The Viking's Captive(42)

He was leaping around in a patch of long grass, clearly trying to catch something. His little head was bobbing up and down and his paws swiping into the air. It was then she saw it, a pretty blue butterfly.

“Ah, leave it,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s doing no harm.”

But Misty carried on, unsuccessfully, trying to catch the insect.

After a few minutes she paused, thinking she could hear hooves in the distance. Was Halvor back already?

She glanced at the sky; the sun was dipping to the west. If he’d been quick it could be him.

But then the sound faded and she supposed it was just someone riding past on the far track.

Continuing her work, she began to hum a tune her mother had often sung when she’d been working the leather.

“Well, well, that is a pretty song, and from the mouth of such a fair maiden.”

She started and turned, dropping the hoe to the mud.

Her heart skipped a beat and fear clenched her belly.

The Viking before her was tall and broad with a furred cape over his wide shoulders despite the heat. He had a thick, black, unkempt beard. Around his waist a bulky belt held a long, sheathed sword.

“Who are you?” she asked, unable to keep the tremble from her voice.

“Ah, what’s more interesting is who are you?”

“Aye, she’s ripe for the taking.”

It was then she noticed a man to her right, by the barn. He was holding two horses. Unlike his friend he wore a leather tunic minus the arms. The flesh on his biceps was heavy with ink.

He sent a new wave of terror through her—there were two of them.

She glanced at Raven. He hadn’t stirred from his slumber.

“What do you want?” she demanded, folding her arms.

“What can you give two warriors who are weary with travel?”

“We are a humble home. But I can spare some bread and I have a few crab apples.”

“Ale?”

“No, no ale.”

She went to step past him, to get to the longhouse. Perhaps if she got in quickly, she could lock the door, hide out until Halvor returned.

But the bearded Viking gripped her arm and stopped her progress. “Before we eat, we may take some entertainment.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She glared at him, knowing exactly what he meant. Her master had warned her of immoral men who roamed the land.

He grinned, a smile that made her feel as sick as Raven felt. His teeth were blackened, and he smelled of stale sweat.

“Hey, she doesn’t know what I mean,” he threw over his shoulder to his friend.

“We should show her then.” The other Viking came toward her. As he walked he undid the button on his breeches. “I’ll go first.”

“My master will be here any moment.” She struggled to free herself but couldn’t shake the grip around her arm. “He’s checking a fishing line at the lake. It’s just yonder, you must have seen it.”

“Aye, and there was no one fishing.”

“And I’m sure your master will be happy to share his thrall with warriors,” the other one said, coming in close behind her. “It will be an honor for him.”

“No, no, it won’t. He won’t be happy.”

He slid his hands around her waist. “Are you a screamer?”

“Get off.” She writhed within his grip and threw her head back. There was a satisfying thud as she connected with his nose.

“Argh, Celtic wench!”

Suddenly she was falling. She landed on her side on the hard ground, but quickly twisted to all fours and crawled several feet, ignoring the pains in her knees.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A man was over her, she didn’t know which one.

“No! No! Get off me!” she cried.

Her dress was being dragged upward with rough yanks.

She wriggled to free herself from his weight. Terror gripped her. She knew what they intended. They wanted to shove their big cocks into her cunny and find their pleasure.

As her undergarments were ripped off, she screamed. Panic raced around her system. She thrashed her legs and tried to push him away. But there were two of them holding her.

“Aye, this is going to be a tight fit.” Cool air washed over her inner thighs as her legs were yanked apart.

“You brute, leave me alone,” she yelled. “You’ll go to hell for this.”

“No, wench, I’m going to Valhalla, to enjoy the virgins.”

“I reckon you’re getting one now.” His friend gave a deep, sickening chuckle.

She braced. Fury going through her that she could do nothing. That she was helpless.

Suddenly there was a wild roar.

The weight on her back, legs, and arms lifted.

Clank.

Metal on metal.

Clank.

She twisted, dragging at her clothing and scooted backward on her bottom several pace lengths.

Halvor! He was here.

A fight was taking place. Two on one. Halvor using his long dagger against the intruders’ swords. He was spinning this way and that, kicking out too.

Raven had woken and was barking though he hadn’t moved.

Halvor twisted, narrowly missing a sword flying toward his head.

Duna screamed but the sound caught in her throat. She pressed her hand over her mouth. How could this be happening? She’d gone from one moment of horror to another equally terrifying moment in a heartbeat.