Vanquishing A Viking

by Nancy Dillman

  “Shut up!” he barked, crushing her legs to his chest. “Now you will have your second lesson in how to be a slave.”

  He ducked through the door and carried her toward a nearby outbuilding that belched smoke through a hole in the sod roof. She continued fighting, pounding on his back with both fists, but she might as well have been beating a brick wall.

  He booted open the door and stooped to enter. A burly, red-bearded blacksmith was at his forge, plying his bellows to keep the glowing charcoal hot.

  “Take the collar, Olav. I dare not let her go.”

  The blacksmith put down his bellows and took the hinged collar from Stein’s hand.

  “Please, don’t put that thing on me,” she cried, trying to wriggle free.

  “Stop your complaining, woman.” Stein looked at the smith. “Go ahead, Olav. I’ll keep her feet still, but you'd best restrain her hands.” He turned his back, giving Olav easy access to her.

  “She’s a live one,” Olav chuckled. Seizing her wrists, he tied them together with a long leather cord, then opened the iron collar and fastened it around her neck. "Where did you find her?" He reached for his tongs and pulled a glowing red-orange rivet from the forge.

  “Stein, please, let’s talk,” she pleaded, trying to free her legs. “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me how you can do this after last night. I don’t understand.”

  He smacked her backside. “You don’t have to understand. Your obedience is all that is required.”

  “You creep!” she spit out.

  The blacksmith approached, the red-hot rivet clasped in his tongs. Her skin crawled as he inserted it into the hole formed by the overlapping ends of the ring and tapped it into place.

  Pain rippled over her skin from the now-heated iron ring. "It’s burning me!”

  “Shut up!” barked the blacksmith. “It’s not burning you! It's just a bit warm." He pulled a large rag from a water-filled basin on the table and applied it to the collar, wringing it out and repeating until the metal cooled.

  Her eyes filled with tears. Stein’s heartlessness was beyond comprehension. In the space of half an hour, she’d been shorn and collared like an animal, her human dignity annihilated. How could he treat her like livestock after last night? When they’d made love, he’d been tender and considerate. She even hoped he’d begun to like her, maybe even care for her a little. She was obviously mistaken. He meant only to use her for his own pleasure, just like Sven Nydahl.

  “I’ll never forgive you for this,” she snarled. “You don't own me, you know, and I won’t blindly obey you like a trained dog.” By now most of the blood had rushed to her head, but she was so angry, she didn’t pass out.

  “You’ll obey me, all right. You’re a slave, my slave, and you’ll do whatever I command.” Keeping her firmly imprisoned in his arms, he turned toward the door. “Thank you, Olav,” he said over his shoulder.

  “You’re welcome, Stein. Any time.” The blacksmith laughed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full with that one.”

  Stein turned around. “Not for long, if she doesn’t learn her place,” he replied. “Maybe you’d like to give her a try, my friend?”

  The blacksmith chortled. “Not on your life.”

  Esme was blind with outrage. How dare he offer me to another man? Her throat seized up, rendering her speechless. It didn’t matter anyway. More talk wouldn’t change his mind.

  "I'll ask again after I break her in, eh, Olav?"

  Damn him! She meant no more to him than a good horse or cow. Just when she’d begun to like the bastard, really like him, he pulls a stunt like this. Well, that’s it. Any feelings she may have had for Stein Magnuson were gone, smashed to smithereens in the blacksmith’s forge.

  She blinked away her tears. She couldn’t let him see her cry or he’d think he’d ‘cowed’ her into submission. Well, she’d show him. He could damn well sleep by himself from now on.

  He didn’t say a word to her on the way back to the house, which was fine with her. He kicked open the door with a bang and ducked inside, nearly knocking her head against the carved lintel.

  Ulla looked up from her fish cleaning. “What happened? I heard her yelling the whole time.”

  “She was being obstinate again.” Stein dumped Esme on the sheepskin-covered bench that ran along the side of the longhouse. “You’ll stay here until I require you.”

  Ulla stood next to the fire, her brow deeply furrowed. “You will have to do something about this, son. I need help around this house, and I don’t have time to deal with a difficult slave.”

  Esme was nearly apoplectic with rage and disappointment. Electrical impulses zapped through her brain like wayward lightning, obliterating all rational thought. Her emotions were so raw and damaged, she could barely form a coherent sentence.

  “I...I hate you,” she stammered. “You’ll never to...touch me again.” She yanked on the collar with her bound hands. “Take it off!”

  He stood over her, his face like a thunder cloud, full of anger and dark emotion. “No, I won’t." He pulled out his dagger and cut her leather binding. "And, for the last time, you will call me ‘master!’” He turned on his heel and stomped through the door, yanking it shut with a bang.

  “I hate you,” she shouted after him. Her fingers fumbled over the collar, the metal still warm. She found the rivet and pushed it with everything she had, but it wouldn’t budge. “Damn you, Stein.” Her voice cracking with emotion, she fought back tears.

  Ulla’s face was grim. She glared at Esme as she sat down to resume her fish filleting.

  “Do not curse my son. He is only doing what has to be done. You are his property. Remember that.”

  “I’m not a slave.” Esme slammed her fists onto the sheepskins. Hot, salty tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. “I just want to go home.” Would this be her life from now on? Drudgery and deprivation, humiliation and treachery?

  And she did feel betrayed. She’d been a fool to think last night meant anything to him. Naïve, little Esme, the first-class hick from Minnesota. He’d taken her to Heaven, then put a collar on her.

  Why did all this insanity have to happen to her? What did she ever do to deserve this? All she wanted was to go home and take care of her dad and Mr. Darcy. Where was that damned light vortex when she needed it?

  *****

  She must have fallen asleep because it was dark outside when she came to. She combed her fingers through her short, uneven hair and ran her hand over the iron slave collar. No, it hadn’t been a nightmare. It was all too real.

  Ulla sat next to the fire pit, peeling root vegetables and feeding them into an iron pot suspended over the flames. The contents bubbled happily, giving off an interesting, if fishy, aroma.

  “So, you’re awake,” she said flatly.

  Esme sat up. “Yes, unfortunately.”

  The older woman snorted. “It doesn’t look so bad,” she said, pointing at Esme’s hair with the paring knife. “And you’ll get used to the collar.”

  “I doubt it. Where is he? Busy turning little kids into trolls?”

  Ulla gave her a puzzled look. “He’s having supper with his half-brother, Erik. He’s in a foul temper, so I’m glad he’s not here. You and I shall sup alone tonight.”

  “Why is he in such a bad mood? He didn’t get half his hair hacked off, and he doesn’t wear one of these.” She pulled on the collar.

  “My son is used to getting his way, and you defy him at every turn.” She raised her eyebrows. “I suggest you change your attitude. Then, there will be peace for all of us.”

  “I don’t see how I can. Not after this.”

  “You had best curb your will, girl,” she said, whittling away at a turnip, “or you will come to regret it.”

  “I already regret waking up this morning.” Esme sucked on her lower lip. “Am I expected to obey you, as well?”

  “Of course. I will be fair, but if you do not do as I say, Stein will see to your punishment.�
��

  “Great.” Esme swung her legs over the side of the bench. “I think it’ll be easier to follow your orders than his.”

  “That may be so. He’s not good with female slaves.”

  “Really? You could have fooled me,” Esme sneered.

  “See? That is what I mean.” She pointed her knife at Esme. “That is the attitude that makes him crazy. If you change, he will change. It’s very simple.”

  “Really?”

  “He hasn't always treated women harshly, but he has his reasons.” She cut the turnip into small chunks and tossed them into the boiling water. “There, we’ll let this simmer for a while, and then we’ll eat.”

  Esme stared at the floor. Why was this happening to her? Surely she’d been thrust into this bizarre situation for a reason. Or was the universe just playing a cruel joke at her expense?

  Ulla studied her. “What kind of name is Esme?”

  “My full name is Esmeralda, but that’s kind of long. I chose ‘Esme’ when I was a child.”

  “It's unusual, but it suits you.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “You are angry with him now, but that will change.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Tonight, when he takes you to his bed, you’ll be willing once again.”

  Esme didn’t reply. Being truthful with Stein’s mother might not be such a good idea.

  Ulla sensed her discomfort. “Speak your mind, Esme. Secrets are not healthy in such close quarters.”

  If Esme kept her feelings bottled up, she’d explode.

  “Well, I won’t go to his bed voluntarily, that’s for sure. Right now, I don’t want to be in the same room with him.” That was an understatement.

  “You’ll change your mind. He’s a very handsome man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but that hardly makes up for his boorishness.” She warmed to the subject. “When we were still in Túnsberg, I thought there was some compassion in him, but I was wrong. He’s demanding, insensitive, rude and inconsiderate. And he doesn’t like women very much, does he?”

  “It’s more a matter of trust. He has no faith in women, except for me.”

  “Well, only a mother could love such a tyrant.”

  “Be careful how you speak of him,” Ulla said. “He may be a bit severe, but he’s my son, my little boy.”

  Esme laughed at that one. “Excuse me, little boy? I don’t think so.”

  Ulla stirred the pot a few times. “If you’ve never had a child, then you can’t possibly understand.”

  Esme softened her tone. “I suppose not. I’m sure you didn’t raise him to be such a brute.”

  “No, I did not. But circumstances change and we react, not always in the best way.”

  “Will you tell me about him?”

  “Yes, while we eat.” She waved Esme to the table. “We’ll start with bread and butter. The fish stew won’t be ready for another few minutes.” She took a seat across from Esme and sliced an oblong loaf of dark bread into thick slices.

  Esme eagerly grabbed one and smeared the soft, pale butter over it with the back of her spoon. She took her first bite. It was delicious.

  They munched on the bread and butter for several minutes in sociable silence. Then Ulla stopped eating and placed her elbows on the table. “How much did he tell you about himself? About us?”

  “Hardly anything.”

  “Then I shall tell you a little. Stein is my only living child, so I suppose I dote upon him and fail to see his shortcomings. He has never been very good at judging women, I’m afraid.” She stared at Esme, her mouth turning down. “That applies to you, too.”

  Esme didn’t reply, just played with her spoon, avoiding Ulla’s gaze. No use antagonizing his mother as well.

  “His father, Magnus Svenson, is our chieftain. He is a great jarl, with many farms and men under his command. He is a formidable raider and has led many forays into Scotland and Ireland.”

  “Stein has gone with him?”

  “Oh, yes. Stein is also a great warrior. Like his father, he is fierce and courageous in battle. They will both enter Valhalla someday.” She sighed. “And, like his father, he is not always good with women.”

  “You don’t say,” Esme said sarcastically under her breath.

  “I am Magnus’s concubine,” Ulla went on, “so that makes Stein his bastard. Magnus has several concubines and a wife, Gudrun.”

  “Ah, Gudrun. She who wants the bracelet?”

  Ulla leaned forward. “Yes. It was a gift from Magnus, and I shall never give it up.”

  “Good for you. I’m sure you deserve to have it.”

  Ulla nodded. “Only Gudrun and I reside here. His other women are scattered amongst his other farms. We have all born him children, but only Erik is his legitimate heir. Stein has several bastard half-brothers, but they live elsewhere.”

  “Stein told me he was married once. I was surprised, since I can’t imagine any woman putting up with him. Did his wife divorce him?”

  Ulla pursed her lips and shook her head slowly, as if it weighed a ton. “No. Margit died six months ago at the hands of Magnus.”

  Esme dropped her spoon, horrified. “What? His father killed her? What kind of man could do that do his own daughter-in-law? It was an accident, surely.”

  “In a way.” Ulla got up to check the pot.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Magnus Forkbeard is a man of tremendous appetites and little restraint. He wanted Margit for himself and, conniving bitch that she was, she was willing to do anything to curry favor with him. They became secret lovers.”

  Esme felt numb. No wonder Stein was so messed up. “Oh, my goodness. How did she die?”

  “Magnus accidentally strangled her while they were having intercourse. He cut off her air supply, trying to enhance her release, or some such thing.” She gave Esme a wry look. “He cut it off too well, apparently.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of that,” Esme said, trying to understand how Stein could let such a thing happen. “Oxygen deprivation.”

  Ulla frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Sorry.” Esme waved a dismissive hand. “Where was Stein while this was going on? He must have known they were having an affair.”

  “He was here, lying in his bed,” Ulla angled her head toward the back of the house, “recovering from a severe wound to his shoulder. It had become inflamed, and he was quite delirious with fever.”

  “Yes, I saw the scar last night.”

  “An Irish spear hit him on Magnus’s last raid. He was in and out of consciousness for over a week and didn’t know Margit had betrayed him until the day she died.”

  Esme grappled with the implications of the double betrayal. What kind of woman had Stein married? And what kind of father could hurt his own son so cavalierly?

  “How awful. What did he do?”

  “He went crazy, but Erik and I finally calmed him down.” Ulla looked skyward. “May the goddess help him. He hates his father and would kill him if he could.”

  “But he can’t?”

  “He won’t. Magnus’s death would split the clan into two warring factions, and I’m afraid our side would not win.” Ulla buttered another slice of bread. “Revenge is never a simple matter.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Esme sighed, absentmindedly fiddling with her slave collar. “Will he ever remarry, do you think?” Why had she asked that? It's not as if she'd ever entertain such an outlandish notion.

  “I doubt it. He’s shown no desire to do so and frightens off any woman who shows an interest in him.”

  Esme snorted. “I can believe that.”

  Ulla laughed. “He certainly doesn’t need a wife to satisfy his lust. He takes a bed slave most every night.”

  A bolt of jealousy shot through Esme like a harpoon. “Every night?”

  Ulla scrutinized her, her expression a mixture of sympathy and resignation. “Like most men, he prefers a variety of women, but you are not like the others. I think he’ll
forgo them for a time.”

  “Until he tires of me.” Oops! Apparently her subconscious was willing to sleep with him again. A thought flitted through her brain. Maybe she could bargain with him: sex for the removal of her collar.

  Ulla nodded knowingly. “That is what men do, I’m afraid.”

  Esme nervously played with her spoon. She liked Stein’s forthright mother, and the feeling seemed to be mutual, at least on the surface. If Esme ever needed an ally, Ulla might be it.

  “What will happen to me then?”

  “He’ll give you to his half-brother and his cousins. He may also send you to one of Magnus’s other farms for a time.” She arched her eyebrows. “Sharing bed slaves is the custom.”

  Esme shuddered. She’d run away before she’d let anyone else lay a hand on her. “That’s disgusting. Aren’t there any faithful men here or do they all cheat on their wives?”

  Ulla slanted her head, a look of confusion on her face. “I don’t understand. In your land the men sleep only with their wives?”

  “Well, not always, but it’s frowned upon to stray.”

  Ulla rested one elbow on the table. “That is not the Norse way. Our men sleep with their female slaves, concubines, wives...it’s all the same to them.”

  They ate in silence while Esme contemplated a world in which women had so few options. As her thoughts naturally wandered to Stein, she stared at the fire, lost in reflection.

  “What is it, girl? You may tell me.” Ulla sounded sincere.

  Esme decided to confide in her. “Last night was special. Stein was tender and caring, the perfect lover.” Her eyes grew moist, but she’d be damned if she'd shed one measly tear for the bastard.

  “He was tender and caring?” Ulla’s voice rose in surprise. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps there is hope for him yet.”

  “That was last night. Since we’ve been here, he’s treated me worse than a rabid dog.”

  Ulla snorted. “If you were a rabid dog, he would have killed you.”

  Esme looked up. A tear spilled over and crawled down her cheek. Damn it! She quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  Ulla’s expression gentled. “You are hurt.”