Plunder Ch. 02

Avila woke to sunlight streaming in through the tent's walls amidst the sounds of the stirring camp. The sleeping man behind her shifted, nestling his bearded face into her neck. Suddenly, she was very aware of his hard shaft pressing against her buttocks. She desperately wanted to get away from her captor's threatening rod, but she dared not move for fear that she would wake him. He might still be capable of terrifying her in his sleep, but at least he could not actually hurt her. Or so she hoped.

In this moment of relative calm, Avila began to take stock of her situation. Thorlaf had his own tent, albeit a small one, and that must mean he was a man of considerable status. Although she knew little of the quality of weapons, she thought his gear to be in good repair. But perhaps most telling of all was his willingness to lie to his captain. Last night, Thorlaf had smeared her with his own blood to convince his leader she was not a maiden, and he still had not taken her, leaving his deception vulnerable to discovery. Surely even for a man of some standing that was quite a risk to take for the sake of an insignificant captive such as herself. Then again, if he had no qualms about deceiving his kinsman, what else had he lied about?

Come to think of it, he had hardly told her anything at all.

A high, woody horn blast rang out across the camp, and Thorlaf jerked awake. "Damn!" he snapped, sitting up sharply and throwing back the furs. "It seems I sleep a little too soundly with you in my arms."

"Then perhaps tonight you could lend me a blanket so that we may sleep apart."

No sooner had she uttered the words than Thorlaf was on top of her, pinning her to the ground beneath his mighty frame. "I think you'll find sharing a bed has other benefits," he murmured, his lips scarcely a hair's breadth from hers. Slowly he pressed his mouth down, coaxing hers open with a warm, buttery kiss. His manhood was rock hard against the softness of her belly, and Avila was shocked to find herself wondering what something so large would feel like inside her.

With an effort, Thorlaf pulled himself away from her delicate body and started to don his outer garments. Avila looked up at him, taking in the first clear look she'd had at him in daylight. He had thick, golden brown hair, the upper half of which was pulled back into a rough braid. Dark hazel eyes were set below straight, dense brows. His nose was slender, with a slight hook at the top, and a full, shortly trimmed beard surrounded his soft pink lips.

Thorlaf smirked at her, and Avila realized he had caught her staring. She blushed and looked down, still somewhat surprised at the allure of his features. Last night, while he threatened and abducted her in the dark, she had never imagined this villain to be so handsome.

Finished dressing, Thorlaf gestured at her to get off the bedroll. As she moved aside and he began rolling up the blankets, she remembered her ruined skirt, now exposed to the light, and the color rose once more in her cheeks.

"Thorlaf," she entreated, "do you have a needle and thread I could use? I need to mend my dress."

He grinned at her, as if seeing his handiwork for the first time. "I think you look lovely as you are, but there's a sewing kit in there if you wish." He pointed to a leather sack in the corner. "Be quick about it. We break camp within the hour."

It didn't take Avila long to find the little pouch with bone needles and a skein of thread, and she immediately set to sewing while he continued packing up in silence. A couple minutes later, Thorlaf grabbed the larger bags and ducked out of the tent.

As soon as he was gone, she felt a wave of relief wash over her and the tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding for the past few hours simply snapped. She hadn't been alone for a second since the raid, and now that she finally had a moment to herself the tears poured onto her skirt like a summer storm. "I'll see you again," Inga had said. Avila still hadn't given up hope that her words were true, but she had never spent a day of her life without her sister, and now the anxiety of not knowing when they'd be reunited was too much to bear. How long would little Anso be able to survive hiding in the forest before they could find shelter? Avila thanked every god she could think of that she did not yet have children of her own to worry about. Had her beloved friend Ermendrud escaped unscathed, or had she been raped by the warriors and cast aside? And what of her brother? Or Anso's father? Had they been killed in the fighting? She cursed herself for shutting her eyes at the last chance to see her hometown: any information, even seeing her loved ones mortally wounded, must be better than knowing nothing at all.

Thorlaf reentered the tent with a bowl of porridge, and Avila hurriedly tried to wipe away her tears. "Breakfast," he announced matter-of-factly. Then, seeing her reddened, watery eyes, he said "Don't be afraid, little wildcat. I have no intention of hurting you as long as you don't attack me again."

"Tis not myself I grieve for," she said, resignedly accepting the porridge.

Thorlaf was quiet for a while. Apparently, it had not occurred to the ignorant bastard that she had friends and family in the village he had just attacked. Finally, he said, "We showed little mercy to the men who resisted us, but your mother is probably unharmed."

Avila let out a short, humorless laugh. "She died seven years ago."

"I'm sorry."

She gave no response. If he expected her to be charmed by his platitudes, he was sorely mistaken. She finished her breakfast and returned to sewing while he took down the tent around her.

The camp had evaporated up from the hilltop to horseback and wagon bed by the time Avila had finished repairing her skirt. She could do nothing about the bloodstains, so it would never be as pretty as it once was, but at least she had regained a modicum of warmth and dignity.

Thorlaf strapped the last of his bags to his horse, a tall brown stallion with a prominent white blaze. "In my infinite benevolence," he said cheerily, "I offer you a choice, fair lady. Will you ride with me on my fine steed or in the wagon with the grain?"

"Your generosity knows no bounds," she drawled. "I'll take the wagon."

The horse snorted emphatically. "Don't worry, Arnag," sighed Thorlaf, taking a length of rope from one of the saddlebags. "She doesn't know what she's missing." With that, he briskly bound her hands, picked her up, strode over to the cart, and dumped her in unceremoniously.

"Truly a gentleman," she grumbled.

"You choose to travel like a sack of oats, and I choose to treat you like one," he quipped as he strode away.

Avila hauled herself up to a sitting position and noticed Brynja tied to the wagon beside her. At first she was relieved to see a familiar face, but upon closer examination she could see that the girl had suffered a much more harrowing night than she had. Brynja's eyes were red and puffy, and purple bruises blossomed around her neck. She sat utterly still, staring blankly at a lark high in the trees.

"Brynja!" Avila scrambled over to her. "What have they done to you?"

She gave no answer.

"It's all right, Brynja. If they were going to kill us, they would have done so already."

Still nothing. Avila leaned against the other woman and grasped her icy cold hands. They huddled together on the piled bags of grain as the wagon jerked into motion.

The band trundled along through the countryside, and Avila was thankful for the bed of wheat and oats cushioning her from the bumpy ride. She had no idea what to say to Brynja, since clearly her fellow captive had experienced far more abuse than she had, so she occupied herself with listening to the warriors and watching the autumn landscape go by.

The raiders spoke with a strange lilt and used a few words she didn't know, but the longer she listened the easier she could understand almost everything they said. Sadly, she did not garner any information that might aid her in an escape attempt, but she was starting to get to know dynamic of the party. None of the men questioned Magni's leadership, but she sensed that some of the laughter following his jokes was a bit forced. The other riders gave him a wide berth, although whether this was a sign of respect or dislike she could not tell. Thorlaf, on the other hand, moved easily through the group. He led the men in bawdy songs in a bright, clear baritone voice, laughed and joked loudly, and made spirited conversation with almost all two dozen or so of his comrades. A few times, she heard them press him for details on their night together in the tent, but to her relief he was quite tight-lipped.

Avila paid close attention to the journey, but within a few hours they had ranged beyond her knowledge of the land. At about midday, they began to ride along the banks of a stony stream. It would be easy to follow at night in the event of an escape, but if she chose such an obvious route it would also make her easy to find. The best thing she could do was keep track of their direction from her home valley—northeast so far.

Throughout the ride, Brynja said nothing. She gazed up at the trees they passed, her eyes following birds as they flitted between the branches. Avila began to point out other animals to her, remarking on a white speckled fawn and a fox hunting in the fallen leaves. She didn't manage to coax a word out of her fellow passenger, but she thought she detected the faintest hint of a smile at the sight of two chattering squirrels chasing each other around a wizened old beech tree.

Later that night, Avila huddled against a stump in the tent circle and wolfed down the simple campfire stew. Brynja had been whisked off to one of the tents, but Thorlaf was just a few feet away laughing and drinking with his comrades in the firelight. The Danes had taken a sizable cask of mead from her village, and now they were enjoying its contents rather liberally.

Avila set aside her empty bowl and contemplated the warriors. She had never been alone amongst so many men, and for the moment she was grateful to be ignored amidst their mirth. She watched Thorlaf take a swig of mead just as one of his friends made a particularly irreverent remark about their commander and his cheeks bulged comically as he struggled to swallow a mouthful of drink through his chuckle. He was not nearly so frightening from a distance, she thought, a smile playing across her lips. He lifted his gaze to meet hers and she realized she had been staring just as a droplet of water struck her brow.

In a few seconds, sheets of rain were pouring from the sky. Just as abruptly, the merriment was over and Thorlaf strode over to her side, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into his tent.

"I must say, Avila, I'm quite relieved you warmed up to me so fast," Thorlaf said smugly as he fastened the tent flap to a peg in the ground.

"I've barely said a word to you all day," she replied.

"It's true, we didn't get to talk much since you were so unappreciative of my offer to let you join me on my mount this morning." He moved closer, and locked his sparkling hazel eyes on her. "But you would be a fool to think I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at me." Avila looked away, unable to maintain the intensity of his eye contact, but he leaned in and took her chin firmly in his hand, turning it to face him again. A shiver ran through her from the spot where his fingers met her skin all the way down to her toes. "Or the way you tremble in anticipation when I touch you," Thorlaf whispered.

Avila closed her eyes, still refusing to meet his ravenous gaze. Unfortunately, she could not block out the memory of how the very fingers gripping her jaw had felt plunging into her sex last night as easily as she could shut his smug expression out of her sight.

"Now then," Thorlaf released her chin and returned to his glib tone. "Are you going to take off those wet clothes yourself or do I have to help you?"

"I'll be fine," Avila said primly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't mind the damp."

"Perhaps not, but I prefer a bunkmate who's warm and dry." Thorlaf quickly disposed of the rest of his clothing. "Besides," he chuckled, "as I said last night, I don't intend to let you die of cold before I've tasted that sweet young snatch."

Avila bristled at his coarse words, but she knew she had no choice in the matter. Rather than give him another excuse to touch her, she reluctantly began undoing her bodice. Thorlaf watched her in silence, his manhood gradually swelling as she slowly removed her dress, boots, and stockings. When she reached her chemise, she clenched her teeth and moved to join him on the bedroll.

Thorlaf held up a hand to stop her. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

She took a breath to steel herself, and then she pulled off the slip, clasped both arms over her bare breasts, and hopped under the furs as fast as she could. Thorlaf wasted no time in pulling back the blankets to expose her naked flesh. Avila felt the color rise in her cheeks as he poured over her body, drinking in every curve and blemish with his wolfish eyes.

"You're even more beautiful when you blush, you know," Thorlaf said tenderly. "Like a rose on midsummers' day."

Avila dug her nails into the sides of her ribcage as if the sting in her torso could drive the heat from her face. She hated that his ravenous gaze had such an effect on her, and she hated even more how easily he could read her embarrassment. After all, what did she have to be ashamed of? She wasn't the one abducting innocent women and razing peaceful villages to the ground.

"But there's no need to be shy with me," he said. She almost laughed at his perversion of her own inner monologue, but he was already leaning over her and taking hold of her wrists, yanking them away from her chest and pinning them above her head in one hand. He lifted his other hand to her breast and caressed it, cupping it gently and then brushing his thumb back and forth over the pink nipple. He moved to her other breast and circled its rosy peak ever so softly with his finger. Her nipples were already stiff from the chill of the rain, but under his ministrations she found them growing even harder.

Without warning, he pinched her nipple sharply and swooped in to press a rough, punishing kiss onto her lips. She whimpered in protest against his devouring mouth, but he slid his hand down her torso to cup her womanhood. Thorlaf bent down to her bosom and caught one reddened tip between his teeth just as he speared a finger roughly into her passage.

"Please," Avila panted desperately. "You promised not to hurt me as long as I didn't attack you."

Thorlaf sat up indignantly. "Hurt you? I am going to give you the greatest pleasure you have ever experienced."

"What pleasure is there to be had at the hands of men?" Avila scoffed.

"More than you could imagine," he purred, leaning back in to nuzzle at her throat.

"I may be a maid, but I am not completely naive. My sister has told me of the pain a woman feels in the marriage bed, and her husband is kinder and gentler than you could ever hope to be," Avila said icily.

"I understand you are afraid, so I will let you rest tonight." He lifted his head to look directly into her eyes. "But tomorrow, you will submit to me, and I will show you the pleasure that I can give you if I choose to. And after I have made you tremble and scream and writhe in ecstasy, only then will I take your maidenhood."