Stolen Fruits: The Complete Collection (A Historical Viking Erotic Romance Novella)

by Ashley Spector

  Stolen Fruits: The Complete Collection

  Ashley Spector

  Copyright 2013 by Ashley Spector

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  Published by Forbidden Fruit Press

  Smashwords Edition

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  The day the raiders came, I was out in the woods, minding my little sister and gathering late berries to bring to the headwoman of the kitchens. My mother had told me to take my sister as far away from the hold; at nine years old, she was an almost overactive child, always underfoot and getting in the way of the chores. My other siblings were all brothers, so it fell to me to take care of her and distract her when mother was working.

  I had decided to head back towards the hold with Ingrid, my sack full of berries and Ingrid’s energetic play finally wearing her out enough to ensure that she might play quietly. Turning back on the path back towards the village and my family’s hold, I heard the shouting. I hurried out of the woods, Ingrid trailing behind, and stopped short. At least half of the houses in my village were on fire, and I could just make out riders among the crazed, harried people of my village. The late morning sunlight glinted dully off of their helmets and swords. Ingrid stopped next to me, panting heavily from running to keep up. “Hilda, what’s happening?” she asked. I bit my lip, watching the chaos unfold.

  “Hush, Ingrid,” I told her, reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist. I could smell smoke from the fired buildings. I was torn; part of me thought I should be rushing to my home, seeing if my parents and brothers were okay. Another part of me watched the chaos in utter terror, hearing the screams of the villagers being attacked.

  “Mama, we have to go to mama!” Ingrid wriggled free of my grip and ran away down the hill. Cursing her childish stupidity, I ran after her. Ingrid had reached the edge of the village when I caught her, pulling her to me and not even caring about hurting her arm as I did.

  “Ingrid!” I shouted at her, “Those are raiders! You should have stayed behind!” Ingrid began to cry.

  “But mama, we have to see if she’s okay,” Ingrid wailed. She struggled to get away from me, but I kept yanking her back to my side, looking around me. I heard the screams of the women in my village, the shouts of the men—and the rough voices of the raiders.

  “You stupid child,” I hissed at my little sister. “Run back to the woods. I’ll check on mama.” Ingrid looked up at me with her bright green eyes watery from tears.

  “I want to go with you,” she insisted, setting her jaw in a way that told me she would be obstinate; I didn’t have the time to reason with her or threaten her into obedience. I sighed.

  “Only if you don’t let go of my hand,” I told her firmly. Ingrid nodded, accepting the caveat. “If you let go of my hand, I’ll just let the raiders take you if they want you.” She gulped and nodded again. I took a deep breath, inhaling the smoke from fired houses. I would have to be brave for both of us, so that Ingrid wouldn’t panic and flee directly into the raiders’ swords.

  We hadn’t been raided before, but one of the neighboring villages had been, the previous year. Mother and Father had told me that if it came to it, to try and stay out of the village if I had a choice. Perhaps, they had said, if I wasn’t visible, I would escape the carnage. The raiders, who called themselves Vikings, sometimes destroyed villages whole and sometimes just took what they wanted and left. If we were lucky, my parents said, it would be the latter for us. If we were unlucky, and I wasn’t in the village when the raiders came, staying away would at least keep me alive. I could try and return after the Vikings left, and see what I could salvage—who was still alive—and at the worst I could go to another village with what I had.

  But it was one thing to accept these instructions from my parents when the threat of the raiding Vikings was distant and abstract. It was another thing entirely to run after my sister, who didn’t have enough sense to stay away, and to know that she wouldn’t see reason. I kept Ingrid and I as hidden as possible as we made our way, keeping to the sides of buildings, moving us away from the worst of the noise. My heart was pounding with terror, but I kept my face calm, my movements slow. If I gave in to panic, I’d run us both right into the Vikings, and we’d likely both be killed. I had to protect Ingrid.

  We finally found our house among the smoke—the raiders were saving it, I suppose. I frantically gestured for one of the servants to take Ingrid; one of my father’s bondsmen grabbed her and put his hand over her mouth to muffle her indignant and panicked screams as he carried her into the house. I was about to follow when I heard an arrow whistling in the air and started to jump aside. It caught the hem of my dress and pinned it to the ground.

  “You there!” a rough voice called behind me. I bit my lip and took a deep breath, gathering all of my courage. “Wench! Where do you think you’re going?” I turned slowly in the direction the words were coming from and stood tall.

  “I think that I am going into my house,” I said proudly. I reached down and grabbed at the arrow firmly, pulling it up out of the dirt, though it was still stuck in my hem. “Is this yours, sir?” I made myself look what would probably be my death in the face. The man was tall, with long, unkempt hair and a grizzled beard showing out from under his helmet. He was heavy with muscle, and he strode towards me like a man accustomed to inspiring fear and respect.

  “It is, wench. Who are you?” My sense of panic had subsided enough for me to recognize that the man was addressing me in my own language—with a thick accent, but his words were understandable.

  “My name is Hilda,” I said, “My father is the leader of this village.” The Viking scoffed, coming still closer to me. He was on foot, but looking at the way he swaggered, I thought that was probably because he wanted to deal out his carnage up close—his horse was probably waiting for him elsewhere. Or, if by some twist of fate he had been thrown, he would just steal one of ours.

  “Oh is he?” The Viking was within arm’s reach of me suddenly. He pulled the arrow out of my gown in a fast movement, ripping the hem. “Good pickings here, lady,” he told me with a toothy grin, his icy blue eyes mocking me. “I believe we could profitably raid your little patch of dirt a few times a year.” I felt my legs trembling, but made myself stand straighter.

  “Because you cannot grow your own food, or make your own goods, you have to plunder and rape and pillage and steal. Your kind are utterly despicable.” He laughed again and grabbed my face in his rough hand, turning my head this way and that to get a good look at me.

  “You’re a likely wench. Got any sisters in that big house?” I swallowed my sense of panic at the question.

  “Why do you ask, sir? Are you interested in r
aping children as well?” He cuffed me hard across the face, almost knocking me to the ground. I made myself straighten and stared at him.

  “Men!” he called out, not tearing his gaze from me as he turned his head slightly. “There are riches here ripe for the taking!” I heard a shouted return, and I realized that he meant for them to come and plunder my own home, maybe even set fire to it. They would take my brothers as slaves—kill my father. And what would happen to the servants? To my mother? To me? I had to think quickly. I had to find some way to prevent it.

  I thought of the predictable nature of men; they always reacted—one way or another—to a woman in distress. I let myself sway on my feet, fluttering my eyelashes and making a low whimpering sound. I let my body sag and pretended to faint away. The man moved to grab me—though I am certain not to help me—and I grabbed for his sword as his grip on it loosened. I tugged at it sharply and got at it while the man was still reacting to my pretend faint. I turned it on him.

  “You’ll call them off right now or I’ll kill you,” I told him harshly, staring him down. I wasn’t sure I could do it, but with the screams of my friends and servants and family in my ears, I thought I could at least try to. “And then your men will see you were killed by a village girl and they’ll go back and tell everyone, won’t they?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Go back!” he called out to them. “There’s nothing here worth taking.” I kept the point of the sword on him, watching him as I heard the shouts fading slightly. My mouth was dry, my legs trembling so badly I knew I couldn’t keep up my courage for much longer.

  “I want you to call off the raid right now.” He shook his head, smiling slightly at my demand. “I can still kill you, Viking man.” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “What terms do you offer me for stopping them? It will have to be something more worthy than my life.” I thought about it.

  “What do you want?” The Viking laughed.

  “If I’m to go back to my chieftain, I’ll have to show something for the effort. Perhaps you have a servant or two I can bring him to warm his bed?” I forced down the urge to shudder. The idea of any of our serving folk going to a barbaric raider chieftain was abhorrent. They were servants—they weren’t slaves to be traded. I had to think quickly.

  “Is this chieftain of yours married?” I asked. “I will not give you any of my people as a slave.” The Viking grinned.

  “He is unwed, wench.” I glanced up—quickly—at my home. I had to keep my siblings, my parents, our servants safe. I had to stop this raid, if I could.

  “What value would a wife for your chieftain be?” The Viking looked at me for a long while. He smiled slowly.

  “A wife who would snatch a sword out of a man’s hands? Valuable, if you can bring a dowry with you.” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. I should have been married years ago. My parents had kept putting it off—there was no suitable match for me, my father said. My parents had the goods to give me a dowry.

  “You get your raiders to stop, and I will consent to marry your chieftain. And you can negotiate my dowry with my parents yourself.” The man looked me over again. He laughed, but I could see respect in his eyes.

  “I will be back here by nightfall,” he told me. “If you think you’ve made a bargain with a fool, you’ll find out that you’re mistaken.” He stepped back from me a few paces and then went off, shouting orders at his men.

  The Vikings went back to their ships gradually, and I heard the sounds of the chaos slowly diminish as the day wore on. I had told my parents what I had done as soon as I had gotten into the house. My mother had been appalled. “How could you do it?” she asked me. “You should have—”

  My father saw to the heart of it immediately. “Should have let him kill her? Or take her as a slave? Our Hilda was very brave today. And the Vikings are out of the village. The man may not come back this evening, but if he does, then we must deal with him. Hilda is old enough to be a wife, and if it means that our village will be protected from future raids… Hilda, are you sure?” he asked me. Apart from the eldest of my brothers, I was my father’s favorite. He said that I had inherited his sense and my mother’s beauty.

  “It was the only deal I could make, father. Perhaps it won’t be so bad.” I gulped down ale, trying to soothe my parched throat. “You will have to send me off with a much finer dowry than you probably thought to get away with.” I gave my father a rueful smile.

  That evening, as the sky softened and darkened, the Viking arrived at our door. My father met with him immediately, offering him ale or wine.

  “Your daughter is a fool,” the Viking told my father, “but a brave one. What have you to send her off with?” My father opened the chest that my mother had prepared. In it there were bolts of cloth, fine jewels and crafts, a richness of objects and curiosities that my parents had hoarded for the eventual day of my marriage. The Viking grunted his approval.

  “If he decides to take her,” he said, sipping his ale, “he will send you back a proportionate bride price in return. My chief is of the old teachings in this matter. If he doesn’t want her, she’ll be a slave for four years to earn her passage back.” My father nodded slowly. I watched the two of them, thinking that there really wasn’t any choice in the matter. I had to please this man’s chief when I was presented to him. I understood the subtext; if I wasn’t accepted as a wife, then the deal was off, and the Vikings would come back to raid us again and again until there was nothing left to raid.

  My mother packed a separate chest with my personal goods, and the Viking took me away from my home. I fought against the urge to look back one last time—if I did, I would cry, and I could not look weak in front of this man. I took out his sword before we arrived at his ship. “I should give this back to you,” I said dully. He laughed.

  “Wench,” he told me, “you will learn fast. What a Viking wins in combat, a Viking keeps.” I managed to smile at the statement. I wondered if I had bargained too little—or if I had made a wrong judgment in thinking that these men would keep to their bargain.

  We arrived at the ship, an enormously long, shallow boat. The Viking called for my things to be packed, separated from the plunder. “This woman goes to the chieftain,” he told them. “To make sure she doesn’t get second thoughts, put her in chains.” I struggled, but the men surrounding me were too strong. They clamped irons on my ankles and wrists and pushed me along the galley until I came to the cramped space where I would be sleeping. I sank down among the rushes that made up my bed on the boat and closed my eyes, still determined not to cry.

  Chapter Two

  I was terrified. I stood outside of the chieftain’s big, long house—the house looked exactly like one of the boats—and waited for my turn to be presented to the man. I bit my lip against frightened tears, telling myself to be strong. I thought I had already resigned myself to my fate, but I felt my heart pounding. In order for this man to be the chieftain of the brutal raiders who had found my village, he had to be the most brutal, didn’t he? Probably he was old, had been in many battles and skirmishes—and was probably wrinkled like a prune, with bad teeth and scars from his battles. I would have to deal with whatever he was, I told myself, standing taller. I reminded myself that I had done this to save my family and what remained of my village. Ingrid would be spared because of my sacrifice. My little brothers wouldn’t be needlessly slaughtered, my mother wouldn’t become a slave, my friends and fellows in the village could take care of their wounded and return to their normal lives. What was my happiness in comparison to all of that?

  Then, while my mind was wandering, the men holding me started to pull me forward, into the smoky gloom of the long house. I heard the chains on my ankles rattle against the stone floor as I pushed their hands off of me and strode—as much as I was able—into the building and out of the cold. I reminded myself to stand up straight, to be strong. I forced myself not to look at any man in particular as I walked farther into the building. The raiding parties
’ leaders were all here—those who had reported back, at any rate—and I could feel their gazes on me. I raised my head, swallowing down my fear.

  “This is the girl,” the leader was saying, and a spear appeared in front of me, stopping me a few feet from where the chieftain was seated. “I’m not sure if she’s a fool or a worthy mate for you. She’s attractive enough.” The leader pulled on my hair, and I fell onto my knees, trying to keep my face from betraying the pain from the impact with the hard stone. “Greet your new husband, wench,” the leader hissed at me. I took a deep breath, steadying my voice, blinking away the tears that stung my eyes. I finally turned my gaze onto the man seated in front of me, my betrothed.