Page 75 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
“Pleading already?”
8
Elswyth
August 1st, 960AD
Iimagined all the ways I might kill him. A blade through the heart or sliced across his neck. Perhaps an axe through his skull, or a swift-acting poison. Even beating him to death with the thing he’d left inside me.
When I tilted my hips, it sent an ache of yearning through my sex. It was provoking and demeaning in a way I couldn’t put into words.
And how long was I to be tied?
The restraints only chafed when I struggled, so I lay still and tried to divert my thoughts.
I’d agreed to obey him for the sake of the babe I carried, and for my sake, too, since I didn’t wish to die, but my blood grew feverish.
I’d have my revenge—not just for myself but for Eirik and all Svolvaen.
He was an ugly brute, who’d murdered the man I loved, and, whatever he thought, I’d never belong to him.
In his madness, Gunnolf had sentenced Svolvaen to its cruel fate, and we had all paid the price. Eldberg had been wronged, but we weren’t to blame, and there was no justice in the retribution he’d brought upon us.
The beast had bedded down on the floor, the smell of mead strong on his breath. While I lay awake, he snored.
At last, I must have dozed, for I woke to the dim light of dawn filtering through the smoke hole in the rafters, and the man I loathed standing above me, holding the sash that had covered my eyes.
“I need to pass water.” I made no effort to hide my scowl. “And drink some,” I added with less abruptness. I wasn’t in a position to show my temper.
He’d been fearsome and brutal the day before, but he appeared subdued this morning, his face grey. He said nothing and moved as if he were in discomfort.
A bad head, I hoped, from too much drink. Perhaps his back was stiff from his night on the floor.
He unfastened the belt and straps about my waist first, drawing his hand down my belly, letting his fingers brush my damp curls before pulling out what had tormented me. I couldn’t help but gasp as it left my body.
Thank the gods!
Relief, and something else.
I was slightly sore from being stretched, but also very wet. Having held the thing inside me for so long, it felt strange for it to be gone.
With the untying of my wrists, my impulse was to claw at his face, but I wasn’t a fool. Whatever state he was in, he remained stronger than me. If I wanted to inflict pain upon him, it would have to wait until I’d better knowledge of this place and an ally to help me escape.
Even with all four limbs free, I couldn’t right myself. My immobility had left me stiff, my hands and feet full of pinpricks. I rubbed at my wrists, shook them, rotated my shoulders, then my ankles. Everything hurt.
With a grunt, Eldberg raised me to a sitting position and fetched a bowl from the corner.
More humiliation!
A prisoner in this room, tied to the bed, impaled, and made to piss in a pot.
I gritted my teeth, bringing myself to the edge of the bed. Gingerly, I squatted over the bowl.
“Turn away, can’t you!” I cast him a black look.
He grunted again and called out for Ragerta. She must have been waiting, for she appeared promptly.
“Food and ale for both of us.” He passed his hand through his dishevelled hair. “Hot water and a cloth.”
