So warm, Dagr’s own sweat burned the many angry cuts crisscrossing his skin. He’d expected pain, had emptied his mind so that the throbbing wouldn’t get to him, but he was impatient and stirred in his bonds. The interrogator likely took that as fear, and Dagr really didn’t care. If they thought him fearful, at least they wouldn’t think him selfless.
He needed them to believe he was anything but that. “I made a deal,” Dagr bellowed. “I have information to trade. Valuable information.”
“You can spill your guts to me. And you will ... eventually.” The old man eyed his belly and trailed his fingertips along each ridge of muscle.
When the bastard’s fingers reached the waist of his trousers, Dagr tightened in revulsion, reading the arousal that dilated the other man’s rheumy eyes. “Tell the commander,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “that I have the key to entering the strongest kingdom on New Iceland. The key to the Vikings’ wealth.”
“Why should he believe you could give him that?” the old man said, a hand hovering over another of his barbarous tools. “You’re a pirate. You’re only trying to delay the inevitable.”
Dagr jutted his chin. “I am a distant cousin of the Ulfhednar king. An heir. If you take his kingdom and put me in his place, I am willing to share the profits from the mines.”
The old man’s head swiveled toward Dagr, his long nose quivering as though smelling something foul. “Why should we be willing to share anything with you?”
“You need me to keep the cost of warring against the Ulf hednar to a minimum. I am Viking, and I know who is discontent with the present ruler. I can help you to defeat them, and then help you move against the other kingdoms.”
“We don’t need your help.”
“Truly?” Dagr gave him a hard smile. “Then why steal men? I think you intend to breed a stronger warrior to defeat them. Why wait? My men will lead you inside their walls and lend their weapons and skills to defeat them.”
The interrogator looked to the side as though listening intently, and Dagr supposed he might be—if he wore some sort of auricular implant.
However, in the end it didn’t matter. The thin old man shuffled to the tray and selected something that looked like a cage small enough to trap a fat mouse—a honeycomb wire contraption that tightened with screws.
The old man’s gaze dropped to Dagr’s groin, and the Viking clan-lord decided he’d had enough. He tensed his muscles, readying himself. The interrogator wasn’t going to get anywhere near his balls with a castration clamp.
When the old man drew near enough, Dagr jerked his knees toward his chest, snapping the wires that bound his legs to the links driven into the floor. Then he swung out and wrapped his thighs tightly around the interrogator’s waist, squeezing hard enough he heard a rib or two pop.
The man inside his grasp screamed until he’d let out all his air. The guard inside the door rushed toward them and tried to pry Dagr’s thighs from around the old man, who continued to cry like a scalded cat. The hatch door flew open and two more guards ran into the room, carrying spears they used to tap Dagr on his back, his buttocks, stunning him, but not lessening his will.
“Kill me now,” he roared, as he fought his restraints, “but I’ve had enough of this. I will speak to your commander or I’ll take the information I have to my grave.”
“That will be all,” came a calm voice at the doorway. Commander Arikan stepped inside the room.
The guards straightened so suddenly it was as though the stun guns had been applied to their own spines. At Arikan’s wave, they faded against the wall.
Dagr tossed back his hair and blinked sweat from his eyes, watching the tall, lean warrior approach.
Arikan dressed like his soldiers in an unembellished black skin-suit that peeked from the open lapels of his black officer’s coat, lavishly braided golden epaulets no doubt designating his rank, and trousers that hugged his long legs to his shiny black boots. His short black hair and long thin nose gave him a pinched appearance, and the impression that little escaped his notice.
The old man laughed breathlessly, but groaned when Dagr tightened his thighs and dug those popped ribs deeper.
“You can let him go,” Arikan said, meeting Dagr’s gaze over the top of the old man’s head. “You have your wish. I am here.”
“To die or to bargain? I had expressed the desire for both.”
“One at a time, then,” the other man said, anger glinting in his tight face. “First, I would hear what you know that will change my mind concerning your worth.”
Dagr unwound his legs and dropped the old man, who crawled to a corner, moaning. “The stocks?”
“Should I trust you won’t attack me?”
“I don’t care how many men you surround yourself with while we talk. You have my weapons. I handed them over willingly.” His voice hardened. “I did not bargain to come aboard this ship and be tortured. I bargained for an audience, knowing full well the risks. I can help you.”
“And what will I get that I cannot on my own—without the burden of having to deal with you?”
Dagr bowed his head, pretending obeisance, pretending willingness to subjugate himself to Arikan. “If you grant me my heart’s desire, my gratitude will make you a very wealthy and powerful man.”
Arikan gave a soft snort. “I already possess wealth.”
“The wealth of kings?” Dagr said softly, glancing from the corners of his eyes.
A dark brown brow lifted. Arikan’s gaze sharpened. “You’re speaking of ore. We have tried for the last three centuries to wrest back control of the mines from you barbarians.”
“We are physically powerful. Stubborn beyond your ken. You possess fine weapons, but those weapons will not stand you well in a ground attack.” He shook his head and lifted it an inch, but kept his gaze deferential. “Not with the added complication of a hostile environment. And not without an advantage or two.”
“What are you proposing?”
“My men will lead you through a secret entrance into the king’s keep.” Dagr straightened. “If you cut off the head, you control the beast. I am a distant cousin to the ruling family. I have a claim to the throne, but no loyalty to the Wolfskins. Help me take the kingdom, and I will assure a steady production of ore at a price attractive enough that you won’t wish for the headache of conquering the barbaric bastards.”
“You call them barbarians and yet you dress in skin and fur.”
Dagr pressed his lips into a feral smile. “To strike fear. And it worked well aboard the Proteus. War paint, a little gnashing of teeth and shouts loud enough to rattle a man’s brains ... We met only token resistance.”
Arikan stayed silent and unsmiling, his expression calculating. “Show me this entrance that will give me the element of surprise, and we will talk about your reward.”
“Do you think I should trust you not to let your scrawny torture-master resume his work on my scrotum?” He shook his head. “Remember, getting through that breach in the keep’s security is one thing. Fighting them hand to hand is another. Let me lead the charge. You might not have to share a thing with me if I am the first slain.”
Arikan’s lips twisted, and then eased flat. “We will talk. After your wounds have been tended.” He turned toward the door, signaling the guards to follow.
“My men?” Dagr called after him.
“Are safe inside the brig. They will remain there for now. I can’t have them frightening the women aboard the ship.” Arikan glanced over his shoulder. “You will take dinner with me in my cabin. After you’ve described your plan, my officers will discuss whether they believe you, and whether your plan holds promise. I will send along a healer to see to your wounds and to let you savor the functioning of your scrotum—for one more night at least.”
Dagr rubbed his wrists and followed the commander out the door of the chamber, glad to quit the dark, cruel atmosphere. As they strode through long corridors, his curiosity kept him aware of his surroundings.
The corridors aboard this ship weren’t as cramped as Proteus ’s. Two men could walk abreast and open their arms. Dagr was escorted by a double column of warriors, dressed in deep-space gear and composite armor and helmets. They led him to a large room, a more richly appointed spa than Honora’s ship had boasted.
Inside, cubbies lined the walls and he stripped off his bloody clothing and hung the items inside one, then padded barefoot, heedless of the guards flanking him, toward the another door. A large sunken tub sat in the center of the floor. An attendant rose from a bench and approached.
The attendant was female, and Dagr sighed at the knowledge he couldn’t beg off using the woman due to his injuries because he would appear weak. Although attractive, he didn’t want her.
Slightly darker-skinned than Honora, her coal black hair hung to her hips. She wore only a short skirt, wrapped around her waist and knotted at one hip. Her body was smooth, sleek, long-limbed—and her expression was avid, heating quickly.
She knelt on the floor, her head bent. He knew she only pretended respect, because she gazed up, flirting from beneath her eyelashes.
“I would bathe,” he muttered, cursing the stirring of his cock. Concentrating on the sting of the bloody scores striping his skin, he breathed easier when his shaft didn’t fill.
“I will help you. I exist to serve.” The gold bracelet around one wrist affirmed her claim. She rose slowly, her chest only inches from his, her dusky nipples blossoming. “I have disinfectant salves that I can apply before you bathe that will keep the cuts from bleeding into the water and will mute the stinging.”
“Fine,” he said, nodding, and then glared behind him at the two guards who’d accompanied him inside.
They smirked, but didn’t back away. They’d report whatever happened to his keepers.
Dagr sighed and fisted his hands on his hips, giving the girl a look that had her hesitating just a second.
She smoothed her expression and approached, carrying a bottle and strips of clean linen. “If you’ll sit on the edge of the bath, I’ll attend your wounds.”
Dagr climbed down a couple of steps into the tub, then sat, hot water swirling on his calves. The girl dipped clean linen in the pool, then daubed away the blood and sweat on his back. When she applied the salve, it instantly numbed and sealed the wounds. Dagr felt relief immediately and sighed.
Then she came around him, dropped her short skirt on the floor beside the tub, and, completely nude, entered the water to kneel on the step between his legs.
She worked diligently, dabbing salve on his stomach, her lips pressing into a straight line and a frown marring her lovely, finely arched brows. “So many marks,” she murmured. “Was it very painful?”
He didn’t answer, staring beyond her shoulder as she worked.
“They say you are from the cold planet.” She shivered delicately. “I cannot fathom surviving there. Your race must be very hardy.”
Dagr cleared his throat. “We are acclimated.”
She finished slathering salve into the bloody welts and set aside the bottle. Her gaze met his, directly. Her expression not so much dismayed as curious. “You don’t find me attractive, do you?” she whispered, softly enough the guards could not hear.
He looked her fully in the eyes this time. “You are lovely but I have much on my mind.”
“If you do not take me ...” Her glance fell away, worry knitting her brow.
“Will you be harmed if I do not?”
“Not exactly, but they will wonder if I tried hard enough. I might be demoted to servicing crew.” A sigh escaped. “There are so many.”
Dagr felt a moment’s compassion for the beauty who was as much a captive as he was. He tipped up her chin and bent toward her, stopping when his mouth was an inch from hers. “Can we pretend?” he whispered.
Her expression smoothed, free of any worry, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, growing radiant when he grinned. “We can.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, but was careful to maintain space between their chests. “Come into the pool. They won’t know exactly what we do beneath the water, and you do need to bathe,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
Dagr laughed loud enough to satisfy the guards, and whoever else might be watching, and lifted the girl into his arms. No promises had been spoken between him and Honora, and his people would think nothing of his taking this woman to assuage his passions, but it seemed the stubborn ship’s captain had stolen all his ardor. While their futures were uncertain, he didn’t want the distraction ... and didn’t want to mar the memory of what they’d shared.
Honora leaned over Turk’s shoulder, pretending to look at the readings on his console. “The viewing screens are set to malfunction?” she asked as quietly as she could. Guards strolled along the aisles, watching her every movement.
“They will reflect our current location, then flicker off and on,” Turk whispered. “The image will be frozen so they won’t guess at our headings due to any familiar constellations.” Turk’s one-sided smile and the gleeful expression he wore, only for her, reassured her that he was content to follow her plan.
No one else aboard the Proteus knew that she was going to commandeer the ship for a second time.
“Coordinates are set?”
“New Iceland is locked in. Autopilot is set to get us there, then keep the ship in orbit. Once we’re in range, the transporter will open a portal on the bridge.”
“Only problem is our gear,” Honora muttered. They needed cold-weather clothing. “Let me handle it.” Her mind raced with the possibilities.
“Is everything all right?” The officer who had spoken to her when the security contingent arrived strode up beside them, suspicion burning in his eyes.
“Just double-checking the coordinates. We don’t want to take a longer route than necessary to get home.”
His gaze darted from her carefully controlled expression to Turk’s guileless stare, then huffed and marched away.
Honora didn’t linger. “Here we go.” With swift moves, she left the dais, heading toward the corridor at the rear of the bridge.
The security officer stepped in her way. “You do realize now that you can’t go anywhere unaccompanied.”
“I do now,” she said, fighting to keep her tone even, “but I would like to go to my quarters to use my own latrine and freshen up. Will you have to come inside to watch?”
His cheeks reddened. “I’ll remain outside your door.”
“For my protection? How kind of you,” she drawled, then began to step around him.
His eyes narrowed, but he backed away. He fell in behind her when she swept past.
Once inside her cabin, Honora quickly ran water to mask her sounds, and then toggled the comm switch on the wall. “Computer, set ship’s temperature ten degrees higher than cold storage.”
She flushed the toilet, satisfied when the air turned chilly almost immediately. Honora stuck her head out the cabin door. “Do you feel that?” she said, widening her eyes.
The guard cocked his head. “It’s getting cold. What did you do?”
She raised her eyebrows and jammed a hand on her hip. “You think I want to freeze my ass off? I don’t know what’s wrong, but we need to get everyone into cold-weather gear quickly.”
Ducking back inside her own cabin, she pulled out her hooded cloak and gloves. Then she made her way down the line of cabins to retrieve Turk’s gear.
Back on deck, she almost grinned at the sight of everyone bundled up. The air had gotten so cold she could see her own breath.
After suiting up, Turk revolved in his chair and gave her the signal, a subtle tip of his head. They were almost there, just a few moments more.
Sitting in the captain’s chair, she depressed the comm to the computer, and then waited ... Her breath caught in her throat.
When the first little glimmer of light brightened the center of the dais, she said, “Restore temperatures to previous setting.” Then she dove
through the widening circle, Turk on her heels.
They landed in a drift of snow.
Honora scrambled to her knees and glanced back. The portal had closed, and no one had been near enough to follow. Pulling her hood forward to cut the biting cold, she shouted above the wind, “You’re sure they can’t follow?”
“The computer was set to erase our coordinates, then obey preset coordinates back to Helios. The viewing screens will do a restore in about an hour so they’ll get an inkling where they are and don’t panic. By the way, why do we care?”
Accomplishment zinged along her nerves and Honora grinned. They’d done it. She headed up the hill toward the gray door, feet sinking deep into the snow.
“We just gonna knock?” Turk asked, nerves causing his voice to rise.
“Hope someone’s there to hear or we’ll freeze to death.” Honora raised both hands and pounded on the heavy metal door.
When no one responded, Turk stepped beside her and pounded with her. With the cold seeping through her clothing, she refused to stop, her fists aching from the effort.
The door slammed open, and she and Turk fell forward, landing in a heap at the feet of the red-haired giant.
The Viking scowled down at them, then glanced quickly over their shoulders. “Are you alone?”
“We are,” Honora said, her teeth chattering.
“Get inside,” he said, his voice surly.
When the door closed, she turned to face him and realized he hadn’t come by himself. Several others stood behind him, their faces filled with suspicion, gazes hard—hands gripping short swords and knives.
“You’re the woman, the one he brought with him,” he said, his voice low and ominous. “Where’s our lord?”
Honora blew a breath through pursed lips, and straightened her spine. There was no easy way to break the news. “I need you to listen. You’re all in danger. Consortium ships are on their way here. They plan an invasion. I came to give you warning and to help.”
Ravished by a Viking Page 25
