The Viking's Captive(21)

She moaned and clung tighter.

He guessed she was getting near to the moment when the pressure he was building would release.

He gave her another few swift strokes, then stepped away.

She staggered to the right, gripping the table again as her dress fell into place. She was breathing fast.

So was he. His cock was straining against his pants. He lifted his hand to his nose and breathed in her musky smell.

Her mouth fell open as she watched his action. “You… you’re an animal.”

Temptation was a deep, gnawing ache in his groin. He should flip her over the table and fuck the insolence out of her. But he wouldn’t be that kind of master. He’d sworn it to himself.

“As I said, I can’t entertain you. I’m going out.” He pushed down his shoulders and smoothed his hand over his tunic, removing the rucks her small fists had created when she’d gripped him.

“Where… Master?” Her eyes widened and she pushed her hair from her flushed face.

“I cannot sleep, not with… with your insolence filling my home. Morrow I will strike it from you, but until then, I’m going to retrieve my animals.”

“In the dark?” She took a pace toward him. “But Halvor… Master… what about the wolves, the boar?”

“Are of no concern to me and Ivan.” He reached for a long sheathed dagger and attached it to his belt.

She swallowed and clasped her hands at her waist. “And I?”

“Will wait here. You will be safe within the walls of the longhouse. But venture out and I cannot guarantee any such safety.” He grabbed his shoe and pulled it on. He then reached for a furred cape and swung it over his shoulders. “Wait here or accept certain death. The beasts here are brave; you have little meat on you, but enough to fill their bellies.” He paused. “They will seek you out and hunt you down.”

She gulped and he heard the swallow. For some reason it made his cock fill more.

Even so he continued. “There was nothing on your quiet island that would ever have hunted you, am I right? There, you and your fellow villagers were the hunters. Here you must understand, you are the hunted, Duna.”

She turned, clearly not happy with the shift in the food chain.

“So, with that said.” He took a step toward the door. “Lock this behind me. Do not go outside.”

“But when will you return?” She took three paces toward him.

“Morrow, with my livestock.” For a moment he hesitated. The scent of her was still in his nose and on his fingers. An image of him with her, naked, finding pleasure, hearing her pleasure, filled his mind. But then he blinked, and once again remembered the way she’d said she’d always hate him.

I have to get out of here.

It wasn’t often Halvor doubted himself, but perhaps he should have maintained his quiet equilibrium of living alone.

No. I want her as my slave.

He paced to the door, pulled it open, then slammed it shut behind him.

Dragging in great lungsful of clean mountain air, he waited, until he heard the bar sliding into place. Then, knowing she’d secured herself, he strode toward the barn.

Riding in the dark was neither his nor Ivan’s favorite thing to do, but the situation called for it.



*



Duna stared at the wooden door. She’d slipped the bar into its keeper, and it did look solid, strong like the man who’d built it. But still… she was alone in a strange home, in a strange land and her body was betraying her and acting in ways she didn’t understand.

“I promise to protect you,” she muttered, resting back on it and surveying the room. “That lasted a long time… Master.” She huffed.

The fire burned bright. The bed was clean and soft. There was also a tub of warm, hardly dirty, water before a blazing fire. If she fancied it, she could make do with an evening supper of ale.

An owl hooting caught her attention. She rushed to the makeshift window and dropped it down, hiding the night; a night filled with snarling jaws, fierce instincts, and cunning stealth.

The sacks of grain to her right were in darkness, and she knew a feast was occurring for the local mice. But they didn’t bother her, she’d lived with mice for years, only then she’d always had a cat.

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of Flame, her ginger tom who always worked hard at keeping their home rodent free. She missed him; it was a small miss, in comparison to her father, Esca, her neighbors and friends, but still she was sad without her furry friend.

Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

The unmistakable pound of hooves echoed around the house. Halvor was good for his word, he’d left her.

Again she stared at the door. Should she make a run for it after all? Were there enough provisions to fill a bag, see her good until she reached the port?

She rushed from one corner to the next, surveying the provisions. They were scant, nothing fresh. But still there were oats, and a few walnuts that she could take.

But how cold was it?

Spring had spread fingers over the land, which in the daylight hours could be a caress to the neck and shoulders, but that didn’t mean night time would be the same.

Once again she went to the window and opened it a fraction. Trying not to imagine gnashing jaws, she let the night air caress her face.

It wasn’t freezing… but it wasn’t warm either.