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Message-ID: <47697asstr$1083715807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 30
Lines: 402
Date: Tue,  4 May 2004 20:10:07 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 030.txt" begin>

Rebel 030 (Old Bill) (MFF hist)

Virtue Rewarded

	During one of the many lulls in the New York campaign 
engendered by Howe's reluctance or inability to make up his mind, 
Captain Martin had a visit from his wife and her comely sister, 
Brigid.  The captain was lieutenant Foster's commanding officer, and 
he volunteered himself to squire the sister about, hardly a hardship 
since she was so bright and pretty.  I was dragooned to drive the 
chaise and stand guard while they picnicked and dallied in the glen 
from time to time.  One afternoon Foster was actually busy, and the 
captain and another young officer were in the party I drove out to a 
wooded hillside with a hamper of food and a few bottles of wine.   
It was near sunset and time to head back when the trouble 
occurred.  I was brushing the horses and listening to the captain and 
his wife enjoy each other with grunts and squeals, when there were 
shots and screams.  I grabbed my musket and hurried toward the 
sounds.
   Brigid appeared, running like the devil was right behind 
her.  At just about the time she reached me and fell at my feet a man 
emerged at the treeline.  He knelt and fired at us.  I felt the ball whir 
past and took careful aim.  My shot knocked him on his back, 
kicking, and I turned my attention to the wailing girl while I put my 
hands to reloading.

	Her dress was torn from one shoulder and her hair was awry, 
but she did not seem hurt.

	"They took Susie," she cried.  "Took her away."

	"What about the men?" I asked, ramming the charge home.

	"I don' know," she moaned.  "Oh lord."

	"Go sit in the carriage," I said.  I went cautiously into the 
woods and found the captain sitting on the ground with a bloody 
mouth, and then the young subaltern appeared from among the 
trees, seemingly unhurt but very shaky.  There was no sign of the 
other woman.

	"They jumped us," the captain moaned, his foreflap still 
undone.  "Poor woman."

	"Must'a been twenty a'them," the lieutenant said, his eyes 
round and frightened.  "Nothing we could do."

	"Two dozen at least," said the captain.  "They took my wife 
away."

	"We better go for help," the other man said.	

	I walked back to the carriage with them.  Brigid was furious.

	"Why aren't you after them?" she demanded. "Hurry!"

	"There's one gun between the three of us," the captain 
explained, taking the reins and shaking off the grip of his wife's 
sister.

	"We'll bring back the troop," the younger officer assured her.  
"Come on."

	"No," the girl yelled, jumping down.  "You're cowards.  I'm 
going after her."  She stalked toward the trees and the officers left 
in a hurry.  I caught up with her and held her arm.  She tried to 
twist away and then fell against me, pounding my chest with her 
fists and then holding me tightly, sobbing.  I patted her back and 
enjoyed the feel of her strong body until she calmed, and then we 
found the trail on the backside of the hill where she had last seen 
her sister and the attackers.

	"I think there were six or seven of them.  I was, well, rather 
busy, and that boy I was with ran and hid when the first shot was 
fired."  She sniffed and pulled her dress higher on her shoulder.

	The man I had shot was a ragged ruffian, middle-aged and 
poorly shod.  He had crawled into the woods to die, but he had a 
musket and some powder so I took that to add to my own.

	 We followed a well-worn trail that led to a clearing near a 
mountain brook, perhaps a mile away.  From what I could hear as 
we approached, the robbers were celebrating their victory and 
deviling or raping the young woman.  Her screams punctuated their 
drunken boasts.  Brigid covered her ears and squatted behind a 
tree.

	"Stay here," I told her in the gathering gloom.  "Be quiet."

	She nodded and sniffed.  I loaded the spare musket and gave 
it to her with some brief instructions on its use.  She seemed to 
understand and sat with the thing across her lap, a damn pretty 
woman, still furious and nearly popping out of her tight-fitting dress.

	Worn tents encircled a campfire and the men I could see were 
drinking and eating, passing an earthenware jug back and forth.  I 
counted five. The screams and cries for help came from the tent on 
the far side of the circle so I crept through the woods and came up 
on it from the back.  I put down my gun and slit open the back of 
the tent with my bayonet.

	Suzanne's hands had been tied to the cot, but her legs were 
free, and she was making it very difficult for the man with his 
britches around his knees to do what he had in mind.  I stepped into 
the tent, clamped my hand over his mouth and jabbed my big blade 
right through his throat, tearing out the front of his neck.  He died 
quietly in a torrent of blood that flowed down the tent wall.  I let 
him fall.

	I cut the girl loose and pulled her out of the back of the tent 
and then ran, her wrist in my grip, until I was sure we were clear of 
the fire light.  She was almost buck naked and now blood spattered.  
She fell once, cried out and I shushed her.  We found her sister 
where I had left her, and they embraced.  I gave her my hunting 
shirt to wear over her torn shift.  It covered her to the knees, and 
she almost laughed when she waved the long sleeves into which her 
hands had disappeared.  She wiped some of the would-be rapist's 
blood from her face.

	Suddenly the sound from the nearby camp changed from 
laughter to silence.  Then there was a roar, an angry roar.  "Come 
on," I whispered to the women, taking both weapons and heading 
back for the trail.  We ran for several rods, before Suzanne cried, "I 
can't.  My ankle's hurt."

	I pulled them behind a big rock around which the trail bent, 
and we waited, puffing, to see if we were being pursued.  We could 
hear men in the damp woods calling to each other, but it was too 
dark to see very much.  I sent the two women on ahead along the 
well-marked path, one supporting the limping other, and waited 
with both muskets cocked.  Patience was rewarded.  In a few 
minutes two men crept past my hiding place, waving weapons from 
side to side, poking at bushes with their muzzles and whispering to 
each other.  When they both had passed, I drew down in the 
nearest one, closed my eyes so the flash would not blind me 
temporarily, fired, opened my eyes, put down that weapon, picked 
up the other, and found my target.  He had turned and was about 
to shoot at me. I closed my eyes and fired again just as the other 
man did.  His ball hit the big stone beside me head high and flying 
fragments of lead and granite cut my forehead and cheek as it 
whirred away.

	I grabbed my empty muskets and ran up the trail, jumped over 
the two writhing bodies, and soon caught up with the women.  We 
made out way back to the clearing where I had waited with the 
carriage, and then I reloaded both muskets while they sobbed 
together for their misfortunes.  We waited beside a fallen tree, 
listening for at least a half hour before I decided it was safe to talk 
about what we should do.  My heart was still thumping hard, and 
I'm sure theirs were too.  I felt the captain's wife's bare foot and 
found her ankle badly swollen.

	 "We can't stay here," Brigid whispered, her chest heaving.  
"They'd kill us in the morning if they don't find us tonight."

	"Remember the inn we passed coming up the hill?" I asked, 
assuming the bandits were not going to blunder around in the dark 
and take more casualties.  I guessed there were still three or four left 
out there somewhere and was sure they were pretty unhappy.

	"I can't walk that far," Suzanne said, leaning on my shoulder.  
"I'm sorry."

	"I'll carry you.  Your sister can tote our guns."

	I got the woman up on my back, her knees on my ribs, my 
arms under her legs and her arms around my neck, and we started 
off.  We walked fast for ten minutes, rested for a couple and then 
walked ten more minutes.  She was not very heavy, but in some 
places the trees shadowed the road, and we had to proceed very 
carefully down its grassy verge. I enjoyed feeling her breasts rub 
against my ears.

	"I'm hungry and these things are heavy," Brigid said at our 
second rest.

	"Didn't you eat back yonder?" I asked, stretching my sore 
muscles and backbone.

	"Ladies just nibble," she said with a smile I could see in the 
dark.

	Three rests later we could see the glowing windows of the 
tavern.

	"Either of you have any money?" I asked when I had 
recovered enough breath to talk at all.  They looked at each other 
and shook their heads.  I was penniless as well.  "Hope they're 
charitable down there," I said as I picked the woman up in my arms 
and started down the hill enjoying the pleasant sensation of her 
head on my shoulder and her hip in my hand.  Brigid followed, 
dragging the muskets' butts along the ground and complaining.

	I put the woman down at the doorway, and we went in and 
found a table in a dark corner of the smoky room.  No one seemed 
to notice my two muskets or bare chest, the torn condition of one 
girl's dress nor the fact that the other's bare legs showed and that 
she was shoeless.  Everyone minded his own mug and pipe. It was 
just the kind of place we needed.  I went to talk with the inn-keeper, 
a lean and taciturn man with a bad eye and terrible small pox scars 
on one side of his face.

	"We were robbed up the road a piece," I told him after we had 
exchanged names.

	He nodded.

	"Ain't got no money," I told him.  "Give you a musket for food 
and lodging, oh, and a shirt if you can spare one."

	"Don't need no gun.  How `bout gi'me one a'them wimmen?"

	"Tain't mine to give," I told him with a smile.  "Officers' wives."

	"Where's their men?"

	"Gone for reinforcements," I said, raising an eyebrow to show 
I wasn't really pleased about that fact.

	"A crown," he said.  "Can y'write?"

	I nodded and he produced a square of paper and a pen and 
ink bottle.  "Write it out and sign it," he said.  "Five shillings."

	I signed; he gave me an old, collarless shirt that probably had 
been used as a rag, and we ate, half expecting the captain and his 
cavalry troop to arrive at any moment.  I ordered some more beer 
and a pipe, and tried not to smile as the women gobbled their food 
and washed it down like real trenchermen.  They evidently felt no 
need to be ladylike around me.  I wondered if I should tell them that 
the cider they were swilling was not just apple juice.

	"That's her, the bitch," a man yelled from the middle of the 
room.  "Over there."

	Two men in filthy clothes pushed their way across the room, 
tossing chairs aside.  One produced a large pistol.  They both looked 
angry and stump stupid.

	"That's my woman," said the man with the pistol, pointing at 
Suzanne whose bruised face showed her shock.  He smelled like a 
pig sty and looked a walking rag pile.

	I reached up, put my hand behind his head and smashed his 
face down on the table while he was still looking at the women. His 
half-cocked pistol fell in Suzanne's lap as he dropped to his knees, 
blubbering, his nose crushed and lips split.  I stood before the other 
man could pull his knife, my big bayonet in my hand.

	"Outside," I said, nodding toward the door.  "Drag him out 
with you."  The thief on the floor was moaning, bleeding and feeling 
at his mouth.

	The big, angry man lifted his friend under the arms and pulled 
him to the doorway.  When I reached to open the door, he dropped 
his burden and yanked out his knife.  I still had mine in my hand, 
parried his thrust upward and pinned him to the doorpost with my 
long blade buried squarely in the middle of his chest.  He made an 
awful noise, dropped his knife and tried to claw at my face and arm 
while his blood poured out over my hand.

	His friend with the smashed nose scrambled to his feet, 
cursing, reached for his missing pistol and then jumped on me and 
got a forearm across my throat.  I pushed back hard, smashing him 
against the other doorjamb with my elbow, pulled my blade loose, 
turned and slashed him open.  He screamed, took a step or two 
away from the tavern and fell on his face with curl of his purple guts 
spilling out beneath him.  The doorway ran with blood on both sides 
and I had a good bit on my arms and knees.  The inn-keeper and I 
dragged the bodies out into the woods and left them in a gully for 
the animals to take care of.  When we got back inside, he poured me 
a whisky while I wiped off my arms.

	"Glad to be rid a'them two," he said, wiping his hands on his 
breeches while I cleaned mine on his bar rag.   It was good whisky, 
potent stuff, and I felt it all the way to my stones.

	The women were full of questions as I ushered them up the 
stairs.  The room had a square bed plenty big enough for all three of 
us, and I expect that four or more had slept there many times.  I 
offered to sleep on the floor or out in the stable.  They insisted I 
stay.

	"I snore, they tell me," I said as Brigid pulled off her shoes and 
doffed her ruined dress making "tsk, tsk" noises while her round 
boobies bobbled invitingly after she shed her small set of stays.

	"I suppose they'll be here in the morning," Suzanne said, rolling 
up my shirtsleeves.  "I mean my husband, his men."

	"Yes," I agreed.  "They seldom ride at night."

	The women whispered together in bed while I pulled off my 
boots.  Then I lay down on top of the quilts and turned my back to 
them.

	Brigid put her hand on my shoulder.

	"You ever bedded two girls at the same time?" she said quietly.  
I heard her sister stifle a giggle, a remarkable sound from a woman 
saved from being raped by a gang of cutthroats.

	"No," I lied.

	"You were very brave today," Brigid said. "Twice."

	"Yes, indeed," Suzanne echoed, putting her hand on my thigh.  
"Very brave.  You deserve some sort of reward."

	"Go to sleep, women," I said.  "I'm tuckered, wore out."

	Brigid stroked my arm and then ran her hand up under my 
borrowed shirt.  "Are these scars?" she asked, touching the welts 
with her fingertips as she turned toward me, lips pouting.

	"Sleep," I said, feeling my root begin to tremble. The room 
seemed very warm.

	"You're not even under the covers," Brigid said, kicking at me.

	Suzanne rolled out and limped around the big bed.  She stood 
beside me, clearly illuminated in the moonlight with my big shirt 
hanging loosely from her narrow shoulders.  Her long hair hung in 
heavy hanks like wool waiting to be carded.

	"He's still got his britches on," she said, fumbling at my 
waistband and bending over so I could look down the front of my 
own shirt at her firm body.  My stupid shaft filled and throbbed 
under her prying hands, bobbing up against her wrists.  She seemed 
to ignore it despite it size and heat.

	Brigid yanked out the quilts and her sister pulled my britches 
off and then crept in beside me so I was trapped between them, 
almost fully erect.  Our hips touched.  They both turned toward me 
and put their hands on my chest as I lay on my back, hardening still 
more, lifting the quilt to a tent like shape. I raised one leg to conceal 
my turgid condition.  I had dreamed of such a position from time to 
time and managed it with now and again when I was briefly richer 
and a great deal dumber, one woman is plenty for me or any man.  I 
turned and kissed the one on my right, the younger sister, nibbling 
her lower lip and rubbing her leg with my randy root, and then 
turned back to kiss the captain's wife and meet her tongue. Their 
hands explored and so did mine.

	After that it got rather confused.  I remember Brigid saying, 
"Don't wear him out," as I horsed her eager and gasping sister until 
she sighed for me to stop and unwrapped her legs from about my 
waist, creamy and satisfied.  When it was her turn, the younger girl 
enjoying being on top and bounced along merrily with her hair flying 
in all directions, prodding me with her knees and squealing when 
she came, my hands filled with her firm breasts.  I finally fell asleep in 
soft arms, whispering promises.

	I awoke aroused, as I usually was, and the younger girl urged 
her sister to make a trip to the necessary after I took her hand to my 
hugely swollen, blood-hot shaft.  I was reared up between Brigid's 
strong legs before the girl in my long shirt closed the door after 
peeking back with a smile.  We had a frantic and boisterous coupling, 
and then the women traded places while I used the pot, and Brigid 
left Suzanne and me alone, offering needless advice as she crept out.  
I remember that young woman kicking me with her good foot and 
squealing like a sow when we reached our peak.  Damn, but I did 
love mornings.  When Brigid returned, I had her at the foot of the 
bed until she squealed and collapsed, and then I pulled Susie to the 
side of the mattress, spread her legs and slid what I had left into 
her.  My sodden pike was welcomed and rose again, not fully or 
wonderfully, but enough to satisfy us both.  When she fell back on 
the bed, arms spread wide and smiling, Brigid pulled herself up by 
grabbing my legs, and took my wasted member into her wet mouth.  
She sucked me hard, and then we knelt together and used what she 
had wrought until she gasped, and I covered her mouth with mine 
as she screamed in my throat. I eased her down to the floor and 
enjoyed her until I finally managed to come again and her feet beat a 
tattoo on the boards and her sister pulled on my hair, demanding 
that I stop.  It was a fine morning, one of my best.

	I heard the clatter of horses while I was in the privy, and by 
the time I had finished, the captain had reclaimed his damaged wife.  
He offered me overwhelming thanks.  I had him pay the crown I 
owed and tried not to listen to the criticism his wife and her sister 
were flailing him with.  They both came and shook my hand, rose on 
tip-toe and kissed my cheek before they took their leave.  Very 
demure, they were.  They even curtsied.

	Susanne whispered, "I'll bring you back your shirt some night."

	"Hope we'll see you again," Brigid called as they drove off.

	I smiled and hoped so too.
<1st attachment end>


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