by Lee Savino
On a whim, I set my basket down and approached the likeness of Mother Mary. The statue stood at the front altar, her expression serene and pure. When younger, I’d pretended she was my real mother. I’d prayed for answers, for relief from the sickness I’d endured since becoming a woman. The Church taught suffering purged the soul. Even my prayers were sinful, the desperate begging of a weak woman.
Why am I like this? How long must I suffer? I found no answers in the beautiful, carven face.
“Willow,” a low voice called. A young woman crept from the shadows. Sage, my closest friend among all the orphans. She and I had been brought to the abbey around the same time. We shared a similar height and slim build. Despite my dark hair and her fair locks, we could have been sisters.
“Did you finish the errand?”
“Yes.” I kept my voice down so it would not echo in the cavernous space. I’d asked the nuns once why the statues of the saints got to live in such a beautiful open area, while we shared beds in the dormitory. It took a few rounds of discipline before I understood the Church allowed luxury to the rich and the dead.
“Are you coming to Vespers?” she asked.
“No, I cannot. It is almost a full moon.”
Sage nodded. She suffered the same sickness I did, though less frequently, while mine grew worse every month.
“Here.” She handed me a handkerchief wrapped around a few oatcakes. The nuns did not allow us to eat if we did not go to prayers, but I had to hide away to suffer in silence when the moon rose.
“I still must visit the friar.” I gestured to the basket I’d fetched for him.
Sage picked it up. “I will do it.”
“He has been grumpy ever since Hazel disappeared.”
“I’ll be all right.” Sage lifted her chin.
Without a word, I raised her sleeve and studied the bruises there. The marks came from a man’s grip on her pale, thin arm. There would be more on her legs, but she would hate my pity more than she hated the friar’s illicit touch.
I released her sleeve. “The shopkeeper gave us a fair price for the herbs. He wants more of the tincture you made for backaches.”
With a tight smile on her lovely face, Sage nodded and slipped away. I prayed again, this time hoping the friar would be happy with the earnings she brought. The wool and weavings the orphans spun and the produce we harvested paid our way, though the friar always found a reason to complain about our cost to him. Only Sage could soothe him. He preferred young blonde things. God help the younger girls if he ever tired of Sage.
I scoffed at my own joke. I’d lived in the abbey long enough to know God did not help orphans.
A red sun sank in the sky as I hurried across the gardens, accompanied by the sweet singing of the nuns. A few years ago, I’d close my eyes and imagine my mother sang to me. A pretty dream, for she’d given me up almost as soon as she birthed me.
I slipped behind the mulberry bushes and picked the lock of an old shed. Inside, behind a few barrels used for dyeing cloth, Sage and I had wrapped a chain and set of shackles around a large rock. In a few minutes, I would bind myself there and wait for the fever to take my mind.
The shack sat back in the woods, near a gurgling brook, the forest sounds enough to cover the moans and cries escaping my throat when the fever reached its peak. No one should be out in the gardens this late, but, just in case, Sage would do her best to keep everyone away.
I set the oatcakes down, too nervous to eat. I should kneel and pray. Instead, I paced. During the next few hours, I would bind myself in such a way I would not be able to touch between my legs, but the ache would become unbearable, my mind tormented with dreams of hands upon my body, caressing my flesh. In the morning, Sage would come and free me from my fevered sleep.
My body already simmered, the excitement a result of speaking to the warriors earlier. The thought of them caused heat to burst through me, a throbbing warmth leaving a slight trickle of wetness between my legs. The first spark would turn into an ember and light the fire that would become a blazing inferno.
One day, I would have the courage to talk to a man and flirt with him as Leif had with me. We’d slip into the forest and press against each other, his large hands eager and possessive on my skin. Afterwards, we would lie together on the forest floor, curled as close as petals in a rosebud.
With a sigh, I picked up the shackles. The cold iron stung my hands.
A clink of metal on metal made me still. The sound didn’t come from the fetters I held, but from outside. Someone had found my hiding place.
I waited, holding my breath, but no one burst into the shack. The friar had become more surly and suspicious since our fellow orphan Hazel disappeared. She had just come into heat and had the courage to defy him. We assumed he’d sold her off to a husband, but no one knew for sure. The friar had struck Sage when she’d worked up the courage to ask.
Dusky light shone through the cracks in the shack. Twilight approached. If caught now, I could claim I’d been searching for the dye barrel. After setting the shackles down, I eased the door open, stepped into the dim evening, and froze.
Rank upon rank of giant warriors closed in on the abbey. They crept across the grounds without a sound. They all had weapons, axes or daggers worn at their belts. The dying light showed their hands to be free.
I gathered myself to scream. A rough palm closed over my mouth. I let out a muffled shriek.
“Hello, Willow,” a voice rasped in my ear.
Disbelieving, I stilled. The voice and strong arms locked around me belonged to the redheaded warrior. His black-haired friend stood at his side, frowning.
“Get her out of here.” Brokk jerked his head.
My protests muffled by Leif’s large hand, I kicked and fought as much as I could, to no effect. The warrior swung me up, arms still clamped around me, and dragged me deeper into the woods.
“Stay calm now, lass.” Red locks tickled my cheek as he whispered in my ear. “You’re safe now. Danger is coming to the abbey, but we’ll get your friends out.”
Danger?
Why would battle-hardened warriors attack an abbey full of innocent women and girls? Had the friar cheated someone and incurred a lord’s wrath?
Despite my struggles, the warrior carried me into the woods until the trees crowded my view of the abbey, its turret shining with the last light of day. I went limp against him, hoping he would let down his guard. Perhaps I could still escape to warn Sage. She would be in the dormitory now, reading to the little ones, or perhaps setting out a tankard of ale for the friar to drink, in hopes he’d get too drunk to bother her. Around midnight, she’d slip out to check on me. She wouldn’t find me.
Of course, by then, she’d be taken, too.
Throat tight, I sobbed silently against Leif’s hand.
“Shh, lass, it’s all right.” He set me down but kept me clamped against his broad chest. “You’re in danger. You and the other spaewives. We’ve come to rescue you.”
I let my eyes close and legs sag as if I’d fainted. Leif propped me up, but when he tried to turn me into a less awkward hold, I broke from his arms.
After a few steps, he caught me fast. I went crazy, flailing in an attempt to get free. Not for myself. They’d captured me, but if I could get close enough to the abbey and scream loud enough to warn Sage and the others…
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Leif grunted, lifting me again. His large hand closed around my throat. He squeezed in warning, and though he did not cut off my air, his grip silenced me. Brokk hovered close.
“Put her down. Quickly. Bind her. We cannot risk her warning any guards who might be about.”
“Stay calm.” Leif shook me. “You’re in no danger as long as you obey.” He pinned me belly down on the forest floor, holding my wrists at the small of my back. Before I could scream, Brokk jammed something into my mouth.
“This isn’t going the way I wanted,” Leif muttered.
I panted and cried as they finished bind
ing me. Then Leif sat back with me in his arms.
“There, now. Safe and secure.”
I glared at him, trying to push the bitter-tasting leather from my mouth. A growl sounded in my throat. False bravado—the rest of me shook.
“You going to fight me, Willow?” The warrior teased my hair from my face with surprising gentleness. I thrashed, throwing off his touch.
“Stop,” Brokk ordered, squatting close. His command stilled me. “We will not allow you to hurt yourself.” The sharpness in his tone and gaze warned me to behave.
“We’re not here to harm you,” Leif repeated.
I blinked at them. I sat trussed and gagged and trembling. A young maiden captured in the woods by two warriors. Limbs numb, skin covered in goose bumps. My light summer dress provided no protection from a chill in the air strange for a late summer night.
“You’ll want to know why we are here,” Leif interpreted. “Fear not. It’ll all be brought to light.”
A scream shattered the still air. It came from the abbey.
“Damn, damn.” Leif hauled me up.
“Go to the meeting place. I’ll catch up,” Brokk told him, and ran back to join the other warriors.
I dug my heels into the dirt, but Leif hauled me over his shoulder. His large hand smacked my bottom when I struggled again.
“None of that now,” he said. I went limp again, the fight truly gone out of me this time. Straining to raise my head, I could only watch as Brokk and his fearsome comrades advanced to attack my home.
Leif carried me easily, striding in silence through the woods. His pace picked up to a trot when we came to a field. We traveled far beyond where I’d ever roamed. Sage and I had often talked about running away but had never gone much beyond the shack we’d made our hiding place.
The last light glimmered through the trees when the warrior set me down again. I watched him through the screen of my hair.
“Water?” He offered me a little waterskin tied to his belt.
I shook my head.
“More for me.” He drained the skin, his beautiful throat working as he swallowed.
When he moved to touch me, I flung myself back with enough violence to leave furrows on the ground.
“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “I’ll untie the gag.” He held his hands up as if trying to coax a wild creature. “Do I have your word you will not scream?”
I stared at him. His words grazed my overwrought brain. I was captive and bound several miles from my home, and at this warrior’s mercy.
Leif knelt in front of me.
“You will not scream,” he told me. “If you do, there will be consequences. I might like the consequences, but I promise you will not. Besides”—his tone gentled—“even if you do cry out, there is no one around to hear you. And no one will take you from me.” For a moment, his gaze darkened. I wanted to huddle into a tight ball.
Instead, I let him take off the gag then I spat in his face. He drew back, blinking in surprise.
“You coward,” I said. “Do you like kidnapping innocent girls?”
He wiped at his speckled cheek.
“Oh, aye,” he said with a grin. He didn’t seem upset, more amused by my anger.
“Let me go,” I ground out, struggling against my bonds. I had to do something. This warrior loomed over me, three times my size, and all of it muscle. He’d promised not to hurt me, but I’d have to be a fool to trust him—wouldn’t I?
“I’ll free you,” he went on, “when I can be sure you will not run.”
I turned my head away for a moment. I wasn’t afraid, not of him. My cheeks flushed, my body heated from his closeness. Under the thin fabric of my shift, my breasts felt heavy and swollen, and I wished I could bare them to the night air.
When I met the warrior’s gaze, a jolt went through me. I closed my eyes, but too late to hide the hunger in them.
This time, when he brushed the hair from my face, I did not fight.
“What do you want with me?” Even to me my voice sounded low and husky.
His golden eyes drank me in. His thumb rubbed my lower lip. “Everything,” he murmured. “I want everything you have to give, and more.”
Leif
My little captive glared up at me, a furrow on her brow. Her frown did nothing to mar her beauty. Her dark hair framed her lovely face, her limbs and curved body smooth and pleasing, but her temper had me hard as a rock.
“Everything you have to give,” I told her. She could not know what I meant, of course. But I couldn’t help speak the truth. Her journey to full surrender had begun the moment she came into our possession. The sooner she understood, the easier it would be.
Our friend Knut had briefed Brokk and me on what it would be like when we took a mate.
“You need to woo her,” the gruff warrior told us. “Say soft, sweet things. Be gentle.”
But, in the heat of the rescue, the beast had surged forth, our baser nature battling to assert itself and claim her. Even now, I struggled to keep from throwing her to the ground and burying my cock inside her. The beast wanted to mark our woman, to bond her to us before we brought her back to the pack home. If she didn’t bond to us before then, the Alphas might not allow us to keep her…
Steady, brother. Brokk linked to my mind. You must keep control.
I bit back my retort. Brokk was right. His stern grip on the beast kept me sane all these years.
Are you so sure she is the one for us? he asked, the tinge of hopefulness in his tone keeping me from snarling my answer.
In my mind’s eye, I saw the scene before him. Brokk lingered near the shed where we had found our precious captive, watching the Berserkers carry off their chosen women. Some of the females came quietly, tucked into their captors’ arms. Others wept as the Berserkers led them away. A rare few fought, their struggles quickly overcome by the massive warriors.
There are many women to choose from, Brokk observed.
You know as well as I her scent called to us. And her courage, hiding under the false meekness. This girl is strong.
Find out more about her. Brokk severed our connection before I could answer. I didn’t let his rudeness ruffle me. My warrior brother and I had disagreed many times over the years, and most of the arguments I had won. Soon, he would share my confidence Willow belonged to us. Always careful, he wanted to be sure we’d found the right mate.
Mates are for life, he reminded me. We must be sure we choose the right one.
And we want a strong one. One able to bear sons, I told him. Sons, and a few red-haired daughters to make me gray.
His grudging chuckle echoed in the bond between our minds, satisfying me.
The girl still sat on the forest floor, her head cocked to the side as she watched me.
I drew my knife, and she blanched.
“Easy, lass.” I fell into the Highlander lilt. Brokk and I and most of the Berserkers hailed from the North Lands, but after we’d settled on the island, I’d found I preferred the speech pattern of the mountain men. Once I cut the leather ties we used to bind her, Willow relaxed. I took her arms and chafed her wrists, clucking over the red marks.
“If ye had not fought, we would not have tied ye.” I turned her hand and placed a quick kiss over her pulse. “Of course, if ye had not fought, I’d have a harder time convincing Brokk to choose ye.”
“Choose me?”
“Aye,” I said. “To be our mate.”
She shrank in on herself, paling under her freckles. I did not like her terrified expression.
“Do not fear,” I soothed, even as my beast fought for dominance, surging to the fore to protect the frightened woman. “Brokk and I will care for you. Even now, he’s wondering what makes me so sure we can bond…but I know you have the strength to be our bride.”
I held out the waterskin, a peace offering. When she took it, my fingers touched hers. The air filled with her scent.
“Brokk will tease me for making camp so soon, but I want to get some food into y
ou and give you a chance to know us better before we continue our journey. Something in you calls to us. You feel it, too, aye?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Stubborn. No need for you to talk. I can smell the truth.”
Ducking her head, she tried to hide her blush.
She’s almost in heat, I observed to Brokk. I wonder if she knows it.
Ask her.
I opened my mouth and got hit in the face with the waterskin. By the time I’d scrambled to my feet, my little captive had found hers and raced into the thick woods.
Willow
Heartbeat pounding in my ears, I crashed through the forest. Behind me, the redheaded warrior snarled, and I darted into the thick brush, barefoot. The friar didn’t like to spend money on things for the orphans, and my feet became calloused from going without shoes every summer. I’d longed to run these woods. A few months before Hazel disappeared, she and Sage and I had started racing one another, practicing for the day we would escape.
“Bad idea, lass,” the warrior growled down my neck. I shrieked and dodged around a tree, ducking under brambles. I heard Leif cursing and the rending of fabric. I’d better get away, for, now, the punishment he promised me would be more severe.
My course zigzagged through the forest until I burst out onto a wagon road. My feet pounded down the path, stopping short when I came to a crossroads. One way would take me to the abbey. I could go back and warn my friends before being captured again. Or I could continue and see how long I could remain free.
I hesitated.
“Got you now.” The warrior pounced. We tussled. He took me to the ground then tossed me over his shoulder once again.
Frantic, I bit him until I tasted blood.
“Stop.” He gave my bottom a jarring slap that reverberated all the way through me. I shrieked, and the place between my legs pulsed.