Her Lord and Master (2 page)

A loud crash heralded the complete destruction of the altar.

Finally, Elizabeth had enough.

“Stop this, immediately!” she yelled.

Her voice was hoarse from years of disuse, but it felt strangely good to use it again. It felt good to shout.

The thieves paused. Their leader laughed.

Elizabeth froze.

The pompous man strode forward, almost jauntily, stopping directly before her. He leered, as if amused by her pathetic outburst. He was a full foot taller than she, and his wide shoulders dwarfed her. He peered at her for a long moment, and all time stood still.

Elizabeth lifted her chin, and looked brazenly into his eyes. Their glistening azure depths shimmered with scornful disdain. Elizabeth forced herself to remain calm, to breathe deeply, but his cerulean eyes held her transfixed. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe at all, and her knees shook. Her throat was parched, and she gulped dryly.

But it wasn’t from fear.

The man’s hand shot out without warning, and pulled the brown woolen hood off her head, revealing the entirety of her face and braided hair for his scrutiny.

He stared at her for a long moment, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of her person.

“I said desist, and be gone with you,” Elizabeth ordered brashly, stamping her foot, like the noble woman she was.

The man laughed again. His deep voice echoed like a drum.

Elizabeth reached for her secret knife, occluded within the hidden pockets of her cloak. She pulled it free quickly, and hurled herself forward, throwing all of her weight at him.

She jabbed directly at the man’s heart.

But he was a skilled and experienced warrior. In a split second, he anticipated her move, divested her of the weapon, and twisted her arm painfully behind her back. He never even batted an eyelid. He held her immobile against his iron chest, his mouth only a breath away from hers. Elizabeth became acutely aware of his moist lips, his sturdy jaw, his stubbly beard. But more than anything, she sensed the manly essence of him, emanating from his very being. He was all man in every way, and he was in control of everything around him.

Elizabeth felt every scalding inch of his flesh that touched hers. His mighty hand branded her skin where it clasped her wrist behind her back. His virulent chest crushed her soft breasts that lay pressed against him. And, although she knew precious little about the anatomy of a male, she knew his manhood stood a mere hairsbreadth away, separated from her burning belly by only a few measly layers of fabric. She imagined she could feel it. Her cheeks flamed scarlet as she considered the full implications of her position.

Every fiber of her flesh awoke with tingling awareness of him. It was as if all her life she had been asleep before this moment. As if she had been born for his touch. Although they were both fully clothed, she divined that something intimate and extraordinary had passed between them, just as profound and private as if they had been alone behind closed doors.

And all of the nuns were watching!

She tried to pull away, but his free arm snaked around her waist, pinning her fully against him. She battering his prodigious chest with her fists, but the steel bands squeezed tighter around her waist until the air was sucked right out of her lungs.

Finally, she relented.

Quickly, unexpectedly, the man pulled both of her hands behind her back, holding them jointly with one of his own. Before she could blink, he lashed her hands together with a length of rope that appeared, seemingly, out of nowhere. Elizabeth tried to fight, but another long cord looped around her neck from behind. He pulled it tightly, stopping her short.

“Release me, you snake,” she croaked.

He wound the tail end of the rope slowly around his gigantic hand, taunting her. His eyes laughed at her plight, teasing and tormenting with each passing breath.

She tried to pry the rope away from her throat, but he snapped it taut. Now, it was uncomfortably tight. The man muttered something under his breath, but she understood not a word of his unfamiliar Norse tongue.

She was truly scared. This was not a joke or a prank, or even a simple robbery.

She was being hauled away by Vikings!

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death.

The man barked an order at his men.

As quickly as the raid began, it was over.   

O
utside, the sun was peeking out tentatively from behind the clouds, and the birds had resumed their chorus in the trees. All signs of a storm had blown over, and the morning warmth was gradually sweeping away the mist from the moors. It seemed as if all of nature was oblivious to her peril, Elizabeth thought. As if it were a completely regular day, and nothing inordinate had happened at all. Mother Nature had turned a blind eye to the calamity that had occurred within the shrouded walls of the convent. It was a travesty.

Had God forgotten her, as well?

Out in the courtyard, a lofty mound of treasures was being hastily thrown into an oversized tin tub, and loaded onto the abbess’ wooden cart. They were even stealing her laundry tub, she railed incredulously. Was there no end to their pilfering ways?

All around her, raging Norsemen poured out of the convent like angry bees fleeing from the hive. They scaled nimbly over the stone walls of the abbey, despite their immense size and myriad of weapons. They disappeared like ghosts into the misty moorland countryside, with gunnysacks in tow. Gone. Like they had never even been here, Elizabeth thought. An entire abbey ransacked, lives ruined, and ancient treasures vanished, in less than a quarter hour.

The Viking lord strode rapidly across the cloister, issuing orders to the men who remained. Elizabeth struggled to keep up with him, the rope around her neck snapping tensely each time she lagged behind. He never even bothered to look back at her, letting the rope mete out its own punishment instead.

The men that remained dragged out heavy oaken barrels of stolen wine, cheese, ale and grains, and loaded them into the stolen wooden cart – that was tethered to the stolen team of draft horses. Purloined pigs, sheep, goats and chickens had been corralled into the wagon, as well. Even Bessie, the old milking cow was lead away.

Elizabeth wondered if these pirates ever felt remorse, or even grasped the irony of their immoral occupation, but she doubted these soul-less creatures had the heart to feel regret. She thought for a moment about their homeland; it must have been a cold, empty, barren place to have produced these ungodly thugs.

Their lives must have been bleak and hopeless for them to have turned to a life of thievery to survive, she thought. Mayhap, their bellicose gods had deserted them long ago, like the Romans and the Celts. She almost felt sorry for them, but not quite.

Her thoughts were cut short, as the postern gates of the courtyard opened wide, and the last of the raiders left the abbey. The Viking chieftain moved to leave, too, and the cord bit cruelly into her throat.

Realization dawned on Elizabeth like a hammer to the head.

The life she had known for five years was over.

Elizabeth threw herself to her knees, praying quietly.
Our Father, thou art in heaven, hallowed be thy name
.
The Viking leader jerked the rope and she gagged aloud, but resumed her orations. She jammed her fingers between the rope and her neck so she could breathe.
Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.

He yanked harder on the cord, stalking away. The force nearly knocked her to the ground, but she held herself stubbornly aloft on her elbows in the dirt. He didn’t even turn around. Her hands were still bound together, and she teetered precariously, but did not give in. Elizabeth knew he was strong enough to pull her from here to Byzantium if he chose, but she rebelled doggedly against his rule, if only to make a futile stand. She would not go with him willingly.

She was a noblewoman, and he was a barbarian. It was beneath her to even speak to him.

“Give us this day and forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”

Finally, the man turned about leisurely, cocking his head as he glared at her sinisterly. An amused grin danced about the corners of his mouth, as if this were all just a game to him. The wind rustled his golden tresses, and they glittered in the sunlight. He moved toward her unhurriedly, a lion sauntering, derisively, toward his prey.

He squatted beside her, and tipped her chin gently with one finger. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, and she felt it quiver against her will.

Abruptly, he clasped her elbows, and hauled her to her feet, as if she weighed no more than a feather. The ground spun beneath her. He held her upper arms for a long moment, stroking them intimately. His hands were hot on her skin. His eyes scorched her flesh.

Without warning, he brushed the back of his fingers lightly over her breast. She shuddered, and her nipple responded visibly.

Elizabeth jumped, as if he had struck her, and yelped with indignation.

“
Værdifuld
,” he murmured.

She raised her chin with a huff and stomped away toward the open gate.

His laughter echoed behind her.

––––––––

H
ours later, the midday sun shone brightly overhead, pulled across the sky by Dagur’s chariot. Up ahead, black ravens circled the air, a sure sign that Odin himself was assisting the brave warrior band’s escape.

“I demand you let me go,” Elizabeth insisted irritably.

She wiped prickly sweat from her brow, with the scratchy back of her woolen sleeve. The hot noonday sun was thrashing her mercilessly. Her thick, brown cloak, while perfectly comfortable within the windowless confines of the stone abbey, was proving to be an excruciating torture on this stifling hike across the Northumbrian moorlands. The treeless savannah provided little protection from the summer heat.  

The heavy weight of the attached hood pulled her head backwards, and the thick rope around her neck pulled her forward, abrading her delicate skin of her throat on all sides.

She could feel the sweltering sun burning the flesh of her face, and the itchy fabric of her sleeves was almost more than she could bear. The flimsy calf-skin slippers upon her feet were worn nearly clear through from trudging over the rocky terrain away from the abbey. She could see specks of blood soaking through the soles.

The man’s hellish pace was unyielding.

What’s worse, she was all alone with the brute. His men had scattered like flies, and she had seen not one of them in hours since they left the priory.

“I said, I demand to know where we are going,” she repeated, louder. 

“Nej,”
the Viking lord said tersely in his language.

She did not need a translator to understand him. ‘No’ sounded the same in every language, she supposed.

His pace did not slow, and he made no effort to answer her question, or even further address the fact that she had spoken to him. Elizabeth thought about screaming for help, but she knew they were far from any village or hamlet where someone would hear her. These men were experienced raiders who couldn’t risk getting caught.

She debated hurling herself to the ground and begging him for mercy, but for some inexplicable reason, she didn’t want the man to see her comport herself so indignantly. She would suffer in silence rather than let him see her lose composure.

Her final option was to try to escape, but she knew it was futile too.

She sensed intuitively her captor would pursue her. She didn’t know how she knew this, but she was certain he would hunt her down relentlessly if she ran. Somehow, he had branded her as his possession, and would hound her to the ends of the earth if she attempted to get away. The thought was at once terrifying and titillating.

Plus, she had no idea where they were.

Nay, escape was not an option. Neither was pleading for pity.

“Mayhap we could stop for water?” she asked. She tried to speak in her sweetest voice, although she truly desired to plunge a sword in his back.

That big, bronze, beautiful back, spreading out like the wings of an eagle. The unfamiliar sight of his naked, male flesh burned her virgin eyeballs, making her breath come in quick little pants and evoking feelings she had never felt before.

The man paused, pivoted on his foot, and faced her squarely.

“
Nej,” he repeated coldly, his deep voice a low rumble.

“I am thirsty, and I require a respite,” she held her ground firmly, trying not to notice his glistening, golden chest.

“Nej,” the muscle in his jaw ticked and his azure eyes were nebulous.

Yet, strangely, they were appealing.

“You are a shameless, sinful swine,” she retorted, angrily.

Who did he think he was, denying her reasonable request to rest and replenish?

“I demand that we stop, and quench our thirst,” she stated. “I am hot.”

Unhurriedly, he ambled closer, until he was so close, his expansive chest blocked out the sun. The earthy scent of him filled her nostrils. She could smell soap, and leather, and ale. But beneath that, she smelled the deep, primordial scent that was his signature, as individual as a thumbprint or a snowflake. Something that belonged to him and him alone. Elizabeth found it inexplicably, intoxicatingly alluring.

It filled her with a longing she had never known. Like she wanted to burrow herself so deeply into his arms, she would melt right in to him. She breathed deeply, unwittingly enjoying the fragrance of him. 

Elizabeth noticed the thick veins in his muscular forearms and powerful hands. She marveled at the contours of his masculine body, noting the differences from her own. She watched a rivulet of sweat meander down his glorious chest. Her eyes followed its path until it reached a trail of dark hair that lead down from his navel to his....

She gulped.

His calloused hand gently cupped her chin, and tilted her head upwards. He towered over her, truly Thor himself incarnate. His cobalt eyes grabbed hers, holding them hypnotically. Slowly, his hand slipped downward, resting upon her breast. His other hand came to rest upon its twin. Danger radiated from every ounce of him.