The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  I gape at him, startled by both his intonation and his meaning. This is a side of my brother I do not recognise and for a moment I consider what he is likely to have seen in the last months. How much has his time away in battle changed him forever in the same way that the last few days are certain to have changed me?

  “I have not forgotten,” I mutter in reply. “Yet still I expect to see compassion from you, my eldest brother; the wisest man I have ever known.”

  He eyes me intently and I see the accusations he holds against me. “How dare you question my authority, Aurelie? What do you know of these things?’ He stares back at me, brooding silently, clearly trying to quell his rising temper. Around us the others in the room shift uncomfortably. After a long moment in which the tension becomes almost palpable, Bowen stands and turns to me.

  “I am sorry your expectations have not been met, sister,” he begins. “You will have to trust that in these matters I have more experience than you. These decisions—my decisions—are final.”

  My face colours as he dresses me down in such a public way.

  “How right you are, brother,” I reply with scorn. “It is most certainly unlikely that those corpses will rise again!”

  I pause, catching my breath as he reels from my criticism. “And what of the prisoners? What will become of them?”

  I brace myself as soon as the words leave my lips, as though I know already what their fate will be. Bowen sighs with resignation.

  “They are held in the bowels of the castle,” he answers sullenly. “We will interrogate them for any useful information and then all shall be executed. They are enemies of Donrose and must face the ultimate price!”

  I take a step back as I watch the rhetoric spilling from his lips. He reminds me suddenly of the mad generals who used to advise our father when we were children. At the time we had laughed at their bloodthirsty pomposity, but now it seems Bowen has morphed into the very thing he used to despise. Disgust at the person he has become rises in me.

  “Then you, my Lord,” I reply disdainfully, “will be no better than those that you have fought these long months!”

  I turn on my heel, fleeing for the exit. Tears of frustration burn in the corners of my eyes as I go. My stomach twists inside of me, that crude mixture of anger and disappointment cutting through me like a blade. Whatever has transpired between Anders and me, I cannot see him die. However cruel he has been to me, he was also tender and comforting, and he has changed me. I am no longer sweet, innocent Aurelie. Now I am someone different, someone bolder. I am brave enough to admit what arouses me and to know who I am, and I am brave enough to stand up to this tyrannical side of my brother.

  I hurry down the corridors, using my knowledge of the castle to avoid most of the servants as I descend into the dungeons. The stone stairwells narrow down here and the passageways are dark and foreboding. The dank smell of stale water permeates the air around me and still I continue down into the darkness, the sound of my small footsteps my only comfort. Never before have I realised just how deep the dungeons go. I only visited them twice before—both times as a child intent on breaking my father’s rules. I smile inwardly at the notion that now I am doing much the same thing. I am defying the wishes of my brother this time though, and the rules of engagement have changed. I am no longer merely playing an unruly game of hide and seek. Today I am here to see that Bowen’s justice is not administered. Anders must not perish for the sake of Bowen’s pious pride.

  I reach the bottom of the steps and am met by two guards. They turn, clearly astonished to see their princess so deep in the castle’s bowels.

  “My Lady!” says one, coming forward to greet me. “What brings you to such a vile and repugnant place?”

  I smile, amused by his predictable response.

  “Good sirs,” I begin. “My brother has just informed me that the man who himself held me captive now resides here in the dungeon?”

  “Yes, my Lady,” confirms the second. “We have him secured here. He is confined alone to avoid his scheming with the other prisoners.”

  Anders is alone, I think, running his words through my mind.

  “Very good thinking, sirs,” I reply. “He is indeed a wicked man and should not be trusted, and yet I seek an audience with him at this time.”

  The two men exchanges glances, obviously stunned by my revelation. “My Lady,” says the first. “Why in the name of the gods would you wish to have an audience with the man who held you as a hostage?”

  This is the question I had been expecting, and I inhale deeply as he concludes.

  “Good sir, I was indeed held against my will—kept a prisoner at the whim of this madman! Do I not have the right to see him and demand his contrition for these acts?”

  His eyes soften behind his helmet and I know I shall have my way. “Of course, my dear lady,” says the first guard. “You have every right to confront this foreign fiend with his crimes. But are you certain that you desire to do so here? I could have the prisoner brought to you at court? That would be a more appropriate place for a lady such as yourself to make your demands.”

  I sigh, weary that yet another man seems certain that he knows what is best for me. At least Anders’ demands had brought me comfort and reward as well as ignominy.

  “No, sir,” I answer, sounding resolute. “I am certain and as lady of this castle I ask that you comply with my request!”

  Knowing that he has lost this debate, he concedes with a low bow. “Of course, my Lady,” he replies. “We shall take you to the prisoner forthwith.”

  I thank the men, following them to the large collection of metal keys that hang against the far wall. The first guard reaches for the key on the far right, collects a candlelit lantern and then turns to me.

  “Follow me, my Lady,” he says, leading on down an even darker corridor.

  I do as he requests, leaving the other guard in place at the bottom of the stairwell. The passageway is narrow and cold, seeming to have been carved directly out of the stone. We pass a number of large wooden doors, but pause at none of them. I wonder what cruel and inhumane acts have been carried out down here in the name of Donrose justice. Eventually at the fourth door on the left, the guard pauses.

  “Are you ready, my Lady?” he asks me in a serious tone.

  I nod, demonstrating my agreement and he lowers the candlelight to the lower half of the door, revealing a large black lock. Producing the key in his other hand, he forces the metal into the lock and turns it to the right. I hear the lock turning at his prompt and slowly the wooden frame moves inward toward the dark room within.

  “Would you like me to wait with you?” he asks solemnly.

  I shake my head. “No, thank you, sir. I will see the prisoner in private.”

  He clearly objects to my plan but wisely says nothing on the subject, realising that I have authority over him here. Instead he concedes, pushing the door open and then withdrawing.

  “Very well,” he says, “but I insist that you take this lantern with you.”

  I thank him and move forward into the darkness. Somehow the air in here is even fustier than before. I pause, waving the lantern around in front of me and trying to get my bearings as the door behind me closes shut. I freeze, overwhelmed by the sudden blackness. Through the gloom I hear a deep breath from the far corner. I move toward the sound, holding out the small light as I go. The voice that greets me makes me stop dead in my tracks.

  “So you have come for me, my captive?”

  Chapter Thirty: Master in Chains

  Movement in the gloom draws me forward. The sound of my steps echoes around the stone walls as I go. At last I can make out a figure in the darkness. His height should make him instantly recognisable, and yet there is something different about him. I reach forward, spreading what little light there is toward him. It’s then that I identify what seems strange. His arms are above his head, held in place by heavy-looking shackles. It’s remarkable to see him—this man who has owned me in
so many ways—now in bondage of his own. The shackles contort his torso, forcing his muscular shoulders into an unforgiving form. I lift the lantern, revealing the ends of the shackles anchored into the stone roof. They look ancient and impossible to break free from.

  “My Lofðungr?”

  I pause, realising how absurd the title seems now in this dank, oppressive place. He turns his head, revealing that handsome face for the first time as I lower the lantern. His skin is dirty and his fair locks, usually so well groomed, are now matted and messy, but under the filth I see the face of my master. He stares into the gloom, deciphering me from the darkness and a small smile forms on those full lips.

  “Aurelie.” His voice is little more than a whisper. “I was certain that it was I who left you in bondage the last time we met?”

  His tone is amused and surprises me. How can he jest in his current predicament? I move forward to within a few inches of his stretched body and shift the soft strands of hair from his face. Our eyes meet, locking together and conveying a thousand unspoken words. I press myself into his side, noticing the rips in his clothing and the bloodied stripes there. He flinches as I make contact with them, the pain written over the lines of those high cheekbones.

  “What have they done to you, Anders?” I whisper, rising to my tiptoes so that I may see his lips. They twitch subconsciously at my proximity.

  “What they must do,” he answers. “What I would have commanded had the order been mine to give.”

  “Do not make excuses for my brother’s lack of compassion,” I reply, my voice full of scorn.

  He smiles at me. “You do not approve, my captive?” he asks, one eyebrow rising in that sardonic way.

  “Do not jest with me!” I snap, shifting the position of Aurora and leaning against his shoulder.

  I press my face into his cold skin, immersing myself in the smell of the man who has so fundamentally changed me. He twists his head left again, watching me.

  “If these chains were to disappear, I would tan that beautiful backside for you for that comment.”

  His tone is low, sending a shiver through me. I feel my breath quicken at his words, imagining me sprawled over his strong lap, my skirts tossed over my torso as he administers my spanking. I clench the moistening muscles between my legs, acknowledging how good the idea sounds. His eyes sparkle as they assess my responses.

  “You would like that too, wouldn’t you, my captive?” he probes.

  I swallow hard, knowing that even in this gloom, Anders will notice my colour rising from my neck to my cheeks.

  “Yes,” I murmur, transfixed by him even in this new role reversal.

  “Have you missed me?” he asks, moving his arms in the metal chains above us. “Have you missed my discipline?”

  “You know I have,” I reply, not daring to take my eyes from his blue orbs. “Have you missed me, my Lofðungr?”

  I don’t know why I ask, as his answer will not change any inch of the fate now laid out in front of us. He presses his lips together and sighs before he replies.

  “You have no idea, my captive,” he says, briefly closing his eyes as he answers. “Through the last hours and every ordeal, I have thought only of you. Despite my current predicament I can assure you that I am full of joy to see you.”

  I smile, breathing him in and warmed by his words. “I hate to see you this way,” I mumble into his skin. “I’ll be damned if I see you die at the hands of Donrose!”

  I catch the emotion in my throat as I speak the words, imagining for a moment a world without my Viking invader.

  “Donrose owes me no favour, Aurelie,” he says, his voice full of reassurance. “I have invaded and pillaged her.”

  I gaze up at Anders as he concludes, understanding full well the comparison he is drawing with my own maidenhead.

  “However, it could be said that I owe her a great deal…” He strains his neck as he speaks, moving his face toward my head, resting against his chest. “In fact you might say that she has changed me forever.”

  I blink at him, absorbing the words wrapped up in that dark, luscious tone. “How so?” I ask softly.

  He smiles at me, shaking his head. “She is a flower more beautiful than any I have ever known. No matter how great the bloom, I can never get enough of her—ever.”

  I exhale sharply, unable to believe his words and yet joyfully receiving them nonetheless. I move toward his waiting lips, forcing myself upward and into their soft fullness. For his part, Anders leans into me, accepting my kiss and offering me his own. I can feel the strain in his body as his tendons pull against the metal intent on holding him in place. The kiss allows us the briefest union; tender and exquisite, and enough to demonstrate how we really feel. I drop from my toes, breaking the kiss and staring up at my man, chained to the ancient walls of my father’s castle.

  Every range of emotion seems to surge through me. I accept that this is the man who had orchestrated my own abduction and torment. A man who had enjoyed tying and using me, let alone punishing me in public, and a man who authorised the deaths of many of Donrose’s men. Yet as I look into his eyes I recognise the other Anders—the private, affectionate man. This is the man who had ordered Magnus to spare my life within this very castle, and the man who had honoured his promise not to take me by force. Never once in any of our unions had he ever taken anything I was not readily glad to give.

  “I will not leave you here to die,” I say, adamant as the energy courses through my blood.

  “On this issue, my captive,” he begins, his voice heavy with regret. “I fear neither of us has any choice.”

  I stare at him as his words sink in, blinking away the tears forming in my eyes.

  “My Lady?”

  My thoughts are interrupted by the guard in the doorway. I spin to see him eyeing us intently, clearly surprised at my close proximity to his prisoner.

  “Is everything quite as it should be?”

  “Yes,” I reply, breathy with emotion. “All is well.”

  “The prisoner is to be interrogated, my Lady,” he says, moving into the stone cell. “I must ask that you leave now.”

  I pause, desiring to push back against his command until I hear his next statement.

  “Your brother requests your audience also, my Lady.”

  I sigh, feeling resigned and yet still defiant. I turn slowly, catching Anders’ eyes as I move. The emotion in his deep orbs is apparent to me, although neither of us vocalise the feelings between us.

  I close the distance to the doorway, leaving Anders in darkness.

  “Thank you,” I say to the guard, my tone deliberately clipped.

  As I pass through the doorway and down the narrow passage, I hear the door to Anders’ incarceration being stilled and locked behind me. Inside of my mind the walls begin to crumble as I realise just how desperate his situation has become. Worse still, I can do nothing to aid him now. I move toward the stairwell, hurrying past the second guard before he questions the tears of frustration now freely running down my cheeks. By the time I leave the dungeon I am a flushed mess, eyes reddened with tears for the man I so desire and cannot protect.

  I make my way onto the castle grounds, hoping the daylight and air will serve to quell my rising emotions. A number of servants pass me, carrying wood and water to and from the castle kitchens. They catch my expression and wisely do not approach me and so, I am left in peace for a few moments to collect myself as Anders’ imminent demise looms in my mind.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Aurelie’s Audacity

  “Aurelie!” My brother’s voice pierces the air and crashes through my internal monologue. I turn to see him striding onto the castle grounds, being followed rapidly by three of his manservants.

  “My Lord,” I reply, offering him a small curtsey.

  “I have been informed that you visited the Norse prince—in our dungeon! Pray tell why you would choose such an endeavour?”

  His tone is curt and seems to continue our earlier disagreement.
I tense at the sound of his voice, sensing his disapproval and my own festering resentment.

  “I did visit him,” I concur as he approaches. “Why should I have to answer for my actions?”

  My words are a little more petulant than I had intended, and for a moment I am distracted by the idea of what Anders’ response would have been to my answer. Bowen’s face soon dispels any pleasure I might have gathered from this mental image.

  “Aurelie,” he says softly. “I rescued you from this savage just one sunset ago. Why in the name of the gods would you want to engage with him?”

  I swallow hard, knowing I can never explain my feelings to my brother. For a moment I am saddened, understanding for the first time the seismic shift that has forever ripped our relationship apart.

  “I wanted to hear an apology from his own mouth for the things that have been done to me,” I reply, hearing the lie leave my lips.

  Bowen’s expression softens at these words and he moves forward, taking my hands in his larger palms. “Very well, sister. His execution is set for dusk. Your ordeal will soon be over.”

  He squeezes my hands as he talks, trying to reassure me. I swallow the rising emotion at the prospect of Anders’ untimely death and realise that this is my final chance to appeal to my brother.

  “Bowen, please,” I begin. “Reconsider this punishment. Surely the prisoner will be more valuable as a trading tool with the north?”

  He looks at me intently, and I see the coldness returning to his eyes. “There can be no mercy for the man who has abused my sister, my castle, and my lands.”

  His tone is definite and I understand with resignation that any hope of a reprieve for Anders is fading fast.

  “Thank you, Bowen,” I begin. “I understand your reasoning and yet, I find your lack of compassion disturbing.”