Conquests: an Anthology of Smoldering Viking Romance

by James, Elle

  “Aelfrun,” he murmured as he drew the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “I have thought of you every minute of every day since we parted.”

  She kissed the hollow of his palm. “And I, you.”

  “Let us discuss our expectations as the empress suggested.” He grabbed her hands and raised them above her head, holding her wrists tightly against the pillow. “When we are in bed, I command you, little princess.” The head of his cock nudged her sex.

  Her insides fluttered in anticipation. She opened her legs wider. “Yes, my lord.”

  He pushed in just an inch.

  Sighing at the long-awaited incursion, she clenched around his thickness.

  Satisfaction softened his face. “You will do what I desire.” Another inch.

  Yes, please. She arched with a moan. “Yes, my lord.” She tilted her hips, wanting more of him.

  “And at this moment, I desire to fuck you.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “Hard.”

  He slammed inside, the force lifting her. He pressed her back onto the mattress, holding her steady as he rammed deeper with every thrust.

  Her legs hooked around his thighs, hanging on as he took her on a journey to ecstasy. His cock stretched her, filling her perfectly, rubbing the secret spot within. His rasping grunts were music to her ears, his humid breath sparking memories of the bathhouse, his dominance softening her to delirious submission.

  His pace quickened and she followed, reckless with pent-up need. He released her wrists to grasp her at the waist, pounding heedlessly, seeking his final pleasure, a pleasure she, too, was racing toward.

  She came, gripping him with all her might. He barked a cry and clutched her to him as he let loose his seed, laying his claim, securing her as his own.

  With a languorous exhale, Rakki smiled down at her, sweat burnishing his brow, the twinkle in his blue eyes gleaming brightly. He slid to her side, enfolding her in a thick arm.

  “My wife.” His breath was hot on the crown of her head.

  Aelfrun smiled as she burrowed in the shelter of his body. “Yes, Rakki. Until the end of days.”

  Enslaved

  Elle James

  The west coast of Ireland, 857 AD

  Konrad strode through the small village of Carrigeen in the southwest coast of Ireland, his sword sheathed in his scabbard, surveying the land he and his men had just conquered. For the first time in hours, he breathed deeply, releasing the tension that had kept his body and mind alert to present dangers. The battle was won.

  “A fine bit of earth you have now, Konrad.” Thorsten strode alongside him, his bravest soldier and friend since they were small children. “Fortunately, the village is intact, save only one cottage that burned to the ground. The men will be content to have women to see to their needs, and you’ll have a ready-made roof to cover your head.”

  “Indeed.” He eyed the villagers. The children seemed well-fed, the women strong enough to plow fields, tend gardens, and herd animals. What he did not see were many men. “What do you make of the lack of men?”

  Thorsten shrugged. “From the stories the women are telling, they have seen many battles, and those who conquered them in the past killed their men, but did not stay long. They claim the land is haunted and unhealthy for the Norse. Something about the water making the men sickly. The villagers have built up an immunity to whatever ails newcomers.”

  Konrad’s brow furrowed. This was news he didn’t care to hear. The soil was rich, and the sheep and cattle were fat. If the natives and the cattle could survive on the water in Carrigeen, so should he and his men.

  After years of battle in his homeland of Norway under the leadership of his older brother Ivarr, Konrad had crossed the seas to fight the Danes. He’d come to this island to stake a claim for land and a home of his own. He was ready to settle, take a wife, and raise children and cattle. Konrad heard Ireland was a paradise of green pastures and strong women, both key ingredients to his plan.

  Thus, he had sailed his last journey from Dublin around the isle and let the wind carry him here to the west coast of this lush green land he’d come to love. After a fierce battle led by a paltry lot of old men and boys barely off their mothers’ apron strings, Konrad had won. But he wondered that others hadn’t claimed this glorious place, haunted soil or not.

  Ahead, two women carrying bundles hurried toward a cottage. One was a winsome beauty with light red hair cascading down her back in long luscious waves. The other was tall and raven-haired, her tresses curling in glorious abandon. The latter’s hips swayed beneath the dress broader than the redhead’s, and with a determination found more often in the men he led in battle.

  She handed her burden to the woman standing at the door of the cottage and spoke to her in hushed, urgent tones. The red-haired woman stood by meekly, waiting for the taller one to finish.

  Thorsten leaned close to Konrad. “She is a beauty.”

  “Indeed she is,” he said, his gaze never leaving the taller woman.

  The raven-haired lovely gave her last command and motioned for the redhead to follow her to the next cottage where she again took charge, handed off the goods the redhead carried, and gave her orders. When she was done, she worked her way from building to building, checking with the inhabitants.

  “From what I’ve learned, the dark-haired woman is the leader of this clan,” Thorsten said. “She is the daughter of the previous clan leader. The red-haired beauty is her younger sister.”

  Konrad had been too busy tending to the wounded and giving his dead a proper send off to Valhalla to learn more about the social structure of the people he’d conquered.

  “The old men we captured warned of her iron hand and stubborn streak,” Thorsten murmured. “I suggest you establish your claim immediately, and either send her away or make her your slave.”

  Konrad frowned. “I wish this to be my home. These people will be my people. They need to learn to trust that I will defend them against future attack and provide for their well-being. I don’t want them to see themselves as slaves.”

  “The villagers seem to hold the raven-haired one in high regard. To win them over, you must first win her over or cull her from the herd.” Thorsten nodded toward the redhead. “Another suggestion would be to take her sister to wife to secure her fealty.”

  The raven-haired woman emerged from a home and cast a glance around the village as if to assess the damage. Throughout her visits, she’d avoided looking his direction. At last, she wiped her hands on her apron and glanced his way, her chin tilting high, her blue gaze direct and defiant.

  Konrad’s groin tightened, his manhood rising to the woman’s unspoken challenge.

  Thorsten chuckled beside him. “I see you will have trouble with that one. Perhaps if you use her as an example and publicly whip her, she will fall in line.”

  “A whip would not cow the woman or bend her to my will. What she needs is a firm hand and a reason to accept me.”

  “Aye, a proper beating is what she’ll get. She is strong and young enough she will make a fine slave once you break her will.”

  Konrad growled a warning. He had no desire to break the woman. Like fine horseflesh, she should be gentled and led to believe she would be better off with him as her rider. He squared his shoulders much like he would walking into battle and marched toward the women.

  Brigid O’Ceallachain expected the Norse brute to attempt to bend her to his will, perhaps make her his slave. Despite the fact he was a handsome beast—thick brown hair resting on broad shoulders, a trim waist and powerful thighs—he was still a marauder, a Viking invader come to take what wasn’t his.

  The previous Norse conqueror had attempted to enslave her, had intended to rape her, forcing her into her own bedchamber with the intention of poking his man staff into her like the greedy, smelly old goat he was.

  She had managed to waylay his aggression with food and drink, charging his wine with a wicked herb that made him sleep like the dead.
When he woke, he could not eat for days, complaining of the worst belly ailment he’d ever experienced.

  Using her skills as a healer to her advantage, she promised to nurse him to health as long as he agreed not to harm her or her sister.

  So sick with the ague he could barely climb out of his bed, he’d agreed. While he healed, she had the ladies of the village spread rumors among the men, claiming the river water was poisonous to anyone who had not been raised on it, building a natural resistance to the toxins. They also said the land was cursed by the dead soldiers left unburied.

  Soon, the Norsemen succumbed to the same complaint as their leader, each sick and too weak to lift his sword. First one, followed by many, begged their leader to take them back to their homeland where they could die in peace. Still weak of his own complaint, their leader loaded his ships and sailed away, leaving the O’Ceallachain clan tucked in their rocky hills in peace.

  Brigid had buried the cache of herbs she’d used to fight her battle beneath the fairy tree and went about the business of clan leader, as usual.

  Once again, she ran her gaze over this new Norse conqueror as he stood in the village with his second in command, their gazes taking in what Brigid and her people had built over time with the sweat of their brows.

  She had to admit he was ruggedly handsome. He had no boils upon his face and his teeth weren’t rotting out of his head. Not that it mattered. Brigid O’Ceallachain would bow to no man. This was her land and her clan. She refused to concede without a fight.

  Unfortunately, without an army to back her, once again, she had to seek more unsavory means to vanquish her enemy. One option was to go to Seamus O’Leary, the lecherous brute and High King of County Kerry. He’d had his eye on Caitlinn since she was nothing but a child in bright orange braids. Now that her sister was of age, Seamus wished to negotiate an alliance propagated on his marriage to the fair Caitlinn in exchange for the High King’s protection of the O’Ceallachain clan.

  Brigid had told Seamus she would give him an answer by the next full moon. To be fair to Caitlinn, she’d presented the proposal. Her softhearted sister begged her to agree in order to save their home and people from the heathen Norse marauders plaguing the lands with incessant battles.

  But Brigid had no intention of bartering her beloved sister for protection of her land and people. She’d offer herself in Caitlinn’s place first, not that Seamus would agree. He had a taste for delicate, fair-haired beauties, not for women with hair the color of midnight. Despite their current plight, she still had no intention of allowing her sister’s sacrifice.

  After admitting defeat that morning in the short, but bloody, battle with the Norsemen, Brigid tied a ribbon to the fairy tree, wishing for an end to hostilities for good, knowing she was out of choices and able-bodied men to defend them from another assault.

  Caitlinn laid her hand on Brigid’s arm, her fingers digging into her skin. “Brigid, they are heading our direction.”

  Brigid squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She had at least one more battle to fight with this hulking Norseman, and she vowed to win.

  The big Norseman, dressed in his bloodstained armor, stopped in front of her, his feet planted wide, his arms crossed over his chest. He stared down his arrogant nose at her and announced, “I am Konrad of Kristiansand.”

  He spoke Gaelic almost as well as an Irishman. As much as she wanted to tell him she wasn’t impressed and that he could leave, she held her tongue and nodded graciously. “I am Brigid of Clan O’Ceallachain.” His gaze swept her frame down and up, so quickly she wondered if he found her wanting.

  “I understand you are the leader of this clan.”

  Her teeth ground together, but she managed another nod. “I am.” Her nostrils flared as she fought to control her temper. “Or I was, depending on your intent.”

  Again, he looked down on her from his lofty height. “These are now my land and my people,” he said, his words measured, his tone firm. “Have everyone assemble to hear my words.”

  Her first inclination was to spit at his feet and tell him to assemble them himself. She chewed hard on her tongue to restrain herself before turning to her sister. “Caitlinn, please have our people come out.”

  Caitlinn hurried away to do her bidding. Konrad’s second followed her with his gaze, practically salivating like a dog over a juicy bone. Her back stiffened, recognizing the next battle was just beginning.

  When all had assembled, the big brute opened his mouth, his voice booming loud enough to be heard. “I am Konrad of Kristiansand, your new leader. I have come to settle on O’Ceallachain lands and make this my home. I will marry one of your people and produce heirs to ensure the protection of these lands for future generations.” He lifted his chin higher. “Today, I will choose my bride. All unmarried women of child-bearing age, come to the front of the crowd.”

  Brigid’s fists clenched. She should be happy he was willing to marry the woman he bedded, rather than using her as a concubine to slake his manly lusts. The thought she might be unable to halt this made her belly ache with an anger so great she could barely breathe. When the young women stepped forward, their gazes downcast from fear, Brigid’s blood boiled.

  Konrad marched down the line of potential brides. He stopped in front of one buxom lass, turned her around, stared at her hips, turned her back around, and made her open her mouth to display her teeth.

  Brigid stepped forward, scathing words on the tip of her tongue. Caitlin’s hand on her arm kept her from launching herself at the oaf and raking her fingernails down his back.

  He moved down the line then back to where she and Caitlinn stood. He turned his attention to Caitlinn. “And you? Are you unwed?”

  Rosy color flooded her sister’s cheeks, but Caitlinn nodded and bowed her head, her gaze on his boots.

  He lifted her chin and studied her face. “Open your mouth.”

  Rage shivered down Brigid’s spine as her sister complied, opening her mouth for his inspection.

  “You have all of your teeth,” he observed. He lifted her arm. “Strong arms.” He turned her around. “Good hips for breeding.” He placed a hand on either side of her hips as if measuring. “What do you think, Thorsten? She will make a fine bride and bear many sons.”

  Thorsten clapped his leader on the back. “That she will. She has child-bearing hips, for sure.”

  Heat steamed from Brigid’s head as the Norse animals laughed.

  “I intend to be married before the sun sets this day,” Konrad announced and gave Caitlinn a pat on her behind.

  Brigid’s sister stumbled forward, her eyes wide, her cheeks flaming.

  “Enough!” Brigid stepped in front of Caitlinn, her shoulders thrown back, her feet planted wide in a fighting stance. If she’d had a sword in her hand, she’d have run him through. “These are my people, and I will not have you treat them like cattle.”

  Konrad’s eyes narrowed. “They are no longer your people. From the moment your men laid down their arms, they became mine. I will do as I please. And it might please me to make all of them slaves to provide food and entertainment to my men who have fought hard and suffered greatly in many fierce battles.”

  “Fierce battles.” She snorted.

  “Brigid, don’t…” Caitlinn begged.

  Brigid ignored her sister’s plea. “Today, you fought old men and young boys, not strong and worthy opponents. Now you stomp in here demanding fealty of women and children like lording beasts. I will not stand by and allow you to harm one woman or child.”

  The brute crossed his arms over his chest. “And how to you propose to stop me? If I choose to take this pretty red-head as my bride, I will do so. You are not strong enough to defeat me.”

  Her breath caught as he slowly pulled his sword from his sheath.

  “Unless you are carrying a sword beneath that dress…” With the tip of his sword, he lifted her dress, revealing her legs beneath.

  Brigid jerked her skirts away from his sword. If
she didn’t do something quickly, he’d take Caitlinn and ruin her and all their chances to bargain with Seamus. “I propose a bargain,” she blurted. “My hand in marriage, and with it, the obedience of my people.”

  Konrad snorted. “You are in no position to bargain.” He arched a brow and gave her body another cursory glance. “But for the sake of argument, what will you ask in exchange?”

  “You will forbid your men from ruining my women, and they will be allowed to choose their own husbands.”

  “Again, I see no advantage to me, only you. We could take what we want and disregard your desires.”

  She nodded. “You could. But as you said yourself, you wish to settle and raise children. Would it not be better to rule women who swear loyalty to husbands, rather than depend on their questionable allegiance as slaves?”

  Konrad studied her for a long moment. “I will inspect my prize before I make a decision.”

  Her chin rose higher, heat again filling her cheeks, this time from mortification. The scoundrel! But she refused to back down. Let him treat her like an animal, as long as he let the other women be.

  He circled her, tapping the flat of his sword against her bottom. “Firm and strong.”

  In front of her again, he sheathed his weapon and stepped closer, staring down at her so long, Brigid grew nervous, and then angry for allowing fear to intrude. “I have all my teeth, and I’m taller and broader of hip than Caitlinn. Surely, I will better bear children.”

  “I will be the judge.” He gripped her hips in both hands. “Yes, I believe your hips are broader. But what about your breasts? I won’t have the mother of my children starving them for lack of milk.” He reached out with both hands and plumped her breasts.

  Shocked, Brigid slapped his face as hard as she could.

  A gasp rose from those gathered as a bright red handprint appeared on his cheek.

  Brigid stepped back, her eyes wide, unable to utter an apology and afraid he’d take out his anger on her and her entire clan.