The Viking's Captive

by Ingrid Hahn

  Thorvald began to move inside of her, each stroke strong and powerful, even if he didn’t move quickly. He turned them together as one, angling them onto their sides, and jerking her top leg up so she was wider, her thigh high where it rested on his hip. Her fingers dug into the heavy musculature of his thick arms.

  He reached back and smacked her bottom. She screamed, the burst of pain making her passage clench down upon his cock. The rush of warm pleasure made her relax again.

  His strokes became harder. More urgent. She was growing sore, but cared not. He grunted, hitching himself so deep, it made her breath catch. He clung to her as his cock pulsed inside her body.

  They held each other, staring at the underside of the thatch above them. A thought played in Alodie’s mind like a loose thread in a breeze. She could confess everything now in the soft pink mist of intimacy. After what they’d done, she wanted to tell him who she really was. If afterward he took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head and told her everything would be well, she’d believe him. “Now what happens?”

  Whether she would tell him the truth about herself depended on how he answered.

  “Now…” He inhaled and sighed. “Now we go back.”

  What?

  She untangled herself and pushed up on her arms, glowering down at him. “Go back?”

  He pulled himself to sitting and rose from the warm nest of furs. “We have no other choice.”

  Her hand curled around her pouch of beads that had somehow ended up on the bed with them. Without a thought, she hurled it straight at his head. “You have every choice. That’s what life is. What we choose. And don’t you dare say to me that there is something different about the ways of your people that I don’t understand, because the ways of people are merely habits, and habits can be changed.”

  “You’re not wrong.” He began pulling on his first layers. When he bent to put one foot after the other into his trousers, his penis hung between his legs in silhouette.

  If that’s all she’d wanted, she should have been satisfied.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Consequences

  Their clothing righted, Thorvald unbarred the door. Before he pushed it open, he turned back to the princess. Her color was high, but no longer due to the mutual pleasure of their exertion.

  Alodie. The mere thought of her name echoing in his head pressed upon a tender spot newly grown upon his heart.

  The powerful aftermath of sex reverberating through his body made the struggle to keep himself in check nearly unbearable. He had to bring her back to the jarl—temporarily.

  That man would not touch her. No man could, Erlendr least of all. The thought of the jarl doing so triggered a thirst for violence hitherto unknown to him.

  He teetered dangerously on the edge of losing control. It was all he could do to keep himself in check. He had to be calm, rational, and cool-headed. Nothing he was, but everything the situation needed him to be. When the time came for him to make his move, he wouldn’t hesitate.

  Her expression darkened. “It doesn’t matter what just happened. I still hate you.”

  “I know.” Thorvald nodded once. However much she hated him, it would never match the extent to which he’d forever hate himself if he couldn’t protect her tonight. If he told her what he planned, it might show on her face. Their safety and any hope for success depended on the jarl not guessing what might be about to transpire. It was like he was betraying her all over again. His only hope was that she might forgive him when she understood.

  “Here.” He handed her a knife. “It’s sharp. Don’t hesitate to use it on him.”

  She made a face like she’d never seen a knife before. “I don’t know how to use this.”

  “You’d be surprised what you can do when the occasion calls for it.” May she never have cause to discover the truth of his statement. “Take it. Go on.”

  She reached tentatively, then grasped the hilt. “But—”

  “When in doubt…” He tapped to his chest. “Between the ribs. Stab. As hard as you can. Then twist.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m not going to kill him.”

  “Then go for the face.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Whatever he had to.

  Sex had not lulled him to sleepy satisfaction. It’d fed the hungry beast inside of him, spinning him closer and closer to the destructive forces clawing to be released into the world. “We shall see.”

  They exited the small chamber, returning to the back of the hall all but unnoticed. Except for one. Ozrik appeared from the shadows and placed a hand in the middle of Thorvald’s chest, stopping him.

  “I beg you to tell me that you did not have sex with her in there.”

  Thorvald growled. He radiated the energy of a storm tearing through the sky, coming to flood the low lands and rip mountains in two. “Leave it be, Ozrik.”

  “Did you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” It was a stupid response. Like he’d left his ability to think back there with what he’d shot out of his cock. Thorvald had just had sex with the one woman…

  He scowled harder. What had happened between him and the princess mattered, all right. More than anything. But nobody could see how much.

  “You did. You stupid, stupid fool.” Ozrik grunted, then reassessed Thorvald scornfully. “And you’re just going to leave?”

  And with the scent of the princess on his skin. Walking away from her was like tearing out his own heart and watching it roast over an open flame.

  Thorvald tried not to see her face when he envisioned his future wife. He could get children on another woman. He’d love them fiercely no matter who birthed them. The only woman he wanted to wet his cock, however…

  Ozrik stepped closer and lowered his voice. “He might claim her as his wife, but she’s never going to submit to him.”

  Thorvald made a noncommittal sound in reply. He knew only too well. But discussing it here was out of the question. Fire danced in his veins. He had to keep himself calm until the time was right. The jarl couldn’t know how hungry Thorvald was to commit treachery.

  The other warrior’s jaw clenched so hard, the small muscles on either side of his face bulged. “You know what that means.”

  “You knew what you were doing when you decided to sail with me. If you had misgivings, you shouldn’t have come.”

  “You’re trying to make me complicit.”

  “You are.”

  Ozrik’s nostrils flared. “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you, too.” The only thing Thorvald wanted was to cut the jarl’s throat wide open and claim Alodie for himself. Ozrik didn’t know shit.

  But Ozrik hadn’t been there that day. Thorvald had been forced to watch as his father, the man he’d thought had been touched by the gods themselves, had fled the battlefield, blood running down his face.

  A coward. The most heinous thing a man could be.

  Thorvald had been too stunned, too hurt, and too shocked to cry.

  The jarl had seen it too. And when the engagement had ended, men dead on the field, their bodies picked by crows as they awaited burial, it had been the jarl who’d come to put an arm about Thorvald’s shoulders and tell him that it was going to be all right.

  His world had split that day. Before. And after.

  The jarl was right to have told Thorvald to be grateful for what he’d seen. Thorvald had learned at an early age what cowardice looked like. He knew what it was he would never become. Someday he’d have sons of his own and he’d never let those boys feel what he’d felt. One of them would be proud to inherit their father’s sword.

  “He pushes you and pushes you and pushes you and pushes you.” Ozrik’s agitation was getting the better of him and he was beginning to spit his words out from between clenched teeth. “But you never question him. You’re the p
erfect trained dog.”

  “I’m his warrior.”

  “You submit to him.”

  There was insult in Ozrik’s choice of a word. The tension in Thorvald tightened so unbearably, it seemed the only way to release it again would be to strike his fist against Ozrik’s jaw.

  The better part of him stayed the impulse—but only barely—and he could only repeat the useless sentence he’d already uttered. “I am his warrior.”

  “And your first loyalty is to him?”

  “It is.” Was. Unrest lay close at hand. The princess had given Thorvald something to fight for.

  Ozrik spat on the ground. “Goat shit. Your first loyalty is to yourself. I used to think he’d forced you into following him.”

  Thorvald’s hair stood on end. He tried to sound unconcerned while inside he was trying to keep his emotional balance. “How do you mean?”

  “He needs you. He has no power, not without you. He pays them to guard him—with treasure you go out raiding to obtain for him. What happens if you refuse? There is nobody to replace you and he’s no warrior. He doesn’t have the men’s loyalty, not willingly, and he certainly doesn’t have their love.”

  The last word shot a pang through Thorvald’s center. “Who cares about love?” He cleared his throat. “He’s the jarl.”

  Thorvald pushed past Ozrik and caught up to Alodie who was waiting by a pillar just out of earshot.

  The men continued feasting and drinking, but Erlendr turned to them. He motioned him over. The jarl said nothing, merely taking a long drink from his golden vessel. Finished, he raised it up and a servant rushed over to refill it. The jarl waited for the drink to reach the brim, then waved the woman away. He studied them both and licked his lips. “My wife will take her place next to me.”

  Alodie looked at Thorvald, but he refused to turn his head her way.

  Thorvald’s anger was building…building. Like the pressure of snow piled on a mountain in the moments before it thundered and crashed down the side, killing any and all in its path.

  Coward. Coward. He was the son of a coward. The jarl knew and had openly threatened to divulge everything he knew when he’d caught Thorvald with Alodie. Thorvald had to be patient. He had to strike when the time was right. As to how it was going to play out…he licked his lips. He had to trust he would recognize his opportunity when he saw it.

  With a flounce, Alodie took the step and heaved her weight into the chair beside the jarl. She pursed her lips, glowering to the side as if desperate not to meet Thorvald’s eye. Between her legs, she could probably feel the dampness he’d left in her.

  Jarl Erlendr stood and raised his hands. The hall quieted. “The daughter of my enemy is now my wife.”

  A cheer rose up.

  “And you…” Speaking in low tones again, the jarl sent an icy glance to Thorvald. Unexpectedly, he held out his cup. “I think you’d better drink to your jarl’s happy nuptials.”

  The storm building inside of him broke. Fighting with Ozrik had been like pouring oil on the flames. All his intentions to wait, to bide his time, to lie in wait like a snake in the grass—all vanished like they hadn’t existed. Thorvald wanted to fight, damn it. To purge his body of the vast rage pent up in the confines of his skin before it started to shatter his bones one at a time.

  With deliberately slow care, and shaking with the strength it took to hold himself back, Thorvald took the drink. Then he hurled it on the floor where the cup splashed its contents over Alodie’s hem and rolled away.

  If this made him ungrateful, ungrateful he would be. Men would castrate themselves to have the land Thorvald had. What did it mean to him? Nothing. Not without her.

  He faced the jarl and drew his sword. The din quieted, all eyes waiting to see what Thorvald would do next. “I’m not going to let you have her.”

  Mayhem erupted throughout the room. Men jumped up, toppling drinking vessels and plates. Women screamed. Those lucky enough to have precious swords and axes took them out. The metal flashed in the scant light. Before they could inflict any real damage, Ozrik pushed through the fray and grabbed Thorvald. But they were relatively evenly matched.

  “Hrolf.” Ozrik didn’t take his eyes off Thorvald while he called out. “Help me.”

  The young one shoved men aside to reach Thorvald’s other side. Together, Ozrik and Hrolf, wretched traitors that they were, began to drag him away. Desperation made Thorvald fight like a wolverine. “You filthy sons of diseased goats,” he yelled, thrashing and kicking to escape. “Let me go.”

  He yanked free of Hrolf only to catch a swinging piece of unburnt firewood in the belly and toppled to all fours. Taking quick advantage, both men grabbed ahold of his legs and began dragging him to the door. Thorvald gasped for air and clawed the ground, leaving long marks in the dirt floor as they dragged him away.

  Farther and farther they took him from Alodie. Leaving her alone, without protection. Nobody would stand up to the jarl on her behalf. She might have had the inner strength of a pillar of fire and the determination the whole sea could envy. But she was no warrior.

  “Stop. He can’t have her. He can’t have her.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Deception Revealed

  “Come.” The jarl stood and beckoned Alodie to follow him.

  She stood in the wreckage. The imprint of Thorvald’s thrusting still beat between her legs and now she was being called to another man’s bed.

  And he was nowhere in sight. If she had to choose whether to stab out his eyes or the eyes of the demons who’d dragged him out of the hall, she’d have her nails in the latter’s face faster than a furious cat pounced on a mouse.

  The jarl had calmed the brawling men by having the servants roll out more barrels of drink. Then he’d handed out gifts of rings and ornamentation made of precious metals and jewels.

  Gifts. She grunted. They were no more gifts than a weasel was a stallion. Those pretty things were bribes for treasure-hungry men whose fealty was bought far too easily. Gold and silver brought sickness to the mind. They made people forget what was important. Treasure was a powerful tool to manipulate the weak who saw more value in cold, lifeless objects than in people. That made them no more than symbols of greed and corruption.

  She checked for Thorvald’s knife. When he’d been dragged away, she’d been left with nobody to help her.

  She was alone…but not about to yield. Submitting to the jarl was not an option. The small knife was the closest she had to an ally. Her uncertainty faded. She would very well be able to use it.

  At the nightmare’s beginning, Alodie had sworn to herself she would not kill—and killing still remained out of the question. Not one of them was worth her immortal soul, not even the demon of demons, the jarl himself.

  Inflicting bodily harm in the interest of self-preservation, however… Maiming the jarl was a sin for which she could later atone and still be assured her place in heaven. God would see that she had no priest to offer her absolution, so surely He’d have mercy upon her, given the circumstance.

  At the doorway, the ugly old demon himself turned. “Come, wife. I shan’t be averse to punishing you again should you prove difficult to manage. I don’t want to teach you gratitude, but I will if you make me.”

  Undaunted by the threat but clutching the knife hidden in her skirts, she moved on shaky legs. The great hall was dim and smoky. The little room where the jarl led her was darker still. In the middle stood a huge bed covered with furs of black, brown, and gray.

  She hid her knifed hand in the folds of her cloak and shut the door behind her.

  The jarl flung away his bearskin, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. “Lie down. I’m going to look into your face while I get my sons upon you.”

  Alodie trudged forward. He waited for her by the bed, undressing. Beneath his tunic, his torso was nothing but pale skin and the f
labby flesh of a man well into his sixth decade. Not the body of a warrior. Except for the puckered scarring.

  But wasn’t that what he’d been? Training could overcome any number of weaknesses and defects. And if he’d trained once, even many, many years ago, he held the advantage over her.

  What she had was the element of surprise—the one tool at her discretion. If she could utilize it.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m not going to die without a son. Your father took mine from me. My next wife died with the child she wasn’t able to bring into the world and the last was barren. I would have a son now if your father hadn’t killed mine. What he took from me, he must now repay.”

  “It only makes things sweeter for you that you can use me to manipulate Thorvald, doesn’t it?”

  His lips pulled into a slight smile of fiendish satisfaction. In the scant time she’d known him, it was the first time his grim face showed anything other than dour severity. “It does.”

  “Your power over him is weakening.” She stopped at the foot of the bed, daring to venture no further. A good kick of swift courage would have gone a long way. Where were the casks of mead now she needed them?

  “Impossible.”

  “Don’t be so certain. It could be broken already.”

  “Oh, but I am. And I can be. Because no matter how much he hates me, he can’t defy me.”

  Tensing like a snake ready to strike, she narrowed her eyes at him. In many ways, he was like the old king, the princess’s father. Too certain that his view of the world was the only view of the world. “Men break vows.”

  “True enough. But he can’t. The consequences would be too dire. He would sooner die.”

  She thrust out her chin. If anyone was going to torture Thorvald, it would be her. “I think he would be able to live with himself perfectly easily.”

  “I’m pleased you think so.”

  Alodie blinked. What? “Pleased?”