The Viking's Captive(43)

What if they kill Halvor?

“You coward warriors, coming here and taking what doesn’t belong to you,” Halvor shouted. He was breathing hard and sweat glistened on his brow.

“She was here for the taking.”

“Aye, and she would have enjoyed it.”

Halvor roared again, and she realized it was him she’d heard before.

He lashed out with his dagger, and ripped through the leather tunic of one of his opponents. But quickly he had to turn and defend himself from the other.

Then he got lucky. The Viking Duna had seen first stumbled. Halvor helped him on his way, shoving at him with his boot.

He fell with a thud, and Halvor managed a swift kick to his head, which rendered him unconscious.

He then turned to the other intruder.

“That is Sven of Broburn,” his opponent said. “He will have your guts for that, you son of a dead sow.”

“I do not care who he is,” Halvor replied. “This is my land, that is my slave. And right now, you should be worried about your own guts.” He raised his dagger and stepped to the right, missing a swing from the heavy sword. He then kicked at his assailant as he lifted the iron weapon again, sending him sprawling alongside his friend.

But rather than kicking him in the head, Halvor leaned over him, quick as a bolt of lightning, and jabbed the dagger at his throat.

The man stopped moving instantly and stared up at Halvor.

“I should kill you,” Halvor said. “For what you were about to do to my thrall.”

“She’s just a thrall. Masters don’t care who fucks them.”

Halvor grunted and pushed the dagger a little more.

A single drip of blood trickled from the man’s neck. “We didn’t think you’d care.”

“I do.”

Duna hugged her knees up to her chest. She’d never seen Halvor so angry. And now, watching him fight, hold a man’s life in his fingertips, she was witness to his skill and strength as a warrior. Her master was awe-inspiring. He moved with grace and fought with talent.

“Leave us be, let us go on our way,” the man on the ground said, staring up at Halvor.

“Give me one reason why I should?” Halvor snarled.

“Because we have done no harm, taken nothing.”

“But you are hardly innocent.” Halvor glanced at Duna.

She swiped tears from her cheeks. She hadn’t even known she’d been crying.

“We will leave, I swear. And it will be like this never happened.”

Halvor was silent.

Duna could sense he was warring with himself. Should he kill these men and be done with it, or let them go?

Suddenly Halvor stood, kicking away the other man’s sword as he did so. “But it did happen. See my woman, she is crying, and you did that.”

The Viking sat and fingered the small leaking wound on his neck.

“So you will apologize to her,” Halvor said, the business end of his dagger still directed at the intruder.

“What?”

“Do it,” Halvor said. “Say you are sorry to her.”

“A thrall, no, she’s a Celtic wench. I am not apologizing.”

“She… is… my… Celtic wench.” Halvor punctuated each word by stabbing the dagger forward until he was close to the other man’s neck once more.

“Sorry, I am sorry.” He turned to Duna. “If we’d known your master was so possessive we would never have…”

“Tried to rape me?” Duna stood even though her legs were weak and she was still shaking. “You are scum, shit, worse than a rat.” She placed her hands on her hips and tilted her chin. “But I can see why you have to resort to rape. A man like you, who stinks of animal dung, looks worse than any pile of sick my ill dog could produce and…” She held up her little finger and wriggled it. “Likely has a tiny cock, like a worm, cannot get himself a willing woman, least of all a wife.”

Halvor was staring at her with his eyebrows raised.

She gulped. Had she gone too far?

“I… I…” The Viking turned to Halvor.

Halvor frowned again. “Get out of here, while Odin is giving me the strength not to cut both of your throats.”

“Aye, we will.” He reached for his friend, struggled for a moment, then lay the unconscious man over his steed.

He went to pick up his sword.

Halvor stood on it. He was holding the other Vikings weapon too. “I don’t think so.”

“We are warriors, we need our swords.”

“They are the price you’ve paid for coming onto my land.” Halvor swung the one he was holding in a complete circle, showing his mastery of the weapon.

The Viking said nothing; instead he got onto his horse, took the reins of the other one, and headed down the track. They left in a trail of dust.

Duna pressed her hand to her chest. It was tight, she was breathing fast. She didn’t know where her bravado had come from in that last moment. Her spine felt weak and her legs as if they’d become fragile sticks.

As soon as the intruders were gone from view, Halvor dropped the sword he was holding onto the ground.

He stepped up to her. “I am here. I have got you.”

He’d reached her just in time. Her legs had given up. “Halvor,” she gasped.