by Kirby Crow
"I found out from Gamelin. Haakon has a loose tongue in bed."
"I should have knifed his gut and thrown him to the fish the day we set sail,” he snarled, thrusting the flap aside and entering the tent.
Oskell followed him stubbornly. “True, but too late now. Have done with this little nothing Irlander. Put him aside. Give him to Yric as a gift, or even set him free if you cannot stand to see him given to another."
"I am not done with him yet,” he evaded. Aleyn was curled up like a cat on the rug, fast asleep. As promised, there was a smoke-colored girl in his tent, also asleep. She was huddled under a mound of furs a watchful distance from Aleyn.
Oskell jerked his head toward the sleeping woman. “You have the girl,” he said.
I do not want the girl, he thought, and he finally admitted the truth in the depths of his heart: Though he probably curses me and spits at the sound of my name when I am not there to see, I want only him. But ... do I want him more than I want my ship, more than I want to remain a Viking? What madness has come over me?
"Perhaps Haakon is right,” he murmured. “Perhaps I am bewitched."
Oskell's head came up sharply in alarm. “My jarl, let me take him with me now.” Oskell tried to step around Ranulf. “He has bewitched you. I will get rid of him and you never need ask me how. Just let me—"
"No!” Ranulf placed himself between his huscarl and Aleyn, standing over the sleeping Irlander like a wolf over his fallen mate. “No. He is mine."
Aleyn stirred. Oskell glanced down at him, then back to Ranulf. “I do not know what will happen if he stays."
Ranulf sensed a warning in Oskell's tone. Perhaps it was the only one he could give. Oskell was still a Viking, and Ranulf had proved he had a weakness. He would have done the same. Ranulf nodded sadly. “I understand."
Aleyn sat up. Oskell pointed at him. “Keep your little A-leyn, then. If he does have any magic, tell him he had better use it to protect you, for if anything happens to you, I will kill him as well.” There was pain in his voice.
"Leave,” Ranulf commanded lowly.
* * * *
Aleyn woke at dusk to the sound of shouting voices. He opened his eyes and saw Ranulf standing over him with Oskell. They were arguing, and Oskell pointed at Aleyn once and quite clearly said his name.
Aleyn sat up, wondering what he had done. “What's amiss?” he asked Ranulf.
"Silence,” Ranulf commanded shortly. He spoke one biting word to Oskell and made a gesture of dismissal, and Oskell departed, but not without a backward glance at Aleyn.
Ranulf was standing, his arms folded, staring after Oskell with a black scowl on his face.
Aleyn knuckled the sleep out of his eyes. The girl, Yasmina, was huddled under a fur near the tent wall. One of her eyes was closed, the other was opened to a slit, and her breathing was deep and even. Aleyn saw that she was awake but pretending to be asleep. She caught him looking and shook her head the tiniest bit, warning him. To do what, he wondered? To be silent, to pretend helplessness like a good slave and be safe from Ranulf's anger? He ignored her.
"What's wrong?” he asked again.
Ranulf turned to him with a truly ferocious glare. “I told you to be silent."
Aleyn shrank back a little. What in hell is wrong with Ranulf now? he wondered resentfully. Although he could almost feel his tongue itching with the acid retort rising in his throat, he knew better than to speak. Ranulf looked to be on the verge of rage. He cast his eyes down and sat meekly, while above him Ranulf continued to stare at the tent wall. The jarl's breathing was erratic.
Suddenly, Ranulf bent down and seized Aleyn's arms, thrusting his face so near that Aleyn could see the shadings of color in his blue eyes.
"Is it true? Are you witching me, slave?"
Aleyn could only gape at him in shock. “What?"
Ranulf shook him. Aleyn's teeth clicked. “Have you put a spell on me? What charms have you said over me that entice me to keep you by my side, even though I may die for it?"
Aleyn was beginning to know fear. “I don't ... I haven't..."
"Are you lying?” Ranulf gripped Aleyn's chin in his sword-callused hand. “If you lie to me now, I will not be responsible for what I do. Tell me."
Ranulf's hands were hurting him. Aleyn blinked and stared at him with wide, startled eyes. “I wouldn't even know how,” he said starkly. His voice grew stronger and he stared back at Ranulf fearlessly. “I swear it, Ranulf. I am no sorcerer."
Before he could say anything else, Ranulf had sealed his mouth over Aleyn's and was kissing him passionately. “Tell me you want me,” Ranulf breathed and began to strip him out of his shirt, fingers tugging impatiently at the buttons. “Tell me you want to feel my body on you."
Aleyn shivered. He was not ready to give up so much of himself. I'm a prisoner, he thought fiercely. A captured slave. I am not his lover!
When he did not speak, Ranulf kissed him until he was breathless. Ranulf's hand cupped and pressed Aleyn's cock beneath his clothing.
"I will make you tell me,” he said urgently. He pushed Aleyn down to the rug and unpinned the magnificent black fur cloak, throwing it aside carelessly. Aleyn made a sound of protest as Ranulf straddled his waist, big knees clasping his hips.
"Wait.” Anxiously, he looked over at Yasmina, who was now wide awake and watching them with interest.
Ranulf barely glanced at her. He gave up trying to unbutton Aleyn's shirt and began to pull at the material, pushing it up to his shoulders, pinching his nipples and bending down to capture his mouth in a dizzying kiss. “I will take you,” he panted. “I will make you mine completely. We will see how much of a witch you are after I have mastered your body."
Aleyn did not like the sound of that. Most especially, he did not like Yasmina watching them. Always before, these acts had occurred in privacy, just between the two of them. To suddenly be on display made Aleyn feel naked and exposed. He began to try to push Ranulf off of him.
"I can't ... not in front of ... Ranulf, stop."
Ranulf did not seem to hear him. He tugged at the laces of Aleyn's breeches, pulling them down. “I want to be inside of you."
Aleyn began to panic. “You said you would not rape me."
Ranulf chuckled. He rubbed his leg against Aleyn's groin. “There will be no need to. You want me, Aleyn. You care for me. Say it."
"I don't,” he tried feebly. “I care nothing for you."
Ranulf paused, suddenly still. “You lie."
"No.” Aleyn was trembling. “Want you? You're nothing but a pirate and a rapist. I can barely stand the sight of you!"
Ranulf kissed him hard, silencing him. “Lies,” he gasped, when he would let Aleyn breathe again. “You love me."
"I said stop!” Aleyn surged up, and when Ranulf simply used the flat of his hand to push him back down, Aleyn lashed out.
"Damn you!” Aleyn's ill-timed punch landed a glancing blow to Ranulf's nose.
Ranulf froze, his face clouding over in rage. Aleyn's aim had been off due to his awkward position and the blow had barely hurt, neither of which was relevant.
"Miserable slut!” he roared. Ranulf's fist clenched and Aleyn's eyes widened. If Ranulf punched him with that ham of a fist, it would break his jaw.
Luckily, Ranulf seemed to recall himself at the last moment and dealt Aleyn an open-handed slap to the side of the face. Even though he pulled his strength back at the last instant, Aleyn was still knocked flat. He fell back against the rugs and looked up at the Northman fuzzily as he felt a thin, hot line of blood trickle down past his lips.
Ranulf paused, his hand upraised, and Aleyn flinched. Visibly striving to control himself, Ranulf lowered his hand. “You're bleeding,” he said flatly, stating the obvious.
Aleyn wiped his nose against his wrist. “Bastard,” he grated out, shoving at Ranulf ineffectually. To his shock, Ranulf let himself be pushed off. Aleyn scrambled to his knees, setting his clothes to rights, as Ranulf rose over him.
&nb
sp; Aleyn risked looking up. Ranulf was staring at him. Aleyn swiped at the blood again. Just a nosebleed. He refused to look at Ranulf again, even when he heard the Viking moving away, but when Yasmina gave a smothered laugh, he jerked his eyes up and found that Ranulf was pulling the furs off the woman.
Aleyn was too startled to think of his own safety. “What are you doing?” he blurted.
Ranulf was pulling at Yasmina's thin robe. To Aleyn's surprise, she was not fighting Ranulf, but actively helping him undress her, smiling as she shrugged her shoulders out of the thin shift. Her breasts came into view, full and amber-hued, topped with dark nipples. Aleyn watched as Ranulf, without a look at him, cupped the woman's breast and squeezed it.
"Do you understand me, girl?” Ranulf asked her. His voice was strange. Smiling, Yasmina shook her head and spread her knees.
Aleyn looked at the tent flap, wishing he could just go through it and leave, and wondering if Ranulf would try to stop him if he did. He half rose to his feet, only to have Ranulf turn on him.
"You will stay!” he barked. He jerked at his belt and then began pulling the laces of his breeches apart. “Watch,” he commanded grimly, his eyes like burning blue gems, his gold hair hanging in his face. “You think I have mistreated you? You think I have raped you? I will not trouble you for the use of your body again."
Aleyn sank back, knowing that he had no choice but to obey. If he tried to leave, it would go very badly for him. The only protection he had against the other Vikings was Ranulf.
And what protection against Ranulf? he thought despondently. Ranulf said he would not trouble him again, did that mean he had decided to sell him after all? Or would Ranulf actually let him go free?
Ranulf lowered his mouth to the woman's breasts and began to suck on her nipples, laving his tongue over her chest. She giggled and wound her fingers in his flowing hair, wrapping her shapely legs around his back as he pulled his leather breeches down to his thighs and began to push and rub against her sex.
Aleyn did as he was ordered and watched, and tried to tell himself that he was glad that Ranulf's attentions were focused on someone else at last, which felt confusingly like a lie. Why did I say those things to him? he wondered mournfully. It did not occur to him that his denial stemmed from fear, or that a man could lie even to himself, if the truth were hard enough to confront.
As he watched, Ranulf threw his head back to toss his long mane of hair out of his face, and Yasmina began to claw him out of his leather jerkin, revealing the hard, muscled lines of his back, the curves of his ass. Ranulf's buttocks clenched as he drove against the woman, seeking to enter her, and Aleyn's breath hitched and he looked away, confused by the sudden tightness in his chest. A moment later, Ranulf's hand slapped against the rug. He was glaring at Aleyn.
"Watch,” he growled.
Aleyn swallowed. Watch? He could barely stand to look at Ranulf at all. Holding his gaze, Ranulf's hand went between his body and Yasmina's, and Yasmina purred and spread her legs wider, her eyes slitted with pleasure.
What was this odd pain in his chest, the sense of his heart being squeezed until all the blood seemed trying to flee his arteries? Aleyn bit his lip, his mind struggling with the emotions warring within him, until Ranulf grunted and his hips jerked as he plunged his cock into the woman.
Aleyn inhaled a shaking breath, his eyes stinging, but he refused to look away or to let Ranulf see how he was affected. He himself did not understand it, but he knew in some murky way that Ranulf wished to hurt him by taking Yasmina in front of him. His lips clamped together tightly and he lifted his chin. He wouldn't give him that pleasure, not even if he branded him and sold him to the Saxons this very night!
He watched as Ranulf rutted with the girl, his expression blank and set, listening as their flesh met and slapped together wetly, seeing a glimpse of his thick shaft disappearing into her depths. When Ranulf thrust brutally a few times and uttered a hoarse cry, Aleyn knew that he had spent his seed into the woman.
After a few moments, Ranulf lifted his body off Yasmina and wiped himself clean with the edge of her shift. “Go,” he said to her, his face obscured by his hair. “Out."
She took his meaning and shrugged as she gathered her clothing up and stepped lightly out of the tent. Aleyn continued to sit with a face like stone.
Ranulf glanced at him once. “What?” he asked as he pulled his jerkin back on. He picked up his black cloak. “You did not like the show? Was it not pleasing to watch me rape someone else for a change?"
Aleyn stubbornly gritted his teeth. If this Northman expected him to answer, he had best think again!
Ranulf watched Aleyn closely as he dressed, drawing the cloak about his powerful body. “Have you nothing to say?"
When Aleyn made no response at all, the muscle just below Ranulf's left eye began to twitch, and then he was kneeling down and seizing Aleyn's arms, dragging him to his feet.
"Did you enjoy it?” he asked. His face was so cold that Aleyn's heart, already aching for some unfathomable reason, began to thud painfully, as if it wished it could just stop.
"What difference does it make?” he heard himself say. “You are a Viking. You take what you are strong enough to hold. What I think, what I feel, doesn't matter. I don't matter."
His words seemed to drain the strength out of Ranulf, and Aleyn was astonished when the Northman released him. Ranulf turned and dug into one of the chests beside the low table, drawing forth a long-sleeved blue garment from it. It was like a long robe with a high collar, spun from very light linen the sapphire color of the deep sea, and shot with many threads of silver at the neck and wrists. Aleyn stared at it as Ranulf held it out to him.
"You will wear this to the feast,” Ranulf said in a dead tone.
"No,” Aleyn replied without thinking.
He was unprepared for the ferocity of Ranulf's reaction. The Northman grabbed his linen shirt by the neck and tore it down, baring him to the waist. He thrust the robe into his face.
"You will wear this, or you will go in your skin and nothing else!"
Aleyn trembled, but he was not sure if it was from fear or shame or heartache. He took the robe from Ranulf and began to undress without a word. Ranulf watched him as he stripped and put on the odd garment. It was softer than what he was used to feeling next to his skin, and altogether too fair a garment for a man. He realized with some horror that it was probably something that belonged to Yasmina.
Not for the first time, he told himself that he hated Ranulf and wished the Viking dead, and wondered why he felt so hollow inside. He also feared what fate awaited him in the red tent, for he sensed that Ranulf was also brooding on that place.
It doesn't matter what he does to me, he thought. I certainly can't sink any lower than this; to be miserable that a Viking took a woman when he could have had me instead.
Ranulf waited until Aleyn had tied the last tie at his wrist before gripping his hand and pulling him out of the gray tent. They made their way through the camp, and Aleyn was aware of the stares he garnered and how they must have looked together. Ranulf striding along like he owned the very earth, his lion's-mane of hair trailing after him, his fine cloak furling in the twilight breeze from the water. He with his slight frame, too slender and not enough curves to be a woman, short brown hair, but dressed in garb that one more expected to see on a dancing girl.
The crimson tent was made of thick, tough material that Aleyn was not familiar with, like linen, only much thicker and stronger. The shelter was vast and round, with a towering central pole and many supporting poles, braces, and lines.
Ranulf thrust aside the heavy flap and pushed him inside, shoving him into mayhem. There were perhaps a hundred or more in the tent, and the air was thick with smoke and incense and the smell of food, mead, sweat, and bodies. Strange music played dissonantly, music that was at once sliding, like a snake, and also jarring to his senses. Dancing girls swayed their hips here and there among the crowd, and there was a warm fire in the
cleared center of the tent. Smoke exited up through the large hole cut around the material roped to the supporting column, and there were many low tables and benches. Men perched on the benches or sat on rugs or squatted on the sandy ground, and every hand held a mead-horn or a piece of food. There were many voices speaking the rough, alien tongue that grated on Aleyn's ears, and yellow light from tallow and beeswax candles flickered on fierce, bearded, barbarian faces and glowed on the soft features of their dancing women and whores.
Ranulf's hand was on his shoulder, guiding him to a place where an older man with a grim face and greasy yellow hair sat on a carved wooden chair, surrounded by warriors; obviously a person of importance. Ranulf approached and spoke to the man, but did not introduce Aleyn, instead shoving him to sit on the ground next to the second wooden chair placed by the older man. Ranulf sat in the place of secondary honor with Aleyn at his feet.
The ridiculous garment on his shoulders seemed far too heavy and the smoky air and the yellow, flickering light were bringing back his headache with a vengeance. Aleyn closed his eyes and wished he could as easily shut out the sound of crude laughter and the voices speaking in an unknown tongue. He was sure every word spoken was a taunt to him, every laugh an insult.
How not, when I am dressed like a slut and on display, he thought bitterly. He risked a glance to Ranulf's face. The Viking steadfastly ignored him.
Aleyn's heart sank as he realized that Ranulf had probably already decided to get rid of him. What he could not fathom was the Viking's sudden anger and incomprehensible resentment.
What have I done to offend him so? What does he want from me?
He did not have time to dwell on it for long, for Haakon was there almost as soon as he sat at Ranulf's feet. The red-haired sokeman looked down at Aleyn, his ruddy face a mask of loathing, and spoke in his guttural language.
Aleyn did not understand him, which Haakon knew, and his temper began to flare. He had already resigned himself to being the object of stares, but this direct confrontation was more than he could tolerate.