Conquered Shores

by Brooklynn Rivers

  With one loud click of the lock, Shannon felt her freedom vanish, carried off by the Irish winds. Forever. Faced with a nightmare, she glanced up and glared at the barbarian that had captured her, wishing she could have one more shot at him. Her jaws clenched rigidly, her body stiffened.

  “Guard this one closely, Magnus,” Ravenshield said, leading her to another warrior, “She’s a fighter.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Magnus growled, bending down to get a better look at her, showing a set of rotten teeth, “With any luck Ravenshield will sell you to me.”

  Shannon dropped her eyes and shivered. She prayed for a miracle. For deliverance. It was devastating enough watching her village go up in flames, but having to submit to this baldheaded beast would be too much to handle. With terror in her heart, she sighed heavily and fought the urge to cry.

  Do not do it, she thought. This was not the time to show weakness. She couldn't let them know they had won.

  In spite of it all, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to hold back, the floodgates opened and large teardrops raced down her face. With danger lurking in her future, Shannon hung her head and sobbed.

  Chapter 3

  Several raiders forced Shannon and the others down to the shoreline. As she trudged through the sand, the yoke rubbed against her collarbone, weighing her down. Each step caused her head to pound harder and harder. The chains around her wrists and ankles rattled continuously.

  “Halt!” a Viking barked.

  Shannon froze when she reached the top of the dune. Her heart filled with terror as she peered down to the water’s edge—a Viking warship bobbed up and down in the shallows. Several oarsmen were already on board preparing to set sail.

  “Proceed,” he barked, leading the prisoners down the hill in single-file.

  Stumbling down the embankment, Shannon looked up and saw the prow rise high above the drakkar. She trembled, seeing the dragon’s head looming overhead. Its red eyes glowed ominously, piercing through the darkness that blanketed her…

  Smoke poured from its snout. Horrible growls thundered through the air. The dragon raised its ugly head and snarled, gnashing its sharp teeth. Flames shot out of its mouth. It had come for her.

  Heat scorched her skin, melting it like candle wax. There was no escape. Fighting it was useless. This was the end. No more life—no more pain.

  “Get up,” a voice echoed through the darkness.

  “Release her.”

  “We have no room for the weak.”

  A loud click rang in her ears, and she suddenly felt as light as a cloud. Was she free?

  “An féidir leat siúl?”

  “What?” she asked wearily, regaining consciousness.

  “Can you walk?”

  The fog slowly lifted and she opened her eyes. Ravenshield had scooped her up in his arms and was carrying her toward the ladder. Her head hurt—her vision blurred.

  “Yes.”

  She was lowered down gently until both of her feet sunk into the sand. Although her knees were wobbly, she managed to stand up on her own. Her mouth was dry. Her head spun like a whirlwind.

  Suddenly she felt the cold irons encase her wrists once more. No, Shannon thought. She would do almost anything to keep from being shackled again.

  “Keep moving,” one of the soldiers said, pointing a gnarled finger to the drakkar.

  Shannon followed the others and waded into the shallows toward the boat. The cold water sent shivers through her body, chilling her to the bone. Two sailors grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up.

  “Start climbing,” one of the warriors growled, leading them to the ladder.

  Shannon sucked in a deep breath and reluctantly followed the others that boarded the ship. She watched each person disappear once reaching the top. The monster was swallowing them up, she thought.

  Then, it was her turn. Her heart filled with terror. Once she stepped onto the ladder, there would be no turning back. She took a deep breath and placed one foot on the rung, slowly ascending from the water. The chilly air whipped at her body. Sea spray peppered her face, the cold iron bled into her fingers.

  Shannon peered up and saw two armored Vikings waiting for her. There was no escaping this doom, she thought. Her fate had been sealed. As soon as she reached the top, the men hoisted her up by the arms and lowered her down on the planks.

  “File in.” A scraggly Viking pointed with his broadsword.

  She swallowed hard and shuffled down the hull. The rivets grazed across her feet, sending icy shards of fear through her. The narrow platform seemed to close in around her. Droplets of sea spray burned her face and stung her eyes. She followed the line of prisoners and crouched down at the other end of the ship.

  Shannon huddled next to them and watched several Vikings hoist the sails. Their corded muscles flexed as they pulled hard on the rigging. The thick ropes tightened, extending the woolen fabric over the mast.

  “The sea is bleeding,” she whispered, watching the crimson material flap wildly in the wind.

  Overwhelmed with despair, she turned away and tried not to cry. No one was coming to rescue them, she thought. Her life was forfeit. Nothing was left of her beloved village. Tears welled in her eyes, knowing that Uncle Neill and the others were forever lost. The memory of them would fade just like the faces of her father and mother had. All hope was gone.

  Suddenly, a strong wind whipped the drakkar into the ocean, whisking it up the coastline. She looked toward Ireland one last time, trying to remember Bennetraige as it had been before the Viking raid. It would be the last time she would see her village and she had to drink in as much of the landscape before it vanished. Forever.

  Tendrils of smoke snaked into the sky. The jutting peaks of the Blackstairs Mountains shrank in the distance. Soon Lochlan Cliff faded away. She craned her neck, desperately trying to catch one last glimpse before it disappeared.

  Within minutes, the waters turned choppy, tossing them to and fro. The longship flew up the coast, skimming the ocean quickly. A sharp breeze nipped at Shannon’s flesh, stabbed at her hands and feet. The cuffs around her wrists and ankles started to rub her skin raw.

  Then it started. The sound of drumbeats cut the air as a dozen or more oarsmen rowed on. Thump. Thump. Its steady drone slowly bored a hole through her skull. Each stroke seemed to slam against her head.

  Thump. Why do they have to keep doing that? It’s maddening. Thump. Blocking it out was impossible.

  The incessant droning grew louder. Pressure steadily built inside her head. She could hear her the thud of her heart match the drumbeats—thump, thump.

  Enough was enough. She could take no more. Tension started to boil over. Blood surged through her veins. Beads of sweat formed on her brow in spite of the cold breeze. Shannon lifted her head defiantly.

  Just go ahead and do it, she thought. Scream. She wanted to keep screaming until they stopped her. Those bloody barbarians were going to kill them all anyway. It’s best just to go on, and get it over with.

  Shannon closed her eyes and drew so much air that her lungs hurt. She arched her neck and started the countdown. Three, two, one…

  “Shannon,” a little voice whispered.

  She opened her eyes and looked around. “Braelin? Is that ye?”

  “Yes,” he replied, slithering up from underneath the bench.

  “Braelin,” she muttered, “Go back before they…”

  “Halt!” Magnus stood up and shouted.

  “Don’ hurt him,” Shannon said, “He’s just a boy.”

  “Shut up, wench,” he growled and snapped the whip.

  “Leave them be,” Ravenshield ordered, throwing a hand up.

  Magnus glared at her and pushed her head down. “Lower your eyes.”

  Shannon stared down at the planks as fear paralyzed her. She knew better than to defy the bald one. There was something about him that terrified her more than any of the others. His presence caused the hair on the back of her
neck to stand on end.

  She exhaled slowly and grabbed Braelin’s hand, cradling it in hers. At least the boy provided some comfort in spite of it all. Who knows what would become of them, she thought, lacing her fingers through his.

  “It’s so cold,” Braelin whispered, snuggling closer.

  “I know,” Shannon murmured, “Get closer to me.”

  Shannon glanced up and saw Ravenshield perched at the helm, cape flapping in the wind. He seemed larger than life, standing there like a statue. The chain maille and armor couldn’t hide the well-defined muscles that rippled underneath. His leather trews stretched over a set of powerful legs. This man was a true warrior, bred for battle.

  With one swift move, he removed the cloak and tossed it over to her. It landed in her lap, draping over her knees. She pulled Braelin closer and wrapped it around them.

  “Where’re they takin’ us?” Braelin whispered.

  “Dublin,” Ravenshield answered.

  Oh God, no. Shannon exhaled slowly as her heart sank further into despair. Dublin was one of the oldest Viking bases established in Ireland. Why did they have to sail there? With so many dark stories surrounding the town and slave trade, no one dared to cross into that territory. It was horrible to think of what would befall them once they reached port.

  “Dublin,” a voice sobbed softly, “All hope is lost.”

  “Don’ think that way, Caitlin,” Shannon whispered as she leaned in toward the young woman.

  “We’ll be sold as slaves,” she cried, holding her head in her hands.

  “No, we won’t,” Shannon continued, “We’ll find a way to get back to Bennetraige.”

  “Ye’re mad, Shannon,” Caitlin sniffed, “There is no goin’ back. Bennetraige is gone.”

  “Mark my words,” she vowed, gritting her teeth, “I’ll find my way back or die tryin’.”

  “Then ye better convince one of them to keep ye.” She nodded to Magnus and Ravenshield, “That’s yer only chance.”

  “There’s no reasonin’ with barbarians.”

  Caitlin turned to her and whispered, “Do whatever ye have to do, Shannon.”

  Shannon shot her a look knowing her virtue at stake. “I’m not sure if I can do that.”

  “Shannon,” Braelin whispered, leaning in toward her.

  “Keep yer voice down,” she muttered, “Don’ draw attention to us.”

  “He’s watching ye,” he said.

  “The bald one?” she asked, “The one called Magnus?”

  “No.”

  “Who?”

  “Ravenshield.”

  Shannon glanced up and caught him staring. Those piercing blue eyes blazed straight through to her soul. A few strands of light brown hair had escaped from the leather tie fastening his ponytail. Several long locks danced in the wind.

  “He’s got an eye for ye,” Caitlin muttered, “Do what ye must, Shannon. Just make sure ye don’ leave Dublin.”

  She looked out into the grey waters and sighed, “I’m nae sure that I can.”

  Chapter 4

  The drakkar skirted along the coastline, bobbing up and down the waves like driftwood. As the brisk wind carried Shannon northward skimming the shores of Arklow, she wondered how long they had before the Vikings would sell them off. Judging from the number of prisoners on the ship, they would profit more from the slave trade rather than bartering the few silver trinkets they had stolen.

  There had to be a way out of this mess, she thought, feeling her heart pound rapidly against her ribcage. Suddenly, Caitlin’s words echoed through her mind—He’s got an eye for ye. Do what ye must, Shannon. Just make sure ye don’ leave Dublin.

  No. Submitting to a Viking was too much to bear—she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her Irish pride was too strong to surrender. But what else could she do? It was either submit and live, or die trying to escape. The odds were stacked against her.

  Shannon leaned back and rested her head on the hardwood. A foreboding sigh escaped her lips as darkness closed in. Negotiating her virginity was not an option. There had to be another way.

  Wait. There was, but it would be risky. Once they reached land, she could escape into the wilderness and find her way back home. But how? Dublin was unchartered territory, and she had never ventured beyond Lochlan Cliff until now. It would be treacherous.

  If she could get out, then Shannon could hike back to Benntraige. It should not be that difficult. With any luck, she could return to Bennetraige and help rebuild the village. All would be right with the world once again, and her life would return to normal.

  Sadness curled her lips as reality set in. Who was she trying to fool? Returning to Bennetraige was nothing but a dream, a fantasy that would not come true.

  Don’t think about it, she said to herself. She had to stay strong and determined. No one was going to sell her into slavery. It would take more than this army of Vikings to break her.

  Maybe she could negotiate with the one called Ravenshield. He seemed to have more compassion than the rest. After all, he did lend her his cloak when she was cold. And he didn’t force himself on her in the hamlet.

  What was she thinking? She had to be losing her mind. He was just like the others—a ruthless conqueror that could never be trusted. A Viking.

  It seemed hopeless. Shannon swallowed hard and leaned against the damp timbers. If she had not returned to the village, then things would have turned out differently. No. She just had to go and play a hero. And what good did it do?

  Oh well, she thought. There’s no turning back now. It was time to face the truth and try to survive.

  “Land!” Magnus bellowed.

  Shannon craned her neck and saw Dublin's sandy beaches nestled against an overcast sky. Her stomach tightened. Dread washed over her watching the sailors steer the drakkar closer.

  Just take a deep breath and stay calm, she thought. Shannon couldn't get too anxious. She had to stay in control.

  After several warriors secured the ship, they gathered their weapons and turned to the prisoners.

  “Get up, you filthy dogs!” one of them shouted.

  Shannon rose from the bench and watched the others follow suit. The sharp sound of chains rattling broke the silence. It was time. She shuddered with each step drawing closer to the ladder.

  Magnus cracked a whip and glared at her. “Move on.”

  Shannon could almost feel the leather sting her flesh, shredding her nerves with each snap. The nightmare had begun. She climbed down the ladder one rung at a time. With one last step, her feet sunk into the sand.

  Thank God for solid ground, she thought, swishing up the dunes. Though she was on land, Shannon felt as if she was tossing and turning with the waves.

  “Shannon.” A soft voice called from behind her.

  “Be quiet, Braelin,” she whispered. “Do ye want us to get whipped?”

  “No,” he sniffed, shuffling up beside her.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I didnae mean to snap at ye.”

  “Where’re they takin’ us?” he asked.

  “I don’ know, but stay close to me.”

  Shannon and the boy marched down the hill toward a holding area just off the main settlement. She sucked in a deep breath and swallowed. Her heart thumped out of control watching two warriors guarding the gate. They were unlocking bonds and ushering the prisoners inside the slave pin.

  “Stop.” A voice rang out. Shannon looked up and saw Ravenshield standing in front of her.

  “What’s the trouble?” a guard asked.

  “This one is mine,” Ravenshield said.

  “But sire,” the guard started, “All slaves must wait here until the next ship sails.”

  Ravenshield stepped up and stood nose-to-nose with the guard. “Who do you think is in charge here?”

  The guard handed him the keys and stepped aside. “Forgive me, Lord Ravenshield.”

  “Turn around,” he commanded, jingling the key in front of her.

  Witho
ut a word, Shannon complied and heard the lock click open. Suddenly, the weight of the yoke lifted from her shoulders. She reached up and massaged her collarbone trying to relieve the dull ache left behind.

  “Give me your wrists,” he said softly.

  Shannon held out her arms and watched as he worked the key into the lock. She turned away feeling intimated by the way he towered over her. His chain maille glinted like fire in the sunlight. Every muscle rippled and flexed from under his tunic. He had to be a jarl, she thought as the shackles fell to the ground.

  He turned to the soldier next to him. “Put the boy with the others.”

  “What?” she asked. Panic brewed in the pit of her stomach.

  “Quiet,” Ravenshield snapped.

  He turned to the guard standing next to him and said something in Norse. Shannon didn't understand him, but her instincts whispered that something horrible was about to happen. She couldn’t stand there and allow them to hurt Braelin.

  “No,” she said, “Ye cannae do this. Let us go. Braelin, Braelin!”

  “Calm down.”

  “Leave him alone!”

  Ravenshield reached out and grabbed her arm. “You’re in no position to make demands here.”

  “Who do ye think ye are?”

  “Quiet,” he commanded. “You’re coming with me.”

  “No, I willnae go!”

  “You must learn your place.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told!” the soldier yelled, picking up Braelin by his shirt.

  “Don’ hurt him, he’s just a child!”

  “Stop!” Ravenshield boomed, “Put the boy down, Dagr.”

  “But, I…”

  “Enough,” Ravenshield barked.

  “Please,” she implored, “Let him stay.”

  Shannon stood still, waiting for a reply. The silence seemed to last forever. Could he ever show any compassion? She stared at him refusing to cower, standing strong in spite of his intimidation. He was trying to wear her down, testing her will.

  She watched his brow furrow. Tension grew thick in the air. They were locked in a heated battle, but she refused to back down.