"There, you see? We're drinking buddies now, you and I. No need for such hostility between soon-to-be family, eh?"

Oisin blinks, clearly taken aback by the Viking's audacity. A grudging chuckle rumbles from his chest as some of the tension bleeds from his stance. But Colm is already grimacing in distaste, no doubt regretting his impulsive quaff of that wretched homebrew.

Seizing my chance, I pipe up in my most innocent childish tones. "Colm, how much is a gold coin worth exactly? Mama won't tell me."

Aislin shoots me a quelling look. "Hush with your questions now, Lile! Such matters are not for a girl child's understanding."

But Oisin is already waving her objection away with a meaty hand. "Pay the whelp no mind, woman. Why burden her addled pup's brain with useless coin values?"

I pout exaggeratedly, but Colm surprises me by answering readily.

"One gold piece holds the value of two-hundred and forty copper pennies in these lands," he says, fixing me with that unsettling emerald stare. "A veritable king's ransom to paupers such as these."

I gape, struggling to appear the picture of childish ignorance even as my mind races. If Colm's earlier words are true and he intends to pay Oisin three full gold pieces upon my flowering...that equals over seven hundred coppers! Enough to purchase a bloody estate and servants, not mere survival through the winter!

Oisin seems to arrive at a similar realization, for a slow, greedy smile splits his ruddy features. "Well then, Viking..." he rumbles, rubbing his whiskery jaw. "If those are yer terms - three silvers each seven-day until the lass flowers, and three gold when she does to claim her...I accept gladly."

His beady gaze slides to my mother, who still kneels frozen beside me. "Though I'll admit curiosity about one final matter, Colm..."

Oisin's thick fingers knot in Aislin's lank hair, forcing her head back so she gasps in surprise and pain. I tense, but the brute simply leers down at her strained features.

"This useless womb has birthed me naught but stillborns and scrawny lasses so far," he sneers. "Mayhap you, as a skilled healer, can cast an eye over the bitch and tell me why she can't seem to keep a proper son in her belly?"

My nails dig bloody crescents into my filthy palms as I fight not to launch myself at the bastard in a blinding fury. How dare he speak of my mother with such vile, dehumanizing cruelty? If this is the "Christian charity" he constantly prattles about, I'll gladly take my chances with the pagan Viking instead!

Colm's striking features harden into a scowl at Oisin's words. For a long moment I think he may simply turn on his booted heel and depart, leaving us to wallow in our squalor.

But at last he gives a curt nod, emerald eyes already raking over Aislin's trembling form with a clinical detachment.

"Very well, peasant. I shall examine your wife and attempt to discern what ails her...for a price."

Oisin turns his beady gaze upon the towering Viking, a sneer twisting his whiskery features. "So what price do you demand for examining the wench, Colm?" he spits out the words like rancid phlegm.

Colm's striking face remains impassive, though his emerald eyes seem to blaze brighter for a moment. "I require no coin from you, peasant," he rumbles in that exotic cadence. "My price is that you cease abusing this poor woman immediately."

I can't help but gape at the Viking's audacity, even as a tiny spark of hope flickers within me. Could he truly put an end to Oisin's cruelty with but a word?

Oisin barks a harsh laugh, his meaty fingers tightening in Aislin's lank hair until she whimpers. "Cease abusing her, you say?" He leans closer, his rancid breath hot on Colm's face. "This useless cow has no soul, heathen! I'll treat my property as I see fit, and feel no pity for beasts that give no milk!"

With a vicious tug, he releases Aislin. She crumples to the dirt floor, shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she clutches her aching scalp. The sight makes my stomach churn with impotent rage toward that bastard.

Colm simply tsks, shaking his head slowly. "If the cow gives no milk, 'tis likely the fault of the farmer - not the beast itself."

Oisin blinks, momentarily taken aback. "What mean you by that, Viking?" he demands, puffing out his chest in a pathetic display of bravado.

"When did you first breed this woman and start demanding issue from her?" Colm asks, his tone deceptively mild. Those piercing emerald eyes bore into Oisin, assessing.

The barest hint of a smirk tugs at one corner of the Viking's mouth as Oisin sputters, "Wh-why, I claimed her maidenhead at twelve winters, as is a husband's right!"

Colm nods once, unsurprised. "Ah, I thought as much. That is the root of your troubles, peasant."

He gestures at Aislin's huddled form with one powerful hand. "This woman is fortunate to have survived birthing even one child, let alone your scrawny brat over there. Demanding sons from a body barely done growing itself was utter folly."

Colm's deep voice rumbles through the cramped chamber once more. "You'd be wise to cease abusing her womb for the next few months at least, Oisin Ban. Choose a different...orifice to sate your lusts, if you must."

Oisin's ruddy face purples with rage at this insult. "I'll have you know, heathen filth, that I've every right to plow whichever hole of my wife pleases me!" he bellows, spittle flying.

But Colm simply arches one mocking eyebrow. "Not if you desire children from her anytime soon, peasant."

So saying, he reaches into the pouch at his belt and withdraws a small glass vial, tossing it deftly to Oisin. My father snatches it from the air clumsily, peering at the viscous liquid within.

"What devilry is this?" he demands, giving the vial a shake.

Colm's lips quirk in a half-smile. "Simply some oil to ease the way for...other forms of penetration, while you allow the wife's courses to return."

Aislin flinches violently at his words, shrinking in on herself. But the Viking ignores her, pinning Oisin with that piercing stare once more.

"Use that on her hindquarters for the next few months instead of abusing her womb further. That is, unless you wish to risk killing her entirely?"

He cocks his head slightly. "Tell me, Aislin Ban - do your monthly courses still arrive to cleanse the fertile ground?"

Aislin shakes her head mutely, eyes downcast. Colm nods as if her answer confirms his suspicions.

"I thought not. You've like as not damaged her too severely already with your...overenthusiastic husbandry."

Oisin scowls, the vial creaking in his thick fingers. "I'll have you know I've no taste for the sodomite's way, Viking," he growls. "Plowing a woman's shitpipe is an affront to decency!"

But Colm's derisive laughter rings out, harsh and mocking. "Then use her mouth to slake your lusts, if you find the notion of her rump so abhorrent!" He shakes his head slowly. "Though truth be told, I've no doubt you already avail yourself of the village whores whenever coin and opportunity allow, do you not?"

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Oisin's scowl deepens, but he doesn't deny the accusation. A cruel chuckle rumbles from Colm's broad chest.

"What, did you think I wouldn't conduct a full accounting of your...habits before paying court here today?" He tsks again, shaking his head. "Unlike you louts, I pride myself on being fully prepared."

"You're a right industrious pig, aren't you?" Oisin sneers, clenching his fists.

But Colm's laughter rings out again, deep and mocking. "At least this pig produces plenty of meat for the larder, unlike your barren sow there!"

His striking features sober somewhat as he continues. "In my homeland, I could simply challenge you to holmgang for the rights to your womenfolk, Oisin Ban. But here in this benighted realm, I'm forced to rely on more...civilized methods of persuasion."

Oisin blinks, momentarily confused. "Holmgang? You mean trial by combat?" He barks another crude laugh, slapping his meaty thigh. "Is that what passes for justice amongst you heathen Norsemen, eh?"

But Colm's eyes narrow to slits, his tone hardening. "Mock all you wish, savage. But at least my people understand the value of feminine power and sovereignty, rather than treating women as soulless beasts."

Oisin sneers again, seemingly unperturbed. "That's because your folk are the true savages here, Viking! Letting cunts and whores run wild, debasing yourselves before their wanton lusts!"

Colm heaves a weary sigh, shaking his head slowly. "There is no point in attempting to speak sense to one so thoroughly brainwashed by the church and nobles into behaving like a mindless brute."

His piercing gaze rakes over Oisin with ill-disguised contempt. "I've tried educating the ignorant peasants in these lands about how to properly treat their ailments and respect the feminine aspect. But you louts are too mired in your own filth and superstition to heed my words."

Oisin snorts derisively. "That's because women are naught but soulless animals, only good for breeding and labor! You'd do well to remember that, Viking."

Colm's only response is a weary sigh as he shakes his head. But I can't help silently cheering his words, a tiny spark of vindication flaring within me. Finally, someone sees the injustice of this primitive society for what it truly is! The Viking's mindset aligns far closer with my own modern sensibilities than these brutish turnip farmers could ever comprehend.

Colm's piercing emerald gaze shifts to my drunken lout of a father. "Tell me, Oisin - do you hold the same callous views regarding your own mother?" he asks, tone deceptively mild.

Oisin snorts derisively, spittle flying from his whiskery lips. "That dried-up crone? I care not a whit for the wretch, save for the fact her womb saw fit to birth me." He takes a long pull from the jug of ale, amber liquid dribbling down his matted beard. "She was naught but a vessel, same as any bitch what whelps pups. A means to an end and nothing more."

My stomach churns with revulsion at his vile words. How can any man speak of the woman who carried and birthed him with such contemptuous cruelty? But Oisin is already continuing his misogynistic rant, thick fingers clenching into meaty fists.

"That's a woman's sole purpose on this thrice-damned earth - to breed and produce whatever her menfolk require!" he snarls. "Naught but brainless animals put on this world to serve, same as the goats and chickens." A cruel smile twists his ruddy features. "At least my dam fulfilled her role well before expiring. More than I can say for this useless sow here."

He gestures contemptuously at Aislin's huddled form with the vial of oil Colm gifted him. I can feel bile scorching the back of my throat as I fight not to vomit at his repugnant words. Aislin flinches violently, shoulders shaking with silent sobs of humiliation and anguish.

But Colm simply arches one mocking eyebrow at my drunken father. "If you wish to sire many healthy sons in future, peasant, you'd be wise to heed my advice regarding your wife," is all he says mildly.

Turning away from Oisin's stupefied expression, the Viking's burning gaze alights upon my slight form. "I shall inspect the girl now before taking my leave," he declares.

Aislin scrambles to her feet, hastening to grasp my hand and tug me closer to the towering figure. I can't suppress a shudder as Colm looms over me, his intense scrutiny making me feel utterly exposed and vulnerable.

Those powerful hands reach out to grasp a hank of my lank blonde hair, holding it up to examine the crawling lice and nits. His nose wrinkles in distaste before releasing the matted strands to let them fall lank against my scalp once more.

Colm crouches before me, calloused fingers prodding and poking as his eyes rove over my scrawny frame with clinical detachment. I flinch as he lifts the tattered hem of my dress, exposing my distended belly and bony thighs. Sure enough, his inspection reveals the telltale dark specks of flea bites mottling my sallow skin.

"I'd wager your quim harbors similar parasites, little one," Colm remarks almost absently. "Though I shan't subject you to such indignity this eve."

He straightens, fixing Oisin with that piercing stare once more. "You will bring the girl to my cottage each seven-day for cleansing and examination, peasant. This is not a request."

Oisin bobs his head quickly, seeming to shrink beneath the Viking's imposing presence. "Aye, aye, I'll do as ye ask," he mumbles.

Colm nods curtly. "Good. On the morrow I shall return to collect Lile and bring maids to begin scouring this sty you call a dwelling." His lip curls in contempt as he sweeps another disparaging look around the cramped, filthy interior.

To my surprise, Oisin simply nods again - far too placidly for the brute who usually rages and bellows at any perceived slight. Colm seems equally taken aback by his subdued acquiescence.

The Viking healer offers my drunken father an ironic salute. "Well then...I shall bid you and your womenfolk farewell for now, Oisin Ban."

With that, he turns on his booted heel and strides toward the door, ducking his towering frame beneath the low lintel. I can't tear my gaze away as Colm's powerful form disappears through the entrance, emerald cloak swirling behind him.

Please, I find myself silently begging as I watch him cross the small garden toward the gate. Please come back and take me away from this waking nightmare! Anywhere has to be better than festering in this reeking cesspit of degradation and cruelty.

But the Viking doesn't look back, his broad shoulders disappearing beyond the fence without a backwards glance. My heart sinks like a stone as I realize I'm well and truly trapped here...for now.

With a guttural, animalistic snarl, Oisin suddenly lunges forward like a striking viper. His thick, meaty fingers seize a hank of Aislin's lank blonde hair in a vicious grip. He wrenches her head back, eliciting a pained whimper from the wretched woman's lips as he drags her bodily across the cramped room.

Oisin shoves Aislin face-down over the rough-hewn table, the impact making the battered wood creak ominously. He presses her cheek against the scarred surface with one ham-sized hand clamped on the back of her skull.

"Put that scrawny arse in the air, bitch!" he snarls, spittle flying from his whiskery maw. "I aim to try out that Viking dog's gift proper!"

Aislin whimpers again but does not dare resist her husband's brutality. She simply folds her arms beneath her head and arches her back, presenting her upturned rump like a bitch in heat awaiting her master's attentions. The sight makes bile scorch my throat.

Aislin turns her face towards me, pale eyes glistening with unshed tears of humiliation and anguish. "Look away, Lile love," she whispers hoarsely. "Go wait in the henhouse till yer father is...finished."

Rage surges through me at her broken resignation. How dare this bastard treat the woman who birthed me like some worthless whore? I will not stand idly by while he defiles her further!

"No Papa, stop!" I cry, darting forward to clutch at his filthy breeches. Tears stream down my cheeks as I gaze up at him imploringly. "Please, why are you hurting Mama?"

Oisin's bloated face contorts in disgust. With one vicious kick, he sends me sprawling backwards onto the hard-packed dirt floor. White-hot agony blossoms in my belly, stealing my breath away in a choked gasp.

"Mind yer own hide, ye worthless brat!" he bellows. "This is a husband's right, not for whelps to question!"

I curl into a protective ball, struggling to inhale through the breathtaking pain. Tears of rage and helplessness stream down my face as I somehow find my voice.

"But...but hurting people is wrong!" I wail. "Jesus says to turn the other cheek, not beat somebody smaller than you!"

Oisin's meaty hand closes around my slender arm in a vise-like grip. He hauls me upright effortlessly, my bare feet leaving the floor. I scream as the back of his palm connects with my cheek in a ringing slap that nearly dislocates my jaw.

The brute slings my limp body facedown atop the table beside Aislin's cringing form. I meet her anguished gaze, reading the desperation and shame burning in those sunken blue depths. In that endless moment, I see the lifetime of torment and degradation this woman has endured reflected in her eyes.

"You evil bastard!" I spit at Oisin through a mouthful of blood. "Hitting a child just to sate your drunken lusts? You're a coward and a monster!"

Oisin's face purples with rage. Grabbing a fistful of my tattered dress, he flips my skirt up over my back in one vicious motion. I hear the whistle of his belt being pulled free as he takes it in both hands.

The first lash catches me square across my upturned rump, the studded leather biting deep. I jerk convulsively, a hoarse scream tearing from my throat. Again and again the belt falls, until I know nothing but the searing agony crisscrossing my flesh.

Eventually, even the screams die in my ravaged throat. I simply lie there twitching, the world fading to black around the edges of my vision. Distantly, I'm aware of Oisin grabbing Aislin by the hair and dragging her stumbling form towards the sleeping quarters.

"Please, husband...forgive me!" she sobs, words slurring. But her pleas echo unheeded off the cracked mud walls.

The brute flings her limp body onto the straw pallet. I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of his belt buckle being undone as he fumbles at the laces of his breeches. Oisin's drunken growl reaches me as if from a great distance.

"Enough whimpering, you useless sow! I aim to fill that worthless mouth and arse proper afore I'm done with you tonight!"

I hear the thick, wet sound of him spitting, followed by Aislin's muffled whimper of resignation. Nausea churns in my belly, mingling with the fiery agony still lancing across my back and thighs. I cannot bear witness to this defilement a moment longer.[...]