The Viking's Captive(11)

The two men slipped sideways. They were both malnourished and exhausted. He could almost have killed them with a sneeze.

Their parting exposed his woman. Reaching forward, he clasped her wrist and pulled her from the other slaves.

“No, no, don’t take her,” the older female who’d shared her blanket with his slave shouted. “Leave her be, you brute.”

Halvor ignored her. She wasn’t worth the energy arguing with and was a fool to think he’d do her bidding.

“Get off me.” Small fingers tried to peel at his hand.

He increased his hold and dragged his slave past the Jarl’s wares being unloaded, and headed down the pier.

The sun was shining and he breathed deep, appreciating the scents of home.

“I said get off me.” The wench yanked and struggled. “You savage,” she said, clawing at him.

He’d had enough.

Turning, he dragged her close and slapped his palm onto her lower back, pressing her to his body.

Her eyes widened as her chest shoved up against his and she gripped his tunic.

She was so tiny and delicate, it took him virtually no effort to move her where he wanted her. For a moment he thought of her slender limbs and pale skin hidden beneath the rags she likely called clothes. Of her young breasts and the shape of her ass… the warm tightness that sat between her thighs.

“How old are you, wench?”

“What do you care?”

“Because I do.” He frowned and resisted sliding his hand to her ass. If she was too young, he should perhaps send her to live elsewhere for a few years. One of his friends, maybe, who had a woman in the house to teach his slave her tasks.

She pursed her lips, almost a pout.

“Tell me.” Had he not been holding the pelts, he’d have clasped her chin and shook the number from her.

“I am twenty-one summers.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Twenty-one summers and an unmarried maiden.”

“I had a bad time. Not that a man like you would understand.”

“And what kind of man is that?” He adored the spark in her tone, the challenge in her eyes. He’d like to spank it out of her. Have her apologizing to him, on her knees, begging for forgiveness.

I will have that. I will have this woman submitting to me. She will come to know I am her master and she will desire to please me.

“You’re a man who is an evil monster, no care for anyone but himself.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, for this evil monster does care.” He lowered his face to hers. “I care that you are fed, have shelter, and are unmolested or murdered by other Vikings.”

“How kind.” She looked away and tipped her chin. “I guess I should feel lucky to have you.”

“Aye, you should.”





Chapter Five


Duna was adept at horse riding, and usually enjoyed it. But right now, sitting behind her captor on a stocky steed and racing over unfamiliar terrain, she would have happily thrown herself into a nettle bush wrapped in thorns to end the torment.

Halvor had enthusiastically greeted a man in the port in which they’d landed and exchanged one fox pelt in return for a fine-looking horse. Which had appeared cheap, until Duna figured out it was the payment for this man to care for his horse while he’d been on his corrupt trip.

There was no saddle, and she had to sit close, with her cheek pressed up against his leather-clad back, in order to hold on.

She didn’t bother to ask where they were going; what was the point? He was taking her, regardless. In fact maybe it would be better not to speak at all, and he’d tire of her. It might also fare her well not to eat, that way her bones would become even more prominent. If she kept it up she would die of starvation. That would serve this brute right. To lose what he thought was his prize.

The land was green with rugged mountains. They rode past several dark blue lakes, which reflected the clouds drifting over the sky. There were few other homesteads in the direction they were going. Though it was clear much of the land was grazed.

Eventually Halvor slowed the horse to a walk.

Duna relaxed her grip. Her eyelids were heavy, her stomach so empty it felt hollow, and she had a dull ache in her temples, the sort that pounded with the beat of her pulse.

“We’re nearly there,” he said, speaking for the first time since they left the port and the longboat.

She didn’t reply.

“My home is not grand,” he said. “But it shelters from the weather, has a spring nearby, and we will not be hungry.”

Still she said nothing.

“I have animals,” he said. “They’ve been looked after by a local farmer, but soon they will be returned for us to tend.”

Us? Wasn’t she the slave? Surely that meant she’d be doing all the looking after.

“What do you think?” he asked.

What kind of question was that? What she was thinking was that she wanted to be at home with her father. She wanted to let tears spill for Esca and her friends and neighbors slaughtered by Halvor and his evil warrior friends.

“Ah, so you have decided to hold your tongue,” he said, then sighed. “I will admit I prefer that to banshee screaming.”

Duna frowned and turned to the right.

A bush loaded with blackberries made her mouth water. Would he stop if she asked him? Let her collect some; fill her belly too?