The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “Here, Aurelie.”

  Anders’ voice distracts me from my pitiful thoughts and I see him handing me a leg of poultry. I take the meat, examining it and feeling its heat. The skin has been well baked and is browned nicely. The flesh beneath smells delicious!

  “Thank you,” I reply, feeling genuinely grateful.

  I take a large bite of the meat and relish the taste as I consume it. Anders smiles at my response, passing next some freshly baked bread and then a small goblet filled with water. I long for the wine, but do not reject his kindness, thanking him again for his generosity. I eat my fill by Anders’ hand and as I sit by his side, my appetite feels at last contented.

  Draining my goblet, I watch with interest as a public session of court begins, with individuals being brought forward to Anders either for punishment or reward. I watch one fellow—some type of farmer—dragged before Anders and charged with the theft of grain and some vegetables. Secured in manacles, he is flanked by two guards and begs his prince for forgiveness. I glance up to my left to where Anders sits casting judgement. He eyes the man intently as he considers his fate, permitting his pleas for several long moments, until he raises one palm. This action silences him in an instant, and it seems as though everyone holds their breath, awaiting his verdict.

  “Samuel Olafsson,” he calls out. “I find you guilty of the charges of theft presented today.”

  The man falls to his knees and sobs at hearing the decision.

  “There is no room in our community for thieves and liars—we are at war and must all work together against our common foe. You will be whipped tomorrow at dawn—ten lashes should suffice to remind you never to steal again.”

  I gasp inwardly at the punishment, imagining the sting of the whip and praying that I never have to meet its cruel kiss. Ahead of us Samuel thanks his prince in small sobs, before being led from the platform, and next to me Anders sighs. It’s a deep, low sound that probably only reaches my ear. He tightens the grip on the rope in his right hand and pulls me nearer. I am forced from my resting position to kneel right next to his chair.

  A new man arrives before us, falling to one knee at the sight of Anders. A guard behind me introduces him and explains that he had saved the life of three comrades during the attack on Donrose. It occurs to me that the entire dialogue plays out in a tongue that I can understand and I wonder if Anders has commanded it this way intentionally. After the announcement, there is silence as Anders considers the information.

  “Thank you, Kendrick,” he says eventually, throwing a large smile at the man kneeling before him. “Your bravery is acknowledged and gratefully applauded. I will arrange for your kin to be rewarded with a purse from the Crown.”

  “Thank you, my Lofðungr!” cried Kendrick, reaching out his arms to Anders.

  He acknowledges him with a small wave, before gesturing for Kendrick to also be led from the platform. As the men depart, Anders draws me closer again, and this time he looks to me, a devilish look in his eye.

  “Not long now, my captive,” he purrs seductively.

  I shudder reflexively at his tone, but smile as I imagine what his intention may be. He releases the tension in the rope a little, allowing me to reseat myself on my still tender behind and await the next subject. To my amazement I see Magnus climbing the wooden steps and standing before Anders and me. Once again I am struck by his sheer size and as my eyes climb his body, I see his face, hardened and unforgiving, awaiting his prince. He falls to one knee, expectantly.

  “Magnus The Strong,” Anders exclaimed. “You have long been a true and faithful servant and a friend to your prince. I have always valued your devotion to your king and country. That is why I have chosen you to lead our reconnaissance mission.”

  Magnus cocks his head at the news and for a brief moment his gaze turns to me, searing into me and assessing my attire. His eyes throw an accusation at me: this is you, they sneer; you have caused this! He bows his head for a second before answering.

  “Thank you, my Lofðungr. It is an unexpected honour to have been tasked with this mission.”

  “Indeed,” replies Anders, watching him from his throne. “You will lead a team of experienced soldiers and will explore these new lands. Find out where we should next charge our armies and raise the flag of the north!”

  Magnus nods as he rises, and takes a small step toward his master. “Of course,” he says. “If you think my services will best serve you in this way?”

  His tone is cutting, dripping with complaint at his new role.

  “I do,” responds Anders, and then dropping his voice, he continues. “Whilst you are gone, consider that you may never again enjoy what belongs to me.”

  I sit there frozen to the spot as the impact of the exchange resonates like thunder from the gods. The two men exchange looks, Magnus ultimately deferring to his prince with a bow as he backs away.

  “Go whilst the light rides with you brother and remember—you take our hopes and expectations with you!”

  Anders’ voice cuts through the near palpable tension surrounding us. At his words the crowd below cheers, calling for Magnus’ good fortunes. Before he turns, the weight of his stare lands on me once again. I dare to meet his eye, no longer willing to succumb to his intimidations, and in his face I see pure malice. He bows again, before turning and stalking from the platform and down the steps to the attention of the crowds.

  I exhale, unaware that I must have been holding my breath and from the corner of my eye I see Anders looking at me. I turn to meet those blue orbs. He nods at me as he speaks. “You are mine now, my captive,” he says. “Never again will I allow another man to come between us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six: A New Anxiety

  Anders is called to the throne room by two fully armed soldiers who mount the stage as Magnus departs. Anxious whispers and glances are exchanged and we return to the pavilion with haste. His strides are so long and fast that I am forced to run to keep pace with him. As he enters the open space of the pavilion, I see twelve of his men assembled on small stalls around his throne. I recognise some of the faces, but know who none of them are. They rise as Anders approaches.

  “Gentlemen,” he declares. “I have just heard the news…”

  There are hushed exchanges around the circle as I am led behind Anders. One man, older in age than many of the others and clearly superior in rank, stands up.

  “My Lofðungr,” he replies, bowing low. “The matters we must discuss are of the utmost importance. I have called upon your privy council and…” he looks over Anders’ shoulder to me as he continues, “we must speak in private.”

  “Of course, my Lord,” replies Anders, nodding in agreement. “Allow me to settle my consort and I shall return to your lordships forthwith.”

  The men mumble their understanding, eyeing me with suspicion as I am led away and back to the room where I have spent so much of the last few days. As the drape is pulled back and we move inside the space, Anders turns immediately, pulling me to him by the rope.

  “Alas, my captive,” he whispers, holding me next to his body. “Duty calls me for now, but to you I swear—I shall return directly after this covenant and claim you once again.”

  I swallow hard at the intensity in his eye.

  “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I murmur as he drops the rope between us, causing it to fall low between my breasts.

  “Strip now and go to the bed.”

  I hear the words and yet cannot quite process them. “My Lofðungr?” I ask as though I don’t quite understand.

  He presses against me with predatory intention. “Do as I have asked, my captive,” he replies, his voice low.

  I back away a few small steps, unsure of what urgent matters now call him away, but feeling my nipples harden at his tone. Slowly and with some reluctance I bend to collect the hem of my clothing. I have enjoyed this dress, its beauty and its protection, and I am reticent to see it go. Sensing there is little choice in arguing, I pull the material up and over
my head, handing it to Anders’ outstretched arms as I conclude. He looks at me, his eyes alive with passion, like a hungry animal.

  “The bed…” he says flatly and I can hear the strain of lust in his voice.

  I turn and move to my right, reaching the now beautifully presented bedding. I climb up onto the high mattress, turning to sit and face Anders. As my behind touches the soft furnishings I am reminded once again just how tender my bottom still is. He moves toward me and it’s then that I see the fresh rope in his hand. My belly twists with nervous excitement and I know that I am pulling in air to my chest much faster than I need. He stands next to the bed, watching me.

  “Lie down and make yourself comfortable, my captive,” he purrs, his voice struggling to contain the excitement he is obviously feeling at the prospect of binding me here.

  I look desperately from Anders to the other side of the chamber, searching for a way out, which I already know does not exist.

  “But, my Lofðungr,” I begin, trying to reason with him.

  He silences me with one word. “Now!”

  Resigned to my fate, I fall back against the soft covers, watching him as he begins work on securing the first length of rope to the left post behind my head. He allows a good distance of the bind and then takes my left wrist gently, securing the end of the rope around it. He works quickly and in silence. All too soon I find that my ankles have been bound in a similar fashion. As he works on securing my right wrist, I pull myself up as much as I can to see the restrictions of my bondage.

  “I have allowed you lots of room to manoeuvre,” he says, assessing my concern as he tugs against the final bind. “This rope should not harm or mark you, but it will keep you in place until I return.”

  I test the ropes, pulling against them a little to see what he means. The threads may be soft in nature, but collectively they make a strong bind. Despite the slack in the ropes, which enable me to roll to either side and even draw my knees up to my body, I realise I am going nowhere. Anders seats himself on the bed to my right as he looks at me.

  “Now, do I need to gag my little captive, or will you be able to remain quiet whilst I am working?”

  My eyes dart to his in an instant, imagining myself yet again gagged by the small fruit that has so tormented me of late. “I will be quiet,” I whisper.

  He smiles again. “Good. The fire has just been stoked and replenished so you should be warm enough.”

  He leans in over me, forcing my body back against the covers. As he moves, his right hand slips deftly between my outstretched thighs, massaging my folds in his own measured way.

  “I will be claiming this when I return,” he purrs, the vibration of this voice sending a new thrill through me. His face closes the distance to mine and before I can blink, his warm full lips crash into mine, kissing my yielding mouth into immediate surrender.

  After a moment he moves, mouth and hands retreating all too soon. I lean up and watch him striding away from the bed toward the heavy drapes. Before he passes through, he turns to assess me. I want to say something to him—to call out and ask him to stay, ask him to fuck me, to talk to me, anything but being left bound to his bed this way. However, the threat of the gag hangs over me and I dare not. Instead I watch as he leaves, slipping through the dark curtain until he is gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: An Unexpected Diversion

  I lie back on the bed, my limbs spread-eagled by the ropes holding me in place. I am neither hot nor cold, and yet I cannot get comfortable. Never in my days have I ever been restrained this way and I realise it will take some getting used to. I test the ropes, rolling onto my left side as far as I can. My body is able to make the transition and yet my right arm, still connected to the post behind my head, is unable to make the position a satisfying one. After a moment I feel the loss of sensation from my left elbow, now pinioned under my own body weight and with resignation I roll back onto my back, staring up at the canopied roof above me.

  I take a deep breath and try to think. So much has happened in the past few days that I seem to have lost my reasoning altogether. I know I should feel anger and indignation at the way I have been treated. Carried from my home by the invaders who sought to usurp it, I have been consistently bound, punished, and humiliated at the hands of Anders and his men. A bubble of rage grows inside of me—a part of the Aurelie I used to be; the woman who had fought to defend her father’s castle from the north. I rationalise that I am not to blame for any of these events. I am a prisoner of war; a prize that has been captured by my enemy, against my will. But ah… herein sits the quandary! I can say with certainty that the initial actions taken against me were absolutely not my choice and yet, since that first day, after I had been brought here to Anders, my will appears to have softened quite considerably. Not that I have chosen what has been done to me. I certainly would never have chosen to be displayed naked in public, or to be used as a piece of furniture. I would never have proffered myself for these ignominious tasks, or volunteered to be bound or spanked like a naughty little common girl, and yet nonetheless I have somehow found immense pleasure in these acts.

  I cannot settle, my limbs struggling aimlessly against the ropes that hold me here as my mind rattles through the events of recent days. I look down the length of my body, eyeing the rope at my neck, the outstretched ankles and trembling legs and the wet folds hiding beneath the soft hair between them. How I wish I could pleasure them now! I reason that this would make the time without Anders pass in a much speedier fashion. I pull the ropes at my wrists, bringing them as far south as I can. Both reach almost as far as my breasts, but will allow me to go no further. I groan in frustration, bucking my hips upward as though they somehow think they can instead reach my hands. I fall back against the covers again, feeling the arousal in me simmering like a low, insistent drumming. My bondage does little to calm me, for every time I move I am reminded of my status here; a thing that Anders can bind and abandon, safe in the knowledge that he can return to claim me whenever he chooses. I squeeze my eyes closed in frustration. Why? Why must I feel this way? My body has betrayed me from the first hours of being taken from my castle, providing me only arousal and stimulation where there should have been fear and disgust.

  Sounds penetrate the walls of the pavilion, dissolving my internal monologue. I hear the cries of men and what I think are the crunches of metal hitting metal, but I cannot decipher if the noises are made in celebration or terror. Whatever the case, knowing there is something going on outside when I am restrained in such a physical way is infuriating. I strain against my binds, trying to hear the detail, but it’s useless. From my place tied to the bed I can no more hear what’s happening than I can see it. I groan out loud, frustration mixing with the concern the unsettling sounds has stirred in me. The disruption outside the pavilion continues, growing in volume. As I listen, the sense of dread in me increases as well. Something is definitely happening beyond Anders’ chamber and the thought scares me. Without Anders here, who will protect me if there is some uprising within his men? What if another has an eye on the throne? What if Magnus himself has returned to seek retribution for his temporary leave of court?

  It’s then that a sudden loud noise cuts though my thoughts. It’s the sound of something slashing through material with force. The noise begins near the top of the wall, beyond my eye line, and then rips slowly downward into view, slicing the confines of my prison in one effortless motion. My eyes assess the blade being driven through the canvas of Anders’ chambers, away to my right and fear rises in me fast. Who is this? Who would dare to risk an attack on Anders? Worse yet, I realise I am helpless to confront whomever is going to appear through the opening. Bound here to the bed, I am powerless to prevent them from taking whatever they choose, including me.

  My heart pounds in my ears, anxiety drilling into my head as I see the blade slide away and two hands appear in the lacerated wall. The hands reach in and then draw away from each other, pulling the material apart. What should I do?
Should I call out for Anders? Would he even hear me? I open my mouth to make a desperate plea, but there is no sound. Fear it seems has taken my voice and with it any chance of rescue. I watch, transfixed by the intruder. The hands are large and have long, pale fingers attached to them. A man then, I conclude. What will he think when he finds not Anders here, but instead his bound and vulnerable slave? I am surely done for! Or maybe, the intruder already knows of the absence of Anders and has chosen this chance to impose, knowing that I will be here alone and defenceless? All of a sudden a large booted foot appears, stepping through the now ruined canvas. A rush of cool outside air blasts in, chilling me despite the energy racing around my bound body. The boot is followed by a long leg, dressed not in the usual dark Nordic trouser, but in a lighter grey tone—a shade I used to know… The leg bends and as my mind reels a head and face come briefly into view, but disappear again above the canopy of the bed. Fleetingly I see brown hair falling around the incumbent face, and then he is gone, towering over the bedside and no doubt taking in my bound and naked form.

  “Please!” I whimper, pulling against my binds futilely. “Please do not harm me!”

  He moves forward, another tall and imposing figure and to my horror I see him removing his cape and tunic. I know now that he does intend to harm and violate me, and that he is preparing himself for the deed.

  “For the sake of the gods!” I cry, imploring him. “Do not do this thing you mean to do.”

  He moves with lithe ease. The tunic is removed in no time at all, revealing armour plating over a pale doublet. I tense, expecting him to strip further, and am amazed when he shakes out the tunic and allows it to land over my torso, covering my nudity. I strain upward, making it to my elbows.