Rough and Ready

by Sandra Hill

  A dozen sets of eyes watched closely as he approached.

  JAM said, “Pretend I’m approaching Steinolf ’s keep, turning left and right, surveying the area carefully, but this creep comes up behind me.”

  “What is a creep?” one woman asked.

  “Bad guy,” JAM answered.

  JAM pretended to be walking forward, glancing right and left, when Torolf came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck, pressing a knife into his back. JAM twisted and had him flying over his head, landing on his back. The women gasped in surprise, but it was no big deal. This was a maneuver they practiced over and over in PT.

  “Now, let’s suppose we are approaching each other directly, both of us armed . . . in this case, with knives,” JAM said.

  He and JAM walked warily toward each other. In a blink, Torolf had lifted a leg and karate-kicked JAM in the gut. When JAM bent slightly to get his breath, Torolf used his foot to hook him behind the knees and bring him to the ground. In less than a second, he had JAM on his back, with his hands held over his head with one fist, and a knife to his neck.

  “’Tis unfair fighting that way,” one woman said.

  “Lady, there’s nothing fair about war,” JAM replied.

  “We could never learn to do that,” one woman complained.

  “Yes, you could. These maneuvers are taught in women’s self-defense classes all the time. Let’s partner up and practice a few exercises.”

  Torolf ’s eyes connected with Hilda’s at the edge of the group, just as she swiveled and began to leave. When she glanced over her shoulder and saw him following, she began to run. But he ran faster and with a flying leap, he tackled her, rolling at the last minute so that he took the brunt of the fall.

  While he lay on his back with Hilda on top of him, her back to him, he deliberately placed one hand flat over her belly and the other arm across her chest, holding her in place.

  He was laughing as JAM was telling everyone, “That’s another move that can be used, even by a woman on a man. Roll with the blow. Hey, Max, how about doing that again?”

  “Later,” he said.

  Hilda began to struggle, but he was still laughing, holding her even tighter. Into her ear, he whispered, “So, who’s calling the shots now, Hildy?” And he made great ado about pulling her hair to the side and kissing her loudly on the neck.

  Chapter 8

  When a hardheaded woman meets a hardheaded man . . .

  “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “What?” Hilda turned to Torolf as he came up and sat down at the high table beside her. She had been avoiding him all day since he’d embarrassed her by taking her to ground, then kissing her neck in front of one and all. But her blood turned cold at the prospect of his leaving already. “Where do you go?”

  “Norstead. I need to see for myself what’s going on.”

  “I have told you all there is to know.”

  “Intelligence is perishable. What was true last year . . . last month . . . may not be true today.”

  “I can see the wisdom of your words. Still, ’tis insanity for you to go into their midst. You will be recognized.”

  “I know how to disguise myself, to blend in.”

  “Will you go alone?”

  He nodded. “Best that way.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Two days . . . maybe three.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.” She wrung her hands in her lap, wanting to tell him to forget about Steinolf. They had survived here these five years. Mayhap the brute would never bother them. Almost immediately, she recognized her foolishness. Steinolf would come eventually, no doubt about it. “What about Amberstead?”

  He tapped his fingertips on the table. “I’ll try to go there, as well. If I have time . . . if I’m able.”

  She thought a second before declaring, “I will go with you.”

  “You . . . will . . . not!”

  “Yea, I will.”

  “You would only slow me down.”

  “I can be fast.”

  “I move silently . . . like a shadow.”

  “I can move softly.”

  “I would be worrying about protecting you all the time.”

  “Well, do not. My fate is my own, not your responsibility.”

  “Aaarrgh!” he said, pulling at his hair.

  “Does that mean I can come?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Be reasonable. It behooves you to accept my help.”

  “How?” he scoffed.

  “I know secret tunnels leading into Amberstead. And I might be able to show you some of the hiding places in the hills for both of our peoples.”

  That got his attention. “You didn’t tell me that you knew where some of them were hiding. And you never mentioned any tunnels when we were tasking our mission this morning.”

  She shrugged. “Some secrets are meant to be kept till trust is assured.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  She declined to answer.

  “Sonofabitch!”

  “No need to curse!”

  “Oh, I think there is. You’re blackmailing me.”

  She smiled sweetly, not entirely sure what blackmailing meant. “What time shall we leave?”

  He let out a whooshy exhale of surrender. “First light.”

  “Heed me well, knave. If you leave without me, I will just follow. In fact, I will bring Stig with me, and he can tup your leg the whole time.”

  He swore again. “I’ll probably kiss you again.”

  What a pathetic attempt to put her off! “You could try.”

  He grinned. “Is that a challenge, Hildy?”

  She decided the wisest course was not to answer. “Shall I dress as a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should I cut off my hair?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s no need to cut your hair. Just braid it tight and tuck it in a head covering of some kind.”

  “I know. I have a leather helmet here somewhere.”

  “Good. And wear pants . . . braies.”

  She nodded.

  “Make sure they’re not too tight. I don’t want to be drooling over your sweet ass all day.”

  He thinks my arse is sweet? How . . . disgusting! “You are revolting.”

  “You can always stay here.”

  “It will take more than you ogling my backside to deter me.”

  “Dirty your face and teeth. Then go hug a goat or something so you smell like you did when I first got here. Then I won’t want to kiss you again.”

  She bared her teeth at him.

  He smiled at her.

  Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice . . .

  It was pitch-black outside when Hilda awakened.

  In truth, she had slept only fitfully in the only separate bedchamber at The Sanctuary. This small amount of privacy was her only indulgence these past five years. The room had been used by her grandmother on the rare occasion when she’d traveled to Deer Haven with her grandsire.

  She dressed in the man’s clothing she’d laid out on a low chest and tucked her tight braid into a leather battle helmet that hugged her head. She also used a small pottery container of ashes mixed with mud to darken her face.

  The hall was quiet except for the occasional snore and popping of embers in the hearth as she crept along to the scullery, where she filled a cloth bag with manchet bread and hard cheese. Only then did she go looking for Torolf.

  He was not yet up. So, first she sat near the door, waiting. When he still did not get up, she went looking for him. He was not among those who slept on benches along the wall, though she did find two of his men holding two of her women in their arms. Pretty Boy lay alone; apparently Britta had not succumbed to his charms . . . yet. At least, these two couples had had the decency to remove themselves to the far end of the hall where their wanton acts would not be viewed by others. In the end, she found a sleepy-e
yed Geek and shook him awake. “Where is Torolf?”

  He jerked quickly to a sitting position, pulling out a deadly looking knife. Luckily, he hesitated, then blinked several times. “JesusMaryandJoseph!” he prayed with a shake of his head. Apparently he had not recognized her in her helmet and darkened face.

  “Didst think I was an enemy warrior?”

  “No, I thought you were Freddy Krueger on Halloween.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Where is Torolf?”

  He frowned, combing his fingers through his unruly red hair. “I don’t know. Maybe he went to the head . . . the outhouse.”

  “Oh.” Suspicious, she stormed out of the keep and up to the privy, yanking the door open. There was no one on any of the five holes. “Aaarrgh!” she screamed.

  The lout had left without her.

  And it took her hours to find Stig tied up in the forest with his favorite bitch. He had made sure that Hilda would not follow him with Stig. The lout! He must be laughing at how gullible she had been.

  The first day Hilda complained to everyone till none of her women would come near her for fear of being subjected to another of her tirades. The men just laughed.

  The second day, when Hilda launched into one of her tirades again, Cage snapped, “Stop the bitchin’. Max did what was best for you and everyone here. Have the friggin’ sense to trust that the man knows better than you about some bloody things.”

  Chastened, Hilda held her tongue, but she still boiled inside at the injustice of being left behind.

  The four men—seals, they called themselves, of all things—worked intensively with the women in small groups. From early morning till late afternoon, they kept rotating the groups so that they all got training in archery, knife throwing, hand-to-hand combat, defensive tactics, even the way to move silently when doing surveillance, which meant spying and not being caught. They all ached by the end of the day but had to admit they had accomplished much. For that, Hilda had to be thankful.

  That night, with Torolf still absent, Hilda lay in her bed, unable to sleep again. But now, instead of anger, worry began to fill her head. Was he dead . . . or worse yet, captured? Was he at this moment being tortured? She prayed to the gods that he was not. If he was not back by the morrow, there was a good chance he would not come back. To her surprise, the possibility of his death saddened her greatly, not just because of its effect on The Sanctuary, but because . . . well, just because . . .

  Would she go out then to attempt to find him? For a certainty, his men would. They were ever quoting something about “no man left behind.”

  The next morning, Hilda continued to participate in the military exercises. That afternoon the men brought many dead limbs down off the mountain and chopped them into firewood. Amazing how much easier it was for them! Hilda helped Astrid drain honey from the last of the combs and wash the combs for wintertime candle making. Still others in the scullery were churning goat milk into butter, baking crab apple tarts, and putting vegetables and a few bones into the cauldron that was always simmering in the hearth. By midafternoon, Pretty Boy and Cage had gone out with two of the women skilled in hunting, coming back soon after with a reindeer and a small boar.

  That evening, Hilda wasn’t the only one who was solemn as she ate her meal. Without a doubt, everyone was worried about Torolf.

  Before Hilda crawled into bed that night, she slipped down to her knees and put her hands together. Many Vikings practiced both the Norse and Christian religions, mainly to please the Saxons after some battle or other. So, it was not surprising that, after Hilda exhorted Odin with his wisdom and Thor with his mighty hammer Mjollnir to protect Torolf, she added: “Dear God, please send the lout back to me.”

  In the still of the night . . .

  It had to be well past midnight when Torolf made his way back to The Sanctuary. And he was not alone.

  He waved away the sentries he met outside the keep, including one who told him, “The mistress has been worried sick over you.” Nice to know! Then he crept quietly inside.

  Leading a woman with him by the hand, he motioned for her to take an empty space on one of the sleeping benches and tossed a wool blanket to her. Into her ear, he whispered, “Rest here for the night, Brynhil. You’re safe now.”

  She nodded, grateful tears welling in her eyes.

  Most everyone was asleep. The few who were not raised their heads and nodded with a smile of greeting. He tapped Cage on the shoulder and quickly grabbed his wrist before he put a knife to his heart. With hand signals, he indicated that he was safe and was going to find some place to crash. Before he left, his good friend took his hand and squeezed, an indication of how happy he was that he was back and safe. Torolf barely noticed the woman who was cuddled next to Cage.

  Taking off his windbreaker, he set the broadsword he’d taken with him on the table. Then, ever so quietly, he opened, then closed the door to Hilda’s bedchamber.

  If she was worried about me, she probably won’t mind, one side of his brain said.

  Ha, ha, ha! the other side said.

  Oh, well!

  It was a small room, hardly bigger than a jail cell, with only two small slits for windows, which let in the full moon. A candle still burned in a steatite holder . . . an extravagance for Hilda. (The candle, not steatite—better known as soapstone—which was a natural outcropping in Norway.) She must have fallen asleep before snuffing the candle. By that dim light, he could see her lying on her back, arms flung over her head. Her pale blonde hair was loose and strewn about her like a mantle. Under the bed fur, she was naked, or he assumed she was since it was the custom in this land and this time. Something jolted inside Torolf. Arousal or something more dangerous.

  With a sigh of exhaustion, he set his knife on the bed where it would be within easy reach. Then he removed his own clothes, sniffing with disgust at his body odor, not having bathed in days, but he was too tired to do anything about that now. Instead, he slid under the bed fur beside Hilda, chuckling at what she would think about that, and almost immediately fell asleep, warmed by her delicious body heat. At any other time, he would have been more aware of her nudity. Aware, hell! More like bone-hard and ready to party. But not now. Maybe later. No, not later. Never. Not with Hilda.

  It was still dark, but the sky was graying outside, presaging dawn, when Torolf ’s eyes shot open and his body went on high alert. He was lying on his back, and Hilda’s head was on his shoulder, her hair spread over his chest and her hand on his cock. She was fast asleep.

  This is what SEALs, and men throughout history, called the “Oh, no!” second.

  Good Lord! What do I do now? If I wake her up, she’ll kill me. If I don’t wake her, she’ll kill me. I better do something pretty quick before my rocket decides to launch . . . or I do something really stupid, like roll over and fuck her brains out.

  As gently as he could, he lifted her hand off his dick, which of course had a mind of its own and tried to follow, jerking upward. Torolf was pretty sure his eyes rolled back in his head at the utter ecstasy.

  He placed her hand on his waist, and what did the wench do? With a soft moan, still asleep, she swung one leg halfway over his so that she was sort of straddling his thigh from the side. And she moved her face up into the curve of his neck so that her right breast was now resting on his chest. He looked down and stifled a moan himself.

  Her breast was small, as he’d imagined, but nice. Very nice. All pink areola and rosy nipple. He couldn’t help himself, his forefinger, like his cock, had a mind of its own and touched her nipple. Just a whisper of a touch. But the nipple pearled and grew bigger.

  He closed his eyes and tried to think of something far removed from sex and breasts and raging erections. How about the devastation he’d seen at Norstead and Amberstead? How about the oat fields gone fallow and the cotters’ huts burned to the ground? How about the woman he’d rescued from several now-dead hirdsmen of Steinolf ’s, who had been about to gang r
ape her after kicking her black and blue? How about how difficult the task would be up ahead to unseat Steinolf and his horde of barbarians?

  He drifted back to sleep.

  “EEEEK!”

  A scream caused Torolf to jackknife up in bed, or half jackknife, since Hilda lay half-sprawled over him. Her hands were beating his chest, and she was yelling for him to release her.

  “Release you? How about you release me?”

  “You’re lying on my hair, you oaf! EEEEEEKKKKK!”

  “Hey,” he said, “you’re taking all the bed fur.”

  She was covered now, up to the neck, but he was bare-ass naked. Not that he cared all that much, but she probably did. “Is this about our agreement?”

  “What agreement?”

  “I agreed to let you swive me for a night in return for your ridding the world of Steinolf.”

  “What . . . no . . . it’s not about that. I meant to explain—”

  “Do not think to get payment in advance. You must give me fair warning afore I submit to your skin-crawling advances.”

  Torolf started to laugh.

  “Get . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . bedchamber,” she said through gritted teeth. The whole time she was staring at his cock sporting its hearty morning erection.

  Jeesh! I can’t take the thing anywhere!

  “EEEEK!” she screamed again when he didn’t move quickly enough.

  The door slammed open as people drawn by her screams came crowding into the small room, including his buddies with weapons at the ready. For one split second, he and Hilda just stared up at the gawking crowd. Then Hilda realized that they were both naked; her scream could probably be heard across the English Channel. This time a long line of obscenities directed at him accompanied the scream.

  Cage studied the situation and observed, “Sweet!” flashing him the victory sign. JAM and the other guys, laughing like hyenas, began herding everyone out of the bedchamber.