Wife
I stood at the edge of the woods outside our little village of Eldfjall my woolen cloak pulled tight against the biting autumn chill. My name is Maeve, just a simple farmer’s daughter no warrior blood, no grand destiny. I’d slipped away from the hearth to gather kindling before the sun dipped too low my basket half-full of dry branches. The air smelled of pine and distant sea salt peaceful in the way only a quiet evening could be.
Then came the horns.
Low guttural blasts echoed from the fjord followed by the thunder of oars cutting through the water and the savage shouts of men. Longships sleek, dragon-prowed beasts sliced toward our shore like predators. Vikings. Raiders from the north their striped sails billowing round shields gleaming along the rails. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst. We’d all heard the stories: burned halls, stolen livestock, and women and children dragged screaming into the gray sea.
“Run Maeve!” someone screamed from the village below.
Panic exploded around me. Men snatched up axes and spears. Women scooped up children and fled toward the trees. I dropped my basket and bolted my feet slipping on damp leaves as I raced deeper into the forest. Behind me steel clashed for the first time. Thick black smoke began to rise as thatched roofs caught fire. Screams tore through the air sharp and desperate that was cut short by the wet thud of blades meeting flesh.
I found a hollow beneath a fallen oak its massive roots twisted like gnarled fingers reaching from the earth. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it would give me away. I squeezed into the narrow space yanking dead branches and ferns over the opening until I was buried in shadow. Dirt and insects clung to my skin. I pressed both hands over my mouth trying to silence my ragged breathing.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The sounds of pillage grew closer cruel laughter, pottery shattering, and the hungry crackle of flames devouring our homes.
Footsteps crunched through the underbrush. A Viking warrior pushed into the small clearing near my hiding spot tall, broad-shouldered, his braided beard flecked with ash. He carried a heavy axe and had a seax knife tucked at his belt. His eyes scanned the trees hungry for more plunder... or sport.
My fingers closed around a sharp stone lying on the ground beside me. I only meant to stay hidden. But when he crouched low peering toward my hollow his shadow swallowing the ferns raw terror took over. I lunged upward with every ounce of strength I possessed and drove the jagged edge straight into the soft flesh of his throat.
He gurgled, eyes widening in shock. Hot blood sprayed across my face and hands as he clutched at the wound. The stone slipped from my numb fingers. He staggered backward, then collapsed heavily onto the roots, his body twitching once before going still. I quickly grab his knife and press it into his wound to make sure he’s really dead. The metallic scent of blood filled the air mixing sickeningly with the smoke.
I stared at my trembling, slick red hands. I had killed a man. A Viking. My stomach heaved bile burning my throat. God, what have I done? He was alive and breathing only seconds ago... and now he’s gone because of me.
Voices approached deep rough shouts in their harsh Norse tongue. “Bjorn? Bjorn!”
Three more warriors burst into the clearing, weapons already drawn. They froze at the sight of their fallen comrade his blood pooling dark in the dirt. Then their eyes locked onto me.
I had scrambled out of the hollow without thinking, the dead man’s seax knife now clutched in my white-knuckled grip. The blade dripped crimson, and my simple dress was stained dark where his life had poured out over me.
I backed hard against the oak’s massive trunk my chest heaving and my eyes wild with terror and something fiercer I didn’t recognize. The Vikings advanced slowly circling like wolves their faces twisted with surprise and rising fury.
“Don’t come any closer!” I snarled my voice cracking but loud enough to carry through the trees. I thrust the bloody knife forward the point trembling in the air between us. “I’ll gut the next one who moves!”
The largest of the three a tall powerfully built man with a scar running through his eyebrow and iron rings braided into his long hair paused. A slow dangerous smile crept across his lips. He said something in his tongue I didn’t recognize. The others exchanged glances axes and swords still raised but they held their ground for now. The forest seemed to hold its breath. The distant screams of my burning village were the only sound besides the frantic pounding of my own heart.
My mind raced. I was just one ordinary woman against three hardened raiders armed with nothing but a dead man’s blade and the raw desperate terror that had turned me into something fiercer than I had ever been. But in that moment cornered and covered in blood I refused to fall without a fight. I can’t die here. Not like this. Not after what I just did.
For a heartbeat, none of us moved. Then the scarred leader took one deliberate step forward testing me. Something inside me snapped. I couldn’t just stand there waiting to die I had to run.
I spun on my heel and bolted clutching the bloody seax knife tightly as I crashed through the underbrush. Branches whipped at my face and arms leaving stinging welts. Roots snagged at my ankles like grasping fingers. My breath came in desperate burning gasps the cold air slicing my lungs. Behind me heavy boots pounded in pursuit accompanied by rough mocking laughter that echoed through the trees.
I risked a glance over my shoulder my big mistake. My foot caught on a hidden root. The world tilted violently. I tripped hard, tumbling forward down a small rocky slope. Pain exploded through my body as I hit the ground with a sickening thud. My knee slammed into a sharp stone, tearing through my dress and slicing deep into the flesh. Blood welled up instantly hot and sticky soaking the fabric and trickling down my calf. My shoulder and back scraped against jagged rocks leaving raw stinging abrasions that burned like fire. My ankle twisted with a sharp nauseating jolt that sent stars bursting behind my eyes. I cried out the sound raw and animalas the knife flew from my grip and skittered into the leaves a few feet away.
I lay there for a terrifying second dazed and hurting the coppery smell of my own blood mixing with the dead Viking’s still thick on my hands and face. Every breath sent fresh pain lancing through me. Get up, Maeve. Get up now. They’re coming. You’re hurt, you’re slow run, you fool!
Fear clawed at my throat I was hurt, slow now, and they were coming.
The three raiders slowed as they reached me towering over my crumpled form like giants. The scarred one crouched down his piercing blue eyes gleaming with dark amusement as he looked at the fresh wound on my leg. He was a striking man despite the scar strong jaw, commanding presence, and the kind of raw power that made him even more terrifying up close. The scent of smoke, sweat, and leather rolled off him in waves.
“Now why did you have to do that?” he said his voice low and mocking thick with a heavy Norse accent.
He reached out and roughly brushed a strand of hair from my face his calloused fingers lingering too long on my cheek tracing the line of my jaw. “You’ve marked that beautiful skin of yours. Such a shame... but you will still make a fine wife. Strong hands, fiery spirit. I like that.”
His words hit me like ice water poured down my spine. A wife? To one of them? The thought of being claimed, dragged onto one of those dragon ships, and taken away from everything I knew and turned into some raider’s property it sent a fresh violent surge of adrenaline crashing through my veins. My pain sharpened into something feral. My heart thundered even harder every instinct screaming at me to fight, to survive I’d claw and bite if I had to. No. Never. I’d rather die here in the dirt than belong to you.
I lunged for the fallen knife my fingers closing around the hilt just as one of the others grabbed for my arm, his grip like iron bands crushing my wrist.
The cold steel felt slick and heavy in my bloodied palm. Pain screamed through my knee and ankle but the fresh wave of adrenaline made everything sharp and distant at the same time. Not like this. I won’t let them take me. I’ll cut them all if I have to.
I swung wildly with the seax, the blade whistling through the air. The man holding my arm cursed and jerked back, a thin line of red blooming across his forearm. The scarred leader the one who had spoken of making me his wife moved faster than I expected. His hand shot out and seized my other wrist, twisting hard. The knife clattered to the ground again. I thrashed like a wild animal kicking with my good leg my nails raking at anything I could reach. My shoulder and back burned where the rocks had scraped it raw, and every movement sent fresh spikes of pain up my injured leg.
“Feisty one,” the scarred leader growled his voice low and almost admiring. He pinned my arms against my sides with terrifying ease, his body heat and the scent of smoke, sweat, and salt water pressing in close. The other two closed in one of them chuckling darkly as he retrieved the knife.
Despite the fire roaring in my chest my body was betraying me. My knee throbbed with every desperate move, hot blood soaking further into my dress and trickling down my calf in warm, sticky streams. My ankle refused to hold any weight. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision from the pain and exhaustion. No... no, please. I can’t... I have to keep fighting.
The scarred one lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing slinging me over his broad shoulder like a sack of grain. The world inverted. Blood rushed to my head. My injured knee banged against his armored chest, sending a white-hot jolt through me that tore a strangled cry from my throat. I pounded my fists against his back but my blows were weak and pathetic. The rough wool of his tunic scraped my raw shoulder. The distant crackle of flames from the village mixed with the heavy thud of his boots as he started walking.
“Put me down!” I screamed my voice hoarse and breaking. “I’ll kill you! All of you!”
He only laughed in a deep rumble I felt through his shoulder. “You already killed one of us tonight, little blood-hands. That’s enough for now.
We moved through the trees the other two flanking us. Every step jarred my injuries. The deep cut on my knee pulsed with wet heat, and I could feel warm blood trickling down my leg. The cold night air stung the abrasions on my shoulder and face. Tears of pain and fury burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I’m Maeve of Eldfjall. I’m not some prize to be carried off. Fight. Keep fighting.
After what felt like an eternity of jarring movement, he stopped near the shore. Before I could twist free again his grip shifted. His large hand came up suddenly, and the last thing I saw was the blur of his fist—
A sharp crack exploded against the side of my head then everything went black. The world dissolved into nothing but cold darkness and the distant roar of the sea.
When I woke the first thing I felt was the cold bite of iron around my wrists. Thick manacles clamped tight connected by a heavy chain that rattled with every tiny movement. My head throbbed viciously where he had struck me, a deep, and pulsing ache that made my vision swim. The metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue. I was lying on rough wooden planks animal fur below me and the air thick with the scent of salt, damp timber, and old fish. The gentle rock and creak of a ship told me I was aboard one of the longships.
Panic surged through me like icy seawater. I was alone in a small, dim compartment probably a storage hold near the stern. No windows, only faint moonlight leaking through cracks in the planks above. The chain was bolted to a thick wooden beam in the wall. No. No, this can’t be happening. I have to get out. I have to get back.
I scrambled up as best I could, ignoring the scream of pain from my knee. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the chain with both hands and yanked hard throwing my whole weight into it. The iron bit into my wrists making them raw. The bolt in the wall groaned but held fast. I yanked again and again the chain rattling loudly in the confined space and my breath comes in short, frantic gasps. Sweat mixed with the dried blood on my face. My heart hammered so violently I could feel it in my injured head. Come loose, damn you! I won’t stay here like an animal. I won’t let them keep me.
The door to the hold creaked open. Bright torchlight spilled in, silhouetting the tall figure of the scarred leader. He stepped inside his broad shoulders filling the doorway then closed the heavy wooden door behind him with a solid thud. He leaned casually against it, arms crossed over his chest those piercing blue eyes watching me struggle in the dim light. The faint glow highlighted the scar on his face and the iron rings in his long hair.
“Easy, Maeve,” he said his voice low and steady the heavy Norse accent rolling over my name like a claim. “Do not waste your efforts. That chain has held stronger men than you. We will make land by tomorrow morning. Save your strength you will need it to heal.”
His words only made the panic twist tighter in my chest. Tomorrow morning? Land? Some foreign shore where I would be even farther from home, from everything I knew? I yanked the chain one last desperate time the iron clanking loudly. Tears of frustration and fear stung my eyes, but I blinked them back fiercely. I hate you. I hate all of you. I’ll find a way off this ship. I swear it.
He didn’t move from the door just watched me with that same calculating gaze as if he could see every frantic thought racing through my mind.
The longship rocked gently on the waves oars creaking rhythmically somewhere above carrying me farther and farther from the burning ruins of Eldfjall. My fire still burned but for now, I was chained, injured, and utterly alone with the man who had taken me.
The scarred leader stayed leaning against the closed door, arms crossed over his broad chest watching me with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through the dim torchlight. He didn’t look angry or amused anymore just patient like he was waiting for a wild horse to tire itself out. The faint scent of smoke and sea still clung to him, mixing with the musty smell of the hold.
Finally, my arms gave out. I slumped back against the rough planks, chest heaving, and the chain rattling softly as it settled. That was when I noticed it really noticed it. The gash on my knee was no longer bleeding freely. My scraped shoulder and back felt smoother too the raw abrasions smeared with some kind of greasy salve that carried a sharp herbal scent. Even the cut on my head where he had knocked me there were fresh bandages around my wrists where someone expected the manacles would bite into the skin.
They had tended my wounds while I was unconscious.
A hot wave of anger surged through me fiercer than the pain or the panic. My face burned. They had touched me. Stripped parts of my dress away cleaned my skin like I was livestock. While I was helpless and out cold. The violation of it hit harder than the chains.
“You... you touched me,” I spat my voice shaking with rage. I pushed myself up as far as the chain allowed glaring at him through the dim light. “While I was unconscious. You stripped me and—and tended me like I’m some broken thing you own. How dare you!”
He didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow possessive smile curved his lips. He pushed off the door and took a few steps closer towering over me in the confined space. The torchlight caught the iron rings in his braided hair and the strong line of his jaw.
“You’re going to be my wife,” he said simply his deep voice carrying that heavy Norse accent calm and matter-of-fact as if it were already decided and inevitable. “I can look at you if I want to. I can touch you if I want to. Your body is no longer a secret from me, Maeve. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for you.”
His words landed like another blow. Wife. The claim in his tone made my stomach twist with fresh revulsion and fury. Your wife? I’d rather throw myself into the sea than let you own me like that. I wanted to scream, to lunge at him again, but the chain held me short and my injured leg protested with a sharp stab.
“You’re disgusting,” I hissed my voice cracking despite my anger. “I’m not your anything. I killed one of your men. I’ll kill you too if you come near me again.”
He chuckled softly the sound low and rumbling in the small hold. He crouched down just out of easy reach, studying my face with those intense blue eyes. “You have fire, little blood-hands. I like that. It will make breaking you... interesting.” He reached out slowly and brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead his calloused fingers lingering for a moment too long. “But fire or not, you belong to me now. Rest. We make land by morning.”
He stood and turned toward the door leaving me chained, tended, and seething in the swaying darkness. The longship continued its steady pull across the black water carrying me farther from everything I had ever known.
I sat chained in the dim swaying hold the rough wooden planks cold and unforgiving beneath me. The bandages on my knee itched and the herbal salve on my shoulder carried a sharp, bitter scent that turned my stomach. Every small shift sent dull throbs through my injured leg and ribs but the anger simmering in my chest burned hotter than any pain. His wife. As if saying it makes it true. I’d rather rot in these chains than let him touch me again.
The door creaked open just enough for the leader to peek his head inside. Torchlight from the deck spilled in casting long shadows across his strong features. His piercing blue eyes found me in the gloom.
“Are you hungry?” he asked his voice low and almost casual as if we were sharing a hearth instead of a prisoner’s hold.
I glared at him fury sharpening my tongue. “Actually, yeah for freedom—fucking let me go.”
His expression hardened instantly. The easy patience from before vanished. He stepped fully into the small space and closed the door behind him with a firm thud the torch he carried flickering wildly. The air grew thicker with the smell of smoke and his presence.
“You are a lady,” he said his tone cold and edged with warning the heavy Norse accent clipping the words. “You will not speak like that. Not to me. Not ever. Disrespect me again and things will become much more unpleasant for you.”
I lifted my chin refusing to look away even as my heart hammered. The chain rattled softly as I shifted but I stayed silent the rage boiling too hot for words.
He stared at me for a long moment his jaw tight. Then without another word he turned and left slamming the door shut. The lock clicked into place.
Minutes stretched. The ship rocked steadily oars creaking rhythmically above. My stomach growled despite everything I had no idea how long id been out I pressed my forehead against my drawn-up knees. Let him starve me. Let him do whatever. I won’t break.
The door opened again sometime later. He returned carrying a wooden bowl and a small skin of water. The smell of stew thick with meat and roots wafted through the hold, warm and savory. He set the bowl and skin down on the planks just within my reach, then leaned against the wall his arms crossed.
I didn’t move. I didn’t look at him. After what he’d done touching me while I was unconscious claiming me like property. I refused to give him the satisfaction of even acknowledging his presence. My eyes stayed fixed on the wall my jaw clenched tight.
He waited. When I still didn’t respond or reach for the food he sighed heavily the sound rough with irritation. “Fine. Starve if you wish.”
But he didn’t leave. Instead he lowered himself to the floor across from me picked up the bowl, and began eating slowly, deliberately. The scrape of the spoon against wood filled the small space. The rich aroma of the stew teased my nose savory broth, tender chunks of meat, earthy vegetables. My mouth watered against my will but I kept my face turned away silent and unmoving.
Between bites he spoke his voice calm now almost conversational as if explaining the weather instead of my future.
“You will live well enough once we reach my hall,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “A strong house with thick walls and a good hearth. You’ll have warm furs, proper clothes not those rags. Servants to tend the fire and fetch water. No more scraping in the dirt for kindling or worrying over thin harvests. As my wife you’ll sit at my table bear my sons and learn our ways. The other women will show you how to weave and brew. In time you may even grow to like it. Many thralls become wives and live better than they ever did in their old villages.”
He took another slow bite the spoon scraping the bowl. The ship creaked around us waves lapping against the hull in a steady rhythm. I could feel his eyes on me studying my silence but I refused to speak or meet his gaze. My fists stayed clenched in my lap, nails digging into my palms.
“The sea journey is short,” he continued undeterred. “Tomorrow we land. You’ll walk beside me limping or not. If you fight, I’ll carry you. If you scream, I’ll gag you. But you will come. And in my hall, you’ll learn that fighting me only makes the lessons harder.” He paused setting the nearly empty bowl aside. “Eat when you’re ready, Maeve. Or don’t. Your body will remind you soon enough.”
He stayed there a while longer finishing the water skin himself the quiet sounds of him eating filling the tense space between us. I kept my eyes averted my jaw locked as the anger and fear twist together in my gut like a living thing. I won’t eat your food. I won’t listen to your plans. I am not yours.
The torch flickered lower. The longship pressed on through the night, carrying me toward an unknown shore and a life he had already decided for me. My silence was the only weapon I had left, and I held it like a blade sharp, unbroken, and waiting for the right moment to cut.
But deep down, the hollow ache in my stomach and the throbbing pain in my injuries whispered that this fight might cost me more than I could bear.
My silence stretched on like a shield, the only thing I still controlled. He finished the last of the water the skin making a soft sloshing sound as he set it down, then rose to his feet with a low sigh.
“Stubborn,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Sleep, then. You’ll need it.”
He left without another word, taking the torch with him. The door thudded shut, plunging the hold back into near-darkness broken only by faint slivers of moonlight leaking through the deck planks above.
The chain felt heavier than ever around my wrists. My knee throbbed under the bandages, a constant, dull fire. Exhaustion pressed down on me like a physical weight the terror of the raid, the blood on my hands, the pain, and the violation of being touched while unconscious.
It all crashed over me at once.
I curled up on the rough furs as best I could the manacles clinking softly with every shift. The ship’s gentle rocking, the rhythmic creak of the oars, and the distant murmur of voices above lulled me despite everything. Just sleep. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Tears slipped silently down my cheeks as I drifted off the anger still smoldering but buried under layers of fatigue.
I slept deeply dreamlessly the kind of heavy sleep that comes after too much fear and pain. The hours blurred.
When I woke, the motion of the ship had changed. The steady rocking had given way to a gentle bump and scrape the sound of the ship meeting shore. Shouts rang out above deck in Norse ropes creaking, men calling to one another as they secured the longships. Pale morning light filtered through the cracks brighter and cleaner than the torchlit gloom of the night before. My body felt stiff and sore; the cut on my knee had settled into a tight, pulling ache, my ankle still swollen, and my head throbbed faintly where he had struck me. The bandages were slightly damp with sweat, but the wounds hadn’t worsened.
The door opened. He stepped in tall, broad-shouldered sunlight from the deck outlined his powerful frame. He carried no torch this time just a length of rope in one hand.
“We’ve made land safely,” he said his voice calm and matter-of-fact, that heavy accent wrapping around the words. “Time to go.”
I pushed myself up against the wall chains rattling. Fresh panic flared in my chest, but I shoved it down, replacing it with cold defiance. I didn’t speak. I hadn’t said a word to him since the night before. Instead, I glared pressing my back harder against the wooden beam as if I could melt into it.
He approached without hesitation crouching to unlock the chain from the wall but leaving the manacles locked around my wrists. The iron was cold and heavy. Before I could pull away he looped the rope through the chain linking my wrists and gave it a firm tug testing the hold.
“Come,” he ordered standing and pulling me gently but inexorably to my feet.
My injured knee buckled the moment I tried to put weight on it. Pain shot up my leg like fire and I gasped stumbling. He caught me easily with one strong arm around my waist, holding me upright. The contact his warm, solid body against mine made my skin crawl with revulsion and fresh anger. Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare.
I twisted and shoved at his chest with my bound hands, trying to wrench free but he only tightened his grip, lifting me slightly so my feet barely skimmed the planks.
“Enough,” he said patience thinning again. “You will walk, or I will carry you the entire way. Your choice, Maeve.”
I chose to fight. I kicked out with my good leg aiming for his shin, and tried to yank the rope from his hand. He grunted sidestepped my weak attempt and in one smooth motion hoisted me over his shoulder again like I was nothing more than a struggling sack. The world inverted once more. My stomach lurched. My bandaged knee banged lightly against his back, sending pain through me but I bit back the cry.
“Stubborn woman,” he muttered though there was a hint of reluctant amusement in his tone now. “You’ll learn.”
He carried me up the narrow steps and onto the deck. Bright daylight assaulted my eyes after the dim hold clear blue sky, crisp sea air carrying the sharp tang of salt and pine. The longships were beached on a rocky shore lined with tall, dark forests. Other raiders moved around us, unloading crates and sacks, laughing and shouting in their rough tongue. A few glanced my way with curious or appreciative looks but no one challenged him.
His hall wasn’t far. We moved along a well-worn path through the trees his steady strides jarring my injuries with every step. I could see smoke rising from a large wooden longhouse ahead sturdy timbers, carved dragon heads on the roof beams, a thick thatch roof. It looked solid and imposing surrounded by smaller buildings and fenced fields where livestock grazed. Women and children paused their work to watch us pass their expressions ranging from pity to open curiosity.
All the while I struggled weakly against his hold my fists pounding his back but my strength was fading fast from hunger, pain, and the long night. He didn’t speak again until we reached the heavy doors of the hall.
Inside, the air was warmer scented with woodsmoke, roasted meat, and herbs. A great fire crackled in the central hearth. Benches and tables lined the walls, shields and weapons hung on the beams. A few thralls hurried about their eyes downcast.
He set me down carefully on a thick pile of furs near the hearth keeping the rope tied to my manacles. I immediately tried to scramble away, but the pain in my knee forced me to stay put breathing hard.
“Welcome to your new home, wife,” he said, standing tall above me his blue eyes steady and possessive. “Rest here. Food will come soon. And this time... you will eat.”
I glared up at him in silence the fire’s warmth brushing my skin while cold dread settled in my chest. The hall felt like a cage grand, but still a cage. My village was gone. My freedom was gone. But the fire inside me, the same one that had driven a stone into a Viking’s throat, still flickered.
I would not break easily. Not for him. Not for anyone.
He watched me a moment longer then turned to bark orders to the thralls leaving me chained by the hearth in his hall the weight of my new life pressing down as heavily as the iron around my wrists.
I sat on the thick pile of furs near the hearth the fire’s warmth brushing against my skin while the iron manacles around my wrists felt like ice. The rope still tethered me in place, limiting how far I could move. My knee throbbed beneath the bandages, a constant sharp reminder of my fall in the forest and my stomach twisted with hunger after refusing the stew on the ship. The hall smelled of woodsmoke, roasted meat, and fresh herbs, but none of it comforted me. It only made the knot of dread in my chest tighter. This is not my home. This will never be my home.
The man whose name I still didn’t know and refused to ask for stood a few paces away speaking in low Norse to a couple of thralls. His broad back was turned to me for a moment. That was all the opening I needed.
My eyes darted to the wall behind me where shields and weapons hung on heavy wooden pegs. A short axe, its blade gleaming dully in the firelight, was within reach if I stretched. Heart pounding I lunged for it ignoring the scream of pain from my injured knee. My bound hands closed around the wooden haft. The weight felt good solid, deadly. I swung it wildly as he turned, aiming for his side with every ounce of desperate fury I had left.
The blade whistled through the air.
He moved faster than any man should. One large hand shot out and caught my wrist mid-swing, twisting hard enough to make me gasp. The axe clattered to the floor. In the same motion, he yanked me forward pulling me off balance. I stumbled into him and before I could recover he had me pinned face-down over his lap on the furs on the bench I had just sat on my bound hands trapped beneath me.
“No!” I cried kicking wildly with my good leg. “Let me go!”
“You foolish girl,” he growled his voice low and dangerous now all patience gone. “Attacking me in my own hall? After everything?”
His free hand came down hard on my backside once, twice, sharp and stinging even through the layers of my torn, bloodstained dress. The smacks echoed in the hall. Heat flooded my face with humiliation and fresh pain. I bucked and twisted but he held me firmly in place with one strong arm across my back. Each strike landed with deliberate force not enough to bruise badly but enough to burn and shame me deeply. Tears sprang to my eyes immediately.
“Stop—please!” I gasped but he didn’t.
The heavy door to the hall opened. Two thralls entered carrying trays of food steaming bowls of thick porridge with honey and dried berries, fresh bread, and a pitcher of water. They froze for a moment at the sight of their lord spanking his new captive then quickly averted their eyes and set the trays down on a low table nearby. The savory scent of the warm food filled the air, but it only made my stomach clench tighter with anger and embarrassment.
He continued the punishment without pause, his hand coming down several more times in steady firm rhythm. “You will learn respect,” he said between strikes his tone cold. “You will learn that trying to kill your husband brings consequences.”
By the time he finally stopped, I was crying hard great heaving sobs that shook my whole body. My backside burned fiercely the humiliation worse than the physical sting. Tears streamed down my face and soaked into the furs. I couldn’t stop the broken sounds escaping my throat. My knee ached from the awkward position and every breath hurt.
He kept me draped over his lap one hand resting lightly on my back now not striking anymore but holding me in place. His voice softened just a fraction though it still carried steel.
“You’re going to eat your food now, right?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The sobs choked me, and stubborn pride kept my lips sealed. I turned my face away from him and the trays my shoulders shaking.
He sighed, then delivered two more sharp deliberate smacks harder this time. Fresh pain flared across my already stinging skin. I yelped the cry breaking into another wave of tears.
“Answer me properly, Maeve.”
The humiliation burned hotter than the spanking. I gasped for air between sobs my voice small and trembling but finally breaking.
“I’ll... I’ll eat,” I managed the words forced out through clenched teeth and tears. “Just... stop.”
He held me there a moment longer letting the lesson sink in his hand warm and heavy on my back. The fire crackled softly. The untouched food steamed on the table beside us. My tears kept falling quiet now but relentless mixing with the shame and exhaustion and the deep throbbing ache of everything that had happened since the horns first sounded over Eldfjall.
Only then did he slowly lift me upright, settling me carefully on the furs beside him on my side, so my punished backside wouldn’t press against anything. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb almost gently though his blue eyes were still hard with warning.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now eat. And remember this the next time you reach for a weapon.”
I kept my gaze down my cheeks burning and my body still trembling with leftover sobs. The porridge smelled warm and sweet but it tasted like defeat as I finally reached for the bowl with shaking manacled hands.
The hall felt smaller than ever. My fire was still there... but for the first time, it flickered low under the weight of pain, hunger, and the terrifying new reality that this man intended to keep me by force if necessary.
I forced myself to eat. Each spoonful was warm and slightly sweet from the honey and berries, but it slid down like ash. My backside stung fiercely where he had spanked me a constant throbbing reminder that made it impossible to sit properly. I ate in silence, keeping my eyes lowered the chain between my wrists clinking softly with every shaky movement. The thralls had slipped away quietly, leaving only the crackle of the hearth fire and the low murmur of voices from outside the house.
When the bowl was finally empty, he took it from me without a word and set it aside. For a long moment he simply watched me his piercing blue eyes studying my tear-streaked face and the way I tried to shift my weight to ease the burn. My knee still ached beneath the bandages, and the dried blood from the raid his comrade’s blood and my own still crusted my skin and stained my torn dress in dark, stiff patches.
“You need to wash yourself off,” he said at last his deep voice calm but leaving no room for argument. The heavy Norse accent made the words sound almost gentle though there was steel underneath.
“You’re covered in blood and dirt. Then you will change into clean clothes. I won’t have my wife looking like a wild thrall fresh from the battlefield.”
The word “wife” hit me like a fresh slap. Something inside me snapped. The shame, the pain, the exhaustion all of it boiled over into raw defiance.
“No,” I said, my voice hoarse but clear cracking only slightly from crying. I lifted my chin and met his eyes directly for the first time since the spanking. “Just let me go.”
He stared at me, his strong jaw tightening. The blue eyes that had seemed almost patient earlier now darkened with irritation. For a heartbeat the hall felt heavier the fire crackling louder in the sudden tension.
“You do not get to tell me ‘no,’ Maeve,” he said slowly each word deliberate and cold. “You belong to me now. The sooner you accept it, the less painful your lessons will be.”
I shook my head, fresh tears spilling over despite my effort to hold them back. My bound hands clenched into fists. “I’m not yours. I’m not your wife. I killed one of your men—I’ll do it again if you force me to stay. Just let me go home. Please.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose clearly losing the last threads of patience. Without another word he reached down grabbed the rope still tied to my manacles and hauled me to my feet. My injured knee buckled instantly sending a pain up my leg, but he didn’t let me fall. He simply lifted me over his shoulder again one strong arm locking around my thighs to keep me in place.
“Enough,” he growled as I started to struggle weakly pounding my fists against his back. “You will wash. You will change. And you will stop fighting me every step of the way.”
He carried me through the longhouse toward the smaller side chamber ignoring my protests and the way I twisted in his grip. The door to the washing room stood open. Inside waited a large wooden tub filled with steaming water that smelled faintly of herbs and lye soap. Clean linens and a simple but well-made woolen dress deep blue with embroidered edges, lay folded on a bench. Two thrall women stood ready by the tub their eyes downcast.
He set me down on the bench a little more roughly than before keeping a firm hold on the rope. My backside still burned from the earlier spanking making me wince as I sat. I glared up at him through tear-blurred eyes.
“Just let me go,” I repeated quieter this time but no less fierce. “I don’t want your water. I don’t want your clothes. I don’t want any of this.”
He crouched in front of me so our faces were level his face close enough that I could see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes and smell the faint trace of smoke and leather on him. His voice dropped low and dangerous.
“You will wash the blood off your skin, Maeve. You will put on clean clothes. Or I will have the women do it for you while I watch. Your choice.”
