Captured

by Melinda Barron

  If the witch had sent her, she would welcome him with open arms, offering her lush curves to him, welcoming him inside her. Instead, she continued to sob. He needed to leave here, and now. If he stayed, he might do something he would regret.

  He went to the door and barricaded it with several pieces of wood he was sure would be too heavy for her to move. That would keep her from doing anything stupid and going outside. Then he stalked to the back of the cave. It would be best to put distance between them until he had himself under control.

  Maybe tomorrow he should ask the witch for an explanation. The idea had no merit, since he knew he wouldn’t get it. He could still try, though. Maybe things were changing. After all, this was the first person he’d seen in who knew how many years. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.

  Either he was going to bed her, or kill her. And he prayed his cock won that particular battle.

  Chapter Four

  Venise waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then she sat up slowly. She needed to find her clothes. What had she been thinking? She’d hit him for heaven’s sake, not once, but twice! The blows had caught him so unawares it had made him fall. Not that it had kept him down for long, and it had only fueled the anger that had been there when he’d thought she was a minion of Loki.

  He was definitely speaking Old Norse, and she didn’t understand everything he said, but she did get that part of it.

  Luckily for her, he’d listened to her when she’d told him she wasn’t sent by the little devil. He’d had his hands near her neck when he’d finally come to his senses. If he’d applied just a little more pressure, she wouldn’t have been long for her new world. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for being suspicious of her.

  If he was who she suspected him to be, he hadn’t seen another human for hundreds of years. She’d be more than a little distrustful if someone happened to just appear out of nowhere, too. Of course, she was in a similar position, since the old woman had pushed her into the chair and sent Venise tumbling down the rabbit hole, straight into the arms of the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life.

  And judging from the fact that his prick had been rock hard since he’d woken up, she would say he thought she was not too shabby herself. Well, she supposed he would feel that way about any woman, since he hadn’t gotten laid for centuries. Not that she was going to fuck him. She had more important things to deal with, like getting the hell out of here.

  Having sex with him, no matter how much his hard, naked body had impressed her, was not in the cards. Her nipples tingled as if to weigh in with their opinion. Her mind might say no, but her body thought something all together different.

  Ignore your body, she repeated to herself. In this case, the mind knows best. Her first priority was to get dressed. She lifted slowly from the floor and glanced around, wondering where he’d put her clothing. There were a few niches in the wall and she went to them, searching. She didn’t find her clothing but she found several tunic style tops. She took one down and threw it over her head.

  Despite the fact she was a larger woman the material swallowed her, and she searched for a belt, finding two that she could use. It took her a few minutes to work it out, but she belted the tunic so that she could walk without tripping over the material.

  Next came the table. She went to it, examining the contents. The spread featured the same foods that had been on Mrs. Westergard’s table: fish stews, breads, meatballs, potatoes and cabbage. The appearance of the food had been a vital clue that what was happening to her was real. She’d watched it appear with her own eyes and he’d been standing far from it.

  Venise got down on her knees, looking for trap doors or other things that could have been used to fake the supposedly magical appearance of the feast. There were none, which really didn’t surprise her. Hell, she wasn’t sure anything would surprise her anymore. The world was definitely changed, or it had always been this way and she was just now seeing it for what it was: magical. She needed to keep that in mind as the days progressed.

  Rugoff was no one to be feared, either. He’d had the chance to kill her just seconds ago, and he hadn’t done it. She needed to go and talk to him. Her command of Old Norse was minimal, but hopefully she could get them to communicate in some way.

  There were two hallways off the main room, and she’d seen him go down the one to the left of the bed. She went to it cautiously, wondering if she should knock to let him know she was coming, or if she just barge in on him.

  Maybe she should go back to the clothes closet and get him something to wear. Their conversation could be awkward with him sitting there naked. And erect. Very erect.

  The thought stopped her in her tracks and she leaned her back against the wall. She’d had two steady boyfriends in her life, both of them scholars who, while not too bad in bed, had not made her overanxious to jump in the sack with them.

  Something told her having sex with Rugoff would prove far more satisfying than it had with either of her former lovers.

  “Don’t think about sex,” she whispered. “Just pray he has clothes on and his penis has deflated.”

  She followed the hallway, the space narrowing and getting darker as she walked. She tried not to think about the fact that she was probably inside a mountain, or even underground. She rounded a corner and the sound of running water startled her.

  There was an opening at the end of the hallway. Light shone out from it and she crept toward it, careful to make a slow entrance so she wouldn’t startle him, because she knew instinctively this was where he’d gone.

  Rugoff sat in the middle of a large pool, water from a fall cascading over his head. His shoulders were slumped and, she wondered for a moment if he’d heard her enter. Steam rose from the pool and she knew this was some sort of hot spring.

  “Hello.” She kept her voice low. “Rugoff?”

  For a long moment, he didn’t respond, and then he lifted his gaze to hers. He still didn’t speak, though, and she took a step forward, putting a finger on the sleeve of the tunic she wore.

  “Yours. Thank you.”

  He frowned, but nodded. He might not understand the words, but he obviously knew what she meant.

  “Food.” The frown returned and she searched her mental Old Norse dictionary. “Fillique.”

  This time he stood, his nod adamant. He was still naked, but his manhood was no longer erect. He pointed the way they’d come. “Fillique.” He made a motion simulation breaking a loaf of bread in half.

  Relief flooded her that she’d used the right term for bread, which was the only Norse word she knew that could denote food. She mimicked eating, putting her fingers next to her mouth. Then she pointed at him, and at herself.

  Instead of following her, he stood where he was, spouting off words in quick succession. She didn’t understand a one of them and she waved her arms, moving them rapidly, hoping he would figure out she wanted him to stop speaking. What was the word for slow? Damn, she should know it.

  “I don’t understand.” She pointed to her ear, then realized that would indicate she couldn’t hear. “Vita? No vita.”

  His face brightened and he fixed her with a sweet smile. “Ya, no vita.”

  She again made eating motions, then pointed back to the main room. “Eat.”

  She rubbed her belly when he repeated the word, walking toward her. She looked over his body, his absolutely gorgeous, naked body. She swallowed as she settled her gaze settled on his manhood, which started to swell under her perusal.

  Not good, not good. Well, not good in the mental sort of way. In the physical sort, he was more than good. He was perfection.

  “Oh, um…” She turned suddenly. “You need, um, clothes.” She turned back around. He was fully erect now, and her mouth watered at the sight. What the hell was wrong with her? She wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and take him in her mouth. That would satisfy her hunger, wouldn’t it?

  His cock twitched and she swallow
ed hard, her gaze never wavering. She’d never seen an uncircumcised penis before, and it was fascinating. She wanted to touch him, to stroke back his skin and reveal the head hiding underneath. She shivered in need, but took a step back, reminding herself to focus on what needed to be done. “You need to get dressed.”

  She pulled on the tunic she wore, then pointed to him. “Cover yourself. Ript.” That was the word for clothes, wasn’t it?

  “Ah.” His smile made her toes tingle, but even as he smiled, he shook his head. She looked around and spotted a hole in the wall, much like the one where she’d found her tunic. She walked to it and pulled out a long length of cloth he obviously used as a towel.

  She handed it out and she saw understanding dawn on his face. He took it and started to dry off. Venise turned her back on him, afraid that if she kept staring at his cock, she would grasp him and explore the tempting tool that rose to attention every time she saw him.

  There was shuffling behind her, and when he moved in front of her, he wore a tunic exactly like hers, except it barely covered his ass. He nodded toward the other room, then walked to the hallway without waiting for an answer.

  But what answer would she give him, really? They barely understood each other. She had to find a way to communicate with him, though. It was probably the only way she was going to find a way out of this hellhole.

  * * * *

  Rugoff took a loaf of bread from the table. He could sense his beautiful visitor behind him, her anxiousness coming off her in waves. He turned back to her and tore the loaf, offering her half.

  She took it tentatively, looking down at it in wonder. He supposed what she felt mirrored what he’d experienced when the food had appeared on his first day in his prison. He’d been suspicious then, too. Hopefully she would know he didn’t mean to hurt her.

  He watched as she examined the bread, lifting it to her nose to sniff. When she finally put a piece in her mouth, he felt as if they’d jumped a huge gap. He nodded in approval, then took a huge bite of his own food, watching her as he chewed.

  The fact she watched him right back quickened his blood. It had been so long since he’d tasted a woman, and here one was, a gift from the gods, standing in front of him, wearing his clothes. It wouldn’t take much to pull that tunic from her and bury himself in her soft warmth.

  The need was almost overwhelming, and he wasn’t sure exactly how he kept himself from throwing down the bread and tumbling her to the floor. Her gasp alerted him that something was wrong.

  He looked down to see the bread, squished between his fingers, hanging out both sides of his fists. He let the ruined food drop to the floor and brushed the crumbs from his clothing. Touching the material was a painful reminder that his cock still pounded underneath it, the feel of the fabric increasing the arousal he felt.

  She lowered her eyes demurely as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, then she walked to the wall where he’d arranged an array of weapons, some of them he’d made and some of them gifts from his invisible benefactor.

  They helped when it came time to face his yearly challenge, although every year it was getting harder to defeat the beast.

  She touched a sword, then let her fingers trail over the various arrows and swords, finally closing over a bow and taking it down. She didn’t grasp the quiver of arrows next to it, though. She simply turned the bow this way and that, looking over it as if she were trying to figure out how it was made.

  When she put it back on the wall, she went to the table against the far wall. Her cry of delight was like music to his ears.

  “Hneftafl.”

  “Ya.” He hurried to her and picked up the king. He’d carved this board and its pieces over the years, trying to alleviate his boredom as the years crept by.

  She pointed to the middle, the pointed to the edge square and he knew she understood the game.

  “Ya.”

  Before he knew what was happening she’d put her food next to the board, dragging a chair up to the table. There had only been one there before, since he’d never had anyone to play the game with him. She sat down, then pointed to the empty chair, the one he usually sat in when he tried to amuse himself each night.

  Tears stung his eyes as she set up her part of the game. For the first time in forever, he was going to play hneftafl with another person, and it made him feel as if the sun had moved into the room and would never leave.

  As he drew closer to her, he wished they could communicate, verbally anyway. His body did a lot of communicating for him, since his cock was still hard, painfully so. If he stood up and thrust his hips back and forth, would she understand him?

  Oh yes, he had no doubt that she would. Sex was a universal language. But that didn’t mean it was one they needed to converse in right now, although his body had other ideas. If his cock had its way, he would throw the table aside, then get her down on all fours, mount her and ride her until they both screamed in ecstasy, which wouldn’t take long for him.

  He sat down in the chair and put his hand in his lap, stroking himself gently through the material. Maybe he should go to the other room and once again take care of the problem before they started the game.

  That wouldn’t help, though. He’d be hard the minute he came back in the room and saw her again. Best just to stay here and ignore the throbbing between his legs, as if that could happen.

  Venise stared at the board, wondering what she should do next. In theory, she knew how to play this game. She’d studied it after seeing it featured in a folk tale she’d read. A witch had played the game, what Venise thought of as an early precursor to chess, with a warrior who wanted to be victorious in battle.

  She’d told him if he beat her in hneftafl, he’d win the battle. The soldier had lost, and the witch had taken his soul. To her, the story had been a cautionary tale against gambling. She’d remember that before placing any wagers with the man who now sat across from her.

  The main gist of the game was for the main player to protect his king and get it to the corner piece. Her pieces were of dark wood and the king was light. That meant she would be trying to keep Rugoff from getting to the edge.

  Maybe while they were playing they would develop some way to communicate better than they were right now. One or two words at a time didn’t exactly made for great conversation, or help develop a bond that might make the two of them trust each other, since they seemed to be stuck here, together.

  Maybe if they could communicate they could figure a way out of here.

  “Or maybe I should just click my heels together three times.” She snorted at her own sarcasm, then glanced at him when he spoke.

  “Hvat?” She understood that word. It meant he didn’t understand what she’d said.

  “Sorry.” She picked up a board piece and moved it diagonally. Soon they were moving pieces, laughing and trying to outwit each other in play. True, they couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other, but body movements were plenty right now.

  They playfully slapped at each other as they maneuvered the players around the board. He won the game and she wasn’t surprised.

  Maybe he sat here night after night doing nothing more than coming up with strategies to beat himself at the game. Or he might work with the numerous weapons she saw on the wall. They were all of exquisite handcraftsmanship. Did that mean he’d made them himself, or had they been here when his father had outwitted the witch?

  The scholar in her wanted to take notes on everything that was happening. Then she could write up a paper when she returned to the real world. No, she couldn’t do that. They’d fit her for a little white jacket if she did.

  “Really, it all happened, doctor, and no, my name is not Alice.” No, a scholarly paper would not work. The story would have to be fiction. Maybe she’d do a romance novel, complete with a half-naked Viking whose cock was always at full staff and ready to give her pleasure. If she did enough research, it could be very realistic.

  Of course, to do a proper inv
estigation for a nice, hot erotic story she’d have to have sex with him; more than once. She grinned as she moved a piece for the opening of a new game.

  They traded moves, laughing and pulling at each other’s pieces in an effort to keep them from moving to a spot that would block the other. Their laughter filled the room and when Venise won the second match, and the third, she jumped up and danced around the room, shaking her hips and lifting her arms above her head.

  She stopped when she realized he was staring at her, and that the fabric of his tunic had tented, again. Or maybe it had been that way the whole time they’d been playing. After all, he’d been sitting down, and she couldn’t see it. And he hadn’t seen a woman in centuries. Of course his cock would get hard. And stay hard.

  “Sorry.” She sat back down in her chair. “I got carried away and—” He couldn’t understand her, so why was she apologizing?

  “It’s late.” She got back up, looking around the room. There was no semblance of a clock, or anything else that might tell her what time it was, or how long they’d been playing the game.

  The stark reality of today came back to slam her in the stomach. She’d allowed herself to think that everything was normal, that she was with a man she knew nothing about except what some woman told her, and she was probably stuck her for the rest of her life. No, not that, for the rest of eternity, which, as Mrs. Westergard had told her, meant forever.

  Tears formed in her eyes, and before she could stop them, a few crept down her cheeks; the first few became a small stream, and the stream turned into a river. She buried her face in her hands, wondering how she’d ever allowed herself to sit and play games when she should have been trying to convince him to take her back to the place where she’d landed, see if she could find a way home.

  When warm, strong arms wrapped around her shoulders she didn’t fight him. She put her head on his shoulder, the crying jag continuing as he picked her up and carried her to the bed, gently placing her in the middle.