The Valiant Viking

by Bambi Lynn

  “Besides, I mean to have a go at that whore of yours when you’re done with her.”

  He used every ounce of strength not to plunge the knife into Boddi’s gut. He noticed that several of the men had started to gather round for further instructions now that the raping and looting had begun to dwindle. If he killed Boddi now, they would be on him like starving dogs on a bone. He could not protect Kaylla by getting himself killed.

  He forced a chuckle. “That may not be for some time. And you have never struck me as a patient man.”

  “Ha! You have never kept a woman for more than a few days. That one is more comely than most, but…wait.” A look of mock surprise appeared on his ugly face. “Do not tell me you’ve grown attached to her.”

  The growing crowd around them rumbled with laughter.

  Too late, he realized his mistake. If these men thought he actually cared for Kaylla, they would take great pleasure in tormenting them both.

  He didn’t speak as he sauntered over and tossed Rheda’s body on the pile with the others. “I told you,” he called over his shoulder, “she’s nothing more than a warm, wet sheath for my cock.” When he turned back, he found Boddi regarding him with a sadistic grin. The men at his command stood at his back, eager to see where this conversation would lead.

  He gripped the knife. He could probably take down four or five before they overcame him. Not good enough. “You are welcome to her when I am done.” He indicated the men standing behind Boddi. “And the men as well.”

  Boddi regarded him. “Perhaps a demonstration?” Murmurs of agreement and anticipation spread through the crowd of men like a wave.

  One day, you rug-headed carrion worm.

  Bile rose in his throat. He stood taller, pulling his shoulders back and glaring at the men around him. “I do not perform for the masses.” His voice was low, threatening.

  Boddi roared with laughter. “It’s not your skinny arse we want to see.” He reached down and rubbed his big hand against his crotch. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “A sign of good faith for the men and proof that she has no more value than any of the other spoils we have captured here.”

  He bristled inside. Kaylla was more valuable than any treasure, gold or otherwise. He looked around at the men. Already they grew restless. They were anxious to turn on him and would need little coaxing from Boddi to do so.

  Random images of beating Boddi to a bloody pulp with his bare hands flashed through his mind. Soon, you loathsome bastard. Maybe he could distract them, gain time for them to turn their attentions elsewhere. He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.” He tried to sound offhand. He turned away and went to fetch another body. This time one of his own countrymen. That makes four, he thought with an almost guilty sense of satisfaction. He tossed it onto the pile, then turned at a commotion behind him.

  He stopped breathing as Einar the Toothless dragged a struggling Kaylla from the hut where they had imprisoned the surviving villagers. He wanted nothing so much as to rip the man’s throat out and assure her he would protect her with his own life.

  Instead, he tossed the knife in the gutter against the wall of the smith’s hut, hoping it would be forgotten, and crossed to where the man held her.

  She ceased to struggle as soon as she saw him. His heart lurched at the relief he saw in her eyes.

  Ah, kjæresten min. Please forgive me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fear clogged her throat when the Viking entered the hut and dragged her from it. She fought against him to no avail, kicking, biting, trying desperately to get away from him. He had grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked it so hard, her eyes filled with tears as he hauled her outside. Despite the gray clouds overhead, after her prolonged confinement in the dark, the glare nearly blinded her.

  Her fear subsided a bit when she caught site of Rolf. He strode toward her, no hint of intention in his expression. Please be coming to my rescue. Be a hero, not a hell hound. Nausea churned in her stomach. She snatched her arms from the man holding her just as he reached them.

  More frightened by the hard look in his eyes than anything these other heathens might do to her, she trembled from head to toe. Please. Please. Please.

  He wrapped his big hands around the tops of her arms. His grip would leave a bruise. She jerked in surprise as he crushed his mouth painfully to hers.

  The barbarians around them exploded into deafening cheers. Sadistic lauds of encouragement for their comrade from Hell.

  His kiss held no hint of languor or amorous play. She could not find any trace of the seducer who had awakened in her hut. Gone was the man who had made her do things she would never have done, had made her want to–to put her mouth all over him, to feel his mouth on her, to have his cock filling her everywhere possible.

  This seeming violation failed to dampen her lust, she noted with no small amount of annoyance. She ground her teeth together and pressed her lips tight.

  He dragged his mouth to her ear but clamped his teeth down on anything he might have said as the noise began to die down. Instead, he leaned back until he could look in her eyes. His gaze darted back and forth between them, entreating her. To what? She did not know. Their normally rich brown color had darkened to a deep russet . She had only seen them change like that when he was…aroused.

  His intention suddenly dawned on her. He was going to do it to her. To fuck her right here in sight of these…these animals. She started breathing in short, hard gasps that failed to fill her lungs with much needed air. They were going to watch him take his pleasure on her. And then what? Would these filthy pigs have a go?

  She resumed her struggle. He paid no more attention to the kicks she delivered to his shins than he would a gnat buzzing about his face. The cheer from the crowed renewed at her feeble attempt to dislodge herself from his grasp. This time he yanked her against him and spoke to her while only she could hear.

  “The more you fight, the more they’re going to like it.”

  She could barely hear him, even though he seemed to shout. Nevertheless, his words made her tremble.

  She had no choice. Even if she broke free from him, there were many more waiting to get their hands on her. She glanced around at their leering faces, blended into a mass of horrific debauchers without mercy. She cringed at the wild look in their eyes.

  His words rang in her ear. The more you struggle, the more they’re going to like it.

  She immediately grew still. If it gave them pleasure to see her resist, she would do the opposite of that. She pulled her shoulders back and narrowed her eyes at Rolf. So help me, I’ll get you for this, you son of a whore. His grip loosened slightly. Was he surprised at her rigid stance?

  He caressed her arm where he was sure to have left a mark. “Get on your knees.” His voice sounded strained.

  She complied without argument.

  “C’mon, Bloodhands. Kick some fight into ‘er.” More encouraging shouts from those looking on.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the men around her. Her blasphemous body reacted to the realization that she could incite so much lust. Aroused beyond all decency, she lowered her head to hide the humiliation.

  Leastwise, she should feel humiliated.

  Succumbing to compliance, she looked up at him. She could read nothing in the earth colored eyes that stared down at her. His intense gaze seemed to bore right down into her soul. Her immortal soul. The one he had stolen.

  The devil knelt behind her, his knees either side of her calves, and pushed her down to all fours. She resisted the urge to grind her aching sex against him. He kept her legs pressed firmly together as he fumbled with the stays of his breeches.

  She squirmed against the sharp gravel cutting into her already scraped palms, but sucked in a sharp breath when she felt his rigid cock poke against her through the coarse material of her smock. She felt like she might go up in flames, so intense was the heat coursing through her body. She pressed her thighs together, squeezing them around the
tiny nub that was the center of her pleasure. She ached for him all over.

  Lord, the things this man does to my body.

  She leaned against his calloused hand as he slid it along her calf and up her thigh. Like a cat in heat, she was. She parted her lips, panting with need.

  Even though he had barely exposed her to the cold air, chills racked her as he stroked the silky head of his cock along her wet slit. Her walls encased the engorged head, swelling with desire.

  She swallowed the groan of pleasure that would have escaped her lips. While she would not struggle for their pleasure, neither would she display her wanton lust. By God, she would cling to her dignity.

  The voices around her grew muffled. She could almost imagine they were alone. She melted back into him. The slick head of his cock just inside her cleft pushed her closer to the release she could not seem to stave off. The deeper he pressed into her, the more she worked herself against him.

  There was no flash of pain this time. Only the urgent need for him to bury his cock inside her. She needed no tender caresses, no seductive words of passion.

  Just him.

  A soft breeze tousled the long strands of her hair. Could she smell salt on the air? Was that the screech of gulls? Did she feel the wave of the ocean?

  He covered her body with his, whispering in his foreign tongue against the veil that fell about her face. “Du er min. Ingen vil røre deg, men meg, kjæresten min.”

  She sighed. Safe inside the curtain of her perfect world, she relaxed against him. His weight pressed down on her. She relished the feel of him wrapped around her, shielding her while staking his claim on her to all those present.

  What an utterly delicious, manly stake it was.

  “I’ll make it quick.”

  No! She did not want it quick. She wanted it to last and last. Forever. Behind the silky veil of her hair, she could imagine that perfect world. She could hide away from the reality of life, so heavy on her tired shoulders. She would be free to explore her feelings for this man and discover the source of the pleasure he gave her.

  Her channel clamped around the slender base of his cock. He ground his heavy balls against her swollen quim. The sensitive skin nestling her crux ignited when he touched it. Tiny tremors inside her quim released creamy evidence of her arousal.

  Rolf stiffened. She felt rumbling deep in his chest where he pressed it against her back. He clamped his teeth on her shoulder, stifling a growl that only she could hear.

  Then, God help her, he began to move. The pain against her palms forgotten, she balled her hands against the damp earth, scraping her knuckles and relishing the combination of pain and pleasure.

  With so few strokes, she could have almost counted them, nudging her taut bud with each exquisite one, he emptied deep inside her. He must have felt her release as well. He covered her mouth with one hand and roared his own pleasure to cover the muffled sound of hers.

  He stood up immediately, pulling her with him. Her skirt fell to her ankles, hiding any nudity from the perverted gaze of his countrymen. His seed oozed from inside her, slickening her thighs. She kept her head lowered, eyes downcast as he tucked away his still hard cock, shining slick with their combined juices. Heat flushed her face, and she was glad those who watched could not see her humiliation.

  “I wants me a woman wit’ some spit.” She could not see who spoke, and she did not care. All she wanted was to be away. Anywhere but here.

  She breathed easier as they dispersed. Most likely to seek out a fresh hole to relieve their renewed lust. The man who had fetched her for this demonstration approached them. He leered at her, displaying a mouth full of missing or rotting teeth. “Want me to put her wi’ the others?”

  “I’ll do it.” Rolf pulled her away.

  She licked her dry lips, swallowed hard. The air surrounding them seemed thick. She wanted to say something, anything to lighten his mood, discover his purpose, draw him back to her. Why had he done that? She could only guess at his motives. What did he intend to do now? Whose side was he on?

  Emotions swirled inside her. Her belly churned at the scattered feelings of worry, hope, anger, latent desire, love.

  I cannot love him. ‘Tis only the devil’s lust. And hope that he will save us. And fear of his betrayal.

  She didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. As he drew her away from his marauding kinsmen, she recognized Stumpy lurking about the fringes. He paid her little attention but watched Rolf with suspicion. She glanced about searching for her modor.

  Her shoulders slumped. No sign of her anywhere.

  At the door to Mae’s hut, he ushered her across the threshold but did not follow her inside. He stared at her.

  Please say something. Please say something. Please say something.

  He glanced over his shoulder. More than one man watched him with curiosity now. With a last look at her, he closed the door, plunging the hut into darkness.

  She did not move for a long time. Not that she could see to walk around. The malodorous smell of Norse stench permeated the air combining with the tang of fear. She nearly retched. As her eyes adjusted, she heard muffled whimpers all around her. Most of the girls had been discarded after those heathens were through with them and now huddled together in the dark, waiting to see what horrors had yet to befall them.

  Guilt weighed heavy on her soul. If only I had not convinced them to stay and fight. We could have been nearly to Elmham by now. Perhaps they would have had to sleep in the streets, but even that would have been better than this.

  As her eyes grew more and more accustomed to the dark, she tried to make out the somber faces of her people. Few women had been spared. Even the maids had been used for the scuts’ pleasure. How many Norse bastards would be born this winter? How many more mouths to feed?

  She pressed her palm to her stomach. What if she carried the Viking’s child? Oh, dear God. Do not let his seed have taken hold. What would she do then? There were stories that Viking men left unwanted children to perish in the elements.

  She hugged both arms around her waist, shaking her head slowly from side to side. With one hand, she felt along the wall and worked her way to the back corner. She could just make out a few accusing glares cast in her direction. She tried to ignore them but could not shake the guilt that consumed her.

  Almost as soon as she slid to her seat, Wulf crawled over to join her and rested his head against her shoulder. She stared off into the darkness, her thoughts flitted from one to the other. What should she do now? Why should she do anything? She had her own troubles to worry about, did she not? If she did carry Rolf’s child, how was she going to protect it?

  She threw up her hand to block the glare blasting through the door as it opened from the outside. Whoever entered carried a lit torch before them, shielding their face. The fire illuminated the interior. She scanned her surroundings, searching for her modor before realizing it was she who carried the torch.

  She jumped to her feet and ran to her, Wulf close on her heels. “Modor. Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “Shhh…he was gentle,” Edlyn whispered. She put her hand on Wulf’s shoulder and gave him a weak smile.

  She was taken aback by the gesture. Edlyn had not shown her only son such affection in a long time. She relaxed slightly as her modor held the lit end of the torch to the kindling in the hearth. The dry wood flared to life, drawing those around the perimeter of the hut to its warmth. The bedraggled remains of families huddled together, worry and fear of an uncertain future were etched in the faces of all who had survived. A deafening silence seemed to suck all the air from the room.

  “We should have heeded William,” Mae blurted. Murmurs of agreement swept through the others. “We would be safe in Elmham instead of broken and soiled. Instead here we sit, prisoners in our own home, shamed before God.”

  Her modor surprised her further by throwing the still lit torch at Mae’s feet. The woman jumped back to avoid the sparks that threatened to ignite her
smock. “What shame have you, Mae? I saw no man take his pleasure on you.”

  Mae glared at them. “I speak for those too afraid, too humbled to speak for themselves.”

  “You speak for yourself and no one else.” She leveled her gaze at those nearest the fire. “My daughter is not to blame for our misfortunes. She has ever been kind and obliging to every one of you.”

  Kaylla nearly choked to hear her modor defending her. Usually she met with disdain at her unappreciated concern for the other members of their small village. Modor often berated her for sharing what meager food they had while sacrificing her own needs, for giving away her best clothes to those whose garments were worn and threadbare, for doing the chores of others so they could participate in more enjoyable activities.

  Edlyn had never been impressed by her insistence on taking care of everyone around her. She certainly had not condoned such sacrifice to others.

  The guilty expressions on the faces of many of those who had gathered around the warmth of the hearth did not bring her the satisfaction she might have expected. She did not care for these people as a search for glory. She loved them. Almost all of them. She enjoyed ensuring their needs.

  Betimes it would be nice for someone to take care of hers.

  Taking both of her children by the arm, her modor led them back to the corner where the three of them sat huddled together. The interior of the hut did not seem so gloomy with the light from the glowing hearth.

  Edlyn brushed away a few wayward tendrils and studied her face. “I heard what that bastard did to you.”

  She dropped her gaze. “It was humiliating, but I suppose it could have been worse.”

  “What? What did he do?”

  “Hush, Wulf.” They spoke at the same time.

  “I would love to rip his balls off with me bare hands.”

  At first, she had thought the same thing. Or something similar leastwise. “I think he had little choice. He was protecting me somehow. I know it.”