The Viking's Captive

by Lily Harlem

  “I’m not spanking you, wench,” he said, clamping his other hand at the base of her back and pulling her close. “I’m showing you that I understand you.”

  Her undergarments were still halfway down her thighs so finding the patch of hair that grew at the juncture of her legs was easy. With the pad of his first two fingers he sought out her pleasure point, just into her curls, and rubbed.

  “What are you doing… oh!” She gripped his tunic, her knees and spine seeming to weaken. Her eyes widened and she stared up at him, her cheeks flushing further.

  “You cannot deny the needs in you,” he said, his voice hoarse as he upped the pressure on her nub. “Even if you hate me, your body reacts to mine.”

  “It means nothing.”

  He sped up his actions, working her in a way he knew would make her mindless with want. “So you do not deny the effect my fingers are having on you?”

  “I do not know… what effect… it is?” There was confusion in her eyes, but still they flashed with desire.

  “The effect is pleasure.” He’d spoken with his lips close to hers.

  “It is… traitorous… my body.”

  “Your body cannot lie.” He held her closer, inhaling the scent of her arousal. A sense of satisfaction gripped him. Duna hated him with her mind but her sweet body couldn’t resist him.

  She moaned and clung tighter.

  He guessed she was getting near to the moment when the pressure he was building would release.

  He gave her another few swift strokes, then stepped away.

  She staggered to the right, gripping the table again as her dress fell into place. She was breathing fast.

  So was he. His cock was straining against his pants. He lifted his hand to his nose and breathed in her musky smell.

  Her mouth fell open as she watched his action. “You… you’re an animal.”

  Temptation was a deep, gnawing ache in his groin. He should flip her over the table and fuck the insolence out of her. But he wouldn’t be that kind of master. He’d sworn it to himself.

  “As I said, I can’t entertain you. I’m going out.” He pushed down his shoulders and smoothed his hand over his tunic, removing the rucks her small fists had created when she’d gripped him.

  “Where… Master?” Her eyes widened and she pushed her hair from her flushed face.

  “I cannot sleep, not with… with your insolence filling my home. Morrow I will strike it from you, but until then, I’m going to retrieve my animals.”

  “In the dark?” She took a pace toward him. “But Halvor… Master… what about the wolves, the boar?”

  “Are of no concern to me and Ivan.” He reached for a long sheathed dagger and attached it to his belt.

  She swallowed and clasped her hands at her waist. “And I?”

  “Will wait here. You will be safe within the walls of the longhouse. But venture out and I cannot guarantee any such safety.” He grabbed his shoe and pulled it on. He then reached for a furred cape and swung it over his shoulders. “Wait here or accept certain death. The beasts here are brave; you have little meat on you, but enough to fill their bellies.” He paused. “They will seek you out and hunt you down.”

  She gulped and he heard the swallow. For some reason it made his cock fill more.

  Even so he continued. “There was nothing on your quiet island that would ever have hunted you, am I right? There, you and your fellow villagers were the hunters. Here you must understand, you are the hunted, Duna.”

  She turned, clearly not happy with the shift in the food chain.

  “So, with that said.” He took a step toward the door. “Lock this behind me. Do not go outside.”

  “But when will you return?” She took three paces toward him.

  “Morrow, with my livestock.” For a moment he hesitated. The scent of her was still in his nose and on his fingers. An image of him with her, naked, finding pleasure, hearing her pleasure, filled his mind. But then he blinked, and once again remembered the way she’d said she’d always hate him.

  I have to get out of here.

  It wasn’t often Halvor doubted himself, but perhaps he should have maintained his quiet equilibrium of living alone.

  No. I want her as my slave.

  He paced to the door, pulled it open, then slammed it shut behind him.

  Dragging in great lungsful of clean mountain air, he waited, until he heard the bar sliding into place. Then, knowing she’d secured herself, he strode toward the barn.

  Riding in the dark was neither his nor Ivan’s favorite thing to do, but the situation called for it.

  * * *

  Duna stared at the wooden door. She’d slipped the bar into its keeper, and it did look solid, strong like the man who’d built it. But still… she was alone in a strange home, in a strange land and her body was betraying her and acting in ways she didn’t understand.

  “I promise to protect you,” she muttered, resting back on it and surveying the room. “That lasted a long time… Master.” She huffed.

  The fire burned bright. The bed was clean and soft. There was also a tub of warm, hardly dirty, water before a blazing fire. If she fancied it, she could make do with an evening supper of ale.

  An owl hooting caught her attention. She rushed to the makeshift window and dropped it down, hiding the night; a night filled with snarling jaws, fierce instincts, and cunning stealth.

  The sacks of grain to her right were in darkness, and she knew a feast was occurring for the local mice. But they didn’t bother her, she’d lived with mice for years, only then she’d always had a cat.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of Flame, her ginger tom who always worked hard at keeping their home rodent free. She missed him; it was a small miss, in comparison to her father, Esca, her neighbors and friends, but still she was sad without her furry friend.

  Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

  The unmistakable pound of hooves echoed around the house. Halvor was good for his word, he’d left her.

  Again she stared at the door. Should she make a run for it after all? Were there enough provisions to fill a bag, see her good until she reached the port?

  She rushed from one corner to the next, surveying the provisions. They were scant, nothing fresh. But still there were oats, and a few walnuts that she could take.

  But how cold was it?

  Spring had spread fingers over the land, which in the daylight hours could be a caress to the neck and shoulders, but that didn’t mean night time would be the same.

  Once again she went to the window and opened it a fraction. Trying not to imagine gnashing jaws, she let the night air caress her face.

  It wasn’t freezing… but it wasn’t warm either.

  She shut the window frame up tight.

  The temperate air of the longhouse was pleasing. As was the thought of soaking her smarting buttocks in a tub and taking a cask of ale by the fire.

  She managed to bring a smile to her face, despite her situation. Yes. She would do just that. Strip away her clothes, soak her aching bones and hot skin, and let ale cloud her thoughts.

  Within minutes she’d warmed another pot of water and tipped it into the tin bath. Then she set to removing her clothes. As she pulled down her undergarments the material scratched against her buttocks.

  She winced as a fresh wave of pain washed over them.

  She stacked her old clothes on the table, and was aware of the air circling her body. It seemed to lick over her spanked bottom, creating a tremble, which went up her spine.

  Gingerly she rubbed over her tender skin. There was nothing to feel, no welts and no damage to the flesh. It was as smooth as ever, but oh, it did hurt.

  She blinked back a tear of shame. Being upended had been humiliating, and the fact she’d been unable to match his strength, fight back, irritated her.

  Walking over to the fish, she scowled at it. That had been the cause of her spanking. She tipped the pan over, sending the spoiled food into the flames. She
hoped tomorrow Halvor would catch another fish. She’d cook that one properly. They’d both eat. That would please him and it would save her from feeling his shoe.

  She slipped into the bath, holding her breath as the water smarted against her buttocks.

  Damn him. I’ll be sore for days.

  Eventually she lowered to the base, then blew out several long breaths as her tender skin adjusted to its torment. After a few minutes, she began to feel more comfortable. Bathing had been a good idea.

  Reaching for a small bar of soap, she lathered her hair, her face, and her breasts. Taking her time, she allowed her mind to drift to thoughts of her new home, here with Halvor.

  Home. Would it ever feel like home? Surely home was a place you chose to be.

  She ran the soap between her legs and over the tender spot Halvor had touched, rubbed, and created such a strange feeling in. Shame nibbled away at her conscience that a man had placed his fingers there, but more than that was the confusion at her reaction to it. For some reason, like when he’d suckled her breasts, her thoughts had misted; all she could do was concentrate on a strange kind of pressure growing in her cunny. Her breaths were as fast as if she’d ran up a hill, and an urge for more… more of what she wasn’t sure… had come over her.

  She tipped the pail over her head, rinsing the suds away. She wished she could ask her mother or her friend about her body’s reaction to Halvor, but of course she couldn’t. Maybe they would have been able to tell her if she was normal, or if she was twisted, sick, disturbed in the mind to have leaned into the caresses of a man who had stolen her away to another land.

  It was then she heard it. A long, ear-piercing howl quickly followed by another.

  Wolf.

  She turned to the door, as if expecting to see a wolf there. Of course there was nothing.

  Doubting herself, she leaped from the waters, sending splashes over the floor, and rushed, naked to the window. Had she shut it properly?

  Yes. Thank goodness.

  She grabbed a blanket and pulled it around herself. Her heart was thudding, she could hear the pulse in her ears.

  But more than that she could hear something at the door—sniffing, snorting, and scrabbling. As if a beast was trying to pick up her scent from the small crack beneath it.

  A small cry escaped her lips and she pressed her fingers over them. How many beasts were out there? She’d likely been circled by the vicious creatures. Maybe they were clever, maybe they’d dig their way in to get to her. Then she wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d be wolf dinner.

  Finding some courage, she paced to the door and double-checked its lock. She then followed the perimeter of the long house, frowning at the ground and making sure there were no places where an animal could start digging. She didn’t find anything that caused her to worry any more than she was.

  Still clutching the blanket, she returned to the fire, to warm herself and dry off. A large branch, the end bound with reeds, stood next to it. She hadn’t spotted it before, but was now glad she had. It was a torch. Should the creatures come in, fire would be her best weapon.

  Another howl echoed around the room. It came from near the window. Its eerie, menacing pitch sent a shudder through her.

  She wished Halvor was with her. He’d know what to do. Plus he had weapons. His sword, his dagger, both of which he’d taken with him.

  She spotted his ale, half drunk in its cask and picked it up. Taking a sip, she stared at the flames. How long would the wolves wait? Until morning? Until Halvor returned?

  Hoping they’d soon realize they couldn’t get access to the house, she drank the ale. There was nothing she could do. She was trapped. Halvor had no need to tie her up, tether her like an animal, or lock her in. The very land he’d brought her to had become her prison.

  Thankfully, after some time, the sounds of the wolves around the longhouse faded. She didn’t believe they’d gone far, but was grateful they’d stopped howling and snorting beneath the door.

  Her hair was dry, as was her body, and she’d drunk the ale. Now her eyes were heavy. Sleep was what she needed.

  Returning to the bed, she reached for yet another blanket and wrapped herself up. The straw was soft, and she curled into a ball, the sinister howls of the wolves still filling her mind.

  But soon she found herself drifting off to sleep; a dark, almost dreamless sleep that felt like a reprieve from the situation she’d found herself in.

  Chapter Nine

  Halvor drove his wagon toward the longhouse with his sheep around him. They were being ushered along by his dog, Raven, who knew the herd and the land so well Halvor barely needed to do a thing.

  He was loaded up with fifteen hens, a huge cut of mutton, and several trotters. He also had carrots, parsnips, and cabbage. He’d spent an extra coin on seeds so he could plant his field and the vegetable patch. They’d need to get to work soon in order to stock up for the winter months. He also had some cow milk, salt, fruit wine, and flax. And as he’d journeyed he’d collected hazelnuts, crab apples, elderberries, and rosehips. He’d hoped to find horseradish, as he enjoyed the flavor, but hadn’t been lucky.

  He’d brought things for his slave too. For she had nothing but the rags she stood up in.

  The longhouse was still and quiet, the door and window closed despite it being mid-morning. As he drew level with it, he pulled Ivan to a halt.

  The horse snorted and scraped the ground.

  Halvor frowned, wondering what his trusty steed was unhappy about.

  The sheep skittered, Raven struggling to keep them under control as he shepherded them into the barn.

  It was then he saw them.

  Paw prints in the dirt. Big ones. They were undeniably wolf.

  A bolt of fear went through him as he spotted more. There’d been a large pack prowling around in his absence.

  “I hope you obeyed me, woman.” He jumped down and tethered Ivan, giving him a reassuring pat on the neck. The wolves had gone now; he only hoped his woman hadn’t left with them.

  He thumped the door with his fist. “Duna, open up. It is I, your master.”

  Nothing.

  He hammered the door again. “Duna!”

  Finally he heard the wood sliding free. Relief flooded through him. She was there, and hopefully hadn’t left the house in all the time he’d been gone.

  Pushing the door open, he stepped into the dimly lit room.

  She stood there, looking utterly pathetic, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes wide and scared.

  “Are you unharmed?” He gripped her shoulders and studied her face.

  She nodded. “Yes… Master.”

  “You obeyed me, you stayed indoors?”

  “I did. There were wolves outside, lots of them. They were here for many hours.” She peered past him, as though checking they weren’t about to burst in.

  He frowned. “They do not come to the house often in the summer months, it’s the winter when they get hungry and I see them. I wonder what they were after.”

  “Me.” She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

  It was then he noticed she’d bathed. Her hair was smooth and glossy, her skin clean and fresh.

  “They would not be specifically after you,” he said, touching her cheek with the back of his index finger. “Perhaps they’ve gotten brave because the house has been empty for so long. Maybe they found a few morsels to eat around here when I left and came back to look for more.”

  She stepped away from him, turned and went to the fire. She used the poker to move a slipped log onto the embers.

  Something had changed about her, he wasn’t sure what. It was as if she were calmer, more resigned to being in his home.

  He stepped back outside and retrieved several things from the wagon. Marching back indoors, he dumped a pile of clothes onto the table. “Here. Burn your old ones.”

  She turned. “What?”

  “The clothes you came in. They are old and ragged. Here are new ones, new und
ergarments too.”

  She set down the poker and walked over to the bundle of material. “But—”

  “Do as you’re told, slave. And when these clothes wear out, I will get you more, that’s the way it is. I will look after you, even if you vow to hate me.”

  Her gaze settled on his face.

  He wondered if she’d deny hating him.

  “And this,” he said when it was clear she was to remain silent on the matter, “is only just old enough to be away from his mother, so he will need caring for.” From within his tunic, he produced a tiny gray kitten. It had one black ear, and had meowed for the first half of the journey until it had fallen asleep against his chest.

  “A kitten!” A smile tugged at her lips.

  “Yes, for the mice problem we have.”

  “Oh, he’s lovely.”

  Halvor passed the kitten over. He was light as a feather, his fur as soft as silk.

  Duna took him single-handedly and cupped him beneath her chin. Her smile widened and softness grew in her eyes.

  Halvor drank up the sight of her. When she wasn’t frowning she was incredibly beautiful. Her eyes were the shape of almonds, her lips soft and full, and her hair looked perfect for running his fingers through. “What will you call him?”

  “I can pick a name?” She ran her jawline over the kitten’s fur as if she couldn’t get close enough.

  “Aye, go ahead.”

  “Hmm…” She frowned a little. “Misty, for he’s the color of the sea mist when it rolls toward my island at dawn.”

  “I hope Misty will soon learn to love the taste of mice.”

  “I’m sure he will, but he’s too little for that now.”

  “I have buttermilk on the wagon. Get dressed…” He paused; he liked the thought of her naked beneath the blanket. He’d enjoy another look at her buttocks to assess if his shoe marks remained. And he’d like to set eyes upon her breasts again, see if the cool morning air had peaked her pale nipples. He clenched his fist. It was tempting to tug the blanket from her and feast on her naked body. She was his, after all.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For bringing Misty.”

  He flexed his fingers to rid them of the need to act. Stealing her blanket away, and instructing her to turn a full circle for his perusal, would wipe the softness from her features, he’d bet coins on that. “He’s for practical purposes.”