Claimed By A Viking

by T S Florence

“He stole you from me, and thievery is punishable by death,” Ragnar growled.

  “Oh, so I’m your property?” Hilda asked, indignantly. She pulled back on the ropes, to get his attention.

  “Yes, you are my property,” Ragnar turned around, growling, as he stepped towards her.

  “And I will say it for everyone to hear,” Ragnar continued, “this girl is my property, she was mine before she was stolen, and now I claim her again,” He bellowed, silencing the mayhem of noise that had filled the village square.

  “Hail Ragnar the Destroyer, Earl of Fyrkat,” one of his soldiers shouted out, breaking the silence.

  “Hail Earl Ragnar,” his men chanted.

  “You’re joking,” Hilda said flatly, getting Ragnar’s attention.

  “What?” He said, as he turned to her.

  “Ragnar the destroyer? And since when were you the Earl of Fyrkat? What happened to the stupid boy that left Fyrkat four years ago,” Hilda said in a deadpan voice.

  “Watch your tongue, Hilda,” Ragnar said.

  “Or what? You’ll beat me, to show your men how you discipline your slaves?” Hilda clipped.

  Hilda was embarrassed that she was still tied, and suddenly realised that she had not seen Brenna back in the town square.

  “Ragnar,” Hilda’s voice changed from anger to desperate urgency.

  “Yes Hilda?” Ragnar asked, his voice changing drastically to a quiet tone.

  “My friend - Brenna, I haven’t seen her. I don’t think she’s here,” she said, trying to look at all the faces. Ragnar looked at a steep trail on the outskirts of town and pointed to a white horse. The horse was being ridden by a man with long red braided hair, just like the one who had joked of making Brenna share a bed with his wife. A dark-haired female what was unmistakably Brenna was lying over his horse, still bound at the hands.

  “That’s her,” she looked back to him, “please Ragnar, we need to save her,” Hilda said.

  “I didn’t come here to save strangers,” Ragnar said, looking back to his men on the beach.

  “Then untie me and let me get her myself, if you’re too cowardly,” Hilda said, as she felt the urgency of the situation grip at her.

  “Torsten,” Ragnar said to a man, almost as tall as himself.

  “Earl Ragnar?” The man said.

  “Kill that man on the white horse and bring the girl back alive,” Ragnar said.

  “Yes, Ragnar,” Torsten said bowing his head.

  Hilda noticed Grim, the viking chieftain, standing in the crowd in an attempt to avoid being noticed from Ragnar’s men. As if Ragnar read her mind, he suddenly spoke up.

  “Where is your Earl?” Ragnar shouted to the crowd.

  “He does not live in this village, but in a larger town a day’s ride away,” an old woman said.

  “Who led the raids?” Ragnar asked the old woman.

  The old woman looked towards Grim, whose displeasure at being pointed out was evident.

  Hilda was distracted by Ragnar’s man, Torsten, who had taken a horse and was riding it hard along the steep path, quickly catching up to Brenna and the red-haired man.

  Ragnar walked over to Grim and grabbed him. Grim was the biggest man out of all the vikings that had taken Hilda, but he seemed small compared to Ragnar.

  “You took my slave from me, and sold her to your man,” Ragnar growled.

  Hilda felt her face harden as she heard Ragnar refer to her as a slave. She began to fidget with the rope around her wrists, feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable.

  “Who, her? The blond girl? I gave her for free to Dag, the cripple. I doubt she could have made even Dag happy,” Grim forced a jolted laugh, to make a point of Hilda’s hard face. “Nobody could put a smile on that bitch’s face,” Grim continued.

  Ragnar replied by swinging a huge fist into Grim’s face, which caused a sickening crunch. Grim wailed in pain and Hilda watched him as blood poured through the hands that held his nose. Ragnar did not stop. He hit Grim again, causing him to fall to his knees. Ragnar grabbed Grim by the top of his hair, and pulled his head backwards, forcing him to look up at him. Ragnar then beat the man into an unrecognisable pulp of torn flesh and blood. Grim lay there unmoving in his own blood, turning the dirt beneath him into mud.

  Ragnar turned and walked towards the boats without turning back to look at Hilda. Rather than follow him, she turned to look at what had eventuated with Brenna and Torsten. She was surprised to see that Torsten was already making his way back down the steep track, with Brenna now untied and sitting behind Torsten on his horse. Torsten was a large man, though not as large as Ragnar. He had long sandy blond hair and golden coloured skin from days spent out at sea.

  “What happened?” Brenna said breathlessly to Hilda, as Torsten lifted her from the horse.

  Before Hilda answered, she noticed the careful way that Torsten handled her, like a man who was unfamiliar with babies would hold another’s new born. He looked at her as if she were a riddle that he did not know the answer to. For the first time that day, Hilda found herself smirking, despite her rocky reuniting with Ragnar.

  “What?” Brenna asked, cluelessly.

  “Nothing,” Hilda said, before continuing, “My frien-owner,” Hilda corrected herself, “Ragnar came to collect me. It seems his ego couldn’t handle another man taking something from him that he owned,” she said, her own words stinging with truth as they left her mouth.

  “Ragnar the famous warrior?” Brenna asked.

  “Apparently so,” Hilda rolled her eyes.

  “Earl Ragnar. Ragnar the Destroyer,” Torsten said to Brenna, helpfully.

  “Thank you. And thank you for saving me,” Brenna said, craning her neck to look up at Torsten.

  Torsten bowed his head, smiling to Brenna, before turning away to meet Ragnar at the boats. Hilda stood at the edge of the beach, and looked at Ragnar. He had grown significantly since he left Fyrkat all those years ago. His muscle size had seemingly doubled, and he looked a full head taller. Hilda felt like she was almost looking at a stranger, yet she could still see her once-best friend behind his blue eyes. She felt safe now that he was here. Despite her anger towards him, she knew that he would not let harm come her way.

  Ragnar

  Hilda approached Ragnar, interrupting his discussion with Torsten.

  “Earl Ragnar, Ragnar the Destroyer, if it is not too much trouble, may I please have my hands freed?” She said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  Ragnar was perplexed at Hilda’s lack of gratitude, for he had travelled all this way, and freed her from raiding vikings. He clenched down, flexing his jaw, fighting the urge to say something back, but instead took out his knife and cut the ropes in one clean swipe.

  “Careful,” She said, flinching at the speed with which he cut her free, “you could have cut me,” she said.

  “I believe what you meant to say was thank you,” Ragnar growled, looking at her.

  “For what? I’m still a slave,” Hilda clipped.

  “I can leave you here if you would like,” Ragnar waved his hand toward the series of ramshackle huts that lined the shore.

  “Go to hell, Ragnar,” Hilda huffed, before she climbed into the boat with her dark-haired friend, who she called Brenna.

  Ragnar had expected tears of joy and hugs upon finding her, if he found her at all, but the reality of the situation had left his dark mood as it was. He wanted to shake sense into her, to tell her all that he had done for her, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. Not only that, but he knew she was smarter than him, and anything he said she would twist and contort into something bad, leaving him without an answer, like the men he faced in battle.

  As quickly as they had arrived, they were now they now left, as they boarded their ships, to leave the small village with half of their men dead. Ragnar had stopped the slaughter, for he knew that if he left the village without men, then the women and children would struggle to survive.

  He sat in the bow of the boat and looked b
ack at Hilda, who sat with her friend Brenna. They huddled together and spoke in hushed voices. She was even more beautiful than the day he had left her, four years ago. Every now and then, she caught him staring and shot scowl at him. He would turn his head, and pretend to observe the swell of the ocean, but every time he knew he was too late, and felt like a silly boy being caught staring at his crush.

  “That Brenna girl is from your village,” Torsten said to Ragnar.

  “I guess so. I do not remember her,” Ragnar said. The truth was, Ragnar did not remember any of the girls, for if he was not with Hilda, then he was roaming the streets with a gang of boys, fighting and causing trouble.

  “I like her,” Torsten said, thoughtfully.

  Ragnar raised his eyebrows at him. “What did you do with the man who had taken her?”

  “He begged for his life, but I threw him off a cliff,” Torsten said.

  “Did she become angry with you?” Ragnar thought back to how angry Hilda had become when he killed her captor.

  “She didn’t say a word. She’s very quiet,” Torsten said.

  “Quiet sounds nice,” Ragnar looked back to Hilda.

  “She is nice,” Torsten said, which caused Ragnar to raise his eyebrows again.

  The journey back to Fyrkat was cold and wet. Ragnar had men fasten tanned skins across the top of the boat in an attempt to keep out the rain but the icy droplets still seemed to find their way into the boat and onto their skin. Ragnar always believed that being cold was part of being a viking, but that didn’t make the harsh winters any easier to deal with.

  He gingerly made his way over to Hilda and Brenna, careful not to disrupt the tanned skins that sheltered them from the rain, which were no doubt pooling with water on top. Without saying a word, he unfastened his great brown bear skin and wrapped it around Hilda, whose goose bumped skin shivered from the cold.

  “I don’t want your charity,” Hilda glowered, yet she did not remove the skin.

  “I’m not offering you charity,” Ragnar growled, as he roughly tightened the fur around her shoulders.

  “Could you be a little gentler, Ragnar the Destroyer?” Hilda squished her eyebrows together.

  “Being gentle wouldn’t have helped me to save your life,” Ragnar said back.

  “I’m starting to think a life with Dag would have been nice,” Hilda smiled at him.

  “Very well, I will order you to be sent back,” Ragnar smiled equally in hope that it would mask his annoyance.

  “Stop being an ass,” Hilda dropped her smile and revealed her annoyance.

  “You could try showing a little gratitude, I saved you from a life of slavery from that man. He would have taken you unwillingly,” Ragnar pointed out.

  “I don’t think he would have,” Hilda said, though without conviction.

  “Then you don’t know men,” Ragnar turned around and made his way back to the front of the boat.

  Hilda

  “He’s probably right,” Brenna looked at Hilda.

  “You aren’t actually taking his side, are you? What could he possibly be right about?” Hilda raised her palms under the enormous bear skin. It was only when she moved her hands that she realised she no longer shook from the piercing cold.

  “That man… Dag… he was only taking you for one reason,” Brenna said.

  “I don’t think so,” Hilda said.

  “Why, because it hasn’t happened to you before?” Brenna asked, before continuing, “have you already forgotten the way he looked at you? He could have bargained for me as well but he was only interested in laying with you,” Brenna put a hand on Hilda’s knee.

  Hilda looked at Ragnar, and caught him staring at her once again. He averted his gaze to the mast of the ship, acting as if he hadn’t been staring at her. She fought herself from laughing at his intense expression, as if he was inspecting the grain of the wood. She summoned her anger back, and used it to shoot a scowl at him.

  “Why are you so angry with him?” Brenna asked.

  “He left me,” Hilda said.

  “What do you mean?” Brenna asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Hilda said, lifting her arm to invite Brenna into the warmth.

  They laid down, and let the ocean rock them to sleep. Despite the cold and wet and violent rocking of the boat, Hilda slept better than she had since the day she was taken from Fyrkat.

  The grinding of the hull against rocks and sand jolted Hilda awake. She sat upright, causing Brenna to stir next to her. Hilda immediately looked to the front of the boat, hoping that everything with Ragnar had not been a dream. She was pleased to see him standing in the morning light. His tanned muscles rippled under the sun as he pulled the boat further onto the shore.

  She stood and looked onto the beach. What she saw left her speechless. Fyrkat had been restored to its former glory, and then some. Men were working and laughing. Some of whom he recognised, and some she assumed were Ragnar’s men.

  “Hilda?” A familiar, deep rumbling voice sounded out over the beach, finding its way to her.

  Elder Ragnar, alive and healthy, was striding towards the boat. Hilda scrambled out of the bear fur, leaving Brenna still laying down and only half awake.

  “Raggie,” Hilda said, jumping from the boat into his arms.

  “Little fighter,” he sobbed happily.

  “I thought you were dead,” Hilda buried her face into his chest.

  “Those bastard raiders couldn’t have killed me if they tried,” Elder Ragnar said, despite his wounds.

  Younger Ragnar cleared his throat, breaking up the reunion.

  “I see Fyrkat has been appropriately restored,” He said.

  “Yes, just like you ordered,” Elder Ragnar said, shaking his son’s hand.

  Ragnar immediately began to question his father as to the methods of the rebuilding of Fyrkat, interrupting their reunion.

  Hilda watched Torsten lift Brenna from the boat, but she did not smile as she did when he lifted her from the horse, just days earlier. Her family, Hilda thought. Brenna was coming back to the place where her family had been slaughtered.

  Hilda ran to Brenna and embraced her. “Oh, Brenna,” Hilda said, letting Brenna sob quietly.

  Hilda looked over to Torsten, who started at Brenna with a stony face. The huge man with pale hair gripped the hilt of his sword as if he could attack Brenna’s sadness like he would attack an enemy.

  She glanced over at Ragnar, who spoke with his father. She no longer saw a young happy boy, but instead she now saw a man with a darkness to him. Not only that, but he was once a handsome young man. Now, he was so devastatingly attractive that it made Hilda confused when her head told her to never trust him again and take every promise with a grain of salt, but her heart was begging her to let him back in. To welcome his embrace.

  He had protected her ever since she had arrived on his shores, at just thirteen years old. From the very first day, he had defied other men from taking advantage of her, and he had respected her, and listened to her voice. They had been best friends. Now, he had come back and saved her life, and she could still feel a connection, but something in her mind stopped her from letting him in.

  She realised she had been staring at him when he turned to her and a confused look took place on his face. Now it was Hilda’s turn to look at the mountains behind Ragnar, as if there were something of critical importance that she needed to see in the rocky cliff face.

  You cannot forgive him. You cannot trust his words.

  “This is your home?” Hilda heard Torsten speaking to Brenna.

  “Yes… well, it was my home,” Brenna replied, softly.

  “Your family?” Torsten prodded.

  “They were killed by the raiders,” Brenna said.

  “And they did it to an unguarded village, cowards,” Torsten spat.

  “It is ok,” Brenna said.

  “I would go back and kill them all for you,” Torsten said, looking at Brenna.

  “That is not necessary,
” Brenna said, touching Torsten’s hand.

  Torsten’s eyes lit up at Brenna willingly touching him, and Hilda could only imagine that if he had a tail it would have wagged like an excited puppy being rewarded by its human.

  “What can I do?” Torsten asked.

  “Just be here,” Brenna shrugged her shoulders.

  “Ok,” Torsten said, taking a confused look similar to that of Ragnar’s, earlier.

  Ragnar’s voice made Hilda jump, “You and father will be staying in the Earl’s hall, with me.”