The Valiant Viking

by Bambi Lynn

  He stirred her with a wicked pleasure she had never known. Her ire flared. All this she felt for him. This heathenous, murdering –

  “Sissy!” They turned as Wulf rushed through the door. Her modor trailed behind him. They stopped dead at sight of the naked man who stared back with equal astonishment.

  “You…you’re back.” She stepped away from Bloodhands, fiddling with her smock and trying to hide her guilt. “What news?”

  While her modor gave her a studied scrutiny, Wulf answered. “Rheda has returned.”

  “I know that, Wulf. Does she bring news or has she merely come to pay her brother a visit?” She tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice. From the corner of her eye, she took careful watch of her prisoner.

  Her modor joined the conversation. “Rheda is with William now. We waited outside their hut for news, but when William finally came out, he bade us gather everyone to the hall.”

  “Hurry!” Wulf rushed out again.

  “Wulf!” If he heard her call, he ignored it.

  Her modor nodded in the Viking’s direction. “What of him?” She let her eyes travel the length of him, then up again until their eyes met. She actually blushed.

  Kaylla almost felt…pride. Had another man ever looked so good? He stood there, gloriously naked. Power and authority radiated from him. She ignored her modor, drawn to him by her basest, most erotic needs. His casual stance belied his ability to satisfy those needs. A skill she suspected lurked behind his seductive gaze.

  She cleared her throat, effectively drawing her modor from his spell. “My modor, Edlyn.” He flashed her that lopsided grin. Was he flirting with her modor? The lewdster! “What news of the invaders?”

  Edlyn shook her head, long ashen hair catching the fading light that peeked through the open door. “William would not say.”

  “Let us meet the others in the hall then.” She ushered Edlyn toward the door.

  “What of him?” she asked again.

  “There is still snow on the ground. He’ll not be wandering about bare-arsed.”

  ***

  As soon as they were gone, Rolf scoured the hut for something to wear. He needed to find out what was going on and figure out how he was going to get back home. A trusted comrade had betrayed his king. He had amassed a fleet, albeit a small one, and rose against his sovereign. After swearing fealty. Such ruthless crimes could not go unpunished.

  He had been given the second chance he prayed for. He would find the traitor and execute him.

  With the exception of the tiny wind-eye, this house was indeed like any he would have found at home. It seemed fairly well built. The wattle threaded between the posts remained tight even though chunks of the daub had chipped off in many places. A single cooking pot hung over the hearth in the center of the room.

  A raised bed frame, barely large enough to accommodate a child, had been built against the back wall. He spied a trunk, buried beneath a small weaving loom, next to the bed.

  He lifted the lid. Judging by the smell, it had been closed up for a long time. Luckily he did not have to dig too deep before he found a complete yet meager man’s wardrobe. Alas, even the largest of the braies did not fit. Pulling a tunic over his head, he slipped outside, bare arse and all.

  The scent of the ocean assaulted him the instant he stepped into the fresh air. Instinctively, he lifted his nose toward it and inhaled. Ahh, he was not far from the coast. Good. All he needed was a boat.

  He did not have to see the ocean to know where it was. He stared off in that direction, then let his gaze follow Kaylla’s footprints across the yard. They ended at a much larger building in the center of the dilapidated village. The hall.

  He counted the huts around him. Twenty-seven. Most looked abandoned.

  He glanced down at his bare legs. His toes buried in the thin layer of snow. He needed to be better prepared than this.

  Chapter Seven

  Kaylla dragged her modor closer to the hearth. They stood there, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness while surveying the other families. Not many left. Those who remained consisted mostly of women and children; their chieftain and most fighting men of the village long gone.

  William, the village’s only smith and the most able-bodied man who remained, had taken on the role of leader. She almost laughed at the idea of William being ‘able-bodied’ as she watched him limp around the hearth, signaling silence as his sister prepared to deliver her news.

  Good Lord! What had happened to her? Rheda looked old enough to be her modor even though she was closer to her own age. She had married just last summer and gone to live in her husband’s village of Luton.

  She would have expected Rheda to prosper. Travel to Luton would take from one Frigedæg to the next. Nearly as far as Elmham. She should have benefitted from that close proximity, the bounty, the abundance of food, the safety of fighting men stationed nearby.

  Instead, she looked thin, haggard. A dark bruise stained one side of her face. Her lips were cracked and bloodied.

  Rheda searched the faces of those surrounding her. Kaylla knew from her expression the news would be bad. She took her modor’s hand trying to offer some measure of comfort.

  Pulling her frail hand from her daughter’s, Edlyn crossed her arms in front of her.

  “We were sacked on Wodensdæg last.” Her voice broke.

  A muffled cry rumbled through the group. Luton? Sacked? It didn’t seem possible. Kaylla felt sick to her stomach. Recollection of when they’d received news of Hugh’s fate slammed into her.

  Sufficiently collected, Rheda continued. “None survived. Only me.” She had to stop again to gain composure.

  Kaylla knew that whatever had happened to Rheda had been bad.

  “’Twas those Norse pigs.” She spat into the hearth. “I was taken slave and packed onboard their ship with the rest of the loot. I have no idea how long we were at sea. They left me trussed in the rear, beneath cover. I could hear sounds of battle at one point, but time had no meaning in the darkness. Ere long, we returned to shore. I thought we had arrived in the Norse lands, but I recognized many of the landmarks as we passed. I soon realized the direction the heathens were headed.” She glanced around. “Are headed.”

  A collective chill swept through the hall.

  Kaylla scrubbed her hands up and down her arms. The friction did little to relieve her discomfort. The sure knowledge that a band of marauding barbarians was about to devastate their village hit her like a stone.

  “During the night, I managed to slip away from my… ” She paused, took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Kaylla could tell Rheda’s experience had been traumatic, indeed.

  “I crept from their camp and made my way home.” William stepped closer and put one arm around her shoulders, but Rheda brushed him off.

  “These Norsemen sweep across our shores like the plague,” she said. A murmur rumbled through the gathering. The news, nothing more than scary stories heretofore, drove fear into the hearts of every person present. Modors hugged their children against them. Young men, little more than boylings, threatened to rush out and defend them.

  Kaylla felt the loss of her brother, Hugh. And Faeder. Just after the harvest, he had banded with the others. Every strong man in the village had traipsed off to seek revenge against those murderous brutes who attacked the abbey. They were probably all dead by now. The ravenous Vikings left no one in their wake. She blinked away tears. She would not give in to despair.

  Her prisoner must be part of this band. He could have fallen overboard during the battle Rheda spoke of and washed ashore on her beach. Could they ransom him somehow in return for the Vikings leaving their village alone?

  “The Wessex king calls all men to defend our lands against the invaders,” a young voice called from the across the hearth. Bearn. While only a season and a half older than Wulf, William and Rheda’s younger brother, Bearn, seemed destined to lead. That admirable quality also led to rebellion, and rebellion got people killed. “Even no
w our own king, Eadwald, amasses an army fit to withstand an attack, but he needs more time. The smaller tribes are needed to give him that time.”

  “But we have no one to fight,” shouted a woman from the crowd.

  She sought her out. Mae. Mae had lost everyone, her husband and all three sons. Kaylla felt a familiar sense of guilt. After all, she had not lost everyone.

  She glanced at Edlyn. Her lips pressed into a tight line; she rarely voiced her opinion. Leastwise she still had one son, indifferent towards him though she was. Despite having seen so few winters, Wulf now acted as protector and head of the family. Kaylla vowed that he would grow to manhood.

  Rheda picked up the conversation again. “We need merely hold the invaders at bay until the king can gather sufficient warriors. They are a small band. A few of us for every one of them.” Rheda and Bearn were obviously of the same mind.

  Fight.

  Defend.

  Seek vengeance.

  “What has Eadwald done for us?” Mae again. “He is too busy trying to stop Offa’s son from taking his throne.” Collectively, the villagers mumbled in agreement.

  William nodded in Mae’s direction. “I say we gather what belongings we can carry and flee inland,” declared the smith. More nods and murmurs of agreement.

  When Kaylla could stand no more, she stepped forward. The villagers quieted almost immediately. She had a knack for speaking reason in the face of chaos. At one time or another, she had soothed the troubled heart of almost everyone present. “Do my ears deceive me, William? You would have us run like cowards?” Her opinion of him dropped several notches. Could she have ever considered taking this man as her mate?

  Mae turned on her. “At least we would live.”

  She softened her gaze as she addressed Mae. “Would we, Mae? We have all lost so much at the hands of these godless brutes. Do we let them drive us from our homes, as well?”

  More accession from those gathered. People were starting to take sides now. She turned back to William. “I say we fight these bastards.” Shouts of agreement from the young men, most barely older than Wulf. “Even if it means our lives. We must help Eadwald defeat the Norsemen and drive them from our shores.”

  William, not used to such open defiance, turned a deep shade of red. “As our countrymen have done, more than once.” He strode over, as best he could with his bad leg, and glared down at her. “Yet they return again and again, slaughtering our people like pigs. I shall not see what’s left of our band wiped from the earth to appease your vengeance.”

  She pulled her shoulders back but did not back down. Her vengeance? Every family had lost at least one of its men. Could she be the only one who wanted to see their enemies destroyed to the last man?

  She leaned toward him, jaw clenched. “I-will-not-flee.” She stepped back and scanned the faces of those gathered around her. Fierce determination etched in their features.

  “What would you have us do, Kaylla?” Mae asked. “Fight with sticks and stones?”

  “Surely our arms man did not leave us bereft of any weapons with which to defend ourselves. We must compile everything and see what we have. William, you can make more weapons. Knives, swords, spears.” She felt encouraged by the continued support of many of the villagers. The boys fidgeted with excitement at finally seeing the opportunity to fight. Even the young women, discouraged by the recent lack of men to choose from, took up her cause. Others of the same mind included those who had nothing else to lose.

  William, defeated in the face of so much opposition, relented. He nodded. “Very well, return to your homes, plunder your stores. Return with any weapons you find so we can take stock and determine where we stand.” He narrowed his eyes at her but did not address her directly. “We’ll gather here in the morning.”

  As she turned to leave, he called for her to wait. She ignored him and blended with the dispersing crowd shoving through the door. Edlyn followed closely. The sun had nearly set now. Shadows haunted them as they crossed the yard.

  “William is no leader,” she barked over her shoulder. Her worn leather boots crunched on the snow.

  “Why did you not tell them about your prisoner?”

  “Let us wait and see where the others stand. We will need the support of everyone to contain him, to protect the village from his murderous, conniving ways.” Her hatred of the man renewed, she stalked toward her hut with determined steps.

  “Why not just kill him?” Edlyn asked. “We could haul him out into the square, allow everyone a hand in his execution. Surely that would incite the others to fight.”

  Disgusted by her modor’s feigned brutality, she shook her head. “I have a better idea.”

  Chapter Eight

  She came to a dead stop. In the shadow of dusk Kaylla saw the topic of their discussion slip back inside her hut. He was bare from the hips down. She thought she recognized her faeder’s tunic. But that shirt had reached below the older man’s knees. On this hulk of a man, it barely reached midway of his arse cheeks. If she looked closely, she could see the tight mounds that led to powerful thighs corded with thick muscles. The Viking was striking, indeed. Pure male. His bare feet were probably not even cold.

  She turned and looked back in the direction they had come. Had he been listening outside the hall? Not paying attention, her modor drew up short, glaring at her with a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

  No doubt he had heard everything, not that it mattered. Why had he not taken the opportunity to escape? She supposed that would have been difficult wearing so little. Yet she gathered he would prove to be a resourceful man.

  She strode the remaining distance to their hut as darkness descended further upon them. She would not be caught off guard again. If she had to bind him, she would see that he remained out of sight until she had a chance to work out her plan and convince the others of its success.

  They found him sprawled before the hearth, relaxed as though awaiting his women’s return from berry picking. The image rankled her. He had dragged his pallet over to the fading embers and now stretched on his side, propped on one elbow. With one foot drawn up and resting on the floor, his cock lay along his other thigh, enticing, tantalizing.

  Inviting.

  She let her gaze trail away and tried to ignore his imposed nudity. He indeed wore Faeder’s tunic, the new one she had sewn herself before the harvest, while the days were still warm, while life still had some semblance of order. Before raiders from the north had slaughtered a monastery full of defenseless men and changed life forever. Faeder had barely worn it a handful of times before he’d gone off with the other men to seek vengeance.

  Edlyn, however, showed no inclination to turn away. Ignoring any sense of modesty, she gaped at him, open-mouthed and not nearly as mortified as she should have been. Her appreciation added to Kaylla’s irritation.

  With a sharp nudge, she brought her modor from her trance and ushered her toward her own sleeping area next to Faeder’s bed. “At first light, we’ll gather our stores and return to the hall as William instructed. We should sleep now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

  Edlyn made no response. Not that she expected one.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Her modor shook her head.

  “There is still some pottage left in the cooking pot.”

  “I said I’m not hungry,” she snapped.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, but said nothing more. As she crossed to her own pallet rolled and stored along the other wall, she grabbed a log from the stack and tossed it onto the coals, scattering embers in the Viking’s direction. “Cold?” She laced her question with as much venom as she could muster.

  It tickled her when he jumped back, frantically brushing at the hot sparks that landed on his blanket. He muttered a string of Norse curses, no doubt more foul than any she had ever heard before. She covered her mouth to hide her smile. The first, she realized, in a long time. Of late, there had been little reason to smile. She longed for the carefree day
s of childhood. Swept away by death and despair.

  All thoughts of merriment fled when he pushed to his hands and knees, searching for any wayward embers. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him there on the floor, his round arse cheeks spread before her, his cock and balls hanging heavily between his thighs. She would never have thought that such a sight would affect her so.

  How could she feel such pure lust for a man she so despised? No doubt, a man could swive without feeling. All that was needed was a warm quim to sate a man’s lust. But women were different, were they not? Was she different? Could she use a man purely for the pleasure he could provide?

  Seeming satisfied the wood and thatched hut would not burst into flame, the Viking relaxed. He sat cross-legged on the pallet, his muscular forearms resting on his knees. “I take it from the assembly that a rescue is imminent?” He glanced over at Edlyn and flashed her a wicked grin.

  She was glad her modor had the decency to look away. “That remains to be seen. Do your murderous brethren value your life enough to rescue you?”

  He shrugged.

  “Might they be willing to spare our village in return for your worthless hide? Although I cannot imagine why anyone would want you,” she snapped.

  “You would be better served to flee.”

  Of course, he had been dropping eaves. He was a man with no conscience. A man who slaughtered defenseless old monks and their apprentices. “How did you come to be washed upon our shores?”

  There was no time for him to answer. Wulf burst through the door with a near freezing gust of wind bringing her questions to a halt. He spared the prisoner a glance before seeking out Edlyn. “I am going with Bearn to see how near the invaders are.”

  “Ye’ll be doin’ no such thing.” Edlyn fairly shrieked at him.

  Wulf looked stricken. “Modor, Bearn cannot go alone.”

  “Bearn can go fash himself. You are my only son. It is your duty to stay here and protect your family.” She turned to her daughter. “Kaylla, tell him.”