He moved faster than she would have guessed for a man that size, too. Before her third breath or step, huge hands clamped around her upper arms and lifted her right off her pumping feet. At this range she could see that their nails were not just dirty but utterly black, like claws. They bit through her jacket as he swung her around.

She yelled as loud as she could, “Let go of me! Let go!” followed up with throat-searing screams. She kicked and struggled with all her strength. It was like fighting an oak tree, for all the result she got.

“Well, now you’ve got her all riled up,” said the young man in disgust. He too slid off the horse, stared a moment, and pulled off the rope holding up his trousers. “We’ll have to tie her hands. Unless you want your eyes clawed out.”

Good idea. Fawn tried. Useless: the simpleton’s hands remained clamped on her wrists, yanked high over her head. She writhed around and bit a bare, hairy arm.

The huge man’s skin had a most peculiar smell and taste, like cat fur, not as foul as she would have expected. Her satisfaction at drawing blood was short-lived as he spun her around and, still without visible emotion, fetched her an open-handed slap across the face that snapped her head back and dropped her to the road, black-and-purple shadows boiling up in her vision.

Her ears were still ringing when she was jerked upright and tied, then lifted.

The simpleton handed her up to the young man, now back aboard his horse. He shoved at her skirts and set her upright in front of him, both hands clamped around her waist. The horse’s sweaty barrel was warm under her legs. The simpleton took the reins to lead them and started walking once more, faster.

“There, that’s better,” said the man who held her, his sour breath wafting past her ear. “Sorry he hit you, but you shouldn’t have run from him. Come on along, you’ll have more fun with me.” One hand wandered up and squeezed her breast.