Sarah opened her eyes. She shivered and felt very cold. She looked around. Nothing seemed familiar. The light was dim. She was lying on some sort of straw mattress with some rude makeshift gray sheets that seemed to make do for bedding material. Sarah felt it graze her skin. It felt rough and heavy. Hemp, thought Sarah. It felt like hemp. Sarah raised herself to a sitting position on the crude bed. She felt groggy and unsteady due to the effects of the sleeping potion. She looked around her.  The air smelled dank and heavy. As far as she could make out she was in some sort of cave or underground cavern. The walls were made of dark, granite rock. Sarah put out a hand. The rocks felt damp. She could smell the sea air. She could actually hear the roar of the ocean pounding relentlessly in the distance. She looked up hard at the ceiling and saw what looked like some religious symbols carved out in the stone. She thought she could just make out some words written in Welsh.
“Saint Owens’s Abbey,” Sarah read out loud.
Saint Owen's Abbey!  Sarah’s beautiful green eyes grew wide with surprise.  She was lying in a cavern beneath the ruins of the old Abbey. But what was she doing there?  This must have been a hiding place for the Druids when the Roman invasion of North Wales took place a thousand years before. How did she get here? And why?  Was this a plot of her father to shut her up? Surely her father couldn’t be that cruel. It didn’t add up. Was he afraid she would go to the police?
Sarah heard a movement.
“So you’re awake then.”
Sarah looked up and found herself gazing into that full red mouth, high, wide set cheek bones, long wavy dark hair, and that pair of soft, brown eyes glinting with a hint of steely determination.  It was the Stranger, the man she had met at the Abbey only a few nights before. She looked closer. No, this man was not Hugh St. Owen, she realized. It never could be him. Instead of the warm, compassionate gaze of the man who wanted so much to make wild, passionate love to her, she knew instinctively that this man would not ask. He would take what he needed, whether she wanted it or not.
“You’re not Hugh St. Owen,” Sarah muttered through a drugged haze.  Every moment she felt her senses becoming more lucid. “Just what am I doing here?”
The stranger looked down at her. He had cast off most of his clothes. All he was wearing was a white, very revealing loin cloth, which left no doubt as to the size of his manhood straining to release itself from the confines of the white cloth. He seemed impervious to the cold of the icy cavern.
He thrust his face very near to Sarah’s.
“Oh, but I am. My name is Hugh St. Owen. But I am from a very different time and space from the man you speak of.”
Sarah smelled the aroma of musk and body odor issuing from the man’s pores. In spite of herself she felt aroused.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
The Stranger extended his hands and grabbed Sarah’s arms firmly while she sat up on the crude cot.
“To save you, Sarah. To save you,” he whispered. He looked intently into the beautiful woman’s eyes.
This was almost more than Sarah could bear. She averted her eyes from the fire of lust she could feel searing through the man and directed at her person.
“Save me?” Sarah swung her head around and looked angrily into the man’s impossibly liquid gaze. “How can you save me?”
The stranger reached out and ran his hand through the tangled mass of Sarah’s red hair.
He licked his full red lips.
“By making love to you,” he replied in his strong Welsh accent. “By showing you what love really is.”
Sarah shivered again. This time it was not with cold, not even with fear, but with – she noted with some shock – nervous anticipation. Was she going mad?
Sarah licked her own lips. The man hesitated. He turned around and lifted a cup of what looked like red wine to Sarah’s parched mouth.
“Here, my lovely. Drink this.”
Another sleeping potion, thought Sarah?  This was all she needed.  But thirst was winning the battle against caution. Sarah seized the wine cup from the Stranger’s hand and drank greedily to ease her parched throat.
Instantly, Sarah felt herself on fire.  Her whole body felt consumed. Her loins raged for release. She realized that the longing wasn’t for sleep  - but for sex. Sarah’s mouth dropped open in horror as the beautiful Stranger started to massage her breasts through her clothing. She stared almost paralyzed with shock and desire as the man ripped through her bodice.  The man’s hands started to caress her eager nipples.  Fire coursed through her veins.  Her creamy white breasts thrust themselves up into his magic hands, giving themselves up to lust and desire. The Stranger bent his mouth close to her ears.
“Lie back. Lie back,” he whispered.
Sarah lay back almost as if in a trance.
The man lifted up Sarah’s dress and his supple hands found the entrance to her womanhood.  Dexterously, the Stranger slipped his fingers inside the smooth slit and massaged her already moist opening.  The man’s fingers felt like soft feathers of silk as it drove Sarah even wilder and wilder with desire. She had never known such pleasure. Sarah spread her legs wider with anticipation.  She looked up at the stranger. The man had removed his loincloth. There he stood. Muscles rippled on an almost perfect body.  His enormous penis stood at attention, ready to penetrate the virginal canyons of flesh.
Sarah drew herself up to him. She just could not wait. The man was going to rape her. And she wanted it. The drug made her feel no pain.  No shame. The large mushroom head of his manhood tore at the opening of her sex, trying to force it’s way in.
At that moment Sarah felt a rush of  fluid ready to ease the way for the sexual battering ram that was pounding at the door.
The penis penetrated her virginal barrier and he was ready to thrust it all the way in. Sarah winced in pain yet her body sorely waited for full engagement.  The Stranger squatted on top of the bed, and Sarah ran her fingers around the man’s well-developed hindquarters. They were covered with fine, soft hair. Sarah ran her fingers down the man’s backside reveling in its sheer strength. The Stranger’s eyes lit up and he growled with delight and pleasure.
  She lifted up her body to accommodate the monster. She needed it inside her. She needed him inside her. She could not last a moment longer. The fire inside her body could not be ignored. She wanted it now!
“What the hell is going on here?”
A voice from what seemed a long distance thundered across the cavern.
The Stranger lifted his naked body off the bed and swung around. Sarah raised herself up. She threw her skirt around her legs in shame and surprise at this interruption.  She felt like she had been slapped in the face.
The naked man stood there tall and proud, unselfconsciously pointing his huge erection at the intruder.
Sarah peered across the room. There, right in front of her was the tall, commanding figure of Hugh St. Owen’s grandfather, Peter St. Owen.
The old man repeated his question.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
The Stranger still posed defiantly, flaunting his engorged penis at the old man.
“What does it look like, old man?” he said, “What does it look like I am doing?” He shrugged his shoulders defiantly. “Something that is probably just a memory for you, I would imagine.” The Stranger threw back his head in an arrogant motion.
“Get dressed at once,” said Peter St. Owen.  “I can see what you are doing. Taking advantage of a young, defenseless girl. Where do you get the right?”
“She was very willing, old man,” said the Stranger, “Very willing indeed.”
“I’m sure she was,” said Peter St. Owen, “Particularly when you had plied her with an aphrodisiac no doubt administered in the wine.”
So, the Stranger had done this before, thought Sarah. He had attempted to rape her but had not quite succeeded in his forced entry.
Sarah felt tired but relieved. She was thankful the old gentleman had appeared when he did. But it still did not explain what she was doing here, and how she could possibly be raped by a ghost.
“Get out!” the old man shouted, “Get out of here!”
“We’ll meet again grandfather,” sneered the Stranger. He brushed past Peter St. Owen still completely naked, and walked out of an exit at the far end of the cavern.
Sarah lay back.
“The old gentleman walked up to her bed.
“I am so sorry, my dear,” he said, “Are you all right?”
Sarah nodded groggily. She then couldn’t stop herself. Emotions overwhelmed her and she burst into tears.
“Oh, I feel so ashamed of myself,” she said through her tears, “I would have let that man rape me if you hadn’t come along. I really wanted him to do it….”
“Hush, hush, my dear,” said the old man. “No one could have resisted the power of that aphrodisiac mixed with wine. The effect is too powerful. It will wear off soon.”
Sarah nodded. Even so, part of her really wanted to be taken by the handsome stranger, and she knew it had nothing to do with the drug.
“I think you had better explain what I am doing here,” said Sarah. She attempted to smooth her tangled, wild red hair. “Is that man your grandson? Who brought me here? And,” she paused, “And Hugh told me that you died over fifteen years ago? Are you a ghost? Why am I here? What is going on?”
Sarah felt another wave of emotion engulf her and started to cry again.
“There, there now.” The old gentleman patted Sarah’s hand and handed her a beautiful old laced handkerchief with which to dab her eyes. Sarah noticed the monogram on a corner of the silk cloth: PSO. Peter St. Owen.
The old gentleman sat down on the rumpled bed and stared thoughtfully at the white loincloth the Stranger had carelessly left on the bed. He looked at the young woman.
“I can assure you, Sarah, I am no ghost. You’ve been through a lot, young lady. And in a very short period of time. I would hate to try and explain everything to you right now in your present state. The best thing to do is get you back to your house as soon as possible.”
Sarah looked at Peter St. Owen. Just how were they going to do that?
“I made an anonymous phone call a short while ago,” said Peter St. Owen, reading her thoughts.  “We will ascend up the stairs to the castle ruins and a car will be there waiting to take you back to your house.”
Sarah shivered at the thought of going back to that house where so many unhappy instances had lately occurred. How was she going to face her father?
As if reading her thoughts again, Peter St. Owen spoke.
“Sarah, listen to me. Your father was not responsible for what happened upstairs in Vivien’s room. He was under the complete control of that vicious old witch.”
Sarah could only think that he was referring to her stepmother, Vivien, as the witch. He had done so before.
Sarah looked hard at the old man.
“How did you know about the occurrence in my stepmother’s bedchamber, sir?” she asked.
“Walls have ears, my dear,” he replied. “But for now, let’s get you back to the relative safety of home. Let me help you to your feet.”
Sarah got up unsteadily, leaning on the old gentleman’s tall, solid frame. She realized that she was wearing no shoes, and she was wearing only a nightdress.  The old man bent down and managed to produce a pair of old worn men’s slippers, which, although large for the lovely young woman, were at least serviceable for the moment.
Sarah walked unsteadily across the cavern, still leaning on the old man’s arm, and slowly ascended some old, worn stone steps, leaving the cavern behind. In a few more moments the old man opened an old wooden door and Sarah once again found herself among the Abbey ruins in broad daylight.  It took a few moments for Sarah to get use to the evening sunlight. Sarah could see that the sun was slowly sinking in the West.  Low cumulus clouds highlighted a very red April sunset.  If it were not for her present condition, Sarah knew she could have appreciated the vista even more.  She felt absolutely exhausted.
Just at that moment the sound of a car broke the roar of the Irish Sea below. Sarah turned around and there was Hugh St. Owen walking impatiently towards her.
Sarah froze with fear. Was this the Stranger or Hugh St Owen? Could the Stranger be both men? She turned to ask Peter St. Owen for assistance. He was gone. Nowhere to be seen.  What should she do now?  Was this another trap? Was she going to be raped again? Sarah felt herself grow faint, and before she could stop herself the young woman felt herself drift once again into unconsciousness.
 
 

Was this indeed another moment of danger for Sarah? Were Hugh St. Owen and the Stranger indeed one and the same man?  Why had he attempted to rape her – and why did she enjoy it so much? If the old man wasn’t a ghost, what was he doing in the ruins of Saint Owen’s Abbey? See the next exciting installment in Chapter 11 of Sarah Llewellyn and the Druid’s Curse!
 

Read Chapter 11: An Unwelcome Visitor
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