Viking's Love (12 page)

Allisande stared at him with a bitter gleam
in her gaze. “Have you even considered you might get me with child?
Do you even care should that happen? Are you such an ignorant
barbarian you think nothing of that?”

Joran looked disgusted during her scathing
rant; his pleasure dwindling. He refused to feel badly for
intending to take her to his bed. She was his to enjoy until
spring, until her ransom was paid. He’d not think of consequences
now. “That hasn’t even happened yet,” he muttered dismissively as
he proceeded to wash the rest of him. “You worry needlessly, my
ornery slave.”

Allisande stared at him as if he sprouted two
heads. “You think only of yourself, that much is obvious, Viking,
and that foul organ dangling between your legs. What do you think
will happen to me when I’m sent back to my family with your bastard
growing in me? Do you see my brother accepting such? Or do you see
me being sent away to bear your babe in shame, hidden away from
all?”

Joran glared at her furious words. “You might
prove unable to bear a child. Some women are. Do not think my worry
of that will keep me from you now, my beauty. I will have you,
Allisande of Lockwraithe, make no mistake of that.”

Allisande regarded him with rage in her eyes.
“Does it please you to destroy someone who has done nothing to you
but have the misfortune to have the wrong sire?”

Joran was caught off guard, feeling a pang of
guilt to know she was right. His war wasn’t against her. His
vengeance against her father and his cohorts was one matter; his
treatment of her another. “If it eases your mind, any child you
have is owned by me by law,” Joran said coolly and shrugged. “I see
no need for such concerns. Should it happen, my people will care
for the child when you leave.”

Allisande looked horrified by his obvious
lack of regard. “No, you are concerned only for your vengeance.”
She tucked the sheet tighter around her nakedness. “Were you to
target just the ones who merited it; I’d not be here right
now!”

“
You killed two of my men.” Joran’s
blue eyes were frigid as they fell upon her outraged features.
“What punishment do you think fitting for that?”

Allisande gasped at his words. “I won my life
back, Viking! And as for those two; your men butchered my people
that day unprovoked! There were no innocents who fell under my
sword, Viking!”

“
Had my men had their way in it; you’d
be dead now and we both know that,” Joran rose from the tub. Her
gaze skidded away from his nudity as he stepped out dripping onto
the planks, his eyes as cold as the North Sea now as they met hers.
“Consider your efforts at pleasing me all the reward I need for
saving your life, Allisande. Were it not for this foul organ you
threaten, my father would have killed you himself!”

Allisande looked like she’d like to kill him
at that moment, too incensed to do more than gape at him. “You
think you do me a favor by making me your slave, Viking?”

Joran grabbed up a toweling sheet, his
infuriating look making her want to scream in frustrated rage.
“That is but one way of looking at it. Somehow, I do not think you
would thank me as yet.”

“
You will wait a long time for it if
you think I would thank you for ruining my life,
Viking!”

Joran was glad he’d removed anything sharp
from his enclosure. The look in her eyes said she would kill him
cheerfully at that moment. “There is women’s clothing at the bottom
of my chest,” Joran said as he dried off. “You are welcome to it.
As amusing as this conversation is; I am needed on deck. Your
complaints can wait until tonight.”

Allisande glared at his knowing leer as he
pulled his clothing back on. “When do we arrive at your home?”

“
We will be there on the
morrow.”

Allisande felt a sense of panic to know she
would enter the Viking’s stronghold, treated as a slave upon her
arrival. Some of her unease must have shown. His expression
softened as he saw her dread.

“
My people are not cruel. You needn’t
worry they will harm you, Allisande.”

Allisande avoided his compassionate stare,
unwilling to think the Viking cared for anything except her ransom
and the use of her body. The helpless rage she felt was nothing
next to her fury to know she had months more of this degradation
before spring arrived.

****

Joran’s thoughts of his lovely slave stayed
with him most of the day, enduring ribald jests from his men. They
became worried, reminding him of the girl’s threats to him.

He questioned himself in showing her any
kindness she would undoubtedly turn against him at the first
opportunity. He’d not acted himself since he had seen her wield her
little sword. She was a captive, not a damned princess!

He glared at the dragon carved upon the bow
of his ship. She would learn her place if he had to take a hand to
her. His people wouldn’t care who she was in her country. In his,
she was merely a slave.

It was another Viking who brought her a meal,
leaving a wooden bowl with fish near the opening of the enclosure
late that day. The Viking left as quickly as he came; sparing her
not a look. It was dark when she lay upon her furs, lulled by the
swaying of the ship as it travelled down the winding fjord.

She was groggy when Joran arrived back at the
enclosure. He bent and lifted her into his strong arms, bearing her
to his fur mat. She protested sleepily, but soon he curled around
her and went to sleep, holding her close against his hard
chest.

Allisande was awoken with a sharp whack on
her bottom near dawn. She cried out and gazed up at her captor with
a glare of hatred. Joran jerked her up and bade her dress quickly.
She flung him a look of contempt.

She pulled the modest gown on she found
within his chest. It was blue wool and a bit too big. She tripped
over the hem when she walked. He insisted on loosely tying her
wrists before taking her outside.

He bid her to follow him out on deck. His men
were rowing down a narrow fjord. She squinted through the mists.
She could make out a huge, planked two-story rectangular house
sitting on a rocky bluff overlooking the sea.

Several smaller buildings and sheds sat
behind it. There were cattle and many sheep grazing in a pasture
nearby. She saw a throng of people gathered on the dock to meet
their Chieftain’s ship. The men shouted across the water and cheers
went up.

They were rowing anxiously to shore. She felt
a shiver of trepidation as she saw her captor smiling out the
corner of her eye. Joran was clean and simply garbed this day,
wearing a pale blue tunic and buff-colored pants. The silver fur
vest was rich and soft-looking.

He wore a silver necklace around his throat
with a wolf pendant upon it. She noticed the silver earring
dangling in his ear with contempt. She found herself staring at his
leggings now, coloring to the roots of her hair for lingering upon
his pleasing appearance. Now that he was bathed and clean shaven,
he looked nothing like the ferocious Berserker who pillaged her
home.

The man wreaked havoc upon her state of mind
with his continued attack upon her senses. Shame was felt to know
she had little control over her eager responses to him. When the
long ship slid into its berth, she knew the reason for his smile
and stiffened.

A comely redhead ran down the wooden dock to
meet their ship, her lush figure shown to perfection in the pale,
blue velvet kirtle and darker blue apron over it.

His woman,
Allisande thought scornfully, and pitied her on sight. Joran
dragged her along side of him as he went to greet his people. She
tripped over her skirts and glared up at him, struggling to keep up
with his long-legged stride as they left the ship. He gazed down at
her in irritation, and finally released her rope and left her to
stand alone on the dock as the Vikings filed past her and ran to
greet their women.

Children were squealing and women were
clucking over their men. She found it all rather distasteful given
their behavior at her home. Thinking of the rape of her female
household at the hands of some of these men made her eyes narrow
dangerously. The redhead was holding onto Joran’s arm, and rubbing
her large breasts against his arm as she looked up at him
adoringly.

Allisande wanted to laugh at the way the
redhead simpered up at the Viking, thinking of his woman’s reaction
to know how he’d nearly bedded her twice during her transport here.
The woman noticed her standing there, her face clearly reflecting
her displeasure.

“
Joran, who is this woman?” the redhead
asked in obvious dismay. “A new slave, perchance?”

“
That is not what he called me last
night,” Allisande taunted the redheaded beauty with relish. She
chuckled at Joran’s darkening frown at her baiting words. The pale
green eyes flicked over her with obvious hatred. Allisande smiled
mockingly, further inciting a confrontation. Joran hadn’t explained
Allisande’s presence when the women were standing inches apart.
Merta reached out and slapped Allisande across the face.

Joran was prepared for Merta’s anger, but not
this. Before he could upbraid Merta for hitting his slave, the
redhead was kicked in the middle of her chest with one of
Allisande’s feet, sending her flying backward to teeter at the edge
of the dock.

Joran muttered a curse. All those on the dock
watched as Merta fell backward into the water below, coming up
cursing the black-haired girl who obviously made good use of her
feet, even as tied as she was.

Merta was crying and screaming. Joran reached
down to help her up on the dock. Allisande chuckled as the redhead
dripped upon the wood planks, her chest heaving indignantly as she
pointed to her.

“
You will be whipped for your
insolence, girl!” Merta stamped her foot as no one seemed inclined
to punish the girl for knocking her into the water. “Joran, I
demand you do something! You saw what she did to me!”

“
Judging by the red mark upon her
cheek, I see what you did to her as well, Merta.” Joran gazed at
his mistress with little compassion. “Go to the house and dry off,
and quit taunting my slave. It appears she is quite resourceful
even with her hands tied.”

Merta stomped away, glaring at Allisande in
loathing as she passed. The other Vikings were enjoying the
spectacle. Joran grabbed her ropes and pulled her along with him, a
tense muscle moving in his cheek. Allisande struggled to keep up as
she fairly jogged behind him.

The people upon the docks watched with
apparent amusement as he dragged his captive into the longhouse.
Allisande drew up short inside the huge house, and was stunned by
the richness she saw there.

Allisande expected the filth and squalor she
observed in Ivar’s house. She was amazed as she gazed at the
beautiful tapestries upon the walls, the gleaming, polished wood of
the hall. The trestle tables and benches gleamed with recent
cleaning. The rushes were fresh and clean-smelling upon the floor.
The hall was huge, capable of entertaining a hundred people at a
time.

Three huge stone hearths were used to heat
the place. In the back of the hall, she saw several women basting a
large boar over a spit. Weapons of war hung from the walls and
reminded her of where she was, and who her captors were. Viking
symbols were etched in intricate designs within the woodwork
everywhere she looked.

The smell of the succulent meat had her
watering mouth before she was once more dragged by Joran to a door
below the stairs to the upper level. He opened it, and she saw that
he was taking her downstairs. She had no choice but to follow. He
stopped and lit a taper candle. She could see several wooden cells
occupied the lower level.

She bit her lip as he dragged her into one of
the cells, and shoved her inside. He closed the wooden door and
stared at her without expression before he turned and left her. She
had light from a small window high above in the ceiling and looked
at her surroundings with dismal resignation.

A small straw pallet and a slop bucket were
the only items within the small cell. She edged over to the pallet
and saw it was fairly clean and sat upon it. Her eyes grew pensive
as she listened to the goings on above stairs. It was obvious a
celebration was underway to herald the Chieftain’s return.

Allisande smiled smugly when she thought of
how she humiliated his woman. She knew she only invited future
attacks for her actions. The Viking bitch would find she would not
bow meekly to her, whether she was a slave or not.

Merta failed to ease his lust for Allisande.
After an hour in bed with the redhead, he knew it wasn’t she he
desired, but the black-haired woman locked below. It was then he
made his decision to send Merta home. Her tears to know he was
sending her back to her brother failed to move him as they spoke in
his chamber during the revelry below.

“
It is time you go back to your
brother’s house, Merta.” Joran dressed to return below. “We both
know I won’t marry you. Garran will find you a husband among his
men. It is best.”

Merta looked outraged as she swung to face
him, clutching a fur skin to her lush nakedness. “You send me away
because of her! Do not lie! Grogan’s wife says she’s bedeviled
you!”

“
Janna talks too much.” Joran gazed at
Merta without anymore kindness in his darkened blue stare. “You
would do well to pack your things. Haldon will take you home after
the festivities. It is over.”

Merta’s pretty face grew mottled with fury.
“You would toss me aside for some English wench? I’ll not have it!
Garran will hear of your treatment of me, Joran. You have not heard
the last of me.”