Passion: His Savage Embrace

by Bobbi Smith

  As they rounded a curve in the road, Brage spotted the stronghold for the first time.

  “There’s the tower!” Brage called out.

  A rumble of excitement stirred through his men. Brage paused to survey the peaceful scene before him. The final distance to the tower crossed open ground for the last half-mile, then the road curved through a forest before reaching the clearing where the stronghold stood.

  “May the day be ours!” Brage drew his sword and started forward at a quickened pace. The men followed eagerly. As he drew near the trees, he caught sight of a glimmer in their depths. The instincts that had kept him alive through many a savage battle screamed a violent warning that all was not as peaceful as it seemed.

  Brage paused ready to call out a warning to his men, but before the words could pass his lips, the surprise attack came. A storm of arrows rained death and destruction upon the raiders as the Saxon archers, hidden in the woods, took careful aim.

  At the rear of the column of Vikings, Dynna and Matilda were shoved ruthlessly aside as the men prepared to go into combat. Dynna fell to the ground. With her hands tied behind her, she had trouble getting back up, but finally she managed. She and Matilda stumbled away from the ambush. The bloodcurdling sounds of battle seemed to follow them as they ran. They stopped a short distance away only long enough to untie each other.

  “What are we going to do?” Matilda asked. She was as pale as a ghost, and her eyes were wide with terror from the deadly scene she had just witnessed.

  “There is nothing we can do but run. I just wish I still had my dagger,” Dynna said knowing she would feel better if she had it in hand. “We have to keep moving, otherwise we might get caught in the fighting.”

  “They’re going to find us again . . . I know they will!” the maid cried, nearly hysterical.

  “Matilda!” Dynna’s tone was deliberately harsh. “Hush! This is no time for hysteria. We have to save ourselves!”

  “But where can we flee?” Matilda asked in a tear-choked voice as she followed Dynna.

  “I wish I knew,” Dynna answered. “I only know we must escape before the Vikings come after us.”

  Chaos erupted as Lord Alfrick’s men, led by Sir Thomas, charged forth from their hiding places in the forest to do battle with the hated Vikings.

  The invaders were momentarily taken by surprise, but disciplined as they were, they quickly recovered and took action. Norsemen bearing battle-axes ran to the fore, mowing down those Saxons who advanced upon them armed only with swords. Brutal hand-to-hand combat ensued as lethal sword met deadly axe.

  The ferocity of the Saxon attack startled Brage, and he found himself quickly engulfed in the thick of the fray. Wielding his sword with accuracy and power, he cut his way through a mass of opponents as his men around him did the same. They fought hard and took losses, but Brage never wavered in the belief that his side would prevail.

  The battle seemed to be going their way. Brage remembered the prophecy of the runes and felt the moment was close at hand when they would breach the outer wall of the tower. When Ulf suddenly bellowed a warning, Brage looked up in his direction. The sight of mounted Saxons attacking them from the rear filled him with rage and doubt. Lord Alfrick had never had so many men at his disposal. There was only one way they could have been so well prepared for their raid. Somehow, Lord Alfrick learned about their attack ahead of time!

  The knowledge that they had been betrayed fired Brage’s blood. A roar of fury erupted from him. There was a traitor in their midst!

  Shouting orders, he rallied his warriors. They were now severely outnumbered and at a distinct disadvantage because they were on foot. Still they continued to fight.

  Sir Edmund had been waiting weeks for this moment. Leading the mounted defenders, he circled behind the initial fighting and attacked the Viking rear. His plan was a simple one. He had divided his fighting force in two, trapping the unsuspecting Vikings between them. The battle sprawled out bloody and violent before him. Sword in hand, he urged his horse into the midst of the mayhem. He began killing with savage enjoyment.

  Brage was sickened by the number of his men he saw falling around him, yet he could not let himself be distracted. Striking out at those who attacked him, he continued to battle until an unseen blow from behind staggered him. Pain lanced through his right shoulder, and his sword dropped from numb fingers. He struggled to stay on his feet, knowing his men needed him, but without his sword, he was unprotected. Another blow knocked his shield from his grasp as an attacker struck him on the head from behind, knocking his helmet off and taking him down.

  Brage collapsed on the bloodied Saxon soil he had sought to conquer. The warring raged on around him, and as the blackness of unconsciousness engulfed him, he wondered why the runes had failed him this time.

  From across the field of battle, Ulf saw Brage collapse.

  “Brage!” he roared in violent protest, swinging his battle-ax with even greater fervor as he tried to cut a swath to his half-brother’s side. For every Saxon he felled, though, it seemed another was immediately there to take his place. He fought on, valiantly, desperately.

  Kristoffer heard Ulf’s cry and looked toward Brage. He saw his older brother cut down. “No!”

  “Try to get to him!” Ulf ordered as he continued to fight.

  Kristoffer battled even harder, trying to reach Brage, but even with Brage’s greatest warriors beside him, fighting with all their strength and ability, they could not turn the tide of the battle. The Saxons numbered too many. There could be no victory this day.

  Sir Edmund was in the thick of the battle when he glanced up to see two women fleeing in the distance. He recognized one of them immediately as Dynna. He did not stop to question why she was there; he only knew he had to go after her. Withdrawing from the fighting, he rode after the fleeing women at breakneck speed, bloodied sword still in hand.

  Dynna and Matilda heard the sound of a horse giving chase. They had no idea who was coming after them, and they were not going to stop to find out. Terror drove them as they ran even faster.

  Sir Edmund was furious as he closed on the two women. He slid his sword back into its scabbard, then bent low and in one move, grabbed Dynna around the waist and hauled her up against him on the horse’s back.

  “No!” she screamed as she found herself once again in the possession of the very man she sought to escape.

  “No? Be very glad that you are still alive, Dynna.” Edmund’s face was contorted with fury as he stared down at her.

  It was obvious from the peasant’s clothing she was wearing that she had been running away. Edmund kept a deliberately painful tight hold on her while he turned his horse toward the nearby trees. He left Matilda to follow on foot. He did not release Dynna when he reined in, but kept a hold on her as he dismounted. Grabbing a piece of rope from his saddle, he pulled her over to one of the trees.

  “What are you going to do?” Dynna asked.

  “What I want to do to you and what I’m going to do are two different things,” he threatened. “Be warned, my lady, if you dress like a serving woman, I will treat you like one.” He boldly reached out and fondled her openly.

  Shame flooded through Dynna, but she stood proudly before him, refusing to cower in the face of his indignity.

  Sir Edmund would have liked to stay there and teach Dynna a lesson in obedience, but the battle was still raging. The Vikings were proving to be as fierce as rumor had it. He was anxious to get back to the fighting.

  “I am going to make certain that you are still here after the battle.” His voice was harsh.

  “Stay away from Lady Dynna!” Matilda shouted.

  Sir Edmund had had enough of these two. He backhanded the maid, knocking her to the ground, then made short order of tying Dynna to the tree. When he was sure she was securely bound, he jerked Matilda to her feet and bound her there, as well.

  “I will be back,” he warned darkly as he mounted his steed and drew his sword once more.
>
  The women could only watch helplessly as he rode away. From their vantage point, they could see all that was happening. It was obvious that the Vikings were being driven back by the overwhelming numbers of Lord Alfrick’s men. Dynna and Matilda looked on in horror as men on both sides were struck down. The invaders fought bravely, constantly shifting their defensive positions to protect themselves and each other.

  It seemed the battle raged for hours. The women were unsure how long they were forced to observe the bloody scene. When at last the fighting had ended and the Vikings had escaped to the sea, an eerie silence fell over the battlefield. Only the strangled cries of the wounded and dying disturbed the deadly quiet.

  “The Vikings have lost. Sir Edmund has defeated the Black Hawk!” Dynna said to her maid as she stared down at the hellish scene.

  “Perhaps God heard our prayers, and Sir Edmund died a glorious death on the battlefield . . .” Though there was no one but Dynna to hear, Matilda spoke in a hushed tone, fearful of saying her heart’s wish out loud.

  As Dynna allowed herself the faint hope that such a fate might have befallen Edmund, she saw a rider separate himself from the others and come their way. There could be no mistaking Sir Edmund even at this distance.

  “I have won the day!” Sir Edmund announced as he dismounted before them, his weapon still in hand. Blood was splattered on his clothing and his sword bore gory testament to the havoc it had just wreaked.

  Edmund sliced through the ropes that bound the women. His cunning had defeated the Black Hawk! No one could deny what a fine fight he had waged. The world and all that was in it belonged to him.

  He turned to Matilda. “You must walk back,” he ordered her.

  The maid looked questioningly to her mistress, and when Dynna would have accompanied her, Sir Edmund grasped her arm, preventing her from leaving. He stared at the servant with a cold, dismissive gaze until she had moved off, then pulled Dynna against him.

  “I know what you were about, Dynna. But understand this. You are mine. You will never escape me. We will be married as soon as the priest returns to the tower.”

  “I am a lady in my own right! Have I no say in my future?”

  “You may say ‘yes’ when the time comes, my dear. That is all the say you have. Until then . . . perhaps, a kiss would soothe the savage beast that rages within me and demands that I punish you for daring to try to defy me.” His mouth took hers in a devouring kiss.

  Dynna did not struggle. She knew it was pointless to try to refuse him. Still, she remained unresponsive in his arms.

  Her sense of helplessness made Dynna furious. If she gave up and accepted the fate that Lord Alfrick and Edmund had planned for her, she knew her very existence would be meaningless. But she did not know what she could do. Complete and utter despair threatened as Edmund ended the embrace.

  “Let us return home. There is much to celebrate—my victory and our coming wedding,” he said with a triumphant laugh as he lifted her to his horse’s back and mounted behind her. Even as he was smiling, though, her lack of response to his kiss bothered him. He vowed that, one way or the other, he would force her to his will.

  Dynna remained silent on the ride back. She held herself rigidly before him and suffered without protest his hands upon her. For now, she would make a valiant attempt to tolerate what she could not change.

  As they crossed the battle ground she saw, up close, the death and devastation that had been wrought. Her heart ached for all the injured and slain.

  “Sir Edmund, when we reach the tower, I must go to the people and help them. They will be needing me now,” she told him firmly. Her talent as a healer, learned from her mother, had earned her much respect in the village.

  He nodded. “It is good that you think of the people, but do not assume for a moment that I will ever trust you to go out alone again. From now on, there will always be someone watching you when you leave the tower.”

  His words only confirmed what she had feared. Never again would she know happiness. Never again would she know freedom. Never again would she know love.

  Ulf and Kristoffer took command of what was left of Brage’s warriors. Many had been slain in the fighting and many more had been grievously wounded. Their dreams of glory had turned into a deadly nightmare, but the slain warriors would be in Valhalla this very night, for they had died with honor.

  Once they reached the ships, Ulf and Kristoffer boarded Brage’s vessel and ordered the men to put out to sea. They rowed away from the coast as quickly as they could. Though the Saxons had not followed them all the way to the shore, they would take no chances.

  Once they were a safe distance away, Ulf ordered the men to stop.

  “We will wait here until nightfall and then return,” Ulf announced.

  Kristoffer stared at his older half-brother in total shock. “Have you lost your mind? They outnumbered us at least three to one! It would be suicide to return!”

  “We cannot leave. I must find Brage.”

  “We must leave. Brage would expect us to. Anyone who tried to go back would be killed,” Kristoffer said.

  “Brage may be alive. I cannot leave him here!”

  “I saw Brage felled, Ulf. Our brother is dead,” Kristoffer argued.

  “All the more reason to find him. He must be given a proper Viking burial.”

  “It is a fool’s plan to return there! Do you really think you would be able to find his body?”

  “I must try.”

  “Have you given any thought to the cost in other lives? Brage died a warrior’s death. He has gone to Valhalla.”

  “If you will not go with me, I will go alone.”

  “You would risk your life and the lives of the men just to bring back his body?” Kristoffer countered angrily. “Brage would call you a fool if he were alive.”

  “Stay or go. It does not matter to me. You are young, Kris. You have been taught to do as you are told. I am a man. I do what I believe is right. I can do no less for my brother than to try to find him and bring him back.”

  Lord Alfrick stood with Sir Edmund and Sir Thomas surveying the death and destruction on the road. Mangled bodies were strewn everywhere. The losses had been tragic, but their defense had held. The tower had been saved. The Black Hawk had been defeated and his force pushed back into the sea.

  “Is the Black Hawk dead?” Lord Alfrick demanded to know.

  “We found his shield my lord,” Sir Thomas showed him the scarlet shield marked with the sign of the Hawk. “But there are so many felled, we are not certain which body is his.”

  “Did the Vikings take any of their dead with them when they retreated?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Will they return for them?”

  “We had men follow them at a distance all the way to the sea to make certain that they sailed. Their losses were severe. I doubt they will be back soon,” Sir Edmund said with pride.

  “Our losses were heavy, too.” Lord Alfrick could see the bodies of his men along the road.

  “Ah, but we won, Father! We protected our lands.”

  “Your reputation as a fierce and mighty lord will be known by all,” Sir Thomas told him.

  Lord Alfrick smiled. “The cost was worth it, if the Norsemen never return.”

  “I hope Sir Edmund is right,” Sir Thomas said thoughtfully. “I hope they never again land upon our shore. Still, I wonder if they might not descend on us again and in an even greater number.”

  “Without the Black Hawk to lead them? I think not,” Edmund scoffed.

  “Revenge is a good reason to fight,” Sir Thomas warned.

  Lord Alfrick’s lips curled in contempt. “We shall keep watch for a time,” he directed. “For now, Sir Thomas, see that our dead are given proper burials.”

  “Yes, my lord. And what of the Vikings?”

  “Burn their bodies.”

  “What shall we do if we find any survivors?”

  “Bring them to me. I will deal with them person
ally.”

  Sir Thomas moved to direct his men while Lord Alfrick and Edmund returned to the tower.

  “This one is dead!”

  The sound of the man’s shout close at hand cut through the blackness that surrounded Brage and forced him back to consciousness.

  Blinding, searing pain wracked him as he swam up from the depths of oblivion. His head throbbed and his right shoulder burned as if on fire. The pain in his body, though, was nothing compared to the agony of his soul. Memories of the battle were seared into his mind, and they replayed before him, bloody and deadly.

  Slowly, Brage opened his eyes. He struggled to focus his blurred vision, and when he finally did, he found himself staring up at a red-streaked sky. Brage decided that the color was a testimony from the gods. He believed they were spilling their blood across the heavens to match the horror of that day.

  Brage was jarred to action by memories of those of his men who had suffered and the ones who had died. Trying to ignore the pain that stabbed at him, he started to rise. He would continue the fight. He would find his sword and shield and battle to the death. Death with honor was infinitely preferable to life without it. As he struggled to stand, though, the man who had called out before appeared over him and viciously shoved him back to the ground.

  The Saxon brought his sword to bear on the Norseman. “Lie still or die, you Viking pig!”

  Brage glared up at the man with open hatred, wishing he had his own sword. Weak or not, he would have given him a fair battle.

  “This one is alive!” the man called out to the others nearby who were also checking the dead.

  “Lord Alfrick will be glad you found one, Henry. He wanted any survivors brought to him.”

  Brage heard the exchange between them. He refused to be taken prisoner. While the man’s attention was momentarily distracted, Brage made his move. With all the strength he could muster, he pushed himself upward and tried to grab the man’s sword at the same time, but his effort was for naught. Weakened as he was by his wounds and loss of blood, he had not the strength or agility to overpower his opponent. A well-aimed booted kick sent him sprawling backward, and he found the Saxon’s sword point pressing at the base of his throat.