Prisoner of the Raven

by Kirby Crow

  Aleyn denied it, though his body was nearly shaking with pleasure. He arched his hips with the motion of Ranulf's hand. One more stroke and he would come, spending his hot seed over Ranulf's fingers, and it would prove the Viking right. He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and he tried again to turn his head, trying to hide from Ranulf's too-knowing gaze.

  Abruptly, Ranulf's hand left his chin and he felt himself being turned. He struggled, knowing he had pushed the Viking too far. Now he would rape him. He fought harder and suddenly found himself flipped over onto his belly. Ranulf's hands were at his waist, roughly pulling his breeches down to his knees, and Aleyn gasped as he felt cool air touch his bare skin.

  "Please, don't,” he pleaded, though the words nearly choked him. Being reduced to begging was almost worse than being raped.

  "Don't?” Ranulf repeated. He sat on Aleyn's calves, holding him down very effectively as his hands began to caress the rounded cheeks of his ass. “Do not do this?"

  "No,” Aleyn rasped out. “Don't do that."

  "Does it hurt?” Ranulf slid his fingers between Aleyn's buttocks and stroked there very lightly.

  Aleyn bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood. No, it did not hurt. Ranulf touched his hole with a fingertip, circling it gently, and Aleyn pushed down into the mattress, trying to escape that invading touch. This had the effect of pressing his hard cock against the scratchy wool. The stiff fibers chafed his painfully sensitive flesh, and to his dismay, he suddenly found he was on the very edge of orgasm. He gasped and stilled, shivering. Ranulf, as if sensing the nearness of his climax through his very skin, spread his buttocks with his thumbs and leaned forward.

  Aleyn cried out as he felt the first swipe of wet heat against his hole, jerking away, grinding his cock into the covers in his efforts to escape the agile, talented tongue that continued to lick and probe at his entrance. Ranulf's beard chafed against his balls and buttocks, sending little shocks through his body as Ranulf spread Aleyn as wide as his bound legs would allow and plunged his tongue inside him.

  Aleyn shouted in blinding pleasure as his cock jerked and began to spill his seed beneath him, coming helplessly and endlessly to the obscene rapture of being taken by a Viking's tongue.

  After another endless period of time, Ranulf turned him gently over and began to put his clothing to rights. He did not speak, but only tucked Aleyn's damp and spent cock back into his breeches and stood over him. Aleyn looked up at him muzzily, aware of little else except the throbbing tension in his body and the ache between his legs and in his heart. He was amazed to feel Ranulf's hand tenderly pushing his hair back from his face, and he blinked in shock and looked up.

  Ranulf was watching him with an odd expression on his face. Aleyn might have mistaken it for affection, if he did not already know how ruthless this Viking was.

  Ranulf's fingers strayed over his prisoner's cheek and across his lips, lingering there. “Aleyn,” he said, in that accent that made his name sound like a song or a blessing. “You have much to learn. I am not the worst teacher you could have."

  Aleyn could not speak or answer, and in a moment Ranulf turned his back quickly and left. “I will be back,” he called over his shoulder.

  Left alone, Aleyn listened to the sounds of the longship making landfall and the sounds that followed: the battle-cries and the voices of men shouting in rage and fear, and later, of fire and burning.

  I hate him, he told himself without much conviction, trying not to remember how gently Ranulf had touched his hair. I hate him. I do!

  Eventually he heard boots on the deck outside the compartment, and the hatch slid open. Aleyn squinted against the light, seeing only a large shape filling the room. Only when the hatch closed did he see it was Haakon who stood over him.

  Chapter 3

  Ranulf led the raiding party, his huscarl Oskell on his right, Gamelin in tow, and twenty good men from the ship armed with axes. Haakon, who was a sokeman and thus the next highest in rank, he left in charge of the longship. He doubted the villagers could muster much of a defense, but there were always surprises in battle. The longship beached on the sloping shore when the sun was at her zenith, and within an hour most of the villagers had been rounded up and put inside the mill. There were no people young enough to be taken as thraells, and Ranulf suspected that the young ones had either been taken in previous raids or killed in the endless clan fights that seemed to plague this island. Only one man was able-bodied, the rest passing middle aged or quite elderly, and the able man, quite sensibly, did not argue when Ranulf announced he was taking their stores. A few of the old women wept and asked how they would live throughout the winter.

  Oskell pulled a face. “It is barely spring and you worry for the winter! We are not burning your crops, old woman. Leave be."

  A search of the mill turned up only a few silver pennies, but there was wool, newly-spun linen, wine, and cheese, all of which Ranulf commanded to be put aboard the longship. None of his own people had been injured, and he grinned at Gamelin as he passed, for the youth's rare smile was infectious.

  "Well, now you have been a-raiding for your first time! What do you think?"

  Gamelin shook his head, grinning as he carried a box of assorted cups and plates, some pewter, some brass. “Not as exciting as the battle on the cog. I shall be on the raiding party that takes the next ship!"

  Ranulf slung his axe up to his shoulder and slapped Gamelin on the back. “In every battle, one of two things will happen: you will either fall or you will not."

  "Then I have nothing to lose,” Gamelin said proudly, as a Viking should. “Everything is preordained. Nothing can bring a man to his death if his time has not come, and nothing can save one doomed to die. The All-Father wove my life long ago."

  Ranulf nodded in satisfaction and sent Gamelin on his way. There was no mention among his warriors of burning the village after it was plundered. Leaving it to replenish its stores and swell its population was far more prudent for future raids than burning it to the ground. A leader must think ahead.

  Just as he was about to call for the return to the longship, his sharp eyes spotted three ragged boys emerging from the far forest beyond the wheat field, yelling at full throat. Though they were still far away, Ranulf discerned that the boy in the lead, dark-haired like so many of these island clans, carried a long knife. The others were armed with a hoe and spade. As Ranulf watched them come on, Oskell appeared at his elbow and shot him a look.

  "Is it children we are killing today, jarl?"

  "They're armed,” he answered, spitting into the spring grass. His mouth twisted in distaste. Fool boys! Did no one ever tell them not to attack unless they were ready to die?

  "Rakes and shovels,” Oskell scoffed.

  "Which are as capable of killing a man as a sword. Iron is iron, friend."

  Still, it disturbed him. The boys were brave. Ranulf could respect their wish to protect their families and property, even if he ridiculed the method.

  "Stupid, stupid...” he muttered. He turned. “Get one of the women from the mill,” he ordered Oskell. “Quickly."

  "Which one?"

  "Whichever one looks like someone's grandmother."

  Oskell hurried off, but not before muttering back that they all looked like someone's grandmother. He returned swiftly, dragging a gray-haired woman with the face of a wizened crone.

  "You,” he spoke to her in Gaelic, nodding to the straggling line of would-be attackers. “Tell them to stop."

  "Are you afraid, Dubhgall?"

  Odin grant him patience! “You should be. We will kill them all if they raise weapons against us. Is this what you want?"

  "They are boys!” she protested.

  "They carry weapons like men,” he said, biting off the words.

  "And if I bring them down without weapons, will you then kill them?"

  "I will certainly kill you, if you do not go now!” he barked. “Fear not, old mother, you have my word. No harm
will come to them if they lay down their tools."

  She went as swiftly as her feet would take her, setting an awkward, jogging gait up the path that led to the field, where she met the boys. They halted and Ranulf could see her haranguing them and the boys shouting back and waving their arms and pointing, until finally she made a grab at the shirt of the boy who held the knife and delivered several stinging slaps to his head, tearing the knife from his hand and hurling it away. The other boys dropped their tools.

  Oskell laughed and went to help Gamelin while Ranulf waited by the path. The boys came down with the old woman. Two of the sullen boys were cowed, but the third brave one was furious and not hiding it very well. They halted in front of him and the old woman put her hand on the brave one's neck.

  "They are just boys,” she said, as if she doubted his word not to hurt the children. “They mean no harm."

  "Oh, I think they meant harm,” Ranulf said, but he was willing to let it go. “Take them back with you and keep them quiet. If they start bawling like kid goats, I may change my mind."

  The brave one's head came up. “I'll show you goat!” he screamed at him, and before Ranulf could move or react, the boy whipped out a knife hidden in his sleeve and buried half the point in the jarl's upper leg.

  It was not a very big knife at all, but Ranulf bellowed and roared and the boys shrank away. Oskell came running with Gamelin and several others as Ranulf stood cursing horribly. He jerked the knife out of his leg and threw it to the ground, spitting on it.

  "Miserable pup!” he raged, drawing his sword from its long sheath. The old woman darted forward as if she would stop him, but was dragged back by his men. He stood over the boy and raised his sword.

  The boy looked up at him, his eyes fierce, without a trace of fear, and Ranulf hesitated. The boy was enemy and had attacked him with a weapon. By their laws, punishment was plain and expected, yet still he hesitated. The lad had brown hair and eyes the color of green clover.

  Like Aleyn.

  Slowly, his sword was lowered, until he saw no reason to keep holding it and sheathed it at his side. He put his hand over the wound on his leg to staunch the bleeding.

  "Get these idiot children in the mill and lock it before they cause any more mischief,” he growled, limping away. “Doubtless they have more people in the forest. They can let them out when we've gone."

  * * * *

  When he was back on the longship and Gamelin was cleaning his wound, Ranulf noticed several of his men sending odd looks his way. He looked down at Gamelin as the youth knelt in a pool of sunshine on the wooden deck, wrapping a bandage around his jarl's thigh.

  "Well, and what do they think?” he sighed.

  Gamelin lifted an eyebrow. His curls were like shavings of gold in the light. “They wonder at a jarl who shows such mercy."

  "Mercy,” he snorted. “That was no mercy, not to kill a puppy because it bites. Its instinct is to bite."

  "Might be a bit too subtle for some minds to grasp,” Gamelin observed, tying a tidy knot. He stood up when he was finished. “For my part, I would rather fight true warriors than dirt-digging villagers. I will say this to whoever asks me."

  Ranulf nodded, knowing he was being given Gamelin's assurance of support. He had Oskell's unshakable loyalty, as well as many others, but there were a few who would see Ranulf's actions today as weakness, and would try to use it to their advantage. It was not unknown for a jarl to lose his command during a raid, or to meet with an accident, or for his crew to mutiny.

  One such mutiny had occurred years ago when Ranulf was young and on his first raiding. Harald had lost his command off the coast of Briton because he foolishly targeted lands that were well-protected, seeking to prove his worth in battle rather than searching for treasure, and getting more and more of his crew killed in the bargain.

  At last, with half a crew left, Harald had aimed his ship for a southern Briton port that was known to be well-defended by the British king's garrison. Ranulf had led the mutiny and he himself had killed Harald and tossed his axe-cleaved body to the sea, and the remainder of the crew went on to raid successfully for the rest of the season under the leadership of Ranulf Eriksen, their new jarl.

  Gamelin went to his seat at the oars and Ranulf sighed and stood, making for his sleeping compartment and some well-deserved rest. He winced as he ducked under the low hatch and saw Aleyn lying on the bunk, still trussed and bound. He hoped he had not made the knots too tight.

  "Aleyn?” he called as he sat on the chest and pulled off his boots. “Are you awake?"

  His only reply was a sniff, and he sighed. Normally, he would have found amusement in soothing such a pretty captive, but his patience was at an end this day. “I will cut you loose,” he said, drawing his knife and moving to Aleyn. “I did not mean to leave you tied up so long. I was delayed."

  That was when he saw the bruise on Aleyn's cheek. He froze. His hand went to touch the purpling area on Aleyn's cheekbone. “How did this happen?” His first thought was a fall. Had he tumbled off the bunk in his struggles, hit his face on the deck? Aleyn's refusal to answer alarmed him.

  "How did it happen?” he asked again, slicing through the ropes that held his wrists and bound his chest, then the ones on his legs. “Did you fall?"

  Aleyn sat up and pushed the cut bindings from him before wrapping his arms around his knees. “No,” he said shortly. He would not look at Ranulf.

  "Then what?” He was rapidly losing patience. “I am in no mood for games,” he grated out. “Tell me what happened."

  Aleyn glanced at his face, then quickly away. He said something too low to hear. Ranulf leaned closer. “What? Speak up!"

  Aleyn looked at him, and Ranulf saw that his green eyes were bright with unshed tears and his mouth was trembling. “Haakon,” he said lowly, leaving Ranulf to figure out the rest of it.

  Ranulf's jaw tightened. “Haakon marked you? How?” When Aleyn did not answer, he clapped his hand down hard on his shoulder. “Answer me!"

  "Or what? You'll hit me, too?” Aleyn shot back. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, as if ashamed of his weakness, and Ranulf paused. He had never considered that the man had pride. If so, it was a strange one; one that allowed an enemy to use his body while still believing himself free.

  Ranulf strove for calm. He loosened his iron grip and moved a little away from Aleyn. “I must ask you this; did Haakon strike you?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "He didn't say."

  Ranulf blew his breath out and clenched his fists. “Mark me well, Irlander: if men are to die, I prefer to know why I am killing them."

  Aleyn stared at him. “You'd kill your own man?"

  "I might. First, I must know why he struck you. What did you do?"

  Aleyn threw a piece of the cut rope at him. “Lie flat on my back, mostly!"

  Ranulf felt his heartbeat begin to slow with the first beginnings of a deadly rage. “You were never untied, then. Did he touch you?"

  Aleyn pointed to his cheek.

  "I do not mean that.” Ranulf carefully put his hands on Aleyn's shoulders. “Did he touch you the way I touch you?” And he slid his hand down the front of Aleyn's shirt, brushing his palm across his nipple. “Like this."

  Aleyn flushed. “No. He just came in and shouted at me and when I shouted back, he hit me."

  Ranulf put his hand under Aleyn's chin and forced the younger man to look into his eyes. “That is all? You are sure?"

  Aleyn nodded. Ranulf released him and sighed. “Very well. I will handle this in my own way, Aleyn. For the present, stay away from Haakon."

  "Your ship isn't that big,” Aleyn retorted. “And I didn't go out of my way to find him when you were ashore."

  Ranulf pulled at his golden beard, thinking. “No, you could not have,” he mused. His brain began to work, remembering old slights Haakon had sent his way, his many arguments with the crew known to be loyal to Ranulf, his bitterness over the loss of Gamelin, who had
been as dear to him as any could be to that red pig. “Did he say anything?"

  "He said a lot. I just didn't understand any of it."

  Aleyn was staring at the bulkhead, steadfastly refusing to look at him, and Ranulf felt a twinge of remorse. “I am not blaming you,” he said, striving for a soothing tone.

  It did not work. Aleyn shot him a poisonous look. “I should hope not. If you leave me tied hand and foot on a boat full of pirates, you have no one to blame for what happens except yourself."

  "We are not pirates,” Ranulf corrected irrelevantly. He shifted on the bunk and a bolt of pain shot up from his injured leg. He hissed.

  Aleyn was looking at his bloodied, bandaged thigh. “You're hurt."

  "This? This is nothing,” Ranulf scoffed, although it did not feel like nothing. He took a moment to pray to Odin that the boy's knife had not been poisoned. He did not think so: poison was rare among his people, even rarer on these islands.

  Aleyn stretched out his hand hesitantly and then withdrew. Ranulf, who knew much more of human nature than young Aleyn, could see the struggle in him. He wishes me not to come to harm, he realized. Yet, he hates me a little as well. Unexpectedly, he felt a rush of affection for this young man with the odd bravery who seemed to live by incomprehensible rules.

  He probably finds me just as strange, he thought, and a smile touched his face. “You are not so angry with me, then?"

  Aleyn had not melted that much, but he had little choice but to comply when Ranulf drew him forward and kissed the bruise on his cheek. “What did you say to Haakon that made him do this?"

  "I don't think he understood it."

  His fingers found the ragged hem of Aleyn's shirt and he pushed it up as he drew him down to the covers. He ignored the pain from his wounded leg as he caressed the smooth skin of Aleyn's belly, just above the lacing of his breeches, where there was a dusting of fine hair that arrowed down into the hollow between his thighs.