by Desconhecido
Eireann climbed out of the stream, squeezing water out of her hair. She arched a brow in challenge as he stepped towards her. A flash of panic crossed her face before she could hide it behind her cold stare and set jaw. He had to admire her self-control. After what she’d been through, how she could stand there and let him touch her—let any man touch her—amazed him. He caught her quick glance toward camp and her sister. To have the love of such a woman… Patience, Fridgeir, patience.
He let a hand slip down her shoulders a bit. His finger traced along the worst bite on her breast. Her brow furrowed with irritation but she kept quiet.
He moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. The bruises there fit his hands fairly well. Someone had held her tightly enough from the back to bruise. A cold knot formed in his gut.
“Eireann, did they…” He struggled to ask but such a thing done to a woman shocked him more than just the beatings, bites and repeated savaging. And could mean she was already dead from torn bowels.
She snorted and glanced back at him “Did they? What? Ass rape me?” His seemingly genuine concern confused and then angered her. “Afraid I’ve been too polluted for your tastes?” She sneered and turned away to hide the tears he could see forming in her eyes.
“No, worried they hurt you too badly. We don’t have a healer but maybe we could find one. If you need it,” he offered softly as he turned her to face him. He set the side of his hand under her chin and raised it so she would look at him. “What they did to you isn’t your fault. It doesn’t make you spoiled or polluted, as you put it. We don’t think like that in the Northlands. I’m just worried for your health, that’s all.” He wrapped his cloak around her as he spoke.
* * * *
The sincerity in his voice and face caught her off-guard. Why would a savage barbarian care how badly I’ve been hurt? She stared at him a moment, fighting back tears she wouldn’t shed in front of this demon spawn. “No, they didn’t hurt me like that. The leader wanted me alive and not permanently damaged.”
Fridgeir raised a brow in question. “You’ve a lot of bruising says otherwise.” He needed to hear the truth, all of it.
She sighed and dropped her head. “One thought to try but like I said, the leader wanted my spirit broken, not my body.” Despite her effort to hide it, her anger and humiliation came through. Anger surged as she remembered. “Gutless whores! Tied me over a barrel so they could have fun without risking their pretty faces to my teeth! Not that you really care.” Sarcasm dripped from her lips. “I’m just another slave for you to use and sell! Whoring northern demon spawn!” Her angry narrowed eyes bore into him.
Fridgeir shrugged but said nothing. He pointed to the clothes they'd brought from the ship.
She recognized the sandy-colored dress, it had been in the chest with her things. She wondered how much of it the raiders and now Northmen had kept. Didn’t matter, she’d never see most of it again, including the ancient pendant handed from mother to eldest daughter for generations. The head raider tried to rip it off her neck but the braided leather refused to give. He’d ended up cutting it loose after he nearly choked her to death. She stuffed the sudden surge of sadness down and dressed quickly. She noted they hadn’t included any undergarments. That didn’t bode well if it was on purpose. All he’d have to do is pull up my skirt… A shiver ran up her spine at the mere thought. More importantly, right now she needed an undergarment!
“Master.” She tried to sound submissive but failed.
Fridgeir cocked a brow and an amused smile twitched his lips. “Yes, slave.”
“I, ah, I need some things from my trunk.” She suddenly found it hard to ask with him looking at her so amused. He waited and she drew a breath. “I need undergarments, ignorant demon spawn! And a rag or two!” she snapped. It surprised her that he looked so pleased.
“I’ll see about it,” he replied, clearly relieved.
Huh! Maybe he’s hoping all the blood isn’t just from their savage treatment of me! Must make him feel better. Wonder what he’d think if I told him they gave me whore bane and that started it. She shook off the morbid thoughts. “Well, do it soon unless you want me bleeding on this nice clean dress!”
Chuckling, Arinbjorn jumped up and headed toward the camp.
Fridgeir held out the comb from her trunk. She combed through her unruly curls as quickly as possible. Wet, it almost behaved as she braided it by touch. She looked over the camp, noticing all the attention she was getting. Quite a few grinned or winked suggestively at her when they caught her eye.
Her tone filled with scorn, she asked, “Women in the north bald or something?”
Fridgeir glanced over his shoulder at the watching men and raised a brow. It surprised her how fast the others found something to do when they saw him eyeing them. Except for a few, like the one called Eirik. He just grinned and gave her an appreciative raking with his eyes.
Fridgeir flashed a wicked smiled. “Our women have plenty of nice hair. Not many as red or curly as yours though. And none are here for these men to appreciate.”
He caught her by surprise when he caressed her head. She couldn’t help flinching as much from reflex as fear. Men just didn’t pet women like dogs where she came from.
He said nothing, but offered her bits of leather to tie her twin braids off with. When she was done, he held up the soft leather rope for tying her hands, with a sly grin. She sighed and held out her wrists. He’s not going to make escape easy for me!
He carefully checked her wrists for cuts or burns from the rope. But they’d obviously taken care not to permanently scar her. He skillfully tied the rope back around her wrists.
They took her and her sister to visit the woods again and they gave her the requested undergarments. She wasn’t sure she still needed the rags but it wouldn’t hurt for them to think so. It might keep him off her for a few days if he thought she was bleeding—it seemed to put most men off.
Fridgeir winked slyly at her quizzical look as they tied them to separate posts. “Wouldn’t want those hands accidentally getting untied while I’m busy. A little something for you to consider. We’ve quite a few more men than those raiders and some keep watch in the woods.”
His serious tone impressed on her the folly of making a run for it. Right now anyway, she’d wait and watch. He’d forgotten to secure her ankles—she tucked them out of sight and hoped he didn’t remember. The raiders had taken her shoes when they stripped most of her clothes off. She wondered where her shoes had gone and how far she could get in the woods barefoot. In her musings, she hadn’t paid attention to Fridgeir leaving.
He returned shortly with travel bread, cheese and watered wine for her and her sister. As he stalked off again, Eireann stared at his back, trying to reconcile this rather gentle and quiet man with the violent beasts she’d always heard the Northmen were.
* * * *
Eirik surveyed the merchant sitting at the base of one of the tall posts. They’d tied his arms behind the pole rather than hoisting him up to hang and yet he still sagged at the base like a sack of old grain. The man wore clothes of good quality though the raiders had stripped off his overshirt as well as his shoes. Eirik noted marks from large rings now missing from his hands. A prosperous merchant indeed.
“Time for answers, worm.” He nudged the man firmly with his toe. The merchant raised his head with a slight groan. Eirik almost laughed at the pitiful sound and the man’s tear-streaked, red-rimmed eyes. Beardless coward!
Cedric squatted on his heels and sloshed a water bag just out of reach. The man reacted like he hadn’t had a drink in days, not just overnight.
“Answer me truthfully and you get some. Lie or refuse and it’ll hurt.” Eirik towered over the man, one hand casually on his knife hilt. His fire purred at the sweet smell of fear.
“What do you want to know?” the merchant choked out as if his throat burned with dryness.
Eirik settled onto a log as if it were a throne. “Who’s really coming to
get you?” He let just a hint of fire show in his eyes.
The merchant blanched and stammered a reply. “I told you, my men went to Alhenia to get the coin. And yes, they have to travel to Jonnah’s crossing to get it, maybe. Might be enough in Alhenia if my brother’s there. Then they’re supposed to come here to finish the trade.”
Eirik drew his blade slowly and grinned wolfishly. “I’m not a man you can lie to. That may be what these stupid goat herders thought would happen, but we both know you planned to have them killed.”
Now the merchant looked truly ill. Sweat ran down his ashen face and his voice trembled. “That might be true but I have no idea what they’ll do! How could I plan such a thing when tied up like a common criminal!” He tried to put some bravado in his voice but it broke and he screeched out the last word. The gathered Northmen laughed wickedly at his obvious fear. Eirik tipped his head toward the man and Cedric let him drink a bit.
“Now, that was partly true but there’s definitely something you aren’t sharing.” Eirik turned his knife in his hand, examining the blade. He tested the edge with his thumb. The merchant’s eyes almost bugged out of his head when a small drop of blood appeared. Eirik had to stifle a laugh. Some prisoners were so much easier to question if they were just frightened. He’d no doubt if he actually cut the man he’d faint or puke. Neither one would give Eirik the answers he wanted.
Eirik smeared the drop of blood on his knife then licked it off. When he pointed the blade toward the merchant, the pasty, soft man shrank as far back against the pole as he could get, shaking and pale.
“Please, don’t kill me. We had a deal. I’ll get the ransom for you, I swear!” he blubbered.
A woman’s laugh reached them. Eirik slowly looked over his shoulder to see Fridgeir’s woman on her knees, craning her neck to watch the spectacle. Her face beamed with satisfaction and bloodlust.
She called over eagerly, “Can I watch you spit him? Lying man-whore can’t be trusted!”
The men laughed and Eirik turned back to the merchant. “Maybe I should let her get you to talk.” He grinned maliciously. “I think I believe her, you’ve already proved you’re a liar.”
The merchant blanched then mustered all the courage he could. “Humph! You’d believe that whore over a man of status like myself? I’d heard barbarians were stupid!” The tremor in his voice spoiled his attempt at defiance and insult.
Eirik grinned evilly and leaned forward. “Do you know who I am, worm?” He got close enough to whisper in the man’s ear. “I’m Eirik Dragon Heart.”
The merchant made small choking noises and turned even more ashen pale. Eirik sat back as the man all but passed out from fear. “Now, if you want to live, tell me everything. Otherwise, I’ll haul you up on that post and spill your guts out so you die really, really slow.” The knife started at the base of the merchant’s neck and traced a slow line downward over his belly. A gurgling noise was all they heard for a few moments. Eirik nodded to Cedric again and he poured wine down the man’s throat almost choking him. They waited for him to stop coughing.
“I swear! They went to Alhenia. To get the ransom!” He looked at Eirik with wild, panicked eyes.
Eirik raised a brow.
“They’ll likely try to kill them as soon as they get me. My brother—kill the raiders. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if the raiders tried to kill my brother. Except you already killed them all. That’s it, that’s all I know!” His frantic babbling made his words nearly unintelligible.
Eirik smiled his wolf’s grin. “How many men will your brother bring?”
The merchant drew a shaky breath. “Umm, let me think. Maybe a dozen, I’m not sure how many we have.”
“Ha! A merchant who can’t count? More likely one who lies like a cheap rug!” Eireann called from behind them.
The merchant drew himself up arrogantly. “I am a man of means, I don’t concern myself with underlings. My assistant took care of that. He’s the one who went for the ransom.”
Eirik nodded thoughtfully and waved Cedric to share more watered wine with the man. Eirik let his gaze stray to the man’s son, staring hollow-eyed and very thirsty-looking from the next pole.
“What about you, beardless cub? Know anything worth getting a drink?” Eirik cocked a brow.
The young man looked to his father for permission. The Northmen jeered at his discomfort.
“Brat can’t even draw breath without his father’s say! Worthless worm. We should let the redhead have him for sport!” Giermund taunted with an evil grin.
The young man cast a worried look at Eireann’s eager face. He paled and hung his head but said nothing. Eirik sensed shame under the fear. He wondered if the cub had any true feelings for her or if he had a guilty conscience for another reason.
Fridgeir strolled purposefully over and roughly toed the cub’s shin. “Nothing to say, gutless no-beard?”
The young man shook his head. He shot a sideways glance at Eireann again and a flicker of longing crossed his face. Fridgeir reached down and grabbed the man’s head up by his hair. “Don’t look at her, don’t even think about her. She’s mine now and you’ll never taste her sweet fiery form again.” Ice dripped from Fridgeir’s sharp-edged words. The young man said nothing but dropped his gaze and heaved a soft sob. Fridgeir shoved him back to the ground with disgust.
Eirik had watched the show from the corner of his eye while focusing on the father’s reactions. The older man had become angry when the cub showed longing and regret toward his former wife. He wondered if the old man had plans for the cub’s wife as well as her sister. Plans that didn’t include his son keeping her. He toed the merchant’s shin roughly and got back to business.
“So, how many men will your brother bring? How many ships?”
The man shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Eirik’s backhand across his face reminded him who he spoke to.
“Please! I don’t know!” He returned to begging and blubbering.
“Make a guess,” Eirik suggested coldly as he played with his knife.
And then the son answered. “We have as many as sixty soldiers and mercenaries during the summer trade season. How many they bring might depend on how many caravans we have out and with how many in escort.” The cub spoke softly but without the hysterics of his father—and no one looked more surprised than his father.
“So—you can speak and you do know something after all.” Eirik stood and sauntered over to tower above the young man. “How many are mercs? And how well trained?”
The boy shrugged slightly and glanced at his father, who glared daggers at him. Eirik stepped between them so the young merchant couldn’t see his father. “I won’t ask nicely again,” Eirik warned him coldly.
“Can I have a drink?” the young man asked quietly, then braced as if expecting to be hit. Eirik waved Cedric over. After he’d had a good mouthful, Eirik toed him lightly.
The young man swallowed and sat up just a bit. “Thirty or so mercs hired for the season, it varies some depending on how good business is. We always have some of our own men with each group. Not sure what you consider well trained but they can handle most bandits.”
Eirik waved and Cedric offered him another swallow.
“If you can offer an honest guess as to how many might show up here, you get breakfast.” Eirik glanced back at the glowering merchant with a wicked grin.
“My father too?” the young man asked, while braced for someone to hit him again.
Eirik glared down at the young man. “Why bother? He doesn’t seem concerned with your welfare.”
The young man shrugged. “He’s my father.” He sounded like it should have been obvious.
That set them all back a bit. Northmen valued family above all else save honor. To show loyalty to his father even though he didn’t deserve it impressed them.
Eirik shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. Convince me you know what you’re talking about.”
The young man shifted and glance
d toward Eireann. Fridgeir’s foot connected with his shin and he yelped. “She’s not your concern any more, worm. Now answer.” Fridgeir fingered the seax sheathed at his side.
The young man nodded and stared at his hands. “They were expecting a caravan to arrive soon, it had an escort of thirty. We had twenty we’d brought with us, all but five dead now. I think there were another five or ten that could be used without leaving the compound unguarded.” He sounded like he was thinking out loud.
Eirik quickly added it up. “So—no more than forty-five?”
“Sounds reasonable. They think they are dealing with ignorant thieves, not Northmen. If they knew you were here, it’d be different,” he admitted with a shrug. “No one crosses your kind.”
Eirik smiled slightly and paused to consider. “Would they treat fairly with us? Hold to their word and expect us to do the same?” He walked back to the older man and toed him.
The merchant tried to look and sound sincere. “Of course—like my son said, no one crosses a Northman.”
Eirik snorted. “Asgeir, get them some bread and cheese. They can each have a short walk behind the brush. One at a time and well guarded.” If they ran, Eirik could have them beaten or killed later. Neither one looked capable of actually outpacing even the slowest of the Northmen.
Eirik gathered his advisors by the fire. “Thoughts?”
Cedric stared into the fire ring with concern. “I don’t like it. Too much could have happened we don’t know about, that they don’t know about.”
Arinbjorn nodded. “And we’re close to the Witch King’s territory. He might not take kindly to having his trading partners snatched.”
Leif grinned. “That could be fun! Wouldn’t mind reminding him we aren’t weaklings like these midlanders.”
