Page 6 of Alien Viking's Passion

“A homesteader a ways down the hill alerted his lendman that two alien women were making their way up towards the mountains,” he told them as the shortship sped up and the wind started blowing past their ears. “The earl’s advisers felt it unwise to leave two small females alone in the wilderness during a Big Shine. Being in the earl’s favor and not having my time taken up by other tasks, I decided to see what kind of trouble the twowould get into.”

“Sorry,” Aretha said, looking straight ahead, arms carefully crossed. “If we had known there would be vettir, we wouldn't have gone. I hope they weren't there only because of us.”

Craxon steered towards a cluster of yellow lights down on the plain. It looked like a farm, where they would know how to deal with small injuries. “Oh, I think we need not worry about that. What brought that swarm across the mountain’s spine could scarcely have been the two of you. But a chief’s honored guests need more than starlight for a guard. Where is your retinue? You could have had a score of Earl Bragr’s shieldmaidens and warriors to keep you safe.”

“We will remember that,” Aretha said, staring straight ahead. “Your Highness.”

He’d had to say it, but Aretha’s cold reply hurt Craxon’s heart and reassured his mind.

He reached back in the shortship and got the pack he had brought, handing it to Aretha. “In here you will find a flask of fortified wine from my principality of Ragnhildros. Pour it on your injuries to clean them somewhat. It will sting, but bear its bite and rise stronger.”

Aretha found the straight-sided pot and opened it, struggling a little because she was still hiding her chest with her arms. “It smells good.”

“It's useful for many things,” Craxon said. “Fear not its strength! It has seen many winters of Ragnhildros. Take a sip or two, and it will see you through this night. Both of you,” he added, remembering there was another one, too.

Aretha poured a small amount of the clear fluid on her injury, then hissed between her teeth. “That's stronger than fortified wine, I think.”

Craxon shrugged. “What Ragnhildros makes often turns out strong.”

“Vy dusee speek lyk aragorn?”the other female hissed.

The two females poured the wine on their wounds and talked their strange language together. Craxon understood completely why these females had been so alluring to the Hjalmarheim raiders that they had abducted them, despite it being against Earl Bragr’s own rules for raids. These were both lively and plainly smart. And Aretha was the most special of them.

The silence was tense as he fought himself and the strong urge to keep looking at her, taking in more of her body and her face. He racked his brain for things to say that would be completely neutral and dull. But all he could think of was her presence beside him, her searching eyes, her attempts to hide her chest from his gaze, her little movements and her bright, yet mature voice.

Part of him wished the vettir had stripped her of the skirt as well, but his rational brain was relieved that at least her lower part was covered. The seams of his trousers were more than tight enough as it was.

The other one still made no attempt to hide herself, but he never gave her a glance.

Craxon flung the shortship around a tree with a vicious throw of the controls, making the females squeal with the sudden movement. He wanted to kick himself. This was totally irresponsible! He had placed himself in an extremely dangeroussituation, being this close to Aretha. He plainly didn’t have the strength to keep his distance. From now on he must stay away from her, and as soon as possible he had to go back home to Ragnhildros and forget all about her.

If he could.

The lights came closer and he slowed down, looking out for the stone fence that would show where the farmland began. Before, the shortship would soar over those things without the driver noticing. With the Big Shine weakening it, he had to be much more careful in how he drove.

Finally he set the shortship down on its wooden runners in the courtyard of a farmstead. The smell of animals, feed, and recently cut grass was thick in the air, as well as the whiff of smoke. “Here we are. I don’t know whose land this is, but it is of no concern. All Earl Bragr’s people will offer solace and healing. Stay for a moment.”

He got out of the shortship and stood on the ground, hands on his hips. “Zhor bless this estate and all who dwell here!” he called in the Ragnhildros way. “It is Prince Craxon who asks for your aid.”

Doors opened, and several people came hurrying from different directions. They had obviously been busy in various parts of the farm, but they had plainly also been fully aware that they had guests.

“Prince Craxon,” a tall man said as he approached, a sputtering torch in his hand. “It does us great honor to be visited by a man of your stature. I am Kjornar, Earl Bragr’s warrior under lendman Roharr.” He stopped and gave a short bow, glancing at the females in the shortship.

Craxon returned the bow with a small nod, then put his hands on his belt. “These two alien females were attacked by vettir, Kjornar. They need their wounds tended to. Perhaps a farm as large and tidy as this has the means that are needed for that.”

“We will find a way,” the warrior said slowly. “If alien females are not too different from ourselves.”

“They are different,” Craxon said. “But not that different. They are two of those who were brought here by the earl on the latest raid.”

“I thought so,” Kjornar said with a little smile. “Indeed they could hardly be anything else. I can barely believe that these two small ones would venture beyond the mountains! Were they not told about the Big Shine and its effects?”

Aretha and the other one climbed out of the shortship and made their way over, into the flickering light from the torch.

“They were attacked halfway down the side of the mountain,” Craxon told him. “Right about there.” He pointed up to the hill.

Kjornar stiffened. “Vettir onthisside of the mountains? Surely not, Prince Craxon!”

“I saw them, warrior. I cut a score of them out of the sky myself. Among the boulders and the scree a few spear’s throws from your very fields.”

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