But he’d give Eldberg something to remember him by—and he’d be back all right. No one treated Sweyn like this and got away with it.
As for this one!
Sweyn knelt over Elswyth, gripping her face with one hand. She was coming round slowly, not fully conscious yet.
Bringing her to Skálavík had been a mistake.
It was true she’d distracted Eldberg in those first weeks—an unexpected boon, all things considered—but her influence had changed him in ways Sweyn couldn’t have predicted.
Eldberg’s temper had always been savage. Coupled with his warrior strength and skill with the sword, it made him undefeatable. During his marriage to Bretta, a change had been apparent. He’d determined to see Skálavík thrive as a trading port. His legacy, Eldberg had called it—his desire for them to one day rival Hedeby as a place for merchants to gather. Instead of plundering other lands for riches, wealth would flow into Skálavík through commerce.
Bretta’s death, and that of Eldberg’s unborn child, had near broken the jarl, his grief reducing him to the barbarian he’d been all those years ago. Sweyn had rubbed his hands gleefully to see it, for it eased the path to his own ambitions. Eldberg had survived the fire, but he’d bring about his demise—one way or another.
These months past, Elswyth had soothed the savage beast, taming him once more. It had stirred much talk—and not in criticism of the Svolvaen whore. Far from neglecting his duties as jarl, Eldberg had embraced them with greater vigour, expanding the output of the mine and the number of men trained in the forging of weapons. Meanwhile, his harbour guard ensured the smooth running of the market and the safety of all vessels entering Skálavík’s fjord.
Even if Eldberg hadn’t realised it himself, Sweyn could see what was coming. The jarl would free Elswyth as he had Thirka, once she’d delivered her child—perhaps sooner. Then he’d marry the wench and sire his own heir.
Sweyn’s ambitions for himself had been thwarted, but there was one part of Eldberg’s future Sweyn could ruin. With any luck, the discovery would send their jarl hurtling back to the chasm from which he’d climbed.
Elswyth’s lids flickered as Sweyn took hold of her neck. He’d crush her throat quick and easy, and then he’d be gone.
But, looking down at her, he was reminded of why he’d taken her in the first place. The flimsy gown she was wearing had gotten damp from the rain. It clung to her breasts—even more voluptuous in her ripe condition. The cool air had tightened her nipples. He dropped one hand to squeeze her flesh. Between finger and thumb, he pinched the peak, and she whimpered, though did not fully stir.
It was enough to send a jolt of heat to his groin.
By Thor and Odin and all the gods, this one wanted Skálavík cock and, before he broke her pretty neck, he’d give it to her.
Hungrily, he brought up her skirts, shoving her legs apart with his knee.
She was a captured slave, and he’d fuck her like one.
Grasping her hips, he delved his fingers into her sheath. She was ready enough for the piercing. There would be nothing to stop him entering to the hilt.
Her hair fanned loose about her head—golden silk upon the half-rotten leaves and moss. Her lips, full and soft, invited him. Everything that Eldberg had enjoyed would be his.
He bore down upon her, plundering her mouth while his arousal nudged her wetness.
Too late did he realise his folly.
As her teeth clamped down on his tongue, Sweyn’s mouth filled with blood.
* * *
Elswyth
I roused to pain in my forehead, to an inability to breathe, to the heaviness of him upon me. Instinct made me bite the probing thing in my mouth, and his bellow broke through to awaken me.
He sprung up, cursing, and the lifting of his weight enabled me to scrabble away from him.
Sweyn!
Gulping, I screamed, but he was upon me immediately. A hard slap sent me sprawling into the leaves. He leapt upon me then, holding both my arms tight to the ground.
“Do that again, and I’ll snap your neck.”
Through eyes filled with tears, I saw the fury in his. Breathless, I forced out my words. “Harm me, and Eldberg will kill you for it.”
“I’ll be long-gone.” His snarl was that of a wild creature.
“And when they find my body? Eldberg will know it was you, Sweyn.”
“He might.” A wicked gleam lit his eye. “Or the beasts will make short work of you, and there’ll be no evidence. He’ll think you ran away.”
I gulped back my fear.
It was true. It’s what they all would think.
I had to keep him talking. Eldberg might be out here. He might have heard me scream. I just needed time.
“What have I done, Sweyn?” I spoke softly. “What makes you hate me? Why are we here?”
“Why?” Sweyn hurled the word back at me. “You think you’re so special? It’s him I want to hurt!”
I didn’t understand. My head was throbbing. Had I hit it when I fell? Nothing made sense. Sweyn had authority, status, and respect. Why was he doing this?
I made my voice calm. “You won’t harm me, Sweyn. You know it’s not right. You’ll be killing the baby as well as me. What do the gods say about that? What do the ancestors say? Aren’t they close tonight? Aren’t they watching?”
“Shut up!” Sweyn leaned on my arms more heavily, and I cried out in pain. “You know naught about it. You don’t belong here. You’re nothing!”
Of all the things he might have said, this cut deep.
I’d spent a lifetime not belonging.
But I wasn’t nothing.
I looked into his face, summoning all my strength to speak clearly. “They tried to kill me in Svolvaen, but they couldn’t. They bound me to the pier, but I escaped. I lived in the caves, and I climbed up through the cliffs. Do you believe an ordinary woman could do that? If I was nothing, do you think I’d still be alive!”
Sweyn’s eyes narrowed.
He was unsure; I felt it.
Some had believed me an enchantress. I had no magic. I wove no spells. But I had other power. That of a woman who refused to be cowed. No matter what happened, I knew myself. I’d made mistakes and paid for them, but I was a survivor.
If I could make Sweyn fear me, I might yet live.
“I vow by my own god and all those that govern here, harm me and I’ll curse you. Every foul pestilence I’ll visit on you, until you’ll wish yourself dead and that you’d never laid eyes upon me!”
He let go of my arms, leaning back.
He was afraid.
From somewhere in the bushes, there was a rustle. I doubted Sweyn would have noticed before, but his attention darted up, ears straining.
“Go quickly while you have the chance. Go, Sweyn! Leave me here to the animals of the forest if you like, but run while you can.”
“You think to fool me with such nonsense?” He frowned.
Somewhere, far off, an owl hooted.
“So be it.”
I froze as he pulled his knife from its sheath. After all I’d said, was he still going to take my life? I watched in horror as he took the blade to the hem of my gown, tearing off a long strip, then another.
The first he used to bind my ankles. The second he wound around my wrists, placed behind my back.
“If the creatures take you, it won’t be my doing. You’re in the hands of the gods now. Let them save you.”
I feared he was right.
My fate lay in who would find me first—Eldberg or the predators who roamed this dark place.
15
Elswyth
October 31st, 960AD
No matter how I twisted, my fingers wouldn’t reach the cloth that bound my wrists. I refused to give in. I knew not in which direction Skálavík lay, but I believed some force watched over me. I had faith in that guiding power.
Drawing my feet under, I managed to stand, but the bindings round my ankles were too tight. I lost b
alance, pitching forward into the damp leaves. Again I tried, and again, but succeeded only in scratching my arms and face on brambles.
How often I’d imagined escaping; had thought of which path I might take through the forest’s edge and down to the meadows, finding the river and following it back to Svolvaen.
I’d wondered how I might evade detection.
Now, I needed to be found.
I needed Eldberg to come for me before wild beasts sniffed my blood.
Rolling to place my back against a tree, I sat cold and shivering, peering through the gloom.How many eyes were watching me? I listened for the breath of the forest’s creatures, imagining movement where there was none.
Should I call out? If Eldberg were nearby, it would help him find me, but what of those other beasts? Would if I summoned them also?
I closed my mind to what else might be lurking—entities for which I had no name. I’d brushed against the unknown things of the otherworld before, when Asta’s restless spirit had reached across the veil.
Curling small like a child, I buried my nose to my knees—as well as my belly would allow.
Time passed, the shadows grew darker, and then I was certain I heard breaking twigs.
Something was in the bushes.
I looked about. Was there a branch I might grasp to defend myself? Nothing was close. In any case, my hands were bound.
Whatever it is, let it not see me. Let it pass by.
I sat very still, breathing shallow. My pulse galloped in my throat.
When the thing exploded from the undergrowth, I shrieked. Wings flapping, squawking, whirling away—a pheasant of some sort. A creature as startled as me.
A sob stuck in my throat, making me laugh and cry.
Only a bird, nothing to hurt me.
Through the gloom, something was staring at me, no more than twenty footsteps away. I peered harder and saw bright eyes gleaming. I saw a flash of tusk. A boar! Those rough-bristled swine had vicious tempers. A single gore could tear a man in two.
“Go away!” I shouted, then again.
I growled. I hissed. I barked like a dog.
Still, the creature watched. I heard its grunt, and it emerged from the bracken, swinging its head, snorting, making ready to charge. It pawed the ground, throwing up leaves and chunks of moss.
I screamed, drawing back against the tree. My time had come.
But there was another sound—a soft footstep?
The beast raised its snout, nostrils twitching, sensing some other presence. I couldn’t see and hadn’t the courage to turn.
A wolf? Or more than one?
Would they fight over which was to make a meal of me?
And then a steady voice, low and firm, commanded me. “Be still.”
Briefly, I saw the glinting blade. Eldberg threw his axe true, driving it into the boar’s neck. The creature thrashed and squealed, blood gushing. In fury, it lowered its head and rushed to meet its attacker, but Eldberg’s dagger was ready. As it was almost upon him, he sank it through the boar’s snout.
The beast fell immediately. It rolled to its side, pawing the air, and Eldberg acted swiftly, delivering the final thrust to end the creature’s pain.
I closed my eyes, not wishing to see more, my heart still racing. I was aware of Eldberg freeing me—first my feet and then my hands.
His palm was upon my forehead, then his lips, and his arms came around me. Limp and numb, I gave in to exhaustion.
* * *
I wished the bed would stop tilting back and forth. Tentatively, I touched my forehead. What had happened? The events of the night seemed unreal, though my aches and bruising told me otherwise.
It had been my barking that had brought Eldberg to my exact spot. Of Sweyn there was no sign. The harbour watch reported that he’d taken a small fishing boat and left the fjord not long ago. The vessel might carry him some way if he avoided wrecking on the coastal rocks.
Eldberg helped me out of my filthy clothing, rubbed dry my hair, and wrapped me warm in his bed. He pulled the furs to my shoulders, but still I was chilled.
Ragerta brought warm buttermilk, and he bid me drink, though slowly. He paced the chamber, then folded his arms. His voice was stern. “Promise me that you’ll never leave.”
I was too weary to argue, but neither did I wish to tell him a falsehood.
“You know that I did not. Sweyn took me.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Of course, since you would hardly have devised to bind your own hands and feet. I ask because I wish you to say it.”
He came to sit beside me, taking my hand. “You could have died.”
It was true. I’d prayed for Eldberg to come, and he’d done so, but I could never promise to abandon hope of my freedom.
Instead, I asked, “Why did you risk yourself for me?”
“Because you’re mine—and a man protects what is his.”
I hadn’t the strength to tell him again that I wasn’t his. I’d long ago exhausted such reasoning. An uneasy peace had fallen between us, his early brutality having spent itself, and there was much for which I was indebted.
Ragerta had brought some of the aloe. Turning over my hand, Eldberg dipped into the pot and touched the soothing balm to the welts on my wrist.
“You haven’t promised yet.”
“I…” The words stuck in my throat. If I said it, what resistance was left?
“Elswyth.” His voice was enticing. He looked down at my hand resting in his, then raised his eyes, locking me in his gaze—liquid dark. “Your lips are trembling.” He spoke softly, leaning in, until his mouth was close to my own.
“No…” I said, knowing it was a lie.
“You’re fevered with need for me—as I for you.”
I wanted to turn away from his kiss, to close my eyes against him, but I couldn’t. I was no longer struggling.
His lips were soft on mine, coaxing me with gentle tugs and nudges, until my mouth was fully open and his tongue slid upon mine. I lost myself in the desire to be caressed tenderly.
I told myself to no longer think; to set aside what I’d been before, to set aside the past. There would be only now, and the kisses of a man who was both strong and vulnerable. Weren’t we the same? Selfish. Cruel. Hurting. Yet needing to be loved. He was my enemy, and he was myself.
And yet, I was compelled to speak my mind. I broke the kiss, saying, “Give your promise—to release me from thraldom, so that my child will be born free.”
“You need fear nothing.”
I wished it to be true—to be sure that his feelings for me were stronger than his desire for revenge. Eldberg had destroyed everything I’d cared for. Such a thing could not be easily forgiven, but I wanted to set aside that anger. It had eaten at me for too long.
He reached for both my hands. “I wish to be whole again and take you to wife.”
His expression—always so mocking—was no longer so. I’d witnessed him in every mood, but never this—so intense, so sure.
He turned my palm, bringing it to his lips. “If I enslave you, it shall be through love.”
The words were enough, and I pushed down the furs, bearing myself to him. “Touch me, my lord.” It was a demand but softly made.
Gently, he obeyed, trailing his fingers across my breasts, across the full-roundedness of my stomach, hard with the babe, until he fingered between my curls, slipping his finger where he knew I would be wet.
No other command was necessary. He brought himself naked to me, and I embraced the body I’d come to know so well—the tight curve of his buttocks and powerfully muscled thighs, the firm contours of his back.
As he moved within me, the expression in his eyes stilled my breath—for it was as if he were searching for my soul, thirsty for more than the oblivion of shuddering surrender.
It was a yearning that haunted us both.
16
Eirik
November 1st, 960AD
He became aware of voices and clatteri
ng somewhere, far off. All was dark, for he wasn’t ready to open his eyes, but he stretched his fingertips, rubbing at the weave of the cloth upon which he lay.
He tried shifting a little, reaching out for Elswyth, but his arms were heavy and wouldn’t obey, as if only his mind had woken and not his body. Not yet.
If only he could move, he’d find her. She would be there, next to him. He wanted to kiss her. His wife. To draw her close, his fingers tangled in her golden hair.
“Elswyth.” His lips moved to form the word, but his mouth was too dry to make the sound. He tried again, to no avail.
Someone squeezed his hand, and a feminine voice asked, “Are you awake?”
Of course he was. He could hear her—Helka.
He returned the pressure of his sister’s touch.
“Thank the gods!”
His hand received a sharper squeeze and was lifted to his sister’s cheek. Had she been crying? What was the matter?
A man was allowed to sleep late on the day after his wedding, surely. He couldn’t remember getting to bed, but it wasn’t the first time another had carried him. If a man couldn’t get drunk on the day he married the woman he loved, when could he?
Though his throat was parched, his head was free of the ache that usually accompanied a surfeit of mead.
“Drink this.”
A cup touched his lips, wetting them, and Eirik swallowed gratefully. He wanted to open his eyes, but it was so difficult.
“What do you remember?” Helka’s lips pressed to his forehead.
Eirik fought to recall. The wedding feast, and Elswyth looking beautiful in her crimson gown, her diadem not of hammered gold but of meadow flowers. And the room hung gloriously with boughs of blooms. Bride and groom, they’d paraded, then been carried from one end of the hall to the other, passed above the heads of their guests. How loudly everyone had cheered.
There had been games, riddles, and wrestling, and enough meat to fill a man’s belly thrice over.
Viking Beast: Viking Warriors Series Page 10
