Savage Want (Wicked Wants, #3)

by Annice Sands

“Your lady-in-waiting will be up to see to you shortly,” he said, and disappeared out the door.

  A strange stillness enveloped me with his abrupt absence; the quiet was not a bad thing, but a sort of unwinding within. Perhaps I was merely on edge due in part to the fact it was to be our wedding day. After a few false starts and negotiations on the conditions of our marriage, that date had finally come and yes, I was most certainly tense at the entire affair.

  In addition to tales of Cecil’s misdeeds, rumors had circulated adrift on the wagging tongues of a few drifting drunk sailors that the Northmen had turned their wrath to this part of the kingdom. Mysterious, dangerous and brutal, they had ravaged the port city of Bull, torn down their walls, and wreaked havoc on the townspeople. The savages were pillagers, their destruction cutting a wide swath into our proud green hills and killing innocents by dozens upon dozens. The Northmen had historically clung to the coast, perhaps for ease of transport for their loot of war. Our town of Kiess was a ways inland, and so no one heeded the warnings. Bull was so far away and many still believed the Northmen to be fantastical stories told by mothers to chide their children and keep them in their beds at night.

  Kiess lay to the east of Penbroke Estate, surround by gates, walls and fencing but close enough that the Duke enjoyed all nearby conveniences. The grand bell in Kiess Square sounded; the clang was sharp even at that distance, as if the pull-rope was being tugged hard and fast in a panic. If Cecil hadn’t left yet, I might have not heard the alarm at all. The bell was my first and only warning.

  Chapter Two

  I hurriedly threw a robe over my dressing gown and unlatched the windows. The distinct odor of burning wood greeted my nostrils. Cries of anguished men and women, along with frightened children, were carried to my ears on the slight breeze. Through the pointed conifers, I caught a glimpse of tongues of flame as they licked along the eaves of the closest houses. Further away, shops belched cones of black smoke like squat dragons.

  What caused such an uproar? I could think of nothing, short of an invading army. A flood of terrified people rushed toward the Penbroke gates, but were closely pursued by big, darkly-clad men with red and white painted faces. The Duke’s men worked in vain to close those gates, but were too late. The invaders chased their prey onto the grounds of Penbroke Estate. Invaders, indeed, but none like I’d ever seen before. These were not the elegant, organized formations of a neighboring kingdom, but a horrifying array of barbarians, it seemed. The men were broad of shoulder and wore their hair long and wild. Wild men. Beasts on two legs. What had been a relatively tranquil morning had deteriorated into pandemonium. I gasped. It was as if the Horned One himself had landed to plunder and pillage the town with his hellish army.

  Milanra, my lady-in-waiting, rushed into my room.

  “My lady! You must hide! Quickly!”

  Milanra pressed her stout form against the door. Her eyes bulged in terror as she trembled

  “Are we being raided?”

  She nodded quickly. “Aye, it be the Northmen.” She swallowed hard, panting for air. “They’re slaughtering the whole town. Only the pretty women escape their sword.”

  The fabled Northmen? But they were only frightening tales! I looked down at my dressing gown. I was in no condition to flee, and where would I hide? The cellar? The kitchen?

  My breath caught in my throat.

  The stables.

  I grasped her by both shoulders. “Is anyone else in the house?”

  She halfway shrugged, her mouth a small o of shock and terror. Perspiration beaded at her graying temples. The poor dear was in a state of disbelief. Inaction would invite death into this house.

  “Where is Lord Penbroke? Where is Cecil?” I shook her hard, desperate for an answer.

  She only shook her head and began to cry.

  I became aware of my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arms and let go.

  “Check the house for anyone left here and meet me at the stables.”

  She agreed and opened the door. Smoke wafted and curled in the air. Part of the house was already on fire. I only needed to find the back door and make it to the horses. Perhaps in the mass panic, I could slip out of the gates unnoticed. Once I’d found my father, we could form a plan for escape. Perhaps some of the men could regroup and return the fight. I could only assume that the raiders had taken the town by utter surprise, and rendered us all nearly defenseless.

  I covered my nose and mouth with one of my sheer sleeves and proceeded through the rooms. Everything was connected, save the storage areas. My eyes burned and I struggled not to cough, should invaders already be inside.

  The kitchen stood untouched, thanks to the door kept closed by custom. Past that lay the entrance to the cellar, two storage rooms, and the back door. From there, I would have to cross a short distance to reach the stables. The horses were kept close enough to be convenient, but animals are animals, and no lord wanted to smell his own steed’s shit.

  My hands met the rough wood of the servant’s entrance to the house. I was nearly free.

  The invaders certainly had to be demons called from the darkest depths of Hell. Their war-calls were those of vicious animals, accompanied by carnage of their sharp blades and flashing axes.

  The Duke’s men had come to aid, and the clashing of swords along with the gallant cries of men rang in the charred morning wind. A day like any other, except today was not like any other. It was to be my wedding day. A wedding that would not take place because of the barbarians.

  The sky did not seem to care that death reigned over the land. The sun rose higher in the sky, contrasting sharply with the grim scene. The grass crisped under my soft slippers, and I turned to look back at what remained of a once peaceful, idyllic village. A falcon soared overhead on the rising heat from the fires, indignant on wings of safety high above the destruction.

  A rotund man shrieked to my left. I turned in my steps to see him chased, as if by hounds. His little feet could not carry him fast enough. The man I faintly recognized as the village baker was slain not one hundred yards from me. I gasped and my heart pounced on my ribs.

  The intruders were monstrous men with long, braided beards. Spotting them in the chaos that had ensued was quite simple; their long, flowing hair, mostly red or black, gave them away as they sliced through one dear acquaintance after another. The coppery smell of blood was pungent in the air. These warriors on foot were well-versed in the art of sword and axe combat and ultimate brutality.

  A handful of town soldiers had arrived to fight in the losing battle and were quickly overtaken, pulled from their horses and hacked to pieces by the Northmen. Even their coats of mail were no match for the long thin blades of our new enemy. I covered my ears to block out the sounds of agonizing death and ran as fast as I’d ever run in my life to reach shelter. Breath could not come quickly enough. My feet felt suspended in air.

  A voice boomed. A quick glance over my shoulder informed that I’d been spotted at last. Three Northmen gave pursuit. I slammed into the stable door, trembling hands too stupid to open the latch. They were coming. I did not want to die. I whined, despite not wanting to and tugged on the handle before trying the mechanism again. The thing finally opened for me just as an incredibly strong hand grabbed my loose, long hair. My face crashed into the hard wood of the stable door then everything went black.

  Chapter Three

  Cool water brought me back around to consciousness again. My vision wavered into clarity for me to find myself in a dark enclosure. I closed my fingers on thick fur beneath me. I tried to bring my knees to my chest involuntarily and realized that my ankle was tied with a coarse rope. I had been stripped of my dressing gown and left wearing only the flimsy shift, which had been for Cecil’s benefit. Where was I? A strange wizened woman’s face gazed down at me, her expression unreadable in shadow cast by a nearby fire. She dipped the rag she’d been using into a rough-hewn bowl and reached for me again, muttering in a guttural language.

  �
�Who are you?” I demanded. “Why have you brought me here?”

  Was I dead? My headed pounded something fierce and my mouth was as dry as bleached bones. The woman brought a horn of something to my mouth. I batted it away, sending the cup flying across the small space.

  “Release me at once!” I shouted. The rope around my ankle chaffed my delicate skin.

  To be laid half-naked in restraints while a stranger attempted to what? Clean me?

  The memory of having my head dashed into a door returned. That explained my horrid headache. The raiders. My people.

  My gaze trailed over the objects in the room. Animal skins. A table, set with another horn. And at that table, a mountain of a man. He supped as if none of this were out of the ordinary. Our eyes met. He spoke to the woman in the same language and she responded, harshly. They bantered back and forth in words I couldn’t understand until she threw the rag at my face and left the room in a stormy rush.

  The man waved ringed fingers at the door she’d just disappeared through.

  “An old mother,” he said in English, though highly accented. “She does not like her help refused.”

  “And who are you?”

  I rolled to my side, remembering the sheer material that covered my breasts and body. The rope gnawed deeper into my ankle. “Why am I here?”

  “You ask too many questions, woman.” He tore into a hunk of meat with his teeth. His hair wasn’t exactly black as I’d originally supposed, but a deep brown, and wild as it trailed down his back in an assortment of different-sized braids. His dark gaze returned my stare.

  “Favor something you see?”

  I blushed and looked away at the opposite wall. “All I see is a murderer and a thief.”

  He laughed, his mouth half-full of food. “I’ve been called worse.”

  A warrior with thick furs draped over one shoulder came into the room. My captor looked up at him in expectancy. I frowned. Was he the leader? Fantasies of avenging my people’s deaths enraged my thoughts. But the more I struggled and resisted, the more likely I would remain a bare-assed decorum to his quarters. I made resolve to reconcile, to try a fresh start with him. Perhaps he would let me go?

  “Wulf,” the man said, then followed it with a sentence in their language.

  “Magus, use English. Sit down. Take a horn with me. You can see my new skin cover.” Their gazes darted to me, and the man called Wulf sported a wicked smirk.

  My skin crawled. Magus seemed uninterested. Perhaps he had his own decorative captive in his tent.

  “We’ve ten more for you to look at.” Magus sat at Wulf’s table and drank quickly. Wulf turned his attention back to me.

  Wulf’s expression went flat. “Offer the others to the men. A reward for victory.”

  “I will.” Magus rose from his seat, but Wulf caught him by the wrist.

  “See if a dress can be found for the woman. And put out word that anyone who even comes near her will meet my blade.”

  Magus replied in their language, bowing his head once.

  “Go then.”

  The Wulf turned his attention to me after Magus had left the tent. I shivered, goosebumps fluttering over my flesh. His gaze strolled over every inch of me then back to meet my eyes.

  “Are you thirsty?” His voice was a low rumble of thunder.

  I nodded and tensed, wishing I could melt through the ground, away from that look he gave me. It wasn’t necessarily evil, but intense, like the rays of the sun on the hottest summer’s day.

  He returned to his table and poured me a drink from his pitcher into a horn.

  “Sit up,” he commanded as he knelt beside me.

  The horn looked small in his hands, but felt heavy in mine. I faltered and he caught my shoulders in his grip just in time. With his help, I took a few hasty sips. The liquid was cool, sweet and bitter at the same time, a drink fit for his standing in his...clan? Army? Who was this Wulf?

  “Tell me your name.” His eyes were stunning, light brown and beautiful to behold.

  My lips parted, but I couldn’t answer. He could easily kill me with that great sword that stood nearby. “Please, sir...”

  The Wulf laughed softly. “A lady then. That says please. Thank you. How pleasant of you.”

  My face flushed with heat. “A slave to you savages. Does it matter what my name is? Surely you’ll just give me another.”

  My thoughts turned to Cecil and his family. The house was burning, all the houses were burning. My father...

  Anger gripped my heart and I turned my face away from the Wulf. “I’d rather have died with the rest.”

  This seemed to puzzle him and though I steeled for a strike, he did not rebuke my response.

  “Hmm. You speak most of the truth. Thank the gods for the beauty that saved you.”

  I snorted. “Like the other ten awaiting your approval, then?”

  “Ho, the lady has fire.” He chuckled and stood to tower over me. “I am Wulf.”

  “Wolf sounds about right. Hunting in packs, looking for something to kill and destroy.”

  “My father named me Torsten.”

  “And where is your father now? Did you kill him as well?”

  Torsten grinned. “All the lady sees is all she does not have.”

  I shook my head, tears brimming in my eyes. Why worry at all with this talk? I would be as doomed as the rest. “All the lady has is nothing.”

  “The lady was spared.”

  I scowled and glared at him. “The lady had a family! I was to be married this day! You came in and destroyed everything! Everything I knew and loved!”

  I did not know which day it was any more. Tears came unbidden and my shoulders hitched in sobs I couldn’t control. Cecil, even though I did not truly love him, was dead. My prospects of becoming a fine lady were gone. And my father, whom I loved more than anything in the world had possibly perished along with the rest of the town. I did not know if my father was with the Penbrokes at the time of attack.

  “Elena,” I said quietly. “My name is Elena.”

  Torsten unfastened and slid his cloak from his shoulders and cast it over me to cover me. His bared arms were powerful, toned, one colored with ink. A wolf’s head, done in the style of the art that decorated more than a few of his warriors’ shields. Its tongue was red and resembled a flame peeking between sharp teeth.

  The cloak was made of soft furs stitched together and very warm. The chill had crept in from the wall and I could not help but feel a note of gratitude for his gentle gesture.

  “Elena.” His tongue uttered my name for the first time. “We do what we must. We have lost land, many people. Much family.” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper at his last words. “Blood is shed for honor. But you...you are something that I cannot resist. Something that touches me. Your face. Even your glare pulls at me. Green. Your green eyes, like sea. The sea that pulls at me forever.”

  He stopped himself with a shake of his head. “Perhaps I should have taken of the other ten. Ten other women cannot compare with you. Your husband would be a fortunate man.”

  “A husband that never was, thanks to your ‘honor,’” I spat.

  “I doubt he deserved you.”

  Torsten left the tent without another word, and I lay there under a cloak that smelled like wilderness and stars, wondering.

  I awoke some time later, not realizing that I’d fallen asleep so easily. No one was with me. But a chair had been moved from Torsten’s table to my side. On that chair, lay a dress, white, soft, with flowing sleeves and a belt of silver and furs. A small fire crackled merrily in a crudely-designed hearth, giving meager warmth.

  I moved to rise, and realized the rope was gone. A smile crossed my face to realize that he’d drugged me. I sniffed my skin. I was clean. My hair was combed. I laughed out loud, a bitter sound. Best to seize the opportunity and try to get away. I kept my gaze pinned on the flaps of the tent while I discarded the shift and put on the dress so curiously provided for me. The wool and ski
ns proved to be warm. I could not be sure how far from Kiess I was now, but if I could take one of their few horses, I could be far away from here by dawn.

  A quick search of the tent turned up nothing that I could use as a weapon. I turned my attention to the flaps and lay on my belly to peek outside. The floor of the tent was covered in more skins, making for a somewhat cushioned and cozy warmth, despite the sparse furnishings. My eyes adjusted to the darkness outside. We were in the center of a small camp. The Northmen lay about here and there, some quite deep in the cups, it appeared. No sign of Wulf. Perhaps he had decided to partake of the other ten women after all. Satisfied that I could slip out of the tent unnoticed, I made my escape.

  My breath showed in the contrasting cold air. A grumbling giant walked close by, and I flattened myself against the side of another dwelling. A man’s gentle laugh could be heard inside, followed by an unmistakable feminine moan. I wrinkled my nose. They were coupling. Perhaps the ten women were being passed around? I stalked around tents and avoided the golden light of the central fire. Snoring, some light, some that sounded closer to thunder, accompanied me on my quest. My heart pounded in my ears, giving a rhythm to the sounds of the Northmen, both in play and in slumber. Help the other women, or just run? I chose the latter. I could send help for them once I’d reached safety.

  Their camp was neater than I expected from men of their ilk, but everywhere were symbols of war and death. Animal skulls rattled with laced bones atop stakes driven into the ground. I made my way to the outlying shelters and once past those, broke into a run. I was willing to wager all on the fact that I would make it to the forest edge before I was spotted.

  A spine-tingling howl pierced the air just as I reached the relative safety of the tree line, but I felt far from secure. Branches snapped icily, and my skin was cooling rapidly, even under the dress and skins that I now wore. I was not suited for this harsh winter exposure. The nights had been cold back in Kiess, but with the walls surrounding us, along with warm stones placed in the bed, we made do. I had blankets sewn by my mother, along with one from my father’s mother that I suddenly missed immensely. I wanted to be in my home, not Cecil’s house, but my father’s house, where he would tell stories of grand cathedrals and their doors, how my mother’s smile would squeeze his heart just so, and where I was safe.