The Curse of Pandora's Box By Desiree Acuna © copyright by Desiree Acuna, June 2010 Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, June 2010 ISBN 978-1-60394-438-0 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence. ? Chapter One As Pandora straightened from weeding her little garden patch and arched her back to ease the pain that had begun to throb there, she noticed a child of around seven or eight peering at her from behind the apple tree in the yard across the road from her own cottage. A familiar warmth filled her, but she'd grown so accustomed to it over the years she scarcely even acknowledged it. Flicking her long, dark braid behind her shoulder, she smiled in a friendly way at the young child, wondering if she waved if the child would run screaming to its mother or indulge its curiosity and move a little closer to chat. Loneliness ate at her almost as much as the 'misery', the curse than had been passed down to her from her poor mother, and the possibility of having even the company of a child for a few moments warred with caution. The door to the cottage slammed before she could decide whether to acknowledge the child's curiosity or ignore it-which was usually safest. Her new neighbor stalked toward the child hiding behind the tree and cuffed him on the side of his head. "Ye'll bring a plague down on us, ye hard headed young'un! Ain't I told ye not ta be starin' at the witch?" Indignation flickered through Pandora. "I'm not a witch!" she snapped before she thought better of it, betraying the fact that she'd noticed the child. "Yer cursed is what yer are!" the woman bellowed at her, leaning down to grab a fallen apple from the yard and pitch it at her. "An' anybody yer touch is cursed, too! Stay away from me and mine!" Pandora dodged the apple. Tempted to pick it up and hurl it back at the woman, she paused even as she snatched it up. A rousing good fight might help her feelings but it might only stir up the ire of the rest of the villagers, who barely tolerated her as it was. Actually, they didn't precise tolerate her. She had little doubt that they would've run her out of the village long since if they weren't afraid to approach her. She couldn't afford to provoke more animosity. Individually, they feared coming anywhere near her, but she couldn't afford to take the chance that that would remain true if enough of them became angry to form a mob. Making an obscene gesture at the woman instead, she rubbed the apple on her skirt and lifted it to examine it. "Thank you for the apple, Mistress Renfroe. I could bake a pie if you could spare a few more." She was sorry she'd tossed the sarcastic comment almost as soon as she had for it immediately occurred to her that she really would've enjoyed an apple pie. The woman spat at her instead of throwing more apples. Catching the child by one ear, she led him back into their cottage. Pandora stared at the door of the cottage for a few moments and finally transferred her attention to the tree, studying it speculatively. Noticing that three or four apples had fallen over the garden wall into the dusty road, she decided to collect them and have her pie after all! Pulling open the rickety gate to her own yard, she marched across the road and knelt to gather up the apples she'd noticed. It was the only advantage of being the 'accursed' as far as she could see-not that there should've been any advantage, she supposed-but she considered it one. Everyone was so fearful of coming anywhere near her that she was perfectly safe to help herself to anything that fell unclaimed, or wandered, into the road. All she had to do was start forward to collect it and they ran for their lives and abandoned it to her. It supplemented her livelihood very nicely. She had a pen full of chickens and even an old cow. With the garden where she grew her own herbs and vegetables, she got by just fine. It was a lonely life, though, since her mother's terrible death. Although she couldn't help but be happy for her mother that her trials had finally ended, regardless of the manner of her release, she was very sorry for herself. She was lonelier than she'd ever been in her life. She'd at least had a few friends before she'd inherited her mother's curse and she'd had her mother, although, truthfully, her mother had been far too consumed by the curse to be a great deal of company for her only daughter. Four years earlier, though, her mother had finally found the ultimate release. She'd become so maddened by the insatiable itch that could not be assuaged that she'd coaxed the Brenner's bull into coupling with her and the beast had turned on her and trampled her. They'd had to slay the bull, for it had instantly gone on a rampage and tried to mount all of the village women. She was almost sorry they'd killed the damned thing before it got to her. At least all her troubles would have been over, as they had been for her mother! Instead, the villagers had caught up with the bull and slain it and she'd had to live with the horrible curse she'd inherited on her twentieth birthday, the same age her mother had been when she'd been cursed! She didn't know whether to curse the fates, the evil gnome who'd cursed her mother, or her mother. She tried not to think badly of her mother. Her mother had never been terribly clever and, beyond that, she had been born so fair that she'd been indulged far too much. It wasn't truly her fault. If she'd been gifted with more brains and less beauty it never would have happened. She would never have caught the eye of the gnome-or she would've had more sense than to provoke him. Fate had thrown her mother in the path of the gnome, but it had been her mother's arrogance that had ultimately been her downfall. If she had tried to placate the gnome instead of spurning him out of hand, and laughing at him, he might not have been inspired to place such a terrible curse on her and her line forever! As he desired her more than he had ever desired another mortal woman, he cursed her to suffer as he did-to be doomed forever to unrequited desires that would consume her and any who touched her. And he had made certain the villagers all knew that it would bring her plague upon them if they touched her. The only bright side to the entire, awful mess, was that the villagers took the threat to heart. They wouldn't come near her-which meant they were also not inclined to harm her. She was certain they wanted to, or at least to run her from the village, but they were too afraid of the curse to do more than shun her. The sound of shod hooves along the hard packed road caught Pandora's attention as she scooped up the last of the apples and tucked it in the pocket she'd made of the front of her skirt. She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes in that direction, trying to pierce the shadows of the forest that had deepened as the sun set below the horizon. In a few moments, she discerned a magnificent horse. Upon the back of the horse rode and even more magnificent knight. Awe instantly swept over her and a wave of desire so potent she felt faint with it. Her heart seemed to pick up the rhythm of the horse's hooves as it cantered toward her. The ache never far began to throb far worse until she was dizzy and could hardly catch her breath. The nearer he came, the worse it got until she was certain she would have done something drastic if she hadn't been too frozen with awe and indecision to move. As he emerged at last from the shadows cast by the overhanging limbs of the forest, the waning light of dusk illuminated a face that was harshly male-a warrior's face-and yet she'd never seen a man more well favored by the fates. He was almost like male beauty personified and beautifully formed beyond that, his chest and shoulders impossibly broad, his arms and thighs thick with the muscles of his trade. Her desire became a conflagration. Her breasts felt painfully swollen. Her nipples felt as if she was being tortured with hot pinchers and her woman's place wept, fluttering with such yearning and excitement that it made her belly cramp. He slowed his horse as he spotted her. Pandora tensed, struggling with the sudden urge to try to leap up at him when he drew his stallion to a stop directly beside her. "What village is this, fair maid?" His voice was deep, melodious. It made her sex contract more frantically, made her throat grow dry, scattered her wits. She gaped at him, struggling to find words. Slowly, his smile faded and a frown appeared between his brows. "Have I frightened the wits from you, little maid? I mean you no harm, I assure you. I've come a long way and I've no interest in much beyond food, a bath to wash away the dirt of my travels, and a bed-to sleep in." He flushed slightly at the last, dragging his gaze from her bosom. Pandora hadn't even realized his gaze had come to rest on her bosom until she saw his eyes move upward to her face. She'd been far too focused on his hard thighs and her curiosity of what lay between them. "Hempstead Hamlet," she said a little hoarsely. "There's an inn about the center of the village … Sir Knight." His fine lips curled, sending another wave of dizziness through her. "Have you a name little maid?" "Pan … Pansy, my lord," Pandora lied, realizing immediately that he might well have heard of her even if he was a stranger. He certainly would if he asked about her at the inn! "A lovely name for a very lovely maid," he murmu...
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