The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “Who are you?” I hiss, growing in confidence despite my continued unease. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Peace, Aurelie,” comes the reply in a hushed tone. “I have come to rescue you!”

  I pause, processing the voice. It belongs to someone I know and had assumed I would never see again.

  “Bowen!” I nearly cry out his name as the realisation finally hits me. It’s Bowen! I am saved!

  “Hush!” he whispers, seating himself on the bed where Anders had been himself just a short while before. We exchange a long look and I examine his bloodstained, weary face. His eyes, usually so soft and warm, look hardened with rage.

  “What have they done to you?” he growls. “My innocent little Aurelie!”

  I rile at his words, feeling suddenly ashamed about what has transpired. “All is well,” I snap, sounding rather more clipped than I’d intended.

  He tilts his head, examining me. “I shall never forgive myself for abandoning you to this fate,” he says grimly. “Let me cut you free and take you from this place.”

  He stands, releasing his dagger and moves forward to cut through the rope at my right wrist. I watch him as he moves down to my ankles and then releases my remaining bondage, finally pausing to untie the leather at my neck.

  “Where can we go, brother?” I ask, lowering my voice. “This is the Nordic camp and they have taken the castle at Donrose!”

  He turns to me and grins.

  “Had,” he corrects me. “Eustace and I have rounded the support of the south and ridden back to fight for our castle. The battle has raged this last day and all the while I have been surprised that more of the Norse men have not returned to stand up to us. My spies have told me that there has been some type of celebration here; festivities if you can believe it?”

  I rise from the bed, grabbing the tunic to my skin as my stomach tenses. I can well believe the things Bowen is telling me as I myself had been at the very centre of these festivities. Is it possible that the distraction of my humiliating punishments had lured Anders’ attention from the threat of my brothers’ men approaching from the south?

  “Have you taken the castle back, Bowen?” I ask in a low whisper.

  He smiles. Those warm laughter lines appear at his brown eyes, making him seem much more like the Bowen of old.

  “Aye, sister,” he replies. “Although we have few men to secure it. Eustace has gone east with a few good men, to protect our border. Once the battle was done and I failed to find you, a number of our servants told me of your fate. What has happened?”

  I blanch at the question and rise from the bed.

  “I tried to fight the hordes,” I begin as I pull the length of his tunic over my nudity. Obligingly he averts his gaze from my direction as I dress, instead searching Anders’ private quarters. “Yet I was overcome by the sheer physicality of these men.”

  Bowen turns to me, now that I am attired in his tunic. “You are not to blame, Aurelie,” he says, reassuring me. “I should have remained to protect you.”

  I shake my head. “It would not have helped, brother,” I maintain. “These northerners seek only to kill and pillage. You would have been destroyed like so many of those who stood against them.”

  He eyes me, acknowledging my words with a shake of his own head.

  “Still, I shall not forgive myself,” he states resolutely, handing me his cloak. “Wear this, sister, it is time we made haste from this place.”

  I manage a small smile. I am so pleased to see my brother alive and well and yet, the thought of leaving this place makes me feel unexpectedly melancholy. I throw the cloak out behind me, securing it with the metal pin and I recall how my own breasts had looked adorned with such items. Bowen waits, watching me, a bemused look on his face.

  “But what of the Nordic guard?” I ask, recalling how Anders’ counsel continues in the throne room right next to where we are standing.

  “Worry not, sister,” he answers. “Our men are in control here. We have taken the invaders when they least expected it and now we will retake our father’s throne.”

  I watch him, imagining him sitting where our father used to once sit.

  “Let us leave, Aurelie,” he insists, holding open the split in the canvas.

  I take a step forward and then all at once I remember Aurora.

  “Wait!” I whisper, skipping around the end of the bed to where the sword sits on the small waiting table. I grab the encrusted handle, raising her from her slumber and revealing her glory to Bowen.

  “Aurora!” His smile widens at the sight of his own sword. “Bring her and let us depart, sister!”

  We leave through the slit in the canvas wall. Bowen holds the space open for me and as I take my first step into freedom, I take one final glance back into the realm of Anders. In this place so much has changed for me. I have been the victim, the captive, the lover, and the consort of Anders—all here in this space. Come what may from now on, I am certain that Aurelie of Donrose can never be the same lady again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Return to Donrose

  The pink sunset dims the skyline as we emerge from Anders’ pavilion. Bowen’s men are everywhere, most greeting me with a smile and a wave as they hold the positions they have claimed. The bodies of the Nordic men are strewn over the ground, reminding me of the night Castle Donrose fell around me. I cannot imagine how Bowen has managed to take so many of Anders’ men so quickly. He must have been planning this assault for days. I reconcile that my brother is a great military leader, and will one day make a mighty sovereign.

  To my right a few of my brother’s men sit around an impromptu fire, tending to small injuries. Instinctively I make my way toward them, certain that I can assist in some way. Taking my hand, Bowen pulls me away toward his steed, Gulliver.

  “Bowen,” I protest as I am led away. “Let me help your men!”

  He shakes his head at me. “No, Aurelie, you are too precious,” he tells me. “We will ride to the castle. The rest of the men will secure this area and bring the prisoners back to Donrose.”

  “Prisoners?” I ask, my interest piqued.

  Bowen turns to me. “Do not concern yourself, sweet Aurelie,” he says, curling a long arm around my shoulder. “You are safe now. You are safe with me and I am never going to abandon you again.”

  I smile as we embrace, trying to suppress the concern I feel for Anders and concentrate on the love I have for my brother.

  “Thank you for coming to find me,” I whisper against his chest.

  He pulls me closer. “You’re my kin, Aurelie,” he replies. “I will always be here for you.” He kisses my forehead, concluding our moment of closeness. “Now it is time to return to our castle and retake what belongs to us, sister.”

  I mount his stallion, Gulliver, with Aurora at my side, and Bowen sitting behind me the way Magnus had done once on the ride from the castle. The similarity is startling, except that this time I am empowered and not captured. We journey out from the camp and back along the road to Donrose. The fires and tents pass in a blur, turning into the mountains, and then the trees and fields of the countryside. I lean against my brother’s chest, my body tiring even as my mind reels from recent events. Bowen has rescued me from my captivity, giving me the freedom that Anders would have no doubt denied me. So why do I feel so sad to be heading away from my prison and my captor? Why does the dull ache between my legs goad me in my newfound liberty?

  We travel on, surrounded by Bowen’s men on horseback and I begin to drift in and out of slumber. My dreams are heavy with shadows and full of perverse omens. I am bound and draped over the lap of some strong man, although I cannot twist to see the face of my oppressor. He lands a smack on my upturned backside, the impact landing full force against my bared cheeks. I cry out in confusion and pain, unsure about who is delivering this punishment and what I have done to warrant it. In my mind I imagine it to be Anders, seeing his large palm connecting with my flesh and yet… There is something
about the delivery that reminds me of Magnus instead.

  Again I turn, trying to identify the man who is choosing to punish me and yet my hands are bound into the small of my back and I am unable to see my assailant. I am spanked over and over again, a chastising onslaught delivered in silence. I cry out, begging for the spanking to cease and to be freed, but all to no avail. I am pushed to the very brink, the pain spreading across my behind and lower back as I squirm helplessly against my binds. Tears fill my eyes, then spill down my cheeks, and still the hand above me makes contact with my reddened ass. I pant from the humiliating combination of pain and arousal that spikes through my body, pushing the air in and out of my chest. All at once the spanking stops and instead insistent fingers begin to delve and probe my wet, excited folds. I moan, wanting to be free from this attack and yet now also wanting to reach the pleasure I know awaits the end of this line.

  “Please,” I gasp, feeling one finger sliding inside of me.

  There is no reply. Instead I feel another finger running through my moisture and then probing my darkest hole. The sensation of being filled in both places is intoxicating and once again my hips begin to move of their own accord, making contact with the unknown thighs below me and then arching backward to meet the digits.

  “Who are you?” I beg, imploring the unidentified man to make himself known.

  “You know who I am, my captive. You are mine.”

  The voice is dark and hearing it for the first time startles me. Is this Anders? Who else would refer to me in this way if not the man who had kept me these last few days? The fingers probe deeper, one digit becoming two as they move rhythmically in and out of my tightly wound body. I feel my inflamed behind radiating heat and my wrists being held tightly behind me as I am penetrated over again by the hands of my unknown master. The intensity of the experience builds, becoming exquisite and unbearable at the same time. I grind against the intrusions, welcoming them as I had done the spanking, although I am too ashamed to confess my needs out loud. These fingers have become the centre of my entire world.

  “You will climax for me, Aurelie!” The words sound like a command.

  “Yes,” I reply, pushing myself back against the digits.

  “Now, Aurelie!”

  I purse my lips, pushing myself faster toward the goal of pleasure.

  “Here, Aurelie!”

  The voice sounds irritated, distracting me from my pursuit.

  “Aurelie!”

  My head snaps back with a jolt and my eyes are open in an instant. The memory of the dream, the spanking, and the impending pleasure disappears and is replaced with the darkness around me.

  “Aurelie?”

  Bowen’s voice interrupts my confusion.

  “Bowen, yes?” I reply, a little ashamed to have fantasized in such an explicit way in the presence of my brother.

  “Aurelie, we are here,” he continues. “We’re home!”

  I sit up, peering through the fallen darkness around us. Bowen pulls the reins and Gulliver slows, allowing me to take in our surroundings for the first time. Around us other men on horseback slow and fall into a procession behind Gulliver. As my eyes adjust I make out the walls of our castle approaching. They are lit by low-lying candles, which help to illustrate the sheer size of the place.

  “Donrose!” I gasp, my heart swelling at the sight of my ancestral home.

  As Gulliver comes to a standstill, I leap from his saddle, feeling Donrose stone under my feet again. I am met by a number of excited servants, who fall to their knees at our return.

  “Lady Aurelie! Welcome home!”

  I turn to see my handmaiden, Anne approaching. We embrace and she offers me one of my long, soft shawls. “Come, my Lady,” she soothes. “Let me draw you a bath and see you fed and rested.”

  “Do not fuss, Anne,” I chide her and yet I am secretly relieved to be back in my own environment, once more the mistress of the realm.

  Joined by Bowen and a few of his men, we move back inside the castle. The remnants of the battle are ever-present. There are broken doors and shutters, and bloodstains on the stone floor, reminders of the losses we suffered.

  “How many men did we lose, Anne?” I ask as we hurry through the hallways.

  She turns to me, giving me a frightened stare before she speaks. “There were many, my lady,” she replies as her voice trembles.

  I look into her eyes, seeing the fear there. “What happened to you?” I continue, pausing our journey to address her directly. “What did the invaders do to you?”

  Her face falls as she recalls the trauma. “They did nothing to us women and what few children remained in the castle,” she begins, “keeping us hostage in the great hall as the fighting raged on. But they were savages to the men, my Lady. The things we heard…”

  She chokes on the memory, and seeing her growing distress, I reach for her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  “I understand, Anne,” I say, reassuring her.

  She regards me with frightened eyes as she speaks again. “And what of you, my Lady? I prayed that your virtue would be saved from these invaders.”

  I squeeze her shoulder gently.

  “Then the gods indeed listened to your prayers, Anne,” I say, soothing her. “I am quite well—truly I am.”

  Our eyes lock and for one awful moment I wonder if she can sense the truth, that I had welcomed and enjoyed the sexual attention of the Norse prince. However, the softness I find in her face suggests she has no clue, and instead she nods, resuming our journey toward my chambers. I follow just behind her small frame, pushing down the weight of the guilt that rises at our exchange as we pass along the corridors to my private rooms. As Anne draws me a bath, I see dozens more men on horses arriving at the castle gates below. The flames of their torches look like a sea of small lights from my window.

  By the time I am bathed and fed by my ever attentive maid, I am full to bursting with fatigue and weary with the burden of emotions that bubble within me. I find my bed as comfortable as I recall and settle, with Aurora still at my right hand. Slumber soon finds me and extinguishes the day like a dwindling candle.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Injustice

  I sleep like the dead and the sun is already high in the sky when I finally awaken. As I throw back my soft covers, I am consumed suddenly with Bowen and the progress of his campaign. Has he taken prisoners from the Viking invaders? Has he brought them here? The idea that Anders himself could be somewhere within these walls sends a shiver of excitement through me. The threat of him, even here in my own castle, creates a sense of deep desire, unsettling me as I rise from my bed. What would it be like to see this role reversal? How will I feel about Anders now being the prisoner? My mood shifts as I think of him. This morning is the first in some days that I haven’t woken to his face, to his goading, sensual commands. In the most bizarre way I actually miss him. I miss the attention he gave me, the way he was attuned to my needs, even when serving them in the most denigrating ways… I clench the muscles between my thighs, reminding myself of how bereft I feel physically without him. Taking a deep breath, I swallow back the conflict I feel on the subject, resolving to myself that if Anders is truly in Donrose I shall see him soon enough.

  I dress quickly and alone, without the aid of Anne. My days of limited autonomy have demonstrated my ability to function perfectly well without the use of a handmaiden. Fleeing from my chambers, I skip down the staircase of the east towers and head to the throne room, with Aurora secured in a sheath over my shoulder. As I suspect, Bowen is hard at work already, meeting with his generals to discuss the progress of our father’s military. He turns as I enter the room, standing to greet me.

  “Sister!” he cries, throwing his arms open. We embrace briefly, aware of our terse audience. “How are you today?”

  “I am quite well, my Lord,” I reply, addressing him formally as I turn to acknowledge the other men of his counsel.

  “Lady Aurelie,” says one named Tomlins, standing as he ad
dresses me. “May I speak on behalf of the entire kingdom when I say how relieved we are to see you back in Donrose?”

  I smile, aware of the formality of his words and yet grateful for them all the same. “Thank you, my Lord,” I answer him. “But pray, tell me what news you all have? How are our campaigns? Has the Norse threat now been vanquished?”

  Bowen smiles, taking a step backward and reseating himself at the head of the long counsel table.

  “There is much news!” he says, waving his hands to calm my direct line of questioning. “Yet I prefer not to trouble you with too much, Aurelie.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded by his approach. “Trouble me, my Lord?” I ask, the indignation rising in my voice. “Perhaps you have forgotten the trouble I too have faced at the hands of this enemy? Am I not entitled to hear of their fate?”

  Bowen blanches and I regret the sardonic nature of my tone at once. “Forgive me, sister,” he says quietly. “Of course you have every right to know.”

  I approach him and rest my left hand on his shoulder, offering it a gentle squeeze. He responds by swallowing my small hand in his own large palm as he continues.

  “The fate of the invaders is sealed. We have overwhelmed the camp where you were held and taken a number of the high-ranking men prisoner. All others have been slain.”

  I prickle at the news. It confirms the fact that Anders is being held, a thought that makes me more excited than it should, and yet it also brings a more disturbing update.

  “Slain?” I repeat, spitting the word out of my mouth. “How many were killed, brother?”

  Bowen glances down the table of men, and back to me before replying.

  “A great many, sister.”

  His tone is grave and yet I sense no remorse there. I pull back from him, shocked at his reply. “Bowen! How could you? Where is your mercy?”

  Baulking at my reply, he laughs, addressing the rest of the room as he answers me.

  “Aurelie, you know nothing of warfare! There is no room for compassion on the battlefield. If we show mercy, then we allow our enemy space to grow and rise again. This is how our king himself managed our enemies! He was an exacting and unforgiving ruler in the face of attack, Aurelie—perhaps you have forgotten?”