The Viking's Captive

by Lily Harlem

  Halvor returned to the wagon. There was heat in his groin again. He’d taken Duna to be his slave, to do the woman’s work on his homestead. But he couldn’t deny there was something about her his body reacted to whenever they were close.

  Duna quickly joined him in unloading the wagon. She was dressed in a long-sleeved, dark green woolen tunic, with a v-shaped neckline and cinched in at the waist with an embroidered belt. Halvor was pleased with his choice.

  “Here,” he said. “Help me with this crate of hens.”

  “There’s so many.” She placed Misty down and quickly reached to do as instructed.

  Between them they lowered the crate to the ground. The hens clucked and complained; several feathers flew from the slats.

  “Be calm, ladies,” Halvor said. “You are at your home again.”

  He pulled their doorway free, and in a bluster, several hens rushed out.

  Duna reached for Misty and cuddled him close against the bare flesh below her throat. “Look at them.” She shook her head. “What strange hens.”

  Halvor frowned. “They’re only hens.”

  “They are so big, and white. I’ve never seen them like that.”

  “They’re good layers; we will have plenty of eggs. Their flesh is nice too, when they’re young. But I need a rooster; my farmer friend is getting one for me. I will have to go back.”

  “Today?” She glanced around, as if checking the hills for wolves.

  “No, not today. There’s much to do.” He shook the crate, encouraging the stragglers out. “And one of your jobs, each day, is to tend the hens. They have a coop in the barn, that’s where they’ll sleep at night.”

  “Away from wolves.”

  “Aye, and foxes. Always put them in the coop before dusk.”

  She said nothing; instead she stroked Misty and made a little cooing noise.

  “Duna.”

  Nothing.

  “Duna, do you hear me? Put the hens away before dusk, every night. If you are neglectful of this task, you will earn yourself another spanking.”

  She jerked her head up and stared at him.

  Ah, that got her attention.

  “Now put the kitten down and help me carry the wares into the longhouse.”

  “Yes… Master.”

  She did as he’d asked, and between them they carried his purchases from his farmer friend, Asmund, into the house. They stacked their supplies high, hoping to discourage mice, and Halvor placed the seeds on a wooden shelf.

  After he’d attended to Ivan and placed his wagon under shelter, he gathered more logs for the fire.

  Duna was sitting with the kitten on her lap. A small bowl of buttermilk lay at her feet; most of it appeared to have been drunk.

  “What are you doing, woman? There’s work to be done.”

  “You haven’t told me to do anything, Master.”

  His palm tingled. It was tempting to tip her over his lap again. “Go and fetch water, from the spring. And then make porridge, for I have brought fresh oats.”

  She placed Misty on the bed, stood, and reached for the pail.

  When she’d gone, he dragged the tin bath outside and upended it to drain the used water.

  “Ouch!”

  The sound of her squeal alarmed him and he spun around.

  She was sitting on the grass, near the stream, clutching her foot.

  “What is it?” He rushed to her side.

  “I have stood on something sharp.”

  He crouched down on his haunches to investigate. A ruby red drip of blood was growing on her heel.

  “Is there anything stuck inside?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  He clicked his tongue on the top of his mouth. “I should have brought you shoes.”

  “I can make myself some, if you have a hide and a needle and thread.”

  “You can do that?” He was surprised.

  “Yes.” She swiped at the blood. “For I am of little use outside the house without footwear.”

  “This is true.” He slid one arm behind her legs, the other around her waist, and stood, bringing her with him.

  “Halvor,” she gasped and clutched his tunic. “What are you doing?”

  “I do not wish for you to lose more blood. Until you’ve made your shoes, you will remain indoors.”

  He strode back to the longhouse, and once there, carefully set her on the chair. “Here.” He passed her a strip of hide, along with a knife and a needle and thread. “Set to work.”

  As Duna went about her task, Halvor made headway with his agricultural plans. His molder board plow was in good working order. His meadow would soon be ready for cutting down with his scythe and it would provide winter fodder for his animals. The vegetable patch was a tangle of weeds. But that wasn’t his problem; Duna would be responsible for that.

  In what seemed like no time at all, she appeared at his side, holding Misty and with neat leather boots on her feet.

  He stared at them. They were of fine quality. She was clearly an expert when it came to leather.

  “What would you like me to do, Master?”

  “You didn’t tell me you were talented at shoe making.”

  She smiled, just a little, and shifted her feet on the gritty earth. “In my village, everyone came to me for boots, saddles, leather tunics and bags. It’s my trade.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And a very useful trade.”

  She was quiet, then, “If you can get me tanned hides, I can make more, for you.” She paused. “It brings me pleasure to be creative.”

  “Does it?” He’d enjoyed the way she’d said the word pleasure. Would she ever willingly allow him to bring her pleasure?

  She nodded. “I’ll get the water now, and then make porridge.”

  “I have fencing to attend to.”

  As she walked away, he called to her. “Stay on the homestead, do not go into the hills or down to the lake on your own.”

  She didn’t reply. But he knew she’d heard; she wasn’t far away from him.

  He gathered nails and hammer and went to tend to a broken fence around the pasture. His sheep could eat that grass down before he drove them to higher land to graze. At this time of year, it would keep them busy for several weeks.

  He toiled for an hour, hammering and repairing. The sun heated his back, and he discarded his tunic as he began to sweat.

  The sheep were bleating in the barn; they were hungry after their journey. Raven lay in the grass sleeping and Halvor often thanked the gods for such a good dog. He was big enough to take on a wolf, as long as it was one on one, and he was as smart as a Viking when it came to caring for the flock. As long as Halvor saw to it he was fed well twice a day, Raven never let him down.

  He finished the fencing, then rolled out his shoulders and swiped at the moisture on his brow. He was in need of ale; as soon as he released the sheep into their pasture, he’d quench his thirst.

  Before he headed to the barn he glanced around, wondering if he’d see Duna. When they’d been unloading the wagon, he’d told her the vegetables would be her next task, and now that she had shoes there was no reason why she couldn’t start weeding and planting.

  He couldn’t see her.

  “Raven,” he said, clicking his fingers. “Come hither.”

  Raven jumped up and went with him to the barn, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling. His energy had been topped up after his rest.

  Halvor released the sheep, and with Raven’s help they were soon in the meadow.

  “Watch them,” he said to Raven in his native tongue. “Do not move.”

  Raven sat, back straight and eyes scanning his charges.

  Halvor ruffled the fur on his head. “Good boy.” Again he glanced at the vegetable planting area. If only his slave was as obedient as his dog.

  Entering the longhouse, he paused and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He’d expected to see Duna.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. “Where is she?�
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  He spotted Misty in a basket, curled up asleep. He strode to his barrel of ale, drank deep, quenching his thirst, then wiped at his mouth.

  He’d have to go and find her. Surely she hadn’t attempted to escape him.

  That thought tightened his belly and sent fear shooting through his heart. The land was beautiful, but danger lurked all around for a thrall on her own.

  Chapter Ten

  Duna drew the bunch of thyme to her nose and inhaled deep. It smelled divine and would go wonderfully with the fish she was about to catch.

  She’d got it into her head to make Halvor a fish meal, a non-burned one, to make up for the catch she’d ruined. His fishing line had been easy to locate, and the lake only a short distance away. In the light of day she’d felt bolder about the wolves; not only would she see them, she’d be able to call for her master to come to her rescue. It was worth the risk to eat a proper meal. Her stomach was so empty it felt hollow.

  She studied the landscape. It was different to home, but very pretty. Fertile and sun filled, with plenty of water, it wasn’t such a bad place to end up.

  Not that she’d be here forever. She’d made a vow to herself to get home, to her father, at the first chance she had.

  “What in Odin’s name are you doing, wench?”

  She started as Halvor’s voice boomed around the small cove bouncing off the large boulders then skimming over the lake. It echoed onto the opposite side of the valley, almost seeming to shake the trees there.

  She clasped her hand over her chest and gasped. “You scared me.”

  “I scared you!” He whacked his hands on his hips.

  His broad chest was bare, damp over his sternum, and the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the flesh straining over them. His breeches sat low on his hips, highlighting the packs of muscles in his abdomen and the dark blond hair that crept up from his groin.

  She turned back to the line. Her heart was thudding. He was clearly very unhappy about her trip to the lake.

  “I scared you,” he repeated. “There are many other things that might have scared you more. I told you not to leave the homestead, yet here you are.”

  “I wanted to catch a fish, Master.”

  “I have no care for what you wanted to do, you disobeyed me.” He stepped up close to her.

  The scent of fresh sweat, timber, and earth filled her nostrils.

  “Look,” he said, jabbing a finger at the sandy ground. “Wild boar have been here recently. Where would you go if they appeared now? They are not known for their friendliness.”

  She tore her attention from the animal prints. How had she not seen them? “Into the lake, that’s where I’d go.”

  “It’s very cold.” He gripped her chin and turned her to face him. “Though if you wish, if you do not believe me, I will strip you naked and throw you in.”

  She didn’t fancy that. There was no doubt about it; the water ran from the ice in the mountains. “No.”

  “No, Master.” He frowned.

  “No, Master.”

  “Do you not understand instructions, slave?”

  She looked away.

  “Do you not understand that disobedience will always be met with a punishment?”

  She glared up at him again. Punishment. Surely catching a fish for their meal didn’t deserve a punishment.

  “I cannot let this slip by,” he said. “We’re only on our second day as master and slave in my home. You’re learning, which makes it important for the lessons to be consistent.”

  “No, please,” she said, swiping her hand over her right ass cheek. It was still a little delicate from the day before. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry is not good enough. Your actions are the reason for my displeasure, so it stands to reason actions are what you must be met with.”

  She gulped. He was unforgiving, this Viking who’d stolen her away. Stubborn too. And what on earth did he mean to do to her this time?

  He’d made no move to take his shoe off. Instead a tendon flexed in his jaw as he surveyed her.

  A sudden tug on her line caught her attention.

  “Give that to me.” He snatched it from her. “And go and stand by that big rock.”

  She stepped back, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Perhaps now a fish had been caught he’d be more merciful. Her actions had provided something good for them.

  Expertly he pulled the fish in, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing. It was a big one, with shiny silver scales and a fat tail.

  He quickly unhooked it, then dropped it to the grass, along with the line.

  “Why are you not at the rock, slave,” he said, almost in a growl and his eyebrows pulling low.

  “I am.” Quickly she did his bidding. Fear washed through her. This was different to yesterday. Her second misdemeanor, and he was clearly determined to prove his point.

  * * *

  Halvor watched Duna move to the rock, her hips swaying beneath the new tunic dress.

  He was full of exasperation. Why had she not done as she’d been told? She’d risked herself by coming to the lake without telling him. How could he protect her if he didn’t know where she was? He’d vowed to protect her, and he was not a man who broke his word.

  She reached the rock and bowed her head, staring down at its smooth gray surface. “Can I ask you one thing?” she said, with a shake in her voice.

  “You may.”

  “Please, do not draw my blood.”

  Draw her blood? What did she think he was? A barbarian?

  “Of course not.”

  She turned to him, her pretty eyes wide, and her hair catching on the wind. “You won’t?”

  “No, Duna. I have no desire to see your blood, one drop on your heel is enough to last me a lifetime.”

  Her shoulders seemed to relax a little, though her small hands remained clenched.

  “I swear I will not spill your blood, slave,” he said, his voice a little softer, “but you must learn to obey me and know there are consequences when you do not.”

  “I understand that now, Master.”

  “Then this could be, and it’s in your hands, little Celt, your last punishment.”

  “Yes, Master.” Her eyes were a little glazed, as if filling with tears. “I just hope it doesn’t pain me too much.”

  His heart lurched. He didn’t want to bring her pain, but it was the way of masters and their thralls. She’d have to endure what he planned. There was no way around it.

  He stepped up close to her. A single tear was rolling down her cheek.

  He caught it on his thumb, then drew it to his mouth. It was warm and salty. “I will not give you more pain than you can bear.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “And when it’s over, it’s over, we’re on a clean slate. You will have learned your lesson and I will have forgiven you.”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He folded his arms, and was aware of her attention straying to his bare torso. Did his physique please her? Or was she looking at his muscles and hoping he wouldn’t unleash his full power on her? “Now it’s time for you to submit, Duna. Pull up your dress.”

  She hesitated.

  “You are making it worse for yourself.”

  She blinked rapidly a few times, swallowed, then tugged her dress up to her knees.

  “Higher than that, Duna. You know what I need access to.”

  Her expression was full of apprehension. He knew if he were to stoop and remove a shoe she’d be less nervous, at least she’d know what she was in for. But he didn’t want to use his shoe on her ass, not today.

  Her fingers were shaking as she raised the dress up to her waist.

  He took his time enjoying the way her new undergarment hugged her ass. “Now bend forward, both hands on the rock.”

  He was pleased when she did as he’d asked, without complaint or hesitancy.

  “Now push your bottom up, so I can get to it.” He placed his hand on the hollow
of her back, forcing it into a deep arch. “Up.”

  Her buttocks rose pleasingly. They were small but rounded, a good handful.

  “Master,” she gasped.

  “And your feet apart,” he said. “It will help you stay upright when the going gets tough. Lock your knees too.”

  She whimpered but did it.

  Halvor could wait no longer. He wanted her ass, his hands on it, and his gaze upon it. He wanted it pink, so pink she’d never leave the farm again without his knowledge.

  Gripping the waist of her undergarment, he dragged it down.

  She gasped and raised her head as her buttocks were exposed to the elements.

  “You have such a pretty ass,” he said, giving into temptation and running his right hand over it. “It’s almost a shame to have to punish it.”

  “Then don’t, Master.”

  “You know as well as I do that cannot happen.” Her flesh was so smooth and warm, his big hand dark and powerful in contrast to it. He’d have to be careful not to push her too far.

  “I’m going to start now,” he said after exploring her creamy buttocks and the tops of her thighs. “You should brace yourself.”

  She tensed further.

  His first spank wasn’t heavy; he’d rather err on the side of caution.

  She grunted and shifted forward.

  “Keep still,” he said, sliding his left hand up her back. He gathered her hair into a rough bunch and held it taut, so he had her exactly where he wanted her.

  He swatted her again, over the first spank.

  She hissed in a breath, but didn’t move this time.

  “That’s it, make me proud with how well you can accept a punishment, Duna. Make me proud.”

  I will always hate you.

  He frowned as her words came back to him. He slapped her again, the opposite cheek.

  She cried out.

  He wasn’t surprised; that one had hurt his palm. But it didn’t stop him and he delivered four more fast strokes, equally as sharp.

  “Master,” she gasped, going up onto her toes. “Please.”