by T S Florence
Look at me Ivar. Look at me.
He would not. And they traveled on, from mountains to fields to forests, through towns and villages. They found an Inn, surrounded by broad fields, enough for the men to sleep.
“Ivar” Isla shouted, tired of being locked away and ignored.
He looked. And then he looked away. And then he looked again. And then he walked to her.
“What?” He said, conflict in his voice.
“Do not make me sleep in this cage. I accept my fate to go to my uncle’s, but do not keep me in this cage.” She looked at him, her inner fight gone, her energy gone.
“There is a room you will have at the inn. My men will guard it.” He opened the cage and walked away, not turning to see if she fled or stayed. She stayed. She walked to the inn, where an old lady filled an iron tub with hot water. She looked up at Isla with pity in her eyes.
“And how did you end up in such a predicament?” The old lady asked.
“I was born, unfortunately.” Isla said, surprised at her own humor.
The lady chuckled, and returned to filling the tub.
“If you want, I could help you get away from these men. I’m an old lady, I don’t have much time left on this earth, so it would be my last good deed” she said.
Isla teared up at the lady’s willingness to sacrifice herself for a stranger’s freedom. Isla walked and took the lady’s hands in hers. Thank you, but enough people have died trying to protect me, I do not want another person’s soul on my conscience. The leader is Ivar the Cruel, I’m sure you’ve heard. He would not stop searching until he found me again. He would leave a path of destruction that keeps me awake at night.
The lady’s face showed the sadness she felt for Isla.
“I’m sorry this was the life that God chose for you, my dear,” she said.
A creaking door woke Isla in the night, causing Isla to bolt upright, looking to the door. She had only just fallen asleep, after fighting the image of Magnus in her mind. Ivar stood in the doorway, looking at her, still wearing his red blood matted bear fur, his sword on his back. Isla rose to her feet. His face was ragged. Tortured. His scar looked more red than normal, his eyes darker than what they were yesterday.
“Stay where you are” Ivar ordered.
Isla ignored him. She walked to him, pulling him forward, and closing the door behind him.
“I won’t fall for your tricks again, princess” Ivar said. Isla turned around, feeling the tub, the water still warm.
“I’m not the kind man you think I am. I am cruel” Ivar said, as Isla turned back to him.
She unclipped his bear fur. It seemed to weigh twice its normal weight, from the blood and dirt now matted into it. She undid his battle armour, and unlaced his tunic, revealing a bruised body underneath.
“You are responsible for Magnus’ death” Ivar said, looking into her eyes.
Isla’s body betrayed her, shuddering at his accusation. But it was true. She was responsible. She did not say a word.
She went to her knees, unlacing his pants, pulling them to the ground, taking his feet out one by one. She stood back to her feet. He was naked before her. She took his hand. Slowly, she pulled him towards the tub.
“Your uncle wouldn’t let your death be quick” Ivar said.
And I deserve it. Isla pulled him gently, encouraging him into the tub, but he did not move. Isla stepped in, still wearing her white linen night skirt that the old lady had provided her.
“And you would let him do that to me?” Isla whispered.
She watched his jaw tick, his eyes moved to the side, avoiding her gaze. “Ivar?”
The tub warmed her legs. She pulled again, this time Ivar acquiescing, putting one foot gingerly into the tub. He looked at her, his eyes not matching his hard words. He was not Ivar the cruel or Ivar the clever. He was not a terrifying war lord now. He was just Ivar. Ivar, who needed someone to hold him.
“I cannot protect you forever” Ivar said, looking at her.
“You protected me from Freya. She was going to sell me into slavery.” Isla said.
Ivar scowled at this. “And what of your friend, will he not be sold into slavery?” Ivar asked.
“She said she would not, if we left with her. I chose to stay,” Isla said.
“And you stayed, knowing I would take you to your Uncle,” Ivar said.
“I stayed because I wanted you to catch me,” Isla said.
“I would have caught you if you ran, princess. I would have torn Scotland in half to find you.”
She put her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down, until he was submerged by the warm water in the tub. Isla sat down, straddling him, wiping the dirt and blood from his body, cleaning his face, rinsing the mud and blood from his hair.
Isla could not stay strong, her walls falling down. She fell, her face crashing into his chest, sobs heaving from her small chest.
“I am sorry for Magnus” she said.
She took his face in her hands, kissing his neck, running her tongue along his ears. She kissed his cheeks, feeling his rough beard against her lips. She heard him sigh as she pressed herself against him. She felt him, beneath her, hardening. She sat back, resting on his hardness, and removed her skirt, revealing to Ivar that she had nothing on beneath.
“You still desire me” Isla said, placing his hands on her chest, as she licked his lips, tasting him. He squeezed hard, causing her to gasp. She felt her lips swell, as he bit down on, the pain matching her state of mind, causing her to feel dizzy.
She reached a hand underneath, grabbing his hard length and rubbed it against her opening. He moaned into her mouth as she leaned on him for support, letting out short sobs of ecstasy mixed with sorrow. She kept rubbing, up and down, causing Ivar to grunt.
“You torture me,” he said, biting down on her hard nipple. She felt his hand reach around, slapping her wet behind, causing her to yelp. Then he squeezed, rubbing the pain away from the slap, her skin warm and raw. She put his tip against her opening, and slid down, accepting all of him. Ivar’s groans caused Isla to gush with excitement, thrusting, grinding on his manhood.
Her wet skin exposed to the cold air gave the sensations she felt in her center to amplify. She gripped one hand on his shoulder, the other on the edge of the tub, bouncing on him like he was a horse. She felt her womanly parts move like silk over his hard length, as she bucked up and down. He groped at her viciously, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, slapping her behind. She felt his anger in his touch, causing her to moan. Give me your anger, let me absorb your pain. The bodily sensations consumer her, leaving her in a trance-like rhythmic motion, her mind shutting off. She could taste him on her tongue, she could smell his scent, raw from battle, shivers shooting up her spine like thunderstorm lightning.
She moaned, feeling guilt at what she was responsible for, giving her body to Ivar as compensation, paying her debt she owed to him with the body God gave her. Water splashed out of the tub and onto the floor as she rode him harder, bouncing against his hard body. He moved his hand down, rubbing between his legs, playing lightly, the contrast to his hard slapping causing electricity to shoot from her womanly parts up her spine. She could feel her juices flowing like they had never flowed before, and saw a dark, frenzied look in Ivar’s eyes that caused her heart to thunder in her chest like a war drum.
She moaned for him, as he rubbed between her legs, while his shaft went in all the way to his balls, feeling him in her very core. Each shuddering breath, she felt herself coming closer to climax, as she bucked and bounced and rode like her life was in danger. He rubbed between her legs, his face buried in her tits, as she finally erupted with a climax she didn’t know humanly possible. She felt herself wrapping around his shaft, squeezing it with each contraction, which caused Ivar to tense his entire body, a loud moan erupting from his lips. She felt him throbbing inside her, she felt his seed being released deep in her core. She collapsed onto him, exhausted from her efforts, allowing him to env
elope her into a strong hold.
She woke soon after, to Ivar laying her down in her bed.
“Stay?” she asked.
He kissed her forehead, standing now, water dripping down his body. He looked deep into her soul, unmoving, sadness in his eyes that she had not witnessed ever before. He dried himself and then put on his dirty clothes, leaving Isla to fall into a deep, dreamless, sleep.
12
Ivar
Women make men weak, and weak men die. And this is what Isla had done, bringing his father’s words true, from a pithy saying to a prophecy. Only the person to die was Magnus. It should have been me I lead them to that battle. I took them back to the Land of Scots, the place where men go to die. This is not Isla’s fault. But I cannot mourn. Not for Magnus, not when he’s in the great halls of Valhalla, drinking and fighting with Odin and Thor. Life would go on, until it didn’t and when it didn’t Ivar could only hope to be there with Magnus, drinking and fighting and dying and reliving those nights forever until eternity ends. But until then, I will continue to impose my will on this cold and hard earth. For if I don’t, life will impose its will on me. And men who cannot impose their will are weak. And weak men die.
Ivar lead his men from the west coast of England inland, tracing their steps back, headed for Newcastle. If he wanted to keep Isla from harm, he must hurt her, and this is what caused Ivar to break.
Isla
The cage was no longer there when Isla walked out of the inn, in the morning. In its place was a grey horse, with black and white spots. Was this because of last night? Or was it because Ivar knew that Isla no longer had any more options. Freya could not turn around and attack, for she lost more than half of her men to Ivar’s forces. Isla could see now, how he earned his reputation, for on the battlefield his men were fearsome, particularly Ivar. For a man who did not relish fighting, he was good at it.
She watched him from her horse as they traveled, his back straight, his head unmoving from the road they traveled. She yearned for his eyes, for his mind, for his body. She wanted him back, but she knew it would not be. He did not take her last night, and he would never take her again. He took her from Tomlin because she was worth a vast amount of gold. That’s it. Nothing more. He did not love her, he did not yearn for her like she yearned for him. She did not excite him to true passionate love like he did for her. But what about those nights in his great hall? Acting, surely.
His handing her over to her uncle would now be all the sweeter, in the revenge he would get for her part in having Magnus killed. She could picture his cold smile, his pained eyes, as her uncle took her away, back to Newcastle. But what of the man in the tub last night? The man who said he could not hurt her?
She kicked her heels into his horse, riding up besides Ivar, touching his arm.
“Will you ever forgive me?” She asked.
“I will forgive you when your Uncle has taken your life. Then we will be even. A life for a life, princess,” Ivar said, he jaw tight, his face hard, his eyes cold.
And this was the Ivar she had been waiting to expose himself. The hard warrior. The man who bargained with lives. Not with gold and not with love, but human life. And that is what made him powerful.
Isla’s heart, unguarded, had been raided by the Viking warrior, Ivar the Cruel. He had broken down her walls, seized her heart, and left her soul a bloody mess. She was but another victim of Ivar the Cruel.
Isla watched him that night, sitting separately from the rest of his men, cooking on his own fire, a scowl set deep on his face. Ragnar eyed him from afar, carefully.
“I wouldn’t bother him, princess. He’s in a dark mood” he said.
“He is sending me to my death, I don’t think I need worry about punishment” Isla said.
“He needs time to grieve,” Ragnar said.
“It took him some time after his father’s death. And it will take him some time to deal with Magnus’ death too.” Ragnar turned the roasting meet, which dripped fat over the fire, causing hissing sounds to break the silence.
“Does he blame me?” Isla asked Ragnar, embarrassed at her own selfishness to ask, but desperate to ask.
“Princess, Magnus has gone to Valhalla. He is with the gods. We Vikings, for the most part, do not live long lives. Ivar will not live a long life. I will not live a long life. We consider ourselves fortunate to die young in battle, and bathe in glory with the gods in the afterlife. This sounds better to me than growing old and sick and pissing your bed, with brittle bones and no teeth. Of course, we grieve, but do not mistake Ivar’s grief for anger directed at yourself. Magnus chose to go to battle that day, and now he basks in glory with the gods,” Ragnar said.
“Of course, you are partly to blame,” Skald said, making Isla jump, not knowing he had been standing behind her.
“I know that,” Isla said, despite what Ragnar had told her.
“You chose to run, you were foolish enough to be caught by Freya, knowing that Ivar would come for you, putting himself and all of us in danger. You made these decisions. And if you stayed in bed that night, then none of this would have happened.” Skald’s cold felt penetrating as he looked at Isla, looking her up and down, sucking his teeth.
“She was protecting herself” Ivar said, walking up to Skald.
“She is the reason you took us to battle,” Skald said, sizing up to Ivar.
“I am the reason we went to battle, nobody else, you should think carefully before you go telling people my reasons for going to battle” Ivar said, butting his forehead against Skalds.
“Your mind is not so hard to read” Skald said, smiling at the response he was getting from Ivar.
“You’re not as smart as you think, Skald. I see through your words and your actions. I see what you desire, and I see what you fear. You’re human, just like me. And if you don’t agree with my decisions as leader, then speak up. If you have a problem, then make the square, or shut the fuck up.”
Skald turned, walking away “careful, you don’t have your boy Magnus here to save you now if I did decide to set the sq-,”
Before he could finish his sentence, his face was in the dirt, a groan coming from his mouth, as Ivar pushed his head down, before yanking the back of his shirt, lifting him, and sinking a fist into his stomach, causing a wheezing sound, as the air was forced from Skald’s lungs. He dropped to his hands and knees, taking short, sharp breaths. After a moment, he stood up, walking to Ivar, face to face.
“It was your leadership that got Magnus killed,” Skald said.
Ivar punched Skald again, the sound of fist connecting with his cheek making a meaty slap. Ragnar had not moved, but instead watched from the other side of the fire, slowly turning the roast, as if he were watching a conversation between two friends. Skald stood his ground, in front of Ivar, Ivar’s eyes daring him to keep going.
“I remember your father’s words. What were they? A woman makes a man weak, and a weak man dies? Are you so quick to forget your great father’s lessons? He was a far better leader than you’ll ever be,” Skald said, laughing now. Ivar crushed his forehead into the bridge of Skald’s nose, causing a sickening crunch, and tackled him back to the ground, delivering punch after punch after punch, until finally, Ragnar hauled him off.
“You still believe in your decisions, and you just gave yourself all the proof you need, so it’s time to stop grieving,” Skald said, turning around, and walking into darkness.
Ivar
Ivar walked back to his fire, his hammering heart reminding him that he was the one left alive. Soon after Ivar left, he watched Isla, laughing and smiling with his men, pouring them ale and eating and joking. His stomach twisted with jealousy, his mind only now beginning to comprehend such a feeling. Am I trying to save a woman who has tried to escape time after time. A woman who appears to change her emotion at her whim and fancy.
Soon all of his men were laughing, including those men who he had sent to watch over her at night. Ivar rolled out his furs and attempted to fin
d some sleep for the night. After what seemed like only minutes of restful sleep, he awoke to a blade at his throat.
“Don’t make a sound,” sounded a female voice, her face covered by cloak. But Ivar recognised the voice instantly.
“Isla,” he said, his mind still foggy from sleep.
“Don’t make me use this,” Isla said.
“Use what, that child’s dagger?” Ivar asked, laughing.
“I said don’t make a noise” Isla pushed the blade harder against his throat.