Claimed By A Viking

by T S Florence

  “Rose, how are you?” Ivar called out to Rose, in their native tongue.

  “Oh, he’s viking,” Brenna beamed.

  “And you must be Brenna,” Ivar said, taking Brenna’s hand and kissing the top of it.

  “How did you know?” Brenna asked, wide-eyed.

  “Your man Torsten has described you in excruciating detail,” Ivar said, with a light, friendly laugh.

  Brenna stayed silent, yet her face went as red as a fully-ripened apple, ready to drop from the tree.

  “He does talk about you an awful lot when you aren’t around,” Rose agreed with Ivar.

  “I take it you are here to see my princess,” Ivar said.

  “I am,” Rose said.

  “And Ragnar let you come alone - he didn’t want to come?” Ivar asked, suspiciously.

  “Well, he doesn’t exactly know,” Rose said, sheepishly.

  “Why?” Ivar said, standing up straighter, looking down at the two girls.

  “Well that is between me and Ragnar,” Rose said, before she could stop herself. “Excuse me, I spoke out of turn,” Rose said.

  “No, not at all. I can understand Ragnar a little more, now,” Ivar said, with a smirk.

  “I don’t want to know what Ragnar says about me,” Rose clipped.

  “Very well, Rose. Isla is in her room. One of the guards will take you up, unless you would like my personal escort?” Ivar said.

  “No, please, we have interrupted your training for long enough,” Rose said.

  “As you wish,” Ivar said, bowing his head, before turning back to his men.

  The castle was well-lit and had colourful drapes hanging down the walls. There were far fewer guards on the inside then outside. In fact, Rose had not seen a single guard besides the two that stood at the inner doorway.

  Rose’s memory, coupled with Ivar’s instructions, led the two girls up a stairway and along a corridor with small windows that overlooked Newcastle and the surrounding countryside. Long rolling hills, a flowing river, and a bustle of activity, men and women going about their business and children causing trouble in the streets.

  “I have never seen such large stone houses, and so many people in one village,” Brenna said in her native tongue.

  “We call these large stone houses castles,” Rose said, smiling at Brenna.

  “Castle,” Brenna repeated, nodding her head, “Torsten hasn’t taught me that one yet,” she said.

  After walking down a long corridor, they came face to face with another guard, who stood guard outside a room.

  “Is the princess in?” Rose asked the guard.

  “Who are you?” The guard shot back in a harsh voice.

  “It’s ok Charley, Rose is a close friend,” Rose heard Isla’s voice from the other side of the door.

  The guard stood to the side at the sound of the creaking door. Isla beckoned them in, and the site was a surprising one. A small boy, of no more than 2 years old, was lying in the bed, with perspiration across his forehead.

  “Who is the sick boy?” Rose asked.

  “This is Gunner,” Isla smiled, “My son.”

  “You…. I never knew,” Rose said, wide-eyed, as Brenna moved closer to admire the boy’s features.

  “You had more pressing issues than seeing a sickly child,” Isla said.

  “Is it serious?” Rose asked.

  “We were worried at first, but he is already getting better every day. I don’t much like to leave him alone, so I sit and watch him, in case I have a chance to give him water or some herbs,” Isla said.

  “You’re a healer,” Rose said.

  “Before I met Ivar, I was often out in the woods, studying different medicinal plants,” Isla sighed.

  “I bet you miss the freedom,” Rose touched Isla’s arm.

  “Some days, yes,” Isla said, “but I wouldn’t trade any of this for anything in the world,” Isla smiled.

  “Of course, you get to keep your childhood castle, you married a handsome viking, and you have a beautiful son,” Rose said, moving to look out the window.

  “Of course. And what are you and your friend doing today?” Isla asked.

  Rose realised that Brenna would not understand any of what the two had just said, and so explained to Brenna quickly what they had been saying, before turning back to Isla.

  “We can speak in your language,” Isla said, in perfect Norse.

  “Oh,” Rose said, surprised.

  “Many of my constituents are Norse, even my husband, I thought it necessary to learn some of the basics,” Isla laughed.

  “Your Norse is better than basic,” Brenna beamed, looking at Isla.

  “Thank you, that means a lot coming from a native speaker,” Isla smiled.

  “We came here because I had a fight with Ragnar,” Rose said quietly, “I needed to get out of the house, but the locals don’t like me much, so we took a horse and came straight here.”

  Isla frowned at Rose as she considered the news. “Is he treating you badly?” Isla asked.

  “No, of course not,” Rose said, suddenly feeling silly for admitting that, despite leaving his house without telling him.

  “Oh thank god, I am very fond of Ragnar, I couldn’t imagine him treating you badly,” Isla gushed.

  “No, it’s the men who are rude to me that he wants to treat badly,” Rose said.

  “Hmm, he is a warrior. It’s how they think,” Isla replied.

  “He feels responsible for me. It’s suffocating,” Rose said.

  “Do you need money?” Isla asked.

  “No. No, I would never take your money,” Rose clipped.

  “Then how can you explain to him that you need more freedom?” Isla asked.

  “I do not think it would work; he still feels guilty for leaving me in Fyrkat. If I am to continue living with him, then he will continue to be a bull-headed warrior in every situation,” Rose contemplated for a moment, “I need independence.”

  Isla moved to a cupboard, made out of fancy wood, polished to the point that they could see their reflections in the shine. She opened it up and the sight of well-made dresses and expensive tiaras and shoes greeted Rose’s eyes. But one thing stood out. A rainbow coloured pullover.

  “The winter pullover,” Rose gasped.

  “Of course, you thought I wouldn’t still have it?” Isla smiled.

  “It’s been so long,” Rose took the jumper in her hands, and felt the fabric. Of course, it wasn’t quite as bright as it once was, but it was still just as soft, and the knitting still held tight.

  “It may fit your boy one day,” Rose smiled.

  “Or you could make him one yourself,” Isla said seriously.

  “What do you mean?” Rose asked.

  “Start selling wool again. You knew your father’s business inside out. You understand the nature of trading better than most experienced men,” Isla replied.

  “I don’t even know how I’d get started,” Rose said, feeling her temples throb as her heart beat rose with anticipation.

  “I will give you the money to start,” Isla said.

  “No. I cannot accept your money,” Rose said defiantly.

  “It will be a loan. All merchants accept loans, it is what they do,” Isla said.

  “A loan that would be paid back in full with interest,” Rose said.

  “Without interest,” Isla said.

  “With 5% interest,” Rose said.

  “If that’s what you want,” Isla sighed.

  “Ragnar will not be happy I am taking gold from someone else,” Rose said.

  “Well you are not happy with Ragnar right now, so I think some independence before you both come to some sort of middle road is what’s needed,” Rose said.

  Isla led Rose and Brenna down to a room beneath the castle floors, having left the guard to watch over her boy.

  “I’ve never been down here,” Rose said, looking around the lit dungeons, with old art work, gilded weaponry, and tapestries hanging on the walls.
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  “It would have been off limits to us as children,” Isla said, as she went to a small chest and counted gold coins as she placed them into a small hessian bag.

  “You are a natural merchant, ever since you were a child. This will be easy for you,” Isla handed Rose the bag.

  The three of them had afternoon tea together, with Isla giving Rose what little input she could as to the current prices of wool, and cottages within Newcastle.

  “I will be sending you home with an escort, it’s never safe for a woman to travel with gold, no matter how busy the area,” Isla said.

  “I remember father would wrap each individual coin in cloth when we would travel over long distances, so strangers could not hear the coins clinking together,” Rose replied, as she thought of her childhood.

  “You would have Ragnar with you on any long distance journeys, surely?” Isla’s voice filled with concern.

  “I don’t want Ragnar to know just yet-” Rose said, as a loud banging at the doors caused their heads to shoot to the cause.

  “You just leave, without saying anything, after you tell me what happened this morning,” Ragnar strode towards them, his voice low and menacing. A guard moved to stand in front of him, but Ragnar forced a palm into the man’s chest, sending him onto his backside. Another guard moved to stop Ragnar, before Isla told the men to stand down.

  Ragnar did not stop moving forwards until he was face to face with Rose.

  “Is this how you face your enemies as well?” Rose clipped. She drew in a sharp breath as she felt his warmth radiating from his hot body, his face red with anger.

  “My enemies don’t live very long once they have seen my face this close,” Ragnar said back calmly.

  “Lucky for them,” Rose said, earning a surprised gasp from the other two girls.

  Ragnar grabbed Rose by the arm and began taking her towards the main doors. She looked back at Brenna, and signalled towards the hessian bag full of coins, which Ragnar had paid no attention to.

  “I’ll see you later, and don’t worry, Ragnar, I’ll have my men escort Brenna home,” Isla said in her sing-song voice, as Ragnar kicked the doors open.

  The men in the yard were still training, save Ivar, who was watching them with a slight smirk on his face.

  “You found your woman, I see,” Ivar shouted over the sound of clashing swords and shields.

  “Aye,” is all Ragnar said, as he tied Rose’s horse to his. Without another word, he hauled Rose onto the horse, followed by Brenna. Rose couldn’t help notice how effortlessly he did it, without so much as a grunt as he lifted her, as if she were a bag of wool.

  As they rode through the streets, people’s eyes were on them. They looked at Rose’s arms, which were wrapped around Ragnar with scandalously provocative familiarity.

  “They aint even married,” Rose heard a young boy whisper to his parents.

  “Quiet boy, not in front of the warrior,” The father said.

  Ragnar slowed the horse to a slow walk, and eyed the father with his classic menacing stare, the same look Rose assumed he would give to his enemies, before battle. Rose nudged him in his back.

  “Keep riding, Ragnar, these people are not our enemies,” Rose whispered.

  “Not yet,” Ragnar said, loudly enough for the man to hear, causing his eyes to grow wide.

  Rose kicked her own feet into the horse, causing it to jolt back into a trot.

  When they arrived home, Ragnar hauled Rose from the horse, with the same roughness that he had used when putting her on the horse.

  “You seem to forget that I am not your property, the way you are handling me. In fact, you treated me better when I was,” Rose clipped, as she regained her footing on the ground.

  “Then you’ll be pleased to hear that we are getting married tomorrow morning,” Ragnar said, as he moved inside.

  “We’re what?” Rose gasped.

  “Getting married,” Ragnar repeated himself.

  “No,” Rose said.

  “Yes, and you have no say in the matter,” Ragnar grabbed her by the arm and started walking into the house.

  “A priest will not marry a Christian woman to a heathen,” Rose laughed.

  “I will be baptised by the priest before we marry,” Ragnar said, as he took Rose by her arm.

  “What? Why? You love your gods,” Rose said.

  “I prefer you as my property,” Ragnar smiled at Rose, as he roughly pushed her into their room, with the hushed whispers of maids coming from the halls.

  “That’s right, Rose, by this time tomorrow, you will be my wife,” He said, as he picked her back up and threw her onto the bed.

  “Ragnar,” Rose gasped, yet the treatment did not leave her disappointed. A warm feeling in her stomach began to form, and a throbbing between her legs.

  “I shouldn’t have freed you,” Ragnar growled, as he tore at her dress.

  “I knew it,” Rose spat, kicking her foot up at Ragnar’s chest.

  But Ragnar was a warrior, and Rose realised her futile it was to try argue against Ragnar with physicality when he shifted his body to the side and caught her foot in his hand. He slowly ran his hand up her leg, before stopping at her dress. He moved his other hand as quick as lightning and tore the dress in two, ripping it from between her legs up to her chest.

  “You would continue without my consent,” Rose said, despite her body begging for her to stay quiet and let him continue.

  “Tell me to stop if you do not consent,” Ragnar said.

  Rose looked at him, and saw danger in his eyes. There was no kind Ragnar. No sixteen year old boy looking at her for advice on how to barter in the local markets. No nineteen year old Ragnar begging for her forgiveness in the windswept fields just days before he deserted her for the next four years. This was Ragnar the Destroyer. Ragnar, Earl of Fyrkat. There was an animalistic hunger in his eyes that made her realise she was the prey. And she liked it.

  “Say stop,” he said.

  She stayed silent, relishing the excitement that caused her temples to throb with anticipation.

  He tore his pants off, revealing his throbbing member, the head pointing up at her, as if it were also angry. It bobbed up and down, matching his own anticipation. He went down and used his tongue, tasting her, making noises that caused her to blush. Rose moaned, her body reacting in involuntary convulsions. Before she could open her eyes again, she felt his tongue withdraw, and something much larger take its place, and at the same time his hot breath caressed her neck.

  He pushed his body flat against hers, and thrusted his hips in a rhythmic motion, causing an almost immediate build to the same euphoric sensation that he made her feel just days earlier.

  “Ragnar,” She gasped, as he thrusted so hard that the bed scraped against the tiled.

  He did not answer except to groan in a mix of exertion and pleasure. Suddenly, he released a loud groan, and Rose felt him throbbing inside of her, causing her to go over the edge, and allow her body to convulse in pleasure.

  Once he finished, he stood and walked into the bathroom, leaving her to lie there in a sweaty mess, his essence dripping out of her.

  9

  Ragnar

  Ragnar was furious with himself for allowing his attraction to Rose get the better of him, just the night before he intended to marry her. When he threw her onto the bed and heard the gasps she made, he lost all sense and control. He had expected her to tell him to stop with the way he had been treating her, but instead, the opposite had happened. She enjoyed it. And that was what confused him.

  He knew that her submissiveness would have dissipated by the time he dragged her into the Christian chapel down the road and forced her to marry him. But it was what he had to do. He had slept in another room as he felt it inappropriate to sleep in the same room as her before he dragged her to the chapel, despite having made love to her like it was the last thing he would ever do.

  As he turned into the hallway, he saw two of his maids with their ears at the door
of the bedroom. “What are you doing?” Ragnar growled.

  The pair shrieked in surprise, before one of them gained the composure to answer him “We were unsure if you were home, we wanted to change your sheets, lord,” the braver of the two girls said.

  “I’m no English lord, and since when do you useless girls change my sheets?” He growled.