder than before. Galen cried out, “Mabel!” He plunged his cock to the hilt inside of her and held it there. She felt jets of his hot seed filling up her womb. 

Spent and panting, Galen finally pulled out of her. Mabel grabbed his face and kissed him long and deeply. When she let go, he collapsed on the bed next to her, panting. 

“That was amazing,” she said. 

Galen smiled at her. “Yes love,” he said. A worried frown creased his brow. “I should not have cum inside you, though.” Mabel looked down. A little stream of semen trickled from her pussy.

Mabel patted his broad chest. “Worry not on it, my sweet,” she purred. “It was only this one time.”

Several weeks later, Mabel was sick one morning in the turnip patch. Galen began putting on his shoes to run for the medicine woman, but Mable waved him off. She knew why she was sick.

She was pregnant.




Spring that year was early. The ice melted away, and the snow vanished, leaving behind a world that was joyful, green, and verdant. But Mabel could not enjoy it. Her body ached, and she was often sick to her stomach. 

Galen was desperate for his arm to heal. His axe wound was now nothing but a long scar, but the arm was extremely stiff. It pained him when he moved it. He forced himself to use it. He made himself pick up objects with it, gritting his teeth against the pain as he did so. Still, it was clear to Mabel he would not be chopping wood again soon. She told him he should go to the nearest village and offer his services as a day laborer. At first, Galen resisted. Until one morning when the churchman came around again.

“St. Gord’s abbey has not seen half a copper from you in five months,” he said to Galen as they stood in front of the cottage. “Where is the coin which you owe your lawful landlord?”

“I… I shall have it soon, your grace,” Galen stammered. “My arm is healing fast.”

The churchman curled his lip. “So say you every month. I think you are a worthless cripple and it is high time your masters gave this land to someone who can work it. Still, Gord is merciful. Offer twenty coppers by the end of the month and he will see you are still fit to work this land.”
“Where am I going to get twenty coppers?” asked Galen.

“I do not know,” scoffed the churchman, “That is your concern. If that useless arm of yours cannot swing an axe, you’d best come up with another plan. Your wife is a fine young wench. Surely that insolent little mouth of hers is worth a few coppers to someone.” He leered at Mabel, who was standing by her husband.

“I’ll get the money,” said Galen dully. 

“See that you do,” said the churchman, “or you and your sweet little bride will be out in the cold.” With a swish of his robes, the churchman mounted his tall mare. Mabel and Galen watched in silence as he rode away.

After that, Galen started rising before dawn. He would walk two hours to the nearest village and stand in the square with a throng of burly men, hoping some wealthy shareholder would need an additional hand to tend his fields. Sometimes they did, although Galen, with one useless arm, was always picked last. On such days he would bring home a shiny copper piece or two. On other days he made the long hike back to the cottage with nothing in his pockets.

Mabel was always hungry in those days. As they desperately tried to scrape together money to pay the abbey, there was precious little left over for food. Galen, tired as he often was, urged her to eat what little they had to feed the life growing inside of her. Even so, it was never entirely enough to sate Mabel.

Regardless, Mabel’s belly was swelling with the life quickening inside her. Her breasts filled out, and her areolas darkened. Her body was changing, sometimes in ways that seemed strange to her.

Galen was often away those days. He was walking further and further afield to villages where he might find work—any work. He sometimes did not return until late the following day, looking worn and exhausted. Mabel knew he had to earn the rent money they owed the abbey. But she missed her husband terribly when he was away. Left alone with her own thoughts, she could not help but imagine fearful things. What if he had been hurt or killed? What if the churchman threw her out of the cottage? What if she had to give birth alone in some field under an open sky? She felt a knot of fear inside her stomach that would not go away until Galen finally returned home.

During this time, Mabel’s one comfort was the little pool she had discovered. On days when Galen was off and she was all alone, she would walk into the edge of the Dark Wood to the place where it lay. It was always quiet. No one else ever came there.

Mabel would take off her bodice, her kirtle, and the thin chemise she wore under them, and lay them carefully on the bank. Then she would step into the pool and sink down into its cool waters with a sigh. For a moment, the water would wash away all her fear. She would stare blankly up at the blue sky, with no thoughts at all disturbing her mind.

Often, while she did this, she would touch herself. Despite her hunger and uncertainty, pregnancy had only increased her lustful urges. Mabel would imagine all sorts of wanton fantasies as she urgently rubbed her mound. She would imagine her husband taking her in a variety of inventive ways: stuffing her mouth or her ass or whipping her. Sometimes she imagined he had brought some men from the village with him, and they all took turns using her in wicked ways. She even imagined things filthier than that.

One morning, Mabel was floating naked in the pool. This time, Galen had been away for two whole days already. She burned with need and desire. A particularly lewd thought seized her. There was a little axe buried in a stump next to the pool. Galen must have chopped it before he was injured, and forgotten to retrieve it. The handle of the axe now beckoned to Mabel. It reminded her of him. She got up out of the water and squatted down over the haft of the axe. She gripped it. It was very smooth. She lowered herself down until she felt its cool surface against the lips of her pussy. She started grinding herself against its smooth shaft. She imagined Galen was beneath her, and this was his smooth, strong, hard cock. “Galen!” she moaned. She gave herself into pleasure, moaning as she humped the shaft obscenely. Before long, it was dripping with the juices of her lewd twat.



The next morning Mabel awoke to find Galen had still not come home. The end of the month was only three days away. After she had finished the chores, Mabel paced worriedly within the cottage. What if some terrible accident had befallen her husband? What if he was lost? Should she go to the neighbors and ask them to look for him?

Mabel was on the verge of going to speak to the neighbors when she heard footsteps on the road outside. She rushed to the window. It was Galen! Her heart rose in her chest. Then she saw the weary way he was tramping down the road. His injured arm hung stiffly by his side, and he looked downcast and defeated. Her heart sank. She ran to him and embraced him. He hugged her back, but said nothing.

Only when Galen had sunk into his chair next to the fire, did he relate his tale of woe.

“I struck up a conversation with a man in the village of Beardly. He seemed like a good fellow, and we got on well. We knew some of the same lads. He told me a man in a village a day’s walk away was hiring. I set out for it and arrived before nightfall. The next morning when I went to the square to look for work, I saw it was the fellow I had spoken to! When he saw me he picked me first. He needed a large field cleared. He offered me three day's wages if I would supervise the other workers and get it done in one. Of course I took the job. I almost broke my back all day, getting the men to clear the field, but it got done. The man was as good as his word too: he paid out in silver pieces. I set out this morning to return with them jingling in my pocket.”

“Galen,” gasped Mabel, “that is wonderful!”

Her husband shook his head and looked at the floor as he continued. “About noon I had stopped to eat a piece of bread when a shadow fell over me. I barely had time to notice it when something hit me in the back of the head like a thunderbolt. When I came to I was lying on the ground surrounded by three fellows with big cudgels. They gave me a couple of kicks in the ribs to remember them by, and then they wandered off, laughing like it was a joke. When I got up and searched my pockets for the silver…” his voice cracked, “…it was all gone.”

Galen put his face in his hands. Mabel came and put her arms around him. She cried into her husband’s shoulder as he sat staring vacantly out the window. 




Galen sat in front of the cottage, morosely watching the last light of the day. Mabel was in the field behind the cottage, tending to her turnips. For the moment, he was alone to brood. 

Galen owed the Abbey of St. Gord twenty coppers in two days. If he could not pay, the Abbey would send men to drive him and his pregnant wife out of their home. He could think of no way to scrape together such coin in so short a time.

There was a sound of hoof-beats on the road. Galen looked up. Two people on horses were drawing near. Both animals were well shod, richly bridled, and wore saddles of the finest caliber. The gear of their riders was equally fine. Leading the way was a woman on a thoroughbred mare. Her hair was cropped short. She wore a fine green cloak over a polished breastplate artfully sculpted to her bust, and she wore a sword on her hip. Behind her, riding the most magnificent stallion Galen had ever seen, was a man. His cloak was lined with glossy fur, and there were bands of silver on his arm. 

He had the haughty, commanding air of a noble.

Galen stood up in astonishment. What was a nobleman doing out here? And accompanied by a knight? He was even more astonished when both riders reined in their horses to a stop in front of the cottage.

“You,” called out the nobleman. “Are you the woodcutter? The one with the pregnant wife?” 

The nobleman had a proud bearing. A thick mane of dark hair shot through with gray was swept back from his face. He had an elegantly trimmed goatee. The knight accompanying him was a striking woman with a sharp jaw and an air of deadly competence. Her hand rested casually on the haft of her sword. 

“Speak when you are spoken to, peasant!” she snapped. “You are Galen the woodcutter, yes? Your wife is Mabel, right? She is a few months pregnant?” Galen realized he was so thunderstruck he had failed to answer the man. 

“Y-y-yes,” stammered Galen. “Your Graces,” he added quickly. Galen had little experience addressing knights and nobles, but his mother had drilled proper deference to his betters into him from an early age. Commoners quickly discovered it did not pay to be rude to nobility.
“I have been looking for you, young man,” said the nobleman, “Well, in truth, I have been looking for your wife, Mabel.” He clicked to his horse, and it moved to stand right before Galen.

 “This is the Duke of Rutland,” announced the woman. “You may kiss his ring. I am his knight and bodyguard, Vasqua de Royce.”
The Duke of Rutland held out his fist. On one finger there was a large gold ring with a heraldic insignia embossed upon it. Galen leaned forward and brushed the ring with his lips as was proper. The Duke inclined his head in formal acknowledgement of the gesture. Proper decorum having been observed, he slid down from his great black horse and stood before Galen on his own two feet. He was a tall, if not broad-shouldered, man. Despite the gray in his hair, his movements were graceful and confident. Galen stared at the Duke uncertainly. What could this man possibly want with Mabel and me? he wondered.

The Duke put his hands on Galen’s shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. His own eyes were green and filled with a burning intensity. “Woodcutter,” he said, “I know your little wife is a lovely and desirable young maiden. I am here to make you an offer.”
