by Vivian Leigh
Eliza snapped her mouth shut. Better to please one man then. She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how…”
“You’ve never lain with a man before?”
“No.”
The witch stepped back, frowning. “You have the chest of a woman. Did you have no husband?”
“My father was a fisherman. I had not taken a man yet.”
“I see.” She turned, rummaged in her basket. She started adding herbs to a small pot, then poured water on top. “Drink this. It will help.”
Eliza looked at her, dubious.
“Drink. It.”
Eliza took the pot, tested it for heat, then sipped the liquid. It was worse than undercooked fish. Bitter and slimy and cold. The clouds over her swirled down, a dragon dancing before her face.
She swallowed the liquid, nearly gagging in the process.
“Good.” The witch touched the paint on Eliza’s chest. “You are ready. Don your dress and wait here.”
“I don’t know…”
“Eliza, you must do this if you wish to survive here. Your father would be disappointed if you threw your life away.”
Thoughts of her father nearly knocked her to her rump. She had no way to know if he’d survived the Vikings passing on the river, or how he’d reacted when he’d returned to the village. She blinked back the tears that threated to overwhelm her. There was no time for self-pity. Not when she’d seen what had happened to Aldith and Cordith, and knew what the alternative was.
Satisfy the chief, or satisfy the village. Only one of those ended with her sanity still intact.
“Very well,” Eliza said, at last.
The witch nodded, satisfied. She left, then returned a few minutes later with the chief.
Kelnar stopped before her and said something to the witch that Eliza couldn’t understand. One hand gripped her shoulder. The older woman bowed her head, then slipped past them.
She stopped at the door. “Please him well.”
Kelnar guided her around the fire and on to a bed the size of the hut Eliza had left behind on the banks of the Seine. The carved heads of strange beasts rose from each corner, curling down back on to the posts. Layers of animal skins and woven blankets covered the frame.
Eliza stopped a few feet short. She closed her eyes, gathered her nerve. It was not hard to find. Her head swam from the elixir; her loins already ached with heat. Kelnar’s hands found her waist. They held her gently, neither moving her forward, not letting her go back.
“I’m ready.” She twisted her dress up over her head and let it fall across one of the posts.
Kelnar rumbled approval, the sound emanating deep in his chest. He unlaced his breeches, then stepped forward between her trembling knees. His manhood stood erect before him, bigger than Eliza had imagined possible. A thick bush of curly hair spread around the base.
How will that even fit inside me? She licked her lips, unsure what she was supposed to do.
Kelnar rubbed his massive cock along her thigh, then up to her pussy. He prodded her with it, then paused. His rubbed her with a finger, his thumb exploring down to her folds.
The runes on her skin began to itch. It started off small, but built to something like the wings of a hummingbird.
She expected him to shove himself inside, to have his way with her quickly and violently, but he crouched before her, pulling her hips to the edge of the bed. His tongue found her folds, his nose in woman’s hair. He explored her in ways she had never imagined. His tongue was a more tactile than a finger, working up and down her slit, around her most sensitive nub.
Eliza’s eyes were wide, the heat building. This is what it means to lay with a man? It was much better than she had ever imagined.
Kelnar’s tongue found her channel, teased in and out. He slipped a finger inside her, then moved his attention up. His tongue swirled around her nub, flicking up and down, coaxing out. A second finger slipped inside her, stroked in and out.
Eliza shuddered. Her breath caught in her throat. She let her eyes close, astonished at how amazing it felt.
His head rose past her mound, though his fingers kept moving. Kisses crept up her belly. His whiskers brushed rough on her fair skin, but it didn’t matter. When he reached her breasts, his lips on her areolas, the whiskers made her want to scream as they passed over her. His fingers slipped into her again, deeper than ever, curling as they stroked back out.
“Oh, that. Do that,” she breathed. “Gods above, don’t stop.”
He stroked her again, the sensations growing by the second. She didn’t know what was supposed to happen, but she never wanted it to stop.
And then his fingers were gone.
“What?” Her eyes opened, plaintive. Then they opened wider than ever. She looked down at her woman parts, saw his thick rod of flesh piercing into her. He slipped it back, then thrust it in again.
Eliza remembered to breathe.
He was so thick, so long. He filled her so completely. Every inch of him sent pleasure pulsating through her. Each thrust was a slice of ecstasy unlike any she had ever known. The runes gripped her, her whole body humming with their energy.
Kelnar leaned over her, his muscled chest brushing her breasts. His lips met hers, then slipped on to the side. He kissed her cheek, her ear. His whiskers brushed her jaw as he moved to her neck. A strong arm slipped behind her shoulders, the other under her rump. He lifted her up into him, thrust back, deeper than ever.
Eliza gasped. Her mind melted like wax before a flame. Every feeling of pleasure doubled, then redoubled. Her body felt as if it were on fire. Wisps of smoke rose from the runes, sweeter than the most precious incense.
She gasped again, shuddering in pure ecstasy.
Above her, Kelnar groaned. He was so hard she couldn’t bear it. His manhood flexed within her. Each thrust was exquisite.
It took her a few seconds to realize that he had stopped moving. Her channel flexed around him still; she couldn’t control it.
Kelnar gave her one last kiss, held his hand to her cheek a moment, then rose. Eliza sighed when he pulled out. She was so empty without him. He looked down at her, nodded gravely, then pulled his breeches back into place. A minute later and he was gone, the door to the long house swinging behind him.
Eliza sat up and realized his seed was still within her. She rose, feeling the sticky wetness shift within her. She cleaned herself as best she could with the blanket they had lain on, then pulled her dress from the end of the bed.
Before she made it to the end of the longhouse, the door opened. The raven haired witch entered, approached. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
The woman pressed a hand to Eliza’s stomach. “Did you take his seed?”
“Y-yes.” She trembled at the touch.
“Good. You will bear him a son. It is foretold.”
“I’ll bear him a son?”
“In time, yes. Today was a beginning.”
“A beginning of what?”
“Of your trial, girl. Kelnar will lay with you every day until you are quickened. Pray it does not take long.”
Eliza stared at the other woman, open mouthed. Pray it doesn’t take long? Gods, may it take a lifetime if it’s like it was today.
“I see he went gently with you.” She stepped closer, her mouth nearly touching Eliza’s ear. “It will not always be so. Do not fail to please him, and do not entertain thoughts of laying with aught else.”
“I would never.”
“You do not know the temptations of our men. Remember what I say, girl. You are the chief’s now. Obey him in all things, but especially in matters of the—“ she squeezed Eliza between the legs.
Eliza blinked.
“Go. Rest.” Smoke swirled around her, different shapes than before. Fish and bears and nymphs.
“Who are, really? You don’t have the blonde hair of the women I saw outside.”
“I am Kelnar’s advisor, I told you this.”
Eliza moved closer, sensing
the evasiveness in the woman’s voice. “You’re some kind of witch. I understand that. But how do you know about my father.”
The other woman looked away. A small squeak escaped her and her shoulders shook. She turned back to Eliza, eyes glistening. “I was taken by the Kelnar’s father seventeen years ago. Eliza, I’m your mother.”
Eliza stumbled back, thumped into a post and slid to the ground. Her mouth hung open. My mother is alive.
Chapter Four
Witches
A low noise rumbled outside the longhouse. Eliza shifted in the carved chair and looked at her mother, the village witch. “Is that thunder?”
“Too constant,” her mother said. She rose and stood by the fire, listening, her ear cocked toward the smoke hole in the ceiling. “Those are voices. Come.” She picked her way around a pillar and went to the door. Eliza followed, her broaches jingling as she moved.
“Kill the witch!”
“Kill the girl.”
“Burn them out.”
They stopped at the door. “They sound angry,” Eliza said.
Her mother nodded, then pushed open the heavy wooden door. Eliza peered over her shoulder. A crowd of Viking men stood clustered outside, swords and axes in their hands. They were a young bunch, only one with a real man’s beard.
Her mother said something in the Viking language. Half threat, half question.
The bearded one screamed something at them in the Viking language. The only word Eliza recognized was Karna, something she’d heard Kelnar call her mother.
“He’s calling me a witch and a traitor,” her mother said. She responded to the crowd in the Viking language, and the man’s face darkened further.
“What did you say?”
“I called him a motherless son of a goat fucker and told him not to trouble his chief’s women.”
An axe flashed through the hair, slammed into the wooden doorframe, the handle quivering. The crowd rushed forward.
Karna yanked Eliza backward and slammed the door. The bar thudded into place. “Come. Follow me.” She sounded calm and determined, utterly unflappable.
They hurried down the length of the longhouse. Eliza had to gather her long dress to avoid singeing it as they passed the fire in the middle of the building. Her mother shouldered through a hide divider and into a corner Eliza hadn’t seen before. Axes and swords and bows hung from the walls. Colorful round shields piled on the floor.
“Through there.” Karna pointed at another door, then stooped for a weapon. “Go to the shore. Kelnar is at the ships.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Eliza nodded once, then shoved through the door and out into an empty grassy area. More longhouses hemmed her into a courtyard area. The roar of voices rumbled around the far end of the longhouse, and came into view. The crowd of angry Vikings ran toward her, their swords and axes held high. Eliza bolted the other direction, into a long channel between the other houses. She glanced back, looking for her mother, but didn’t see her.
Run, mother, run.
Her thin leather shoes pounded up clouds of dust. The wood and sod walls of the longhouses flashed past. She glanced back again, saw that the crowd was no closer. Which way to Kelnar and the ships? She was all turned around, so far into the village.
Something tangled her feet, sent her sprawling. The ground leaped up, slammed into her palms, her knees, knocked the wind out of her. She struggled to rise, then looked up. A boy looked back at her. A big lad, but not a trace of hair on his chin. Maybe thirteen or fourteen. He had a spear, a wretched tall thing, half again as big as he was. He leveled it at her, the point glinting a foot from her face.
“Don’t move.” She recognized those words, alright.
Her pursuers rounded the building. Their footsteps pounded ever closer. Eliza weighed her chances. Slap aside the spear, make a break for the ships. Or wait to see what happened. Surely those kids wouldn’t harm their chief’s woman.
She swatted at the spear, dove around the kid. He moved faster, though. Let the tip swing away, the butt swing around. Just as she got her feet under her, the butt caught her across the side of the head with a meaty smack.
Lights exploded in Eliza’s vision. She swayed. Heard the footsteps, suddenly distant. Collapsed.
***
Eliza opened her eyes, saw a patchy bearded face inches from her own. Spittle flew from the mouth, sprayed her face. Her cheek stung. The bearded man’s hand was cocked back, ready for another blow. When he saw her blinking, he stepped back, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Worthless French girl. Viking men not approve of chief keep you.”
She glanced around. A dozen of the younger Viking men surrounded them. A pair of them were patting a boy on the back.
The bearded man wrenched her to her feet. Her dress caught under her, tearing as he pulled her upright. The men behind him laughed. They dragged her forward, torn dress trailing in the dirt. Longhouses stretched past on either side, and after a few minutes they came out into an open area with a large fire in the middle.
Wooden benches circled the fire. Women sat at looms, weaving cloth from wool threads. A few looked up, disinterested. It was what was happening on the far side of the fire that made Eliza’s blood run cold. A woman was bent over some kind of wooden platform, her matted black hair hanging to the ground. She lay there limply as the man behind her thrust against her.
The bearded man dragged Eliza toward the helpless girl. The sound of flesh slapping flesh mixed with a low groaning. The Viking grunted, smiled, stepped away. His erect cock swung before him, glistening. He wiped it on a scrap of cloth beside the girl, then hitched his trousers up and tied them into place. Another lad was unfastening a belt and stepping behind the girl even as the first sauntered away.
The girl looked up, saw the crowd approaching. Her face was expressionless, resigned. She crossed her arms and rested her head on them, staring at the dirt again.
Eliza gulped. She recognized that face. Aldith. A girl from her own village, captured just days ago. Her mother’s warning echoed in her head. “Please the chief or please the whole village.” She wondered if Aldith had even been given the option of pleasing Kelnar first. Since she hadn’t seen the poor girl in the longhouse in the last few days, she expected not.
She thought about screaming. Thought about begging. No one seemed to care that Aldith was being used so callously. The blonde women acted as if they didn’t even exist. Just went about their weaving and their stitching. Better the foreign girls than them, perhaps. It made bile rise in Eliza’s throat.
The bearded man drove her forward, pushed her against another wooden platform across from Aldith.
“Let go of me!”
He twisted her arm painfully behind her back. “Quiet.”
“Help! Anyone? Help!”
A few of the women looked up, but none moved to offer any assistance.
Eliza struggled as he bent her over the platform and tied her wrists. He intoned some threat she couldn’t understand, so she fought harder. Rough hands pinned her to the wood. Rougher rope bit into her skin. Her heel connected with something soft, and a man grunted in surprise. Someone cuffed her across the head, then a knife appeared at her throat.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“You are village girl now,” the bearded one said. “Not chief’s.” He said a lot more than that, but it was all she could understand. The Norse language was so guttural, so foreign. It had none of the easy flow of her native French.
The knife pricked the skin of her neck, a sharp lance of pain and the feel of coolness as a line of blood dripped toward the wood. She understood that well enough. So I lie here and take it and hope Kelnar comes? It wasn’t a plan. It was just survival.
She let herself collapse. Her heart still pounded, but anything was better than getting her throat cut.
The knife touched her flesh again. Cold and hard and at the back of her neck. It slid downward, but t
he pain didn’t blossom. When they threw her dress open, she realized she’d been cut out of her clothes. The wind bit into her bare bottom, making her clench involuntarily. A distant part of her mind realized that if she was going to walk in the next week she needed to get relaxed and soon.
The bearded one said something and slapped her ass. His hands were rough, strong. It stung worse than the knife prick. The others roared approval. Eliza twisted around, saw him untying the cord that held his trousers. His cock stood hard before him, a broad smile on her face. He relished her humiliation.
Rough hands swept over her hips, forced her legs apart. She ground her teeth, tried to take her mind away. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Not to her. She was daddy’s little girl. Old enough to be married perhaps, but still.
A finger pressed against her pucker, forced its way into her ass. She knew it was a finger. Too small. Too hard. It burned as it pushed inside her. The men laughed.
The finger pulled out, pushed against her pussy. Pushed into her pussy. It burned too, just as bad. She whimpered, tightened her grip on splintery edge of the platform.
The finger disappeared, but a dick replaced it. It pressed against her, hard and thick. Forced its way inside.
Eliza groaned.
A distant roar echoed her groan. She paid it no mind. Tried to focus on the dirt. The little clods of dirt. Footprints. Anything but the dick that ploughed ever deeper inside her.
Screams reached her ears. Her screams. It burned so much. Her hands were turning purple from the ropes biting into them.
Then she heard other screams. Not hers. Man screams. The roaring grew closer. The sound of a man worked into a great rage. Kelnar. She barely dared to hope.
The man behind her jerked himself free, sending another bolt of agony through her. He yelled something. Kelnar roared a response. Steel clanged on steel. Young voices cried out in agony.
Kelnar swept in front of her, blood dripping from sword to dirt. A casual slice cut the ropes that held her to the platform. Crimson drops splattered the wood.
“Up,” the village chieftain rumbled.
Eliza pushed herself to her feet, gathering her dress around her chest. She tried to hold the split posterior closed, but couldn’t stop it gapping and exposing her to everyone behind her. The thought they’d already seen it all wasn’t very encouraging.