Cum For The Viking 2
The Virgin Sex Slaves
By Virginia Wade
Copyright © 2012 Virginia Wade
All Rights Reserved.
Published by I Love Stacy
Kindle Edition
Virginia Wade
http://virginia-wade-erotica.com
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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
Chapter One
I had been sleeping soundly on a lumpy bed with my younger sister, Emma, when the bells began to sound. We were situated near the center of the great hall, our bed surrounded by thick drapes to keep us warm from the draft. The servants had already lit the fires, the smell of smoke lingering in the air.
“Get up, Miladies! Get up!” shouted our maid. “We’re being invaded!”
“What?” I sat and rubbed my eyes. We had feasted and danced last night, playing chess and backgammon into the early hours of the morning. I’d hardly slept at all. “Do go away, Gertrude.” I fell to the bed.
“The Vikings are coming! They’re in the harbor. They’ll be here soon!”
My sister, Emma, stirred. “Vikings?” She sounded groggy.
“Your mother bade me to wake you. You must dress. You must flee!”
“Charlotte! Emma!” My father’s deep voice boomed. “Make haste! The Norsemen cometh! Prepare the wagons!”
My father’s commands were always to be obeyed, and Emma and I sprang from the bed, our maid helping us to dress. I donned a simple tunic and then a grey, intricately embroidered gown with a heavy belt. My sister helped fasten my wimple. We glanced at one another, the light of panic in our eyes.
“Where will we go?” Emma asked.
“Girls! Put your shoes on! Quick!” said Gertrude.
“I don’t know.” This had been the most traumatic thing that had ever happened to me, with the exception of my brother’s death.
We prepared ourselves behind the curtains, while the sounds of heavy objects being dragged across the floor registered. “Take the chests to the wagons!” My father would not leave our wealth behind to be stolen by foreigners.
“Emma! Charlotte!” It was my mother, who sounded panicky. “Come, girls! We go now!”
Gertrude hugged me. “God be with you.” She trembled with emotion. “May your journey be safe. May you outrun the scoundrels.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, somewhat shocked by her behavior. She hugged Emma as well.
“Be meek and righteous. Make your mother proud.” Tears were in her eyes.
She had been my maid for as long as I could remember, and seeing her so distraught made me realize that our situation was grave indeed. My mother brushed aside the curtain.
“My poor dears. What horror.” Her complexion was ashen. “Bring your jewels. Quick!”
The few pieces of gold and rubies I owned were in a small pouch in a trunk. Emma and I snatched these items, stuffing them into the inner pockets of our dresses. The baubles had been wedding presents from my husband. Clothing and toiletries were thrown into a wooden chest. Emma and I donned cloaks to keep the chill at bay. The hall was in chaos, as servants ran back and forth, and confusion reigned supreme. We rushed to the huge wooden doors and outside into a cold and foggy morning. Horses and wagons waited in the courtyard, and Emma and I scrambled into our conveyance, while my mother sat with the driver.
“Go!” my father shouted. “I’ll follow shortly.”
The crisp morning air chilled me to the bone, as the sound of bells chimed in the village below, warning us of the danger. Our home was situated on a hill overlooking the harbor. I drew aside the cloth that covered our wagon, glimpsing the red sails of ships, which were now stationary, having dropped anchor.
“Oh, no,” I breathed, my spirits sinking.
“What is it?” asked Emma.
“Look. There must be hundreds of them.” She joined me, staring at the flotilla of doom that had invaded our peaceful home. The ships looked like evil black dragons, skulking, waiting to pounce.
“What do they want?” Our wagon jerked, as the wheels turned over in the cobbled drive.
“Gold and riches, I suppose.”
“Oh, please hurry, Wilford,” beseeched my mother. “We must get inland as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Milady.”
The road was bumpy, the wheels bouncing in and out of ruts. My father sat on his horse; heavy looking leather bags were draped on either side. We weren’t the only families fleeing, as peasants appeared pulling two-wheeled carts, and men on horseback galloped by, kicking up crescent-shaped clumps of earth.
“Lord Abbot!” they called. “Help us, Lord Abbot!”
His response was, “Flee inland, good people. Flee inland!”
Most of our young men were farmers, fishermen, or apprentices in trade. My husband, Lord Rupert Colby, who I had married at the age of twelve, had been on a pilgrimage for as long as I could remember. We had never consummated the marriage, and there were rumors he had perished, but I lived with the hope that I would see him again one day. My sister had yet to find a suitor, because my parents were dragging their feet on the matter, hoping for a more advantageous union. They were in talks with the Longs of Wessex, but nothing had been brokered yet.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To the monastery,” said mother. “They’ll protect us. These heathens wouldn’t dare defile the house of God.”
I glanced at my sister, who looked grim. “I’m scared,” she said.
The wagon shook violently beneath us; the ruts were deep in this part of the road. I squeezed her hand. “We’ll be fine. We’ll hide with the monks and wait until the Vikings are gone.”
“Why have they come? Why would they attack us?”
“Because they’re lawless Norsemen,” said my mother. “They know nothing but war and destruction.”
Our wagon labored on for what seemed like hours, as dozens of horses galloped by. When we had at last arrived at the impressive stone structure of the monastery, its towering cathedral reached into the pale blue sky, a symbol of sanctity. Because of the bouncing and jostling, I had developed a splitting headache, which made me nauseous. A crowd had gathered with children and screaming babies. They were looking for sanctuary. My sister and I were handed down from the wagon.
“Where is Friar Peck?” demanded my mother.
One of the young monks approached. “He’s in prayer, Milady.”
“Now? But this is our time of need! Can’t he pray later?”
The monk eyed us with concern. “You shouldn’t have come here, Lady Abbot. It isn’t safe. I implore you to seek shelter elsewhere.”
“Nonsense. The heathens wouldn’t dare defile the house of God.”
“You’ll remember the slaughter at Lindisfarne, Milady. Holy walls won’t stop them.”
My mother, far from being discouraged, brushed past the startled looking monk. “I’m having a word with Friar Peck.”
“Where can we find him?” asked my father.
“He’s in his prayer room, but he cannot be disturbed!”
“W
e’ll see about that.” My parents weren’t used to being told no, and they entered the building, without another word.
“Help us!” someone shouted. “We seek refuge in the house of God!”
“Let us in,” implored a hag dressed in rags.
Emma took my hand. “Let’s go and have a look. I want to see what’s happening.”
“We’d best hurry.”
In the noise and confusion, it was easy to slip away unnoticed. Entering the cloister gardens, we wandered down a bright green lane, surrounded by perfectly trimmed trees. The wind had picked up, lifting my wimple. The bells had stopped ringing; the air around us was oddly silent. A stone wall ran the length of the garden, the cliff beyond it gradually dropping into the ocean. We stood gazing at the harbor filled with foreign ships, and more were on the way! From a distance, I saw movement; dark specks clamored over the rocks.
“What is that?” asked Emma.
“People. They’re coming.”
“The villagers?”
“I…don’t know.” Fear twisted in my gut. More specks appeared; the sun glinted off something shiny on their persons. “Vikings! They’re coming this way!” I grabbed my sister. “Run! We must hide!”
Emma and I dashed through the garden, retracing our steps to the courtyard, where an even larger throng of villagers had gathered, begging entrance.
“Good people,” shouted one of the monks. “Please remain calm!”
“Let us in!” demanded a bearded man.
I raced towards the monk, grasping his habit. “The Vikings are coming! I’ve seen them. It won’t be long now. You must help us!”
This announcement widened his eyes. “Dear God.” He’d turned ashen, backing away from me, as if I were inflicted with disease.
“Emma! Charlotte!” The voice belonged to my mother. “Girls!”
“Mother!” Emma shouted.
My mother fought her way through the crowd, clutching her breast. “Friar Peck will see to our safety. The doors will open soon.” She looked relieved.
“It won’t matter,” I said. “The Vikings will be here soon.”
“Is this true, child?” asked my father.
“Yes. Emma and I saw them from the garden.”
He looked grim. “We need to leave.”
“No, Oscar! The monks will protect us. God will protect us.”
“They’re unarmed, Lucinda. They’re helpless against an army of warriors. This was a mistake. We haven’t time. Get to the horses. Leave the wagon!”
“But all of our things—”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.”
Seeing the fear in my father’s eyes brought tears to mine. I’d never seen him look so frightened or worried. He was used to having his way in all situations, being one of the richest men in the village, but…our fortunes had just taken a drastic turn, and I knew nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter Two
“I’m not leaving,” said my mother wretchedly. “The Lord will protect me. He will provide for us.”
“Do come inside,” implored Friar Peck. “Let’s pray together.”
My mother took the monk’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Have you lost your senses, woman?” My father’s anger had morphed into outrage. A vein throbbed in his forehead. “If you stay here, you’ll be raped and slaughtered. God will not prevent your death.”
I glanced at Emma; her eyes betrayed shock and horror. She grasped my hand. Her fingers were trembling.
“Take the girls away, if you must, Oscar.” The throng had quieted, listening to the debate. “I shall stay and pray for your safety.”
“Indeed,” intoned Friar Peck, addressing the crowd. “You may all find refuge within these walls.” A large wooden door flung wide open behind him. “There is nothing to fear in the house of God.”
The courtyard erupted in a shocked gasp, as every man, woman, and child stared at the doorway. Instead of monks dressed habits, we were faced with a man in an iron helmet and mail-chain, holding an enormous sword. He stood with his booted feet apart, muscles forcing the flesh of his thighs to expand to impossible widths. Shaggy blonde hair floated around a face as pale as parchment. His amused expression revealed light blue eyes. Behind him stood dozens of men dressed similarly.
Pandemonium erupted as the villagers ran, grabbing their children, fleeing into the gardens, jumping on horses, and scrambling into the bushes to escape. Friar Peck appeared speechless, staring at the strangers who had invaded his monastery. My mother had gone white and collapsed, taking a monk down with her.
Strong hands grabbed me. It was my father, and he lifted me over a horse. My wimple had fallen off, releasing the clip that held my hair together. The golden tresses, fell to my thighs. Emma was behind me, her arms encircling my waist.
“Run, girls!” shouted my father.
I grasped the reins, my eyes meeting the frozen look of the fierce Viking, who held court in the doorway. His authoritative air and stance gave away the fact that he was their leader. He stood with his hands on his hips, quietly observing our escape. My stomach twisted at his appraisal; his smirk seemed to indicate that he found my exit amusing.
Our horse bounded forward, having been slapped on the flank by my father. “Don’t look back!” he cried, as we galloped onto the road.
I didn’t want to leave my parents, fearing the worst for my father and mother. The lane was complete chaos, with animals and villagers alike in panicked flight. Someone pulled on my leg, and I fell from the horse, landing on the ground in a painful heap. My fingers sunk into mud, which coated the front of my dress. Emma screamed, the sound high-pitched and shattering. She had been carried off by the mob, while our horse was stolen, taken by a peasant dressed in rags.
I staggered to my feet. “Emma! Emma!”
There was a commotion behind me, and shouts and screams were followed by the sounds of metal clashing. I ran, tripping over the hem of my dress and landing on moist grass. I craned my neck to see where my sister had gone, but the peasants had taken her into the woods. Farmers fought the Vikings with pitchforks and shovels, bravely defending their land, but they were no match against swords, axes, and spears. I had heard of Viking raids further north, but they had never ventured this far south before. One of the farmers screamed, his neck having been sliced open. We were woefully outmatched.
“Lady Colby!” someone shouted.
He had referred to me by my married name, which did not happen often. “I’m here!”
“I thought that was you.” A rider approached. It was Edward Bristol, a neighbor. “Get on quickly!”
He reached for me, dragging me onto his horse. He kicked the hindquarters, propelling the mare into a gallop. I glanced over my shoulder as the battle raged on the road. We bounded into the forest, the leaves and branches absorbing us.
“My parents are at the monastery. It’s been attacked. My sister! People took her away.” Tears were in my eyes.
“I think I know where they’ve gone. They’re hiding in the glen.”
Relief swept through me. “Oh, good. What about my parents? Have you seen them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s your family?”
“My wife and children are in Hampshire. Her father’s dying. I have to send word. She can’t come home.”
“What will we do? Will the king send aid?”
“That, and we’ll rally the men in the shires. They’ll wipe out the savages.”
There were voices up ahead, punctuated by the cries of a baby. As we approached, I took in the bedraggled look of the villagers.
“Charlotte!” It was Emma. “Oh, thank God.”
I slid from the horse, hugging her. “It’s a nightmare. I can’t stand it.” I succumbed to tears, falling into despair and wishing today had been just a bad dream.
“Be quiet all of you! You’ll give us away!” shouted a man dressed in a torn tunic. The noise lowered, but murmurings continued.
&n
bsp; “What will we do now?” I whispered.
“We have to hide.”
“You needn’t fear,” said Edward. “I’ll take care of you.”
Emma smiled, although it looked forced. “Thank you, Lord Bristol.”
I glanced at my hands. “I’m filthy. I fell in the road.”
She drew me away. “Let’s find water. I’m dying for a drink.”
“Don’t go too far,” warned Edward.
Emma took my hand, leading me through a thicket. “This is horrible.”
“We’re not safe with these people.”
“It’s not safe anywhere.”
“What about mother and father?”
“They’re fine. I’m sure of it.” Emma pointed. “Look, there’s a stream.”
We wandered down to the brook; the hems of our dresses were dark with moisture. I knelt, washing my hands and face. It was absolutely freezing. My hair hung down my back in messy tangles. Emma joined me, looking miserable.
“I’ve been thinking.”
I glanced at her. “What?”
“We might have to go to our aunt and uncle.”
“How will we do that? They’re in Exeter. Have you any idea how far that is?”
“We can steal a horse.”
“The bloody Vikings will have all the horses soon.” I dunked the bottom of my dress in the water, washing away a layer of mud. “This is ruined.” A loud scream echoed through the forest, sending birds out of a nearby tree. “What on earth?”
“They found us!” Emma scrambled up the embankment.
I joined her a second later. “The other way! Run!”
We headed in the opposite direction, tearing through the trees, as if the hounds of hell were nipping at our heels. I wasn’t used to exerting myself in this manner, and I was winded, struggling to breathe. A nasty stich had formed in my side, which I clutched with my hand.
“Stop for a…moment! Oh, drat. Ouch.”
“Be quiet.” We stood together listening for the slightest inclination that we had been followed. “I think we escaped.” Emma looked hopeful.
Cum For The Viking 2 (The Virgin Sex Slaves) Page 1