Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 20 - Wings of the Raven

“Dearest,” he whispered. “I would never dream of insulting your purity! You are safe and secure with me. My love for you is so great that I don’t have the heart to touch you!”

It was cold under the covers and she was unable to offer him any warmth, frozen stiff as she was. He would have to warm her up.

It almost seemed as if his words had disappointed her a little. It made him smile secretly to himself. He understood that Nicola was in reality a warm-blooded woman who had been forced to be submissive by her domineering aunt. She was now more than ready for a love affair, but her cavalier was proving to be chivalrous, which was not particularly encouraging!

When Yves had decided that he knew what kind of woman she was, he played his role in style. “Oh, dearest one,” he moaned, “I think I will have to refrain from warming you.”

“How is that?”

“My courtesy prevents me from saying why.”

“But now you are awakening my curiosity! I want to know why!” She lifted her head, supporting it on one arm so that her beautiful hair fell softly about his face. Oh God, how he wished he could bury himself in it. He grew more and more excited and was practically unable to speak calmly.

“But ... dearest Miss Nicola, you do understand how I am suffering, don’t you?”

“No, really I don’t,” she answered naively.

“The nearness of your presence ... excites me so much, that I cannot keep my vow of chastity. I ...”

He turned away and pretended to be on the verge of tears.

“But my dearest friend,” she cried out, “Don’t leave the bed for my sake! It would be better if I left!”

“No, no!” he cried as he grabbed hold of her. And now he really pulled out all the stops. He gasped for breath as though overwhelmed by love and passion, and pulled her head closer to his as he trembled all over. He didn’t need to feign passion, the only thing he needed to pretend was that he was dismayed at having to violate her purity.

But little Nicola had given up resisting him. She had clearly caved in to the passion and stormy feelings a man’s presence awakened in her. Yves flattered himself by assuming that she wouldn’t have given herself so eagerly to just any man. She moaned quietly, as though she were ashamed of her feelings but just as hopelessly lost as he was. Her last remaining caution he kissed away with tender passion. He kissed her face, shoulders and breasts under the thin nightgown she was wearing. He twisted her hair and was about to drown in sensual pleasure. “Won’t you please?” she asked. “Won’t you please?” But he didn’t know whether she was asking him to stop or continue.

It was a fantastic night. Yves had never enjoyed himself more in a woman’s arms. However, he struggled to warm her poor, cold body, whereas he himself was sweaty and feverishly hot and outdid himself in passionate caresses. There was now nothing left of Nicola’s former reluctance: she let all her inhibitions run wild and gave herself fully.

Oh, it was a wonderful night indeed!

Exhausted, they finally fell asleep without thinking about the fact that they had to leave by daybreak, before the cock crew.

Yves felt he was floating on a cloud as he fell deeper and deeper into a pure, righteous slumber.

He woke up to a strange odour in the room.

The light from the grey dawn shone through the uneven window glass and sparsely lit the wall on the opposite side. Nicola was still sleeping, buried beneath the covers.

Dear me! he thought. We were supposed to leave! We have to hurry!

But there was some strange element in the room, something that had awakened him.

It was a dragging, almost soundless noise.

It was coming from the wall covered by the tapestry.

Yves was tingling from an unknown fear, an urge to leave.

He mustn’t wake Nicola before he knew what was going on around him. He didn’t want to frighten her for no reason.

As he carefully sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed he became aware of another more painful condition. He was still ... capable of making love. Though he had noticed during the course of the night that his manhood was apparently inexhaustible, he had nevertheless expected his exhaustion to dampen his excited state. But that had not happened.

However, what happened over by the tapestry was much worse.

The room was too dark for him to make out the details, but there was something there ...

Uneasily he recalled how easy it had been to lift the tapestry away from the wall. And the door behind it ... perhaps it could still be opened from the other side?

The anger of a jealous woman was more dangerous than anything else, he knew that from experience. Yves had been considered a catch in France and many a woman had felt ignored or rejected by him.

For that reason he had to concentrate on protecting Nicola, which he could not do without clothes or weapons. Yves fumbled for his clothes and his sword. But before he got to them his movements froze and he stood as if he had been nailed to the floor, looking in the direction of the tapestry.

There, high up on the wall, something was moving, practically wriggling across the woven tapestry. And then it rushed with a tearing sound across the room, slapped against his face and landed on the bed.

“Nicola,” Yves whispered, frightened.

He couldn’t see what kind of an animal it was.

“Nicola!”

The girl did not wake. Desperately summoning all his courage, he tore the blankets off. He got no further before the thing was upon him, enveloping him so that he could do nothing but defend himself against the sticky and stifling attack.

But Yves was now scared out of his wits. He screamed helplessly and heart-wrenchingly, hit out in all directions and struggled to get free and get away.

For he had now seen what it was! The semi-darkness of the dawn could not conceal what was happening. “Nicola!” he screamed, completely beside himself with panic. “Nicola!”

The thing settled on his mouth, stifling all his screams. It wrapped itself around his body so that he could barely breathe. In a violent effort on his part, he grabbed hold of the animal, managed to tear it loose and tossed it away.

Yves never reached the bed. He fled without a thought for Nicola, he was concerned only with saving his own skin. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would explode as he stumbled out of the door without his clothes or his sword. He thought only of one thing: getting as far away as possible!

The gallery was still dark as he ran through it, stumbling and gasping with fear.

But at that very moment he heard a terrible hissing sound from the thing that was pursuing him. It streaked past him and reached the end of the gallery before he did. Slap! It was on his neck again!

Yves choked and screamed, tore it off of him again and gained an extra second. He slammed the door of the gallery behind him. Now he no longer knew where he was.

He dashed around blindly from room to room, along hallways and around corners, hardly able to see in the dim light coming through the small panes.

He staggered to a door and tore it open.

Too late, he remembered that the carvings he had dimly been able to make out belonged to the door through which the women had come when they bade him welcome.

He immediately tried to get out again, but the door slammed shut behind him and would not open, no matter how much he pulled at it.

Well, at least here he was safe from that horrifying thing! And there had to be a way out somewhere. Perhaps through the servants’ quarters?

His eyes started to adjust to the dark. He went on quickly, going through the next door and entering another room.

But what was lying in front of the door? A body lay there. With dead eyes staring into space. Strangled, dead, the person’s nails were bloody from having desperately scratched at the door.