Captive Of The Viking

Feeling the shock throughout her body, she swivelled and tried to leap away at the same time, but was pushed back down by a man’s arm, bare, warm and as hard as steel. Still disoriented, her head reeled as a large hand was clamped over her mouth, holding her down to prevent her scream for help, while her own hands tried to make sense of what was happening and failed to recognise the body they knew.

It was the deep commanding voice of Aric that broke through the panic, soft and reassuring, and close enough for her to feel his breath as the sounds touched her skin. ‘Shh...hush, lady. Steady. There’s no danger. You’re quite safe. Quiet, now. I’m taking my hand away, so don’t scream. I’m here to keep you safe, that’s all.’

She let the words find a niche in her memory as his hand slid away, its wrist held tightly by her fingers that found the linen bandage. ‘Where’s Haesel?’ she whispered, hoarse with fright.

‘Fast asleep behind me. You go back to sleep now.’

There was a part of her that craved sleep, accepting that her body was indeed safer than it had been from Barda’s selfish demands. Yet somehow she had let the enemy get this close when to keep him at a distance, in every respect, had been her one intention from the start. Reasoning deserted her in the dark warmth of his nearness, in the kind of safety she had known only when Haesel had shared her bed, in the comfort she had felt as a young child with an adult nearby. She felt sleep overwhelm her again while breathing in the outdoor scent of his body, feeling his breath on her shoulder and the surprising softness of his short jawline beard. Almost asleep, she turned towards the haven of safety and was scooped up, gently, to lay with her head on the crook of his arm, her mouth against the bare skin of his chest that rose and fell like the rocking of the ship.

* * *

In the starlit darkness and with the sounds of lapping water to remind him of the tides, Aric smiled at his success. But in this game, one could not afford too much self-congratulation, experience having taught him that it would take more than this to bring this rare bird to his hand, nor would he be able to rely on wine again to foil whatever plan she was hatching. If she remembered anything of this episode, she would be doubly on her guard, no doubt hating him more than ever for his ploy. This had been her last chance to make a run for it with the open sea just round the bend and Northumbria left behind. To meet up with King Swein and the rest of the Danish fleet, it would take them quite some time to reach Lundenburh, sailing south, then west along the great River Thames. It was a long time for her to be caged up with a crowd of woman-starved warriors. She would have to become accustomed to his methods of safety and he would have to be on his guard against her methods of resisting them, as she surely would. Having just found a release from a husband’s brutish thraldom, she would not take kindly to his, however different.

* * *

She awakened slowly to the sounds of activity around the ships and to a painful thudding in her head quite unlike anything Barda had been responsible for. Frowning, she squinted at Haesel’s pale unsmiling face and knew that she, too, was feeling the effects of last night’s indulgence while folding blankets and furs with nothing like her usual deftness.

The maid saw that Fearn was awake. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘They need us to take the shelter down. They’ll be moving the ships into the water soon. Please, lady. Move!’ With no time or energy for discussion on whatever it was that nagged her memory of the night’s strangeness, Fearn forced herself into action. To catch the tide was all important to the men and, even as she clambered into place loaded with furs and rugs, there were men aboard pulling on ropes to raise the mast which, until then, had been lying along the deck.

Nestling like two birds into the curve of the prow, the women listened to the men’s roar as they pushed in unison, felt the lurch and dip, the lift as the ship righted itself, kept steady by a few of the oarsmen, then the hasty scramble of men on to the deck. With his leather-clad feet on their platform, Aric yelled and waved his arms at the helmsman, whose task was to steer them safely between sandbanks and mudflats while men unfurled the sail from the yardarm, waiting for orders to hoist it to the top of the mast. Beyond the stern of their longship, Fearn could see the three others following on and, by the way the sandy dunes flattened and disappeared altogether, she knew they would soon be on the open sea that lifted the ship with a rhythmic swoosh. Aric made as if to leave the prow, but then dropped to his heels until his eyes were level with Fearn’s. Above them, the striped sail cracked as the wind filled it. ‘The gods are with us,’ he said. ‘We have a fair wind, but we shall be staying within sight of land, and make better progress if we keep going and sleep on board.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Fearn said, looking steadily into his eyes to find some change there after her disturbing thoughts of the last hour. ‘I believe cold food and buttermilk suits us better than wine. We both prefer to eat and sleep as we did before. We feel safer that way.’ The problem was, she could remember very little of what had happened last night except that something had and that she had been kept safe, whatever she might be implying.

His eyes gave nothing away, nor did the straight line of his mouth. ‘Having got this far with you, your safety is of concern to me. Are you telling me that you did not feel safe last night, after what happened on the sand?’

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