by Zoe Blake
Still, there was no denying his raw savagery was tempered with a harsh, almost reluctant, kindness. Wiggling my toes, I was surprised to feel no tightness or pain. The salve Tore had used on my bruised and cut feet had done much to heal the wounds.
Brushing away a tear, I tried to focus. Hiding behind a false sense of normalcy, no matter how inviting those sounds may be, no matter his show of kindness with my feet, would not help me in my current predicament. The reality was, I had been taken from one prison to another. There was no doubt in my mind my stepmother was behind the deed. These huntsmen would have no reason to lie to me. Even if I wanted to escape back to the castle, what would be the point? I would either be killed the moment I crossed the gate or worse—imprisoned even deeper inside the castle walls. Tossed in a cell, perhaps the dungeon even, until all my father’s subjects had forgotten my very existence...if they hadn’t already.
My stepmother’s tale of my madness and cruelty to myself and others had hit their mark. Even servants once loyal to me and my plight had begun to doubt my sanity as the years stretched on…not that I blamed them. It was a compelling story. The poor princess driven mad by her father’s death. What a sympathetic creature my stepmother must be! The woman forced to care for the mad daughter of her dead husband. Reluctantly taking on the role of sovereign since my weak mind would not allow me to rule. My, she played that role well. No one ever questioned it. No one ever thought that perhaps, just perhaps, she had stolen my birthright.
Bitterness rose in my throat like bile. Bitterness and regret. How could I have let my grief blind me to her machinations? How could I have believed a woman who had never shown me an ounce of kindness or a soft word while my father was alive would suddenly care for my well-being? That I actually believed her when she said she was giving me time and space to grieve! That I had never questioned her as she slowly usurped the throne which was rightfully mine. The cruel truth was I was as responsible for my own imprisonment as if I had turned the key in the lock myself.
And now I was alone…I had no coin, no friends or even clothes.
What was I to do now? Escaping while my feet were still healing seemed futile and dangerous. I would never survive for long on my own. I needed to bide my time and wait. Surely there would be another opportunity to escape when I was more prepared.
Or perhaps the huntsmen were the answer? Perhaps instead of my damnation they could be my salvation? If I somehow gained their loyalty and trust, maybe they would consent to helping me. Help me to do what was the question. Overthrowing my stepmother would take more than seven huntsmen, no matter how large and skilled at hunting they may be. Did I even want the throne? It had done nothing but cause strife and misery for my father. He was never able to do anything he truly wanted, always constrained by duty and responsibility. The crown yet another form of imprisonment.
I had been adrift so long in isolation with no hope of a future that I now had no idea what it was I truly wanted.
Unbidden, my mind returned to the previous night, in this very bed. The way Tore forced me beneath him. He’d not only forced my body to respond but my mind as well. Forced me to actually feel something, breaking through the blank numbness that had crept over my existence.
It had been a terrifying, exhilarating rush. To feel again!
Anger, fear, pain, passion. I’d consumed it all like a woman starved.
That was what I wanted…at least for now. To feel again.
Later. When I had drunk and eaten my fill, when I was sated on emotion, when my senses no longer felt cumbersome and unused…then I would think of the future…of a plan…of escape.
The sound of my name broke through my wandering thoughts again.
My stomach clenched as I crept out of the bed, gingerly putting weight on my still bruised feet. Sparing a glance for my ripped nightgown on the floor, I shifted the blanket higher over my shoulders to cover my bare frame. Dragging the quilt with me, I stole toward the railing which overlooked the hall.
The huntsmen’s home was an enormous cabin with a central hall built around a massive stone structure—a fire pit. Gray and brown rounded stones, carefully placed, formed a circular chimney to capture the smoke. Over the fire was a wrought iron roasting spit, laden with some form of game from the huntsmen’s endeavors. Around the open fire pit were cushioned benches.
On one end was the kitchen with another smaller enclosed fireplace for baking, and at the other end was a rough-hewn oak dining table with over a dozen chairs. The entire space resembled an ancient Viking hall which seemed fitting in my mind. On the second level were their rooms, each reached from a walkway which encircled the hall.
I knelt on the hard wooden floor and tried to overhear the conversation below.
“More. She needs more,” said one of the huntsmen, I had no idea which.
“Are you sure she can handle it?” asked another.
Good god. Forgetting my resolve to experience emotion and life for a change, I recoiled. They couldn’t possibly mean more of what Tore had done to me last night? I didn’t think I could handle much more…what if…oh god…what if they meant more…of them? More than one in my bed at a time. Good god! Was that even possible?
“She needs it,” said another.
“You’re right.”
I recognized that voice. It was Tore. After last night, I didn’t think I would ever forget the sound of his growled commands and deep moaning.
“She is nothing but skin and bones. That fucking witch must have been starving the poor girl to death, hoping she would die and solve all her problems,” continued Tore.
I was taken aback by the hatred and venom in his voice…and on my behalf.
“Tore’s right. Steen, add more butter…and don’t be stingy on the boysenberry preserves either.”
These gruff and scary men were talking about…my breakfast?
With renewed resolve, I rose. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around my body, I hesitantly took a step toward the main staircase which would lead down into the hall.
They turned at the sound of my descent. With a wry smile, I couldn’t help but think what a rag-tag mockery of a queen I must look like as I slowly walked down the stairs, trailing my colored quilt of a cloak, all eyes on me.
And what a queen’s court these gruff men made with their wild hair, hard glares and fur-wrapped frames.
A court of beasts. Shuddering, I despaired of my earlier thoughts. How could I be so foolish to think that I could tame these men? The idea that I could possibly convince them to join my side against my stepmother was the naïve dream of a little girl still hoping for a Prince Charming.
“So she has arisen,” said one of the huntsmen as he bent low, the very picture of a proper courtier bowing.
Tightening my fist on the blanket as I clutched it close to my breast, I didn’t know how to respond.
“It’s Odin,” he offered helpfully.
“Odin,” I whispered with a slight nod of my head. Odin. The one with the light brown hair tied back into a small queue with a piece of dark rawhide.
If I was going to be among these men for the foreseeable future, I would definitely need to learn all of their names.
Accepting his offered hand, I allowed him to lead me to one of the benches before the fire.
Another placed a plate of food on my lap.
“Dagr,” he stated helpfully without my having to ask. Dagr. The tallest one with the cobalt blue eyes.
As I was trying to form the words to thank him, my eyes captured the gaze of Tore from across the room. He gave me a knowing wink. Feeling my cheeks heat, I concentrated on the food before me. It was a piece of toasted bread slathered with fresh butter and preserves. After years of being served, at best, cold grizzled meat with a mug of stale beer as my morning meal, it looked heavenly.
Careful to keep the blanket over my bare shoulders, I eased my hand out from beneath its folds to pick up the bread. Ignoring all the curious gazes on me, I bit into it with relish. I was unabl
e to suppress a groan as the creamy butter mixed with the tart sweetness of the preserves and the warm, comforting taste of the crusty bread flooded my mouth. Closing my eyes, I flicked my tongue out to capture a dollop of butter before taking another bite. Lost in the sheer bliss of savoring this sweet treat, it took me a moment to realize I was the subject of their intense scrutiny. Opening my eyes, I watched as several of the men shifted in their seats. At least two awkwardly cleared their throats as another rose, his hands going to his belt.
“None of that,” commanded Odin. “We have to check the traps and track that buck Dagr spotted earlier this morn. There will be plenty of time for amusement after our work is done.”
Amusement? Was I the source of their amusement? Judging from the hungry looks they were all giving me, I felt as if I were the sweet morsel being offered up on a plate!
“Leave the lass alone. After a night spent with Tore between her legs, her pussy will tear like cheap silk if one of us tries to have a go at her, right now.”
Cringing at his crude language, I couldn’t suppress an indignant glare. The huntsman who’d spoken was the one who had carelessly tossed me over his shoulder and spanked my bottom when I dared to cry out or wiggle to escape. Yes, I might not yet know his name, but I knew the man.
“Gather your gear men, we leave soon. Jerrik, show the lass the kitchen and explain her duties.”
Jerrik had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. They were like bright, polished emeralds and seemed to dance with some secret amusement.
“Follow me, Snow.”
I couldn’t help but cast a despondent look toward my plate with my half-eaten piece of bread.
Sensing my distress, the one I heard them call Steen, took the plate from my lap. “You can finish this after we leave.”
Securing the blanket around me, trying not to trip, I followed Jerrik across the great hall. The wood planked floor was surprisingly warm on my bare feet.
“It will be your duty to prepare our meals. We will be back in a few hours and will expect a warm meal and ale to be ready and waiting. Do you understand?” asked Jerrik.
Good god! Cook? I had never cooked anything in my life. What was I going to do? I wasn’t sure what would happen if I told them the truth. Worried they may find me useless and not worth the trouble, I just stayed silent.
“You can cook?”
I nodded yes, still refusing to speak as I glanced through the window over his shoulder at the thick layer of icicles which clung to the frame, hoping they would not discard me out into the icy, winter morn when they learned I could not prepare meals like a proper female ought.
Odin gave my blanket a disgruntled look. “How is she supposed to cook clutching this damn blanket? Did we think to grab clothes for her?”
“What does she need clothes for?” asked Freyr with a wicked gleam to his eye.
Taking a step back, my shoulders rounded as I wrapped my arms tightly around me. Were they really going to force me to appear before them all, bare without the protection of clothes?
“Be reasonable, Freyr. She’ll catch a chill and be of no use to any of us,” groused Steen.
“Good point. I’ll fetch her some linens of mine,” offered Dagr as he bounded up the staircase. His long powerful stride took the stairs three at a time.
“Grab her a pair of woolen stockings to protect her feet as well,” called out Tore.
Dagr returned with a cream linen shirt, a leather belt and a pair of gray wool stockings.
They all took a step toward me. I tried to step back, but my legs became entangled in the trailing blanket.
“Drop the blanket, Snow.”
Panic rose in my breast as the large men formed a circle around me, trapping me. Their coarse attire of fur and leather gave them the appearance of a pack of wolves, ready to pounce.
“I…I…I could just change in one of the rooms,” I responded weakly as I became lightheaded with fear. Clutching the blanket so close, I could feel my nails tear.
They all slowly shook their heads. Seven pairs of dark, unsympathetic eyes stared down at me.
The cold eyes of predators.
“We have explained this to you, Snow. You are ours now. You will either obey Magni and drop the blanket, or face the consequences.” This from Dagr. Standing closest to me, I could feel the threatening rumble of his words.
“Please…I can’t—”
“We are losing patience, Snow,” warned Magni.
Defeated, I lowered my head. Keeping my eyes averted, I slowly loosened my grip on the blanket. Feeling its heavy protective weight slide off my shoulders, I bit my lower lip to keep from crying out. Humiliation coiled and twisted my stomach into knots as I could feel their eyes on me. A finger was placed under my chin, forcing my head up. I met the gaze of Dagr. The back of his knuckles skimmed the upper curve of my breast as he caressed my bare stomach with the fabric from the shirt he held.
Unable to tear my gaze from his, I reached out blindly for the covering. As soon as the bunched fabric was in my hand, I hastily pulled it over my head, grateful for the meager covering the thin, coarse linen provided as its ample folds fell almost to my knees.
Dagr took a step forward. Reaching around me, he placed his thick leather belt around my waist. I gasped as he pulled the strap through the thick buckle and pulled it tight. Leaning down, he whispered into my ear, “Keep this nice and warm for me until I can use it on your bare ass.”
My mouth fell open in shock. Did he really mean to punish me with the very belt around my waist? I couldn’t suppress a shiver of awareness. The leather felt heavy and tight as it rested on my slim hips. A constant, constrictive warning of my new position as their captive.
A warm hand caressed my calf. Tore knelt before me. He was lifting my foot to place one of the wool stockings on.
“I can do—”
“Silence,” responded Tore as he ran his large palm up higher, cupping the undercurve of my bare bottom.
Without thinking, I reached out to grab Dagr’s strong arm for support as my knees threatened to buckle. I raised my other foot, allowing Tore to run his hand possessively up my exposed leg as if he had the right to touch me so intimately. But then, hadn’t he taken that right last night?
Had it been taken or given? My heart beat faster at the disturbing thought.
Dressed in my strange attire that both protected and exposed me to their gaze, I crossed my arms over my chest, painfully aware you could see the hard buds of my nipples pressing against the shirt.
The men chuckled in response. Amused by my modesty.
“Remember to have our meal ready upon our return,” warned Jerrik as he hefted a bow onto his shoulder.
“What if the lass tries to escape?” asked Magni.
Grabbing a fistful of my hair to get my attention, Dagr hissed, “Then we hunt her down like a doe and bring her back here…to punish for her disobedience.”
“I promise. I won’t try to escape. I have nowhere to go!” I pleaded. Whether I was more alarmed by their threats or just desperate to please my new captors…I couldn’t say. I did know I was telling the truth. I had already determined escape would be foolhardy until I could secure supplies and give my feet at least another night to heal. For better or worse, the dangerous huntsmen were my best bet for survival—at least for now.
They left without saying another word. I didn’t dare even walk toward the door for fear they were still watching me. Instead, I walked over to the kitchen area.
Somehow, I needed to learn how to cook within the next few hours or face the wrath of seven angry, hungry huntsmen.
I tried to think back to before my mother died, when the castle was still a warm and inviting place. I remembered spending my afternoons as a child in the kitchens, pestering the cook for a treat. Thinking back to what I had seen, it didn’t seem so hard. I remembered the cook always calling out for flour and butter. That’s where I would start!
Searching the various bins and cupboards, I found som
e white powder which looked like flour. The butter was already on the large wooden slab which served as a work space. Grabbing a bowl, I poured some flour from the sack into it, coughing as a cloud of dust surrounded me. Taking a wooden spoon, I scooped a section of butter and added it to the flour. Stirring only seemed to coat the hunk of butter with flour. Odd. When cook had done this, it had seemed to make a thick, creamy mixture. I must be missing something. Removing the cheesecloth from an earthenware jug, I inhaled the spicy, earthy scent of mustard. Perfect! Tipping the jug over my bowl, I poured the entire contents into my flour mixture. Taking up my spoon, I vigorously stirred until the flour blended with the mustard and butter.
Behind me was a small iron stove. Using a discarded piece of cloth, I carefully opened the door, squinting as a rush of dry heat hit my face. Inside, the logs glowed orange with slashes of coal black. The bowl must just sit within the flames. Shrugging my shoulders, I placed the bowl on top of the embers and closed the stove door.
Cooking was easy.
Thick black smoke poured from the oven. With shaking hands, I grabbed the jug of ale from nearby and tossed the liquid into the stove. There was an awful hiss, then the smoke billowed from the stove once again…thicker and blacker.
My eyes stung as I swiveled around, trying to get my bearings. The hall was obscured behind a wall of smoke. Stretching my arms out, I took a step forward, then another.
I could hear indistinct shouting.
I took another blind step forward and collided with something warm and solid.
“I’ve got her,” bellowed Jerrik.
Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders as I was lifted off my feet and carried out into the cold bright sunshine.
I watched as Tore followed him carrying a smoking bowl of burnt sludge. He tossed the smoldering mess into the nearest snow bank.
Hiding my face in Jerrik’s shoulder, I tried to avoid the angry lecture…or worse…that I knew was coming.
