Conquests: an Anthology of Smoldering Viking Romance

by James, Elle

  Calder shouted at them, something Odina didn’t understand, but combined with his sweeping hand movements, frightened away the women, but not without a hateful glance from Luntook, the second woman, with whom Odina had grown up.

  Once the women left, Calder smoothed his hand down Odina’s back to gain her attention. She shivered, despite the heat from the fire, and turned to meet his blue-eyed gaze. He curved his hand around her neck to kiss her again, his lips and tongue coaxing as he slid his other hand between their bodies to find her.

  Only a few caresses, and she’d forgotten the interruption, was moving against his hand, kissing him back. This time, the climax was not as powerful, but her body slumped bonelessly against his as they struggled to catch their breath.

  *

  Odina emerged from the hut a short time later, knowing that without her contribution, Calder, and possibly his men, wouldn’t be fed. She belonged to them now; they were her responsibility. She joined the other women at the campfire preparing the stew that would make the last of the game stretch to feed so many. The women, including her sister, were less talkative than usual, and she caught several sidelong looks. Were they resentful of the night she’d spent in Calder’s arms? Was not her position to appease him? Or worse, did they think less of her for enjoying the foreigner’s embrace?

  Lost in her own thoughts, she prepared Calder’s meal. Suddenly, a sense of awareness washed over her. She looked around and saw no men, not her tribe, not Calder’s men.

  Where was everyone?

  A movement at the edge of the forest caught her eye, and she caught sight of an unfamiliar young face. A moment passed before realization struck. Another tribe? Here now? But why?

  Pretending not to notice anything out of the ordinary, she finished spooning Calder’s meal into a wooden bowl and rose, scanning the forest. Yes, the young face was not the only stranger here. And they could have only one purpose.

  Moving quickly, but not fast enough to draw attention, she returned to the hut where Calder waited, trying to reason out how to convey the information to him. They had no words except their names.

  Calder stood, relieving his bladder into the provided pot. He was still gloriously naked, all muscle and strength, and for a moment, she was distracted. But then she remembered the faces in the woods, and she lunged for his sword. It was heavier than she expected and pulled her off balance, but she kept her grip firm.

  Instantly, his body tensed, and his hands came up in a fighting stance. The fierceness of his furrowed brow and curled lips chilled her heart an instant before she shoved the sword at him, hilt first. Surprise relaxed his posture, and he took the sword reflexively, his gaze not leaving her face as she swept a hand behind her and raised an arm over her head and made a face, mimicking an attack.

  Understanding bloomed instantly. He pushed past her and gave a bloodcurdling cry, which was echoed by his men from a distance.

  She ran after him, watching his bare hindquarters flashing white in the dappled sunlight through the trees, his long silver sword raised.

  The enemy warriors swarmed forward, surrounding him, blocking him from her view.

  She screamed, straining to see him through the clothed bodies. She heard his shouts and the clang of his sword striking axes and spears. Bodies thudded as they hit the ground, but since her tribe was still fighting, she knew Calder was not dead. She thought of the scars she’d stroked on his body and hoped he’d walk away with nothing more. But she knew, witnessing the violence of the men before her—strangers intermingled with her own people—the hope was unlikely. They wanted him dead.

  The ground thundered beneath her, and beyond the battle, where Calder was sorely outnumbered, rushed forward his pale-skinned men, weapons raised, a terrible cry rising as one.

  She scrambled up the trunk of a tree, needing to see Calder, to make sure he was on his feet. Dread knotted her stomach—would she see him killed? The man who had shown her such kindness, such passion—was she going to see him die?

  She couldn’t find him among his own men who had surged forward to even the odds, who had pushed their way into the thick of battle to fight for their leader.

  And then there he was, yellow braid swinging, flecked with blood, his naked skin coated with it. His, or someone else’s? She wished she had a weapon, too, that she could join the fight at his side.

  Her thoughts were disloyal, she knew. To fight against her own people was traitorous. But for them to give her to Calder as a distraction so they could call for reinforcements to battle the new arrivals? Strange men who had up to this point been peaceful? It was a trick without honor, and she was ashamed.

  Calder’s men were not peaceful now, however, hacking and slicing and thrusting with abandon. Men she’d known all her life dropped at their feet; strangers fell in a swirl of blood-soaked mud.

  But just when she thought Calder and his men were winning, another surge of warriors emerged from the forest. They were outnumbered and certain to be defeated.

  Calder staggered under a blow from behind.

  Odina’s heart leapt to her throat, and before she could think, she was scrambling down the tree and running toward him. She lost sight of him a moment before she saw two of his men lift him up and head toward the water’s edge.

  To their boats.

  Retreating. Leaving. Leaving her behind.

  Fear pumped her legs faster. She would not stay here, not when she’d been given to him, been given a glimpse of another life, one other than as the whipping girl to the village. She wanted to know the adventure Calder had spoken of. She wanted to be by his side.

  The pebbles of the beach dug into her feet as she pounded across them toward the boat where Calder’s men hoisted him aboard.

  “Calder!” she cried over the sound of clashing weapons and bloodthirsty cries. “Calder!”

  She didn’t know if he was dead or alive, only that he was limp between his men. Were they merely retrieving his body to return to their homeland? The idea was unfathomable. She could not accept the thought that he could be dead so soon after leaving her bed.

  “Calder!”

  He lifted his head and turned, searching, finding, pinning her with those blue eyes. She ducked beneath a Northman swinging his ax at a man she didn’t know, slipped, and scraped her knee when she swerved to avoid a warrior racing after the retreating Northmen. But her gaze never wavered from Calder.

  She reached his boat and held up a hand, bracing her foot on the hull to hoist herself inside. She felt the boat drifting from shore, and her foot slipped, but then a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and hauled her upward. In less than a moment, she was in the boat, and face to face with Calder, surrounded by his men.

  He looked terrible, his hair matted and bloody, a cut running the length of his face and oozing blood, more cuts on his body, disguised by more blood.

  He said something to her that she didn’t understand, but he was frowning. Was he asking her if she wanted to go with him? She didn’t know how to make him understand, so she pressed a hand to her heart, then took the same hand and pressed it to his. She repeated the gesture in case he didn’t understand, keeping her gaze on his, hoping he wanted her to come with him as much as she needed to go.

  Around him, his men grumbled, and she sensed they wanted her left behind, but she looked into Calder’s eyes and waited.

  With one arm—she saw now that his other arm was wounded and hung loosely at his side—he pulled her against him and kissed her soundly. He drew back, pushing her hair from her face with a bloody hand and nodded.

  “Mine,” he said.

  And that word, she understood.

  There for the Taking

  Nym Nix

  The Skagerrak Coast of Norway, 842 AD

  Idonea wiped a stray strand of red-gold hair from her face and glanced around. The man, Einar, and the woman, Sigridr, sat together on one of the platforms that served the cottage as both bench and bed, their fair heads bent close. Talking about her.
She could tell, even if she couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying. It was the way they looked at her.

  Heat rose in Idonea’s cheeks, and she turned back to stir the pot over the firepit to hide her discomfort.

  She knew he desired her. He did nothing to disguise it. Every time she caught his clear blue gaze it made her pulse race, even while that sharp stab of fear twisted in her gut. She had been here two nights now, under his roof, and both nights he had wordlessly invited her into his bed. What puzzled her was why he had let her refuse.

  Vikings took what they wanted. Didn’t they? Wasn’t that how she came to be here?

  Idonea wrapped her filthy skirt around her hand and swung the pot away from the heat. She ladled stew into two bowls, ignoring the way her skin prickled under their twin gazes.

  The woman puzzled her, too.

  She’d been on the boat. At first, Idonea hadn’t realized she was a woman. She’d been dressed the same as the male raiders, carried the same weapons, worn the same bloodstains. Later, Idonea had seen her in the huge hall at the centre of the Viking village where they’d divided up the spoils and the captives. But Einar alone had led Idonea away from the settlement, over steep hills to this lonely farmstead. Idonea was fairly certain no one else lived here. Yet, Sigridr had arrived with the sunset this evening, dressed now in a kirtle and with her hair let loose.

  Idonea did not know what to make of the pair. Were they betrothed? It seemed unlikely Sigridr, in all her ferocity, would countenance the presence of a young, female slave in the house of her husband-to-be. Siblings? Sisters did not look at brothers the way Sigridr gazed at Einar.

  Idonea offered them the bowls. She tried to keep her gaze down, but could not help darting him a nervous glance.

  He smiled.

  It caused an answering curling sensation in the pit of her stomach. But she was too afraid to let herself smile back.

  She backed away, looking at the ground.

  The woman spoke.

  Einar laughed, his expression sheepish.

  Idonea did not understand their words, but Sigridr seemed to have exposed some guilty secret.

  He leaned forward and said something to Idonea. She stared at him helplessly. He beckoned her. Reluctantly, she edged back around the firepit. He held up a spoonful of the stew toward her lips.

  Idonea took a step back, but he made gentle shushing noises, as though she were a shy animal. She bent her head and took the mouthful. It was warm and rich and made her empty belly clench. Fear had stolen her appetite of late. He made a satisfied noise and offered another spoonful. She ate that, but when Sigridr said something derisive, she backed away again, feeling her face flush.

  Idonea could not understand his kindness. She was a slave—he was the master. She understood the nature of the contract that had been forced upon her. What else did he want from her? The question made her sweat with fear. And something else she did not know how to name.

  Beside him, Sigridr was speaking again. Einar answered her, without taking his gaze off Idonea.

  Idonea wished he would look away. Her face was burning, and her heart beat too fast.

  Sigridr set aside her bowl and leaned into Einar, murmuring into his ear. Einar nodded and Sigridr began to nuzzle at his neck. One hand slid down the front of his shirt, playing across his chest in a manner unequivocally sensual. Idonea’s eyes widened. Einar smiled again, his gaze never leaving hers.

  Sigridr dragged off his shirt, clearly taking pleasure in the broad expanse of his chest and the slope of his bare shoulders, gleaming ruddy in the firelight.

  Idonea’s chest felt tight. What are they doing?

  Sigridr ran her hands over Einar’s skin, her fingers tracing the paths of old scars and dancing over the peaks of his nipples where they stood out from the sparse whorls of dark gold hair over his chest.

  Idonea’s breath caught in her throat.

  Einar grinned at her. He rose, and Sigridr’s hands plucked at the drawstring of his trews.

  Utterly discomposed, Idonea turned away. It was clear they had no requirement for privacy. If she did not want to witness this, she would have to leave. They murmured to each other. There were thuds as footwear was discarded onto the floor. And there were other noises, soft, intriguing sounds that filled her with humiliating warmth.

  Idonea moved to the door. As she laid her hand upon the latch, however, Einar spoke a sharp word. She needed no knowledge of his language to understand it. She halted and let her hand fall.

  Reluctantly, she turned back to them. He was naked, now, standing with his arms wrapped around Sigridr, his hands full of her exposed breasts. He frowned at Idonea and shook his head. Sigridr twisted around to glance at Idonea, and then drew Einar’s head back down to kiss her neck. He complied, but his gaze stayed on Idonea.

  Idonea slumped against the door, her eyes filling with angry tears. She did not want to stay in here while they took their pleasure with each other. She did not want to see any more of the handsome Viking’s naked body. She dashed the tears from her eyes and discovered, when her vision cleared, he was still watching her, even as he caressed Sigridr’s body. She set her jaw and glared back.

  Einar tugged at Sigridr’s dress, baring her bottom. He slid his hand around her body and squeezed it. He might have been squeezing Idonea’s throat, for the trouble it was costing her to breathe. He bent to take Sigridr’s pale, pointed nipple in his mouth, and Idonea felt an answering tug in her own flesh as her nipples grew taut in response. Sigridr uttered a low, voluptuous moan that set off echoes in Idonea’s belly.

  Einar raised his head from Sigridr’s breasts and called to her. “Idzunn!”

  He had a strange, burred way of saying her name.

  His arousal was clear. Idonea could feel how warm and wet her own sex was, and when he put a hand around the proud curve of his organ and gave it a teasing pull, she felt a throb of pleasure so intense it made her knees tremble. If it had not been for the door at her back, she might have sunk to the floor.

  He beckoned her, and Sigridr turned to give her a pleasure-dazed smile.

  He wants me to join them.

  Idonea tore her gaze from his groin, her face scarlet. She shook her head, the bright little shard of fear in her heart momentarily vanquishing the building pulse between her thighs.

  He shrugged, a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. He sat on the edge of the sleeping platform and pulled Sigridr towards him. She cast an amused look over her shoulder at Idonea, and stepped out of her crumpled gown. In one smooth movement, she straddled Einar and sank down over him.

  Idonea’s insides clenched as they came together, each with a hard exhalation of breath. Sigridr tipped back her head and moaned. Over her shoulder, Idonea could see Einar close his eyes in ecstasy.

  In the sudden freedom from his scrutiny, Idonea’s fear abated. She drew in a deep shuddering breath, conscious now of her own arousal.

  Sigridr began to move up and down. Idonea could see the muscles in her thighs working as she rode Einar. Einar ran his hands down over her back, past her waist, pulling her down harder, holding her down. Sigridr growled at him through her teeth and began to rock back and forth. Idonea watched Einar’s strong fingers digging into Sigridr’s buttocks as they moved together, and was surprised by the burst of fierce envy that suddenly filled her chest.

  Einar dipped his head to take Sigridr’s teat in his mouth again. She cried out, arching her back. They were both breathing hard.

  Enraptured, Idonea panted as they panted, pushing herself back against the door in time with the rhythm of their urgent rocking. She was shocked to find she had shoved her hand between her thighs, pressing hard upon her sex through the layers of her clothing, feeling her own pleasure build. But she couldn’t stop herself. And for once, Einar was not looking at her.

  She rubbed and kneaded, watching the way his brow furrowed with every heave of Sigridr’s naked body. Just as the mountain of sensation inside her reached its peak, Einar o
pened his eyes.

  Idonea gasped out loud, her knees giving way, and she slid to the ground. Stars crowded across her vision, and her blood pounded in her head. He saw me! When her vision cleared, Einar was grinning. Then he threw back his head and gave a guttural roar, bucking into the woman on his lap.

  Idonea sat on the earthen floor, breathing heavily, watching the two of them as they toppled languidly into the furs, the sweat on their skin gleaming in the firelight. Einar asked Sigridr a question, and she gave a contemptuous answer in the negative, hitting him on the shoulder. Einar laughed, and said something, pointing at Idonea. Sigridr twisted to stare at her, hard, and Idonea almost stopped breathing.

  Sigridr pulled herself free from Einar and got up from the bed, stalking towards Idonea. Afraid again, Idonea tried to scramble out of the way, but there was nowhere to go. Sigridr seized her arm and dragged her to her feet. She pulled Idonea over to the bed where Einar was still sprawled, looking bemused.

  To Idonea’s consternation, Sigridr began to tug at the ties at the front of her dress. Idonea protested, but Sigridr slapped aside her hands and yanked open her dress. She pulled on the cord at the neck of Idonea’s shift.

  Idonea fought her, and tried to cover herself, but Sigridr hit her squarely across the face. Hot tears sprang to Idonea’s eyes again, and her cheek stung. She stood, shaking and helpless, as Sigridr held her dress and shift open to give Einar a clear view of her naked breasts.

  The pleasant sensations of a few moments before had vanished. All she was conscious of now was the cutting fear twisting in her belly.

  She felt, rather than saw, Einar get up from the bed. He stood so close she could smell his warm musk and feel his breath soft on her face. Tears burned their way down her cheeks as she waited for what must surely come next.

  Instead, she felt his fingers tugging up the front of her shift, pulling her dress closed. She looked up. Through tears, she saw the rough gold of his beard, and then his blue eyes. The hunger was still there, lurking in the depths; she could sense it. But mostly, she saw the crease of concern between his brows. She searched his face, hardly daring to believe her reprieve. He hadn’t even so much as brushed her breast with the back of a finger.