The Caged Viking

by Sandra Hill

  By the time they got back, Hauk and Bjorn were sitting on the ground before the fire, which Hauk was poking with a long stick. Although they weren’t sitting close together, they weren’t snarling at each other. They appeared to have come to some kind of understanding.

  Egil managed to construct a sort of tripod which would hold the cauldron over the fire. Once the stew came back to a boil, Kirstin served everyone including herself. It wasn’t too bad, and the men came back for second and third helpings until the pot was empty.

  They talked then, or rather Hauk gave out one order after another.

  “Bjorn, you are to stay here tomorrow and protect your stepmother.”

  Kirstin and Bjorn looked at each other with surprise. She hadn’t thought of herself in that way, and neither had he, obviously.

  But then Bjorn erupted, “Nay! You will not keep me from the fight.”

  “You are a youthling,” his father pointed out.

  “I’m old enough. How old were you when you were first blooded?”

  The sudden color in Hauk’s cheek said it all. “This is not up for debate. There is no shame in guard duty. And, besides, I need someone responsible to take my wife to safety if the battle goes against us. I will leave you with coin enough to get yourselves to Jorvik and from there take ship to Haukshire.”

  “How do you know I want to go to your estate?” Kirstin asked. “If you’re gone, I’m going home to America. Speaking of which, you need to give me back my arm rings. In case you don’t return.”

  He gave her a long look. “I’ll give the arm rings to Bjorn for safekeeping. He will return the arm rings if I am in Valhalla.”

  Bjorn was still grumbling over being left behind but he nodded at his father’s order.

  Hauk looked to Egil and suggested, “Get our battle gear set out tonight…chain mail, helmets, shields, weapons. Try to get a few hours sleep.”

  “As you say, master,” Egil said.

  Hauk stood then and told Bjorn, “Come with me while I meet with my men…those who stayed with my longship in Jorvik these many months whilst I’ve been imprisoned.”

  Bjorn, for once, didn’t balk but rose to his feet to follow his father. There was a similarity between the two of them, although Bjorn, at twelve, was of course a foot shorter and slender in an adolescent way with little muscle definition, unlike his father who was slim from near starvation but still retaining muscle. Despite his already voiced animosity toward his father, the way the boy stared up at him bespoke admiration, too. Their relationship was getting off to a good start in healing, Kirstin could see. Now, if only their bond had a chance to grow, as in the battle leaving Hauk unharmed. Please God, she found herself praying.

  “Egil, do we have soap anywhere?” she asked.

  “Nay,” he replied but then added, “Wait.” He went inside the tent and came back with a hunk of a hard gray substance that she assumed was soap, probably made from ashes and suet and lye.

  Yuck! But she couldn’t be choosy and said, “Thank you. Why don’t I go clean up these dishes and you can take care of Hauk’s battle stuff?”

  Egil appeared hesitant at first.

  “I’ll be careful to stay away from the men,” she assured him. “Most of them are off in their various camps preparing for tomorrow anyhow.” Although some of those preps involved drinking, she noted to herself.

  Since all of the rabbit stew had been eaten, the small cauldron was empty. She put the ladle inside the pot, along with the four bowls, topped with the cake of soap and a scrap of linen she’d used to lift the hot handle. And off she went to the stream which was mostly deserted, except for a few women…camp followers…who’d had the same idea. After she’d cleaned the dinner paraphernalia as best she could, she moved a little farther away around a bend in the stream for privacy, and worked quickly with the rag and soap to wash her face and neck and arms, even undoing her gown to her waist to take care of underarms and breasts. There wasn’t much lather, and no lovely floral scent like her favorite Dove beauty bar, but the hard soap did its job. She hesitated for a moment, then lifted her gown, and gave a quick wash between her legs.

  Feeling refreshed, she went back to the campsite. By then it was dusk and everywhere folks seemed to be settling down. There were still the sounds of conversation, occasional laughter, and such, but mostly it was subdued, as she imagined most places, whether they be a Viking camp site or a modern military outpost, would be on the night before a battle. She knew for a fact that at the SEAL base, last wills and financial arrangements would be made, along with praying for those so inclined, which was almost all of them when possible death was on the horizon…that famous foxhole religion.

  She found Egil inside the tent where he’d placed all of his and Hauk’s fighting gear down the middle of the space. The long pile was almost three feet high, comprising the swords, knives, lances, battle-axes, shields, chain mail, and helmets, not to mention harnesses, saddles, and saddle bags for two of the horses they would be taking. A fat, burning candle sat on a level area atop a flat shield, providing a dim light in the tent. On either side of the dividing line, Egil had laid out all the bed furs.

  Egil was lying on one side. He’d left enough room beside him for another body…Hauk…when he returned. As she stood on her side, Egil raised his head, bracing himself on his elbows, and told her, “I’m jist restin’ me head a bit. ’Twas a long day, and I ’spect ’twill be much longer on the morrow.”

  “Hauk and Bjorn haven’t returned yet?”

  “Nay. The master will be introducin’ his son to his old comrades, ensuring their loyalty to his son, whether Hauk returns or not.”

  “Do you think they’ve reconciled…I mean, that Bjorn will have accepted his father?”

  “No doubt. If not now, then soon. A son will forgive a father for much, and vicey versa.”

  That was true. “Have you been with Hauk for a long time?”

  “Since he was a boyling. I served his father before that, and talk about forgiveness! There was a man who deserved no forgiveness! Meaner than a snake, he was, even with his own family. Methinks the master Hauk stayed away from his boy Bjorn for so long ’cause he was afeared he had no fathering skills, like his own heartless father.”

  “Where was his mother?”

  “Died in his birthin’, she did.”

  “And he was raised by…?”

  Egil shrugged. “The other wives and mistresses. Mostly he was ignored, ’cept when his father was at home, hollarin’ or beatin’ on him or anyone who got too close.”

  Kirstin’s father, bless his virile body, had had a number of mistresses and several wives over the years, though not all at once, thank God! Thus, his twelve children. But he’d treated all of the kids as if they were precious, even the ones who were probably not his, but had been foisted off on him by women who didn’t want the responsibility of a baby. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Madrene and Kirstin, as the two oldest daughters, had been forced to care for all their younger siblings while their father went about the business of farming and amber trading. That was probably why Kirstin had never had a particular interest in having children of her own. In any case, her father might have been careless at times, but never cruel. They’d been a family.

  Poor Hauk! She could picture him as a child, hiding in dark corners from the wrath of a hateful father. But always looking to forgive at the least sign of kindness on his father’s part.

  “Hauk’s father had no other children, some say because he had a sickness that caused his ballocks to swell when he was a young man a-Viking in some foreign land, some say because he was in disfavor with the gods. For some demented reason, the miscreant blamed Hauk for his sterility.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Egil shook his head. “Nay. Died a straw death five years past. Well-deserved, if ye ask me. The beast did not deserve Valhalla. The things I could tell you about what he did to his own son! Oh, I forgot to mention. There was another babe born to one of his mistresses a
lmost a year after his death. She tried to hide the birth date, and claimed the boyling was sired by the old lord, but the months do not match up.” He shrugged. “The child, Gorm, who would be about four now, is still there, but the mother took off with a passing trader two years past.”

  “And who cares for the boy…never mind.” Kirstin shook her head with disgust, knowing full well that even in a compassionate household such as her father’s had been, babes could be squalling and toddlers waddling about at will and their care fell to whomever was closest. Usually her. Forget “It takes a village.” To Vikings, “It takes a longhouse,” was the norm, long before that other expression came into popularity.

  It wasn’t that Viking men didn’t love their children. In truth, they were great family men, even if the family extended to include other wives, concubines, legitimate and illegitimate children. It was just that care of the little ones fell to the women of the household until they reached age ten or so when they were considered young men, of a suitable age to be taught about weapons and sailing. Or, in the case of girls, skills to prepare them for marriage and managing a household.

  As to the boy, Gorm, born posthumously, Kirstin knew all about that, too. At least a few of the babies passed onto her father as his were probably fathered by someone else, but he’d accepted them nonetheless. That’s the kind of man he was.

  “So, now Hauk is the jarl?”

  “That he is, though he has not been there for many a year.”

  Kirstin frowned. “But Hauk mentioned that he has a mistress waiting there.”

  “Oh, her! Zoya is a passing fancy, though she counts herself queen of the Norselands in his absence,” Egil said with obvious distaste. “Hauk made one last visit to harvest amber in the Baltics, planning to trade the goods in the markets at Hedeby for coin to make much needed repairs to his estates. He sent many of his men ahead to begin the renovations, along with Zoya whom he’d met in the Rus lands, whilst he sent me to Britain to get his son and bring him home. Alas, when he finally got to the Saxon lands, having heard of the St. Brice’s Day massacre, he did not find me or Bjorn, and, in fact, was told that the boy was dead. That’s when the Saxon soldiers captured him.”

  “Aaah!” Kirstin said, understanding more of the man than she had before. “You’ve been a good friend to Hauk, Egil.”

  Egil beamed, obviously pleased at her compliment.

  But then she yawned widely, apologizing, “Sorry.”

  “Ye’ve had a long day, m’lady. Ye should rest.”

  “I will.” In fact, Kirstin couldn’t believe that only twenty-four hours had passed since she was back in her own time at Rosestead. So much had happened! So much was about to happen!

  Turning away, she toed off her slippers and took off her gown, draping it over the far end of the weaponry wall. With the damp rag she’d used as a washcloth, she wiped over the silk fabric and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles. She dropped down to the furs on her side, wearing only her underwear, but that was okay. Hauk would be sleeping next to Egil, and she could don her gown quickly once she heard them getting ready to leave during the night.

  She could no longer see Egil but she told him, “Good luck tomorrow.”

  Her answer was a loud snore.

  A short time later, she was snoring, too…a soft feminine snore.

  Chapter 9

  Who is the victor if both parties surrender?…

  Hauk and Bjorn returned to the tent later than Hauk had planned. Bjorn was a little bit drukkinn from the small amount of ale they’d imbibed, but Hauk was proud of his son. As Hauk had introduced Bjorn to his comrades-in-arms, he ensured that their loyalty would be for the son as well as the father, which was especially important on the eve of battle. Bjorn helped by being respectful and listening without interruption as many of the more garrulous lot expounded on past victories, often exaggerating, which was of course a fighting man’s right, whatever the country…or time, for that matter, he would warrant.

  Hauk was about to tell Bjorn how he felt, but before he could say anything to his son, the boy sank to his knees, fell flat on his face onto the furs next to a sleeping Egil, and immediately added his snores to the old man’s raucous melody. Hauk smiled and stretched widely. It had been a long and eventful day for all of them. And who knew what the morrow would bring? He couldn’t wait. Like all Vikings, he loved a good fight, and he had more reasons than most to anticipate this one with relish.

  He noted that Egil, may the gods bless his eager heart, had made a neat pile of all the weaponry and battle gear they would need for the upcoming battle, providing a dividing line across the middle of the small tent. On the other side, his wife slept huddled under a bed fur up to her neck, though the night was not particularly cool. She probably considered it a barrier to any lusty Viking who might drop by. Like him.

  He chuckled, and shook his head at her foolishness. As if a mere fur would impede him if he were in a lusty mood, which he was not at the moment.

  She, too, snored, but the sound that came from her parted lips was soft and almost like a moan. A moan of ecstasy or a moan of pain at whatever she was dreaming? Loveplay or torture of some sort, maybe even the horrid cage? He preferred the former, he decided with another chuckle, realizing that mayhap he was in the mood, after all.

  Should I or should I not? he pondered. Have I not been telling the wench that consummation is a necessity for her survival here?

  But I was just teasing.

  Or was I?

  Hah!

  I deserve this.

  Ha, ha!

  I should get some rest.

  How long would it take? I could do it, quick like, and still get some rest. Besides, mayhap my body humours would be more relaxed. All the kinks of inactivity from these long months of captivity would be untangled.

  Ha, ha, ha! I should mention that theory when engaged in a drink fest at the next Thing. I can imagine the laughter I would rouse. The skalds might even create a saga called “Viking Kinks,” or some such thing.

  No matter. Kirstin would no doubt argue with my reasoning, anyhow. She argues about everything.

  Enough arguing with myself! Should I or should I not?

  His gaze traveled around the tent. A fat candle that Egil had planted on a shield provided a dim light. Kirstin’s gown was draped over one end of the pile. Her slippers were arranged neatly, side by side, on the ground below the gown. Which meant that she was naked under the furs, he concluded.

  That is my answer! Praise the gods! Must be she is too shy to initiate sex herself. Must be she is hot for the bedding but too stubborn to ask for it. Must be this is her way of inviting me to couple with her.

  Quick as spit, he was undressed and about to join his wife. Lifting the edge of the robe, he stopped short. Kirstin, lying on her back, was not naked…not precisely. Instead, she wore a scrap of white lace on top, cupping her breasts with straps over the shoulders. Down below was another scrap of white lace which covered her mons but did not even reach her navel or the tops of her thighs, riding high on her hips. What was the purpose of either of those undergarments? Though, come to think on it, they were rather enticing, more alluring than the naked body itself. Well, almost more alluring.

  Tossing the top fur aside, Hauk eased himself down and rolled Kirstin over on her side so that he was front to her back. “Sweetling?” he whispered against her ear.

  She let out another little snore/moan.

  Is she awake?

  He listened to her breathing. No, she is still sleeping.

  He nestled closer, placed his left arm above her head, and ran his right hand lightly over her right arm from shoulder to wrist, up her leg from knee to upper thigh. “So soft! Your skin is so soft.”

  She didn’t wake, but the fine hairs rose on her skin. Her body was reacting, even if she wasn’t. Which was fine with Hauk. If she was awake, she would be talking, and that meant she would be telling him what he was doing wrong and how much better everything, even sex, was in the fu
ture.

  So, he continued his soft, gentle exploration. His hands might be rough and calloused, but his movements were light as a butterfly’s wings.

  It was at times like this that Hauk was thankful that Vikings were born masters at loveplay, and that was not an exaggeration. Everyone said so. Whether in battle or the bed furs, Viking men knew all about timing, when to be aggressive and when to use stealth.

  Like now. He took the time to be fascinated and, yes, aroused by the contrast in textures of their skins, leather to velvet. Where his forearm rested on her abdomen alongside her forearm, he couldn’t help but notice his dark bristly hairs whilst hers were like strands of gold silk, almost invisible.

  And the contours of their bodies! Blunt, bulky edges against smooth curves. Hard muscles against cushiony softness.

  Masculine against feminine.

  With a sigh, she dropped her hand to her side, thus giving him the opportunity to place a palm against her waist and moved it upward till he cupped one breast outside its lace covering. The breast was not large, but big enough to fill his hand. He lifted it and used a thumb to flick the center, which caused the nipple to rise against the lace and press against his palm. He did the same to the other breast.

  She gasped and went stiff.

  Now she was awake!

  In one swift move, she rolled onto her back, rose to a sitting position, and gaped at him wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?” she shrieked.

  He pushed her back down, pressing her shoulders to the furs. Leaning over her, he whispered in her ear, “Shhh! You’ll wake Egil and Bjorn.”

  “I’ll wake the whole damn camp if you don’t get off of me,” she warned, putting both hands on his chest in an attempt to shove him off. To no avail, of course. “I could even—”

  He cut off what was bound to be a tirade by putting his lips over her open mouth, then quickly adjusting his placement, molding her mouth in changing patterns till they met perfectly. Then he kissed her with an expertise honed by years of experience, but also complemented by the sweetness of her taste and pliancy…and surrender, which surprised him this early in the game. In fact, she took his head in both her hands and initiated a duel of tongues that was nothing short of amazing.