Stardust Ch. 01

Things were about to change, and they had to have been on a grand scale, because Svala had not come among the rest of them in years. This girl had already had the power to make Svala leave her solitude.

Asgerd rushed back to the manor to care for her charge.

***

Brand listened absently as his steward updated him on the manor's books and goings on in his absence. He could not for the life of him focus on what the little man said...Brand's thoughts were entirely on the woman and how she was faring.

He and Bjor had ridden back out into the forest to look for tracks or any kind of evidence that there were more of the woman's kind.

They had found nothing. It was as if she had appeared from thin air.

Tiring of the steward's droning voice, Brand interrupted the man. "My thoughts are not on these matters, Edgar. We will convene in the morn," he said shortly.

Edgar looked at his master, surprised.

Lord Brand was attentive to such matters, and usually had many questions and instructions for him. Edgar supposed his liege was weary from war and travel. He wasn't about to ask questions, though.

The man intimidated him.

It wasn't that Lord Brand had ever abused him...quite the opposite. But his appearance was frightening. Edgar never knew if his chieftain was displeased with him or not.

He closed the books he had been pouring over, and without another glance, Edgar hastily left his lord's solar.

Rolling his massive shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck, Brand sat back in the chair and watched the steward almost break his neck to leave. Edgar had worked for him for many years now and the man was still jumpy around him.

Brand knew his appearance was intimidating, but he had thought Edgar knew by now that he would not harm him.

At 36 year of age, Brand stood at an impressive 6'6." He managed to tower over most every warrior he happened upon...which was no small feat as his warriors were all big and bulky. His frame was heavily muscled without an ounce of fat. Brand owed his striking physique to years of battle and the wielding of his heavy sword, shield and axe.

His serious, almost-silvery eyes were in direct opposition to his thick, almost black eyebrows.

The light coloring of his eyes often made people mistake him for a blind man. His Greek nose was straight and perfectly proportioned to his face. Brand routinely allowed his thick, long hair to hang in waves about his wide shoulders and down his back.

In battle and during the winter, he kept his bushy beard full, and thick; which often hid his strong, square jaw and full, sensual lips.

Over the years, his body had taken a beating when some not-so-lucky bastard had gotten close enough to get in a blow. His body was heavily scarred, but the wielder of the weapon never lived to tell about it. Brand always repaid each injury he received with death.

He'd earned his latest scar only a few months ago. Some insolent Saxon prick had sliced his face from the bottom of his right eye to the top of his upper lip.

Brand wasn't a vain man, but he hadn't liked that one bit...he had come too close to losing the eye. In retaliation, he had carved off the arm that had brandished the sword. Even so, he had been left with a scar that made his appearance even more sinister.

His looks served its purpose, though. It frightened most, and nobody ever bothered him; but his looks also succeeded in making women wary of him.

Well not all women, Brand thought with a slight, amused smile...only the softer, gentler nobility. Wenches never shied away from him. When they saw his huge frame, they assumed he had a large member and were always willing to bed him.

Not one of them had ever left his bed disappointed.

Thank Odin for whores, he thought. Brand didn't know what he would do without them.

His thoughts turned to the last whore he'd bedded.

She had been an eager, young thing with long, flaxen hair. Her deep blue eyes were the color of sapphires and she had titties that had filled Brand's large hands. The girl had ridden him so enthusiastically that he had lost count of how many times he had come in her.

It had been a good night, indeed. His shaft began to swell at the memory.

Brand went to the door that stood parallel to the large fireplace. Opening it, he walked out onto his balcony and breathed in the crisp, night air...he needed to cool his ardor.

Such an opening to his chamber had been unheard of; but Brand had learned many things and had experienced the way the rest of the world lived.

He had built his keep to include much of what he had seen in foreign lands.

The result was Ragnarsston Hall, a very unconventional manor in which he took pride in.

Brand's superior fighting and loyalty to Halfdan Ragnarsson and Ivar the Boneless had earned him more riches than he knew what to do with. Halfdan had been generous when he shared the spoils of war, giving Brand acres upon acres of fertile land.

Halfdan also made sure that Brand's coffers were filled to overflowing.

Admiring the expanse of snow-capped land, his thoughts turned to the woman who now lay in the great hall. Who was she? Where was she from? How did she get here? Was she alone?

All the questions ran through his mind, the mystery of the woman perplexed him. Brand gave in to his curiosity and walked back down to the great hall.

***

Once Asgerd reached the keep, she found that Lord Brand was back, staring down at the woman.

"Milord," she said, once again acknowledging him.

He had obviously just bathed as his long, dark hair was wet and looked almost black. He had changed into more comfortable clothing and wore his customary all-black garb.

"How is she?" he asked.

"The damage is not as terrible as I had feared. The skin is still soft and resilient. Boils have appeared on some of her flesh, but that is to be expected. I am certain her body will harvest a fever in an attempt to fight off the ailment. If she can weather that, she will be fine. Inga and I will work through the night," Asgerd finished.

Lord Brand nodded his head as he watched the woman. She was beginning to regain some of her color as the fire from the hearth turned her skin a deep, russet brown.

He sat in one of the chairs near the hearth and absently watched as Inga and Asgerd continued to care for the foreigner.

When the woman began to speak softly in her sleep, Brand listened intently. He leaned forward, hoping for some clue to her identity. What he heard surprised him.

She spoke English.

Sobbing, she kept calling the same name over and over. There was a person named Marcus who had obviously been close to her. The pain in her voice even made Brand's heart clench at the rawness. Obviously this Marcus was no longer alive.

Placing a cool cloth on the girl's head, Asgerd crooned softly to quiet her.

"She speaks English," she murmured in amazement.

Brand nodded his head and mulled over the woman's words. "'Tis an odd form, but English nonetheless," he said.

"But we are all well-versed in the language. Yet it only sounds vaguely familiar. Where could she have come from?" Inga asked, baffled.

Satisfied that the girl was faring well, Asgerd leaned up from her ministrations. "We will have our answers when the time is right. Let us trust in Odin...he will not steer us wrong."

Nodding his head in agreement, Brand continued to watch the woman intently. He admitted to himself that he was fascinated with her. He wanted to be there when she opened her eyes for the first time.

Asgerd stretched, massaging her lower back. She had done all she could for the child. The only thing that was left to do was wait. She slowly made her way to a seat and was about to sit when Brand's deep voice stopped her.

"Old woman, I am well pleased with your compassion for this outsider. If you trust me with her, you may retire for the night...you have earned it. You as well, girl," he said to Inga.

Surprised, Asgerd looked at her young lord. In so many ways he reminded her of his father.

Lord Magnus had been a kind, strong leader and a good man. She knew that he would have been proud of his son. Lord Brand couldn't have turned out better.

She knew not to argue with him. He was as stubborn as he was honorable. Besides, the way sleep beckoned to her, she was not sure if she could turn down his offer even if she wanted.

"Thank you milord," Inga said as she curtsied. She didn't dear look her master in the eye...he scared her too much! Scurrying from the great hall, she left Asgerd behind.

"Have someone fetch me if the need arises...it is good to have you back boy," she spoke gruffly. Asgerd's eyes suddenly misted.

She had prayed daily for his safe return and was elated to have him back. She had raised him from an infant after his mother had died during childbirth. Watching him grow up from a small boy to a young, strapping man had been an honor.

The two showed a familiarity with each other that they reserved only for times like these when they were alone. Brand rose to his full height and walked over to Asgerd, sweeping her into a strong embrace.

"I've missed you too, old woman," he said just as quietly.

He succeeded in making Asgerd squeal like a young girl when Brand lifted her off the ground.

"Put me down, you big oaf! Your beard is prickly than a rose's thorns," she said, swatting him on the arm.

Brand grinned like a boy and continued dragging his bushy beard across Asgerd's weathered cheeks. He had allowed the hair to grow longer than usual.

When he released her, she straightened her clothing with a huff. "Insolent!" she mumbled.

Brand winked at her, knowing full well that she was more bark than bite.

Asgerd turned and walked out of the door, doing her best to hide her smile.

***

One minute Tyler felt like she was burning up in the pits of hell. The next moment, she was so cold she longed for the burning sensation once more. She was sweating profusely and felt like crap.

She tried to open her eyes but could only manage to open them to narrow slits.

Her blurred vision could only make out a huge fire burning on her right. There was movement coming from two forms that she couldn't quite make out. Tyler had no idea where she was or what was going on. She only understood that she was the sickest she'd ever been in her whole life.

She recalled the events of that day and remembered that Marcus was dead. The sadness she had been trying to keep at bay came rushing back to her, making her groan.

Soul-wrenching sobs erupted from her throat as she mourned her family and her dismal existence.

"MARCUS!" she wailed brokenly. "YOU LEFT ME!!!"

Suddenly, one of the forms rushed to her side, offering succor. "Shhh." The voice crooned softly.

What followed were words that Tyler could not quite make out. German? Where the hell was she that people were speaking German?

She was in Scotland, though. So there was no telling who was around here.

Tyler didn't have the strength to figure it out. As she began to lose consciousness, she hoped that God would be kind, and would not allow her to awaken.

***

The thin veil of grogginess began to fade and Tyler slowly awoke. Keeping her eyes closed, she became cognizant of the fact that there were several people in the room with her. She didn't recognize a single voice.

As she lay there feigning sleep, she remained perfectly still and kept her breathing deep and even.

There were two female voices and a deep male voice...but none of them spoke English.

Where the hell was she?! Tyler remembered dreaming about a German-speaking person crooning over her, but she had thought it was just that -- a dream.

Her heart pounded and adrenaline coursed through her body as fear took hold of her. She fought to control her breathing and the panic that swept through her.

Something was very wrong.

Tyler was frightened. She couldn't for the life of her piece anything together, and didn't know how she'd gotten wherever she was. She desperately wanted to open her eyes to look around her, but she didn't dare.

Tyler made up in her mind that she would lay there until the cows came home. There was no way in hell she would let on that she was awake.

Suddenly she heard the door open and close and the room was silent. Tyler waited for what seemed an eternity before she finally opened her eyes to narrow slits. She first darted her eyes left then right in search of the three people who had only just been in the room.

When she saw nothing, she opened her eyes fully and took in her surroundings.

Tyler stared up at what should have been a ceiling. Instead, there were...rafters?

She looked straight ahead and saw the biggest fireplace she'd ever seen. The fire inside was ablaze and warmed the large room.

On the left against a wall -- a stone wall -- was an elaborate tapestry. Tyler couldn't really tell what the depiction was, but she thought she saw a Viking longboat and what looked to be one of the Viking gods. It had to have been Odin because a huge, eight-legged horse reared back on its hind legs next to him...Sleipnir was the mythological horse's name.

She thanked God that she was a bit of a nerd...she knew such things that most other people didn't, generally because it was considered boring.

Then Tyler had a thought.

She obviously was in some replica of a Viking home...or maybe this was even a castle. It had the look of one. But how had she gotten here?! She tried her damnedest to remember the last few hours.

Tyler had flown to Berwick-upon-Tweed to attend her brother's wedding ceremony.

Marcus had joined an exchange program years ago that led him to the small, Scottish town. While there, he had met and fallen in love with Ian McShane. After four years of dating and Ian's relocation to the States, the two men decided to marry. They both thought it would be romantic to have the ceremony where they had first met.

So Tyler had dropped everything to jump on a plane and fly to Scotland to be there for her baby brother. Only, when she had arrived, it was to be met by Ian's parents and Scottish police.

Marcus and Ian had been killed.

Her little brother was dead because some town bullies were homophobic and disapproved of Marcus and Ian's same sex marriage.

The wedding ceremony had turned into a mournful spreading of the two men's ashes over the spot where they would have been wed.

Tears stung Tyler's eyes, the grief nearly paralyzing her.

She desperately pushed thoughts of Marcus out of her mind. This was not the time. If she got out of this alive, she would have time to mourn her little brother. For now, it was imperative that she focus...she needed to survive.

With an effort, Tyler forced her thoughts back to last night. Against her better judgment, that she had walked around the park...AND SHE'D FOUND THAT GOLD BOX!!!

"Shhhit!" she exclaimed.

With every ounce of her being, Tyler felt that all this had something to do with that damn box that she should've let stay on the ground. The thing had been creepy, and it had done something...she just didn't know what.

Tyler frantically tried to piece together the events that led to her current predicament. Had she been knocked unconscious? She remembered being sick...maybe someone had found her and had taken her to their home.

"To hell with this," Tyler mumbled.

She needed to find out where she was and what had happened. She was beginning to imagine the worst and was scaring herself silly.

What if she was being held prisoner by some Nazis? What if she had been sold into slavery? Now that would've been messed up! What if she had been abducted and her captors meant to gang rape her before they sawed off all her limbs?

She thought of that Eli Roth movie she had seen once...Hostel was the name of it. In it, foreigners were sold so that rich, powerful people could torture them.

What if she had been sold to be tortured?!

Whatever the deal was, Tyler wasn't about to stick around to find out.

Whipping the covers back -- no, the FURS - she became aware of two things: she was naked, and the most bizarre-looking man she'd ever seen was sitting in the room.

***

The man was sitting at a desk and had been pouring over some papers...or was it parchment? Scrolls???

Tyler's eyes traveled down his body and took in his physique. He was big...like, WWE big!

He was wearing some black, medieval getup, and reminded her of a dark warlord...a very large, dark warlord.

The man really was a beast!

As he stared back at her, Tyler couldn't tell what color his eyes were from this distance, but she could tell that they were light...and piercing. His face was covered by a black, bushy beard, and his long, dark hair hung past his massive shoulders.

"Oh my God!" she whispered inaudibly.

Panic arose in her, causing her to momentarily forget her lack of clothing; but Tyler did her best to squelch her fear. Coming to her senses, she jumped back in the bed and pulled the covers up and over her head.

"What the hell is going on?!" Tyler yelled from under the covers. She had to get out of there!

She peeked out from under the covers. He was still there...and laughing at her! As if he would just disappear because you want him to, Tyler thought sarcastically.

Carefully, she got up and wrapped the covers around her, vaguely aware of the cold stone beneath her bare feet. Warily she and the warlord continued to eyeball each other, but when he stood to his full, imposing height -- the man had to have been a few inches shy of 7'0 -- Tyler shrank back and pressed herself against the wall.

"This is it...I'm gonna die," she whispered to herself.

"Stay back. I...I'll scream if you come any closer," she bluffed. Tyler knew perfectly well that she would do no such thing. Her screams would more than likely go unacknowledged...or worse, if she screamed, it could bring others like him into the room. That was the last thing Tyler needed.

As the warlord stalked her, walking slowly towards her, Tyler looked about for a weapon. She slid along the stone wall until she had effectively managed to corner herself. She could not move left nor right; and now the imposing figure of the gargantuan male loomed over her.

She bit her bottom lip, preparing to be slapped around or raped...or both. Tyler didn't know what the man planned to do to her; she only knew that she would howl like a banshee, and she would not go down without a fight.

***

Feeling the bite in the air, Brand had stopped what he was doing and was about to stoke the dying fire. Sensing a change in the air that had nothing to do with the temperature, he looked up and found that the woman was now awake.

Not wanting to frighten her, he hadn't moved a muscle.

Curiously, he watched her look around, taking in her surroundings. Preparing for the worst, Brand fully expected a bout of histrionics when she realized she was in a strange place.

He was surprised when she got up and the furs dropped, exposing her curvy body. Brand's eyes immediately zoomed in on her large breasts...her brown, large breasts.

He was surprised yet again when he felt his manhood stir...of course it had a mind of its own and suffered no qualms because of the woman's unusual skin color. He had to admit though that her form was beautiful.

Pulling his eyes from her body, Brand continued to watch her as she gasped and jumped back into his bed, pulling the covers up over her naked flesh.

His face broke into a half-smile as she hid under the covers. What a peculiar woman, Brand thought. Had she thought she could hide and he would simply go away?

A few moments later she peeked out at him, this time causing him to chuckle. The low sound rumbled throughout the room as the woman stood up again. This time her body was efficiently hidden from him.