Page 8 of Ravager

A crude barbarian was standing before me, stark naked as the day he was born. I knew this could only mean one thing. I thought about the ways I might fight back as he came closer, whether it would hurt more than it had with Marc.

Clearly, Erik didn’t care that he was baring all for me to see.There must be something in my eyes that excites him,I thought absently, noticing his erection growing by the second. I willed my expression to be impassive.

Erik tossed the torch aside with one hand, and my eyes followed it like a moth to the flame. Before I knew it, I was scampering toward it, toward the only weapon I had a chance at getting my hands on.

As I ran, Erik snatched the dagger and clamped it between his teeth before he grabbed me by the arm. He yanked me off my feet and brought me to him in one, swift motion, my back slamming against his chest. In seconds, he had both my hands behind my back, tying them together with his belt.

Once he knew I was secured, he grabbed my hair, pulling my head back so my throat was exposed, his lips at my ear.

“I am not your enemy,” he whispered, his calloused hands moving softly through my hair.

I bucked against him and kicked back with my legs. He simply wrapped his other hand around the belt and twisted my arms until I grunted in pain.

“I left some food in the corner for you—if the rats haven’t gotten to it yet—and there’s a bucket over there for a latrine. I’ll bring you some proper clothes once I find something that might do you justice. Until then, you will stay here. And, God willing, I’ll be the only one to visit you.”

“What do you know about God?” I spat, and though he couldn’t see my eyes, I knew he could hear the venom in my voice, feel the pounding of my heart behind my ribs.

“I know enough.”

“You’re a barbarian. You worship a pagan god. You’re as vile as the devil himself,” I sneered.

He frowned, almost amused. He spoke roughly and low, right in my ear, “We worship many gods, and none are viler than yours. I’ve seen the damage your God has done. I’ve heard the sermons, spoken with pariahs. I’ve seen more than a few heads on the end of a pike. You want to talk gods? Ours are as unmerciful as yours. Perhaps that’s what you’re afraid of.”

There was a long pause, before I finally spat, “Barbarians, all of you.”

“Human,” he countered. “All of us.”

Then, he let go of my hair and shoved me away. I stumbled a few feet but caught my balance just in time to see Erik stride out the door. My eyes lingered on his high, firm ass before I noticed he had left everything except his belt and dagger behind.

The door locked behind him. I had just enough time to spot where the latrine was and gather the warmth of his discarded kilt before the torch in the corner went out, and I was plunged back into darkness.

Chapter 6

Erik

Erik tapped three quick raps on Rolf’s chamber door and waited. He didn’t want to intrude on him if he was busy, but some members of the fleet were getting restless, and Rolf was being anti-social and retreating to his new quarters after every meal. They had been in Criolium, Lord Bouchon’s holding, for a week now, and the men were having doubts about Rolf’s leadership. Surely, to hesitate so much before embarking on the next raid was a sign of weakness. They were Vikings, used to seizing rapidly and taking villages unaware. The longer Rolf held them back, the more the French had a chance to build up their defenses.

When Rolf didn’t appear, Erik took in a deep breath and opened the door. He and Rolf were so close, it wouldn’t even matter if Rolf was arm-deep in a screaming maiden—he’d seen it all before.

The bedchambers were empty, the ruffled red sheets of the high bed the only sign someone occupied the room. It had once been Lord Bouchon’s chambers; that was, until Rolf took it upon himself to behead the man and toss his corpse into the pig pens. Erik was wary of eating any local pork after that.

“Rolf?’ Erik called out, his eyes feasting on the rich wall tapestries, the hanging chandeliers, the candlesticks of pure gold—gold that Rolf would no doubt take before they left…if they ever left. He briefly thought of the girl in the dungeon and wondered if she had any idea how the other half lived.

“I’m out here,” came Rolf’s voice, and Erik followed it to the left, where velvet curtains had been pushed away and a chilled breeze smelling of salt and rain came wafting in.

Rolf stood out on a small balcony overlooking the tiny village and the sloping fields below. In the distance, Erik could see the mudflats where they first landed, a dirty slice of flat land cutting into the white cliffs surrounding most of the coast. Their fleet of ships was still there, all twenty boats, sitting on the beach and waiting, perhaps for nothing. Erik didn’t know if they’d ever make it back to Norway.

“A beautiful day, isn’t it, my friend?” Rolf asked. Erik joined his side and looked up at the cold drizzle falling into his eyes.

“If you say so.”

“Reminds me of home,” Rolf said. “Do you miss home?”

Erik looked perplexed at the somewhat sentimental question. “I haven’t had enough time to miss it. We just arrived here.”

Rolf nodded, looking back down at the town and its crooked, stone-walled streets. “You seemed hesitant to leave Møre.”

“Only because my mother hasn’t been feeling too well,” Erik lied. His mother was fine—and Rolf knew it—but he wasn’t about to admit the real reason.