Conquered From Within Ch 02

Amelina awoke with a start.

There was a naked man in her bed.

The Viking that had tried to take her last night was still passed out with his face pressed to her furs, sated from the sordid deeds they had performed. But her maidenhood was intact — she gingerly felt herself just to be sure. Yes. And she was still in her dress. He had never even seen her breasts.

She had seen... all of him, though. And taken him into her mouth, after he had pleasured her with his. A wild agitation rose up in her at the recollection. She did not know if she was more upset at what they had done, or at the thought that she might never do it again. For soon the sun would rise, the Danes would take their gold, and this man would leave and nobody would ever touch her like that again.

Amelina looked over at him. In the peacefulness of sleep, he looked younger. His beard added years, but beneath it he could not be that much older than herself. If he was not so savage, she would have found him terribly handsome. Perhaps that was why she had struggled to resist his advances. He had long lashes, a straight nose, and full lips partially hidden beneath his beard. Lips that had roused unspeakable feelings in her last night.

At the very thought of it, her heat began to rise again. In the span of a single night, he'd made her want him more than she'd ever known it was possible to want a man.

As if he sensed her staring, his eyes fluttered open. They were shockingly blue. "Morning, Engliskr."

"Good morning...." She did not even know this northman's name.

He rolled onto his back. "Bjorn."

"Bjorn." She tested the unfamiliar name on her tongue, then smiled as she caught sight of the imprint of her furs on the side of his face.

He smiled back at her, his expression guileless and open.

"Thank you," Amelina said, not knowing as the words left her mouth what was possessing her.

Bjorn's eyebrows lifted in amusement. It was an endearing look on him. "What for, mey? Thought you didn't want me."

"You kept your word."

"You got the best of me, woman." He reached out to toy with the hem of her sleeve. "You can go back and wed your Engliskr now, no worse for the wear."

The surge of misery that rose up at the thought shocked her. She did not want that anymore. Lord Dyfnwal was, unfortunately, much like the Viking had guessed. A man rather resembling a plucked chicken. Once she went to his bed, she would never know anything like what this northman had offered her again.

Summoning the new kind of courage that had led her to be so bold last night, Amelina seized the fragile thread of fate that hung before her, leaned forward, and kissed the handsome man in her bed.

He kissed her back, no questions asked, and his lips were soft and sweet beneath hers, giving her no more and no less than what she wished.

When she broke away, her mind was made up. "Take me with you."

"You want to go with me?"

"Yes."

He did not seem to know how to respond. She did not know if he had only intended to have her for the night, or if there was anything longer lasting he might consider. He had not offered her any marriage but the marriage of the flesh, and she had not known her own heart until she said it, but she was realizing with a rising desperation that she would abandon God and kin, accepting anything if it meant she could stay beside him.

He took her hand in his. "I meant to wed you only for the night and leave you here," he explained.

Her heart sank.

"I'd leave you with Thor's protection," he continued, putting his hand to the hammer-shaped pendant at his chest. "If another Viking shows up, you could simply show it to him and no man would touch you. You and your father's lands will be the safer for it. And I'll be back to visit. Make sure you and any children we might have are well."

Her heart twisted with a riot of emotions. She could not be the only woman he had like this. She'd spend her life waiting for him to return, fighting for his attention. An irrational jealousy she did not even know she was capable of was rearing its head. She wanted him — she wanted all of him. Perhaps she had gone mad. If so, she could do nothing but give herself over to it as inevitably as she had given herself over to his touch last night.

"Take me with you," she insisted. "Let me go with you, and I'll be yours, however you want me. Or I'll marry Lord Dyfnwal and we'll never see each other again." She did not know if it was an empty threat, but she made it anyways. She had nothing else to bargain with.

The Viking's eyes widened as he rose up on one arm. "All or nothing? Is that how you like to play?"

Her heart thudded as she held his icy blue eyes. If she looked away, all was lost.

Suddenly he burst laughing. "Mey! Do you even know how to ride?"

"I do!" Before her father had known he'd have a son, he had let her have some of the indulgences of boys. It had been years, but she'd learned to ride better than most women, even having briefly worn trousers as a child. "Let me speak to my father. I might even bring my own horse."

There was a new look in his eyes. She did not know what it meant, but it made her stomach jump and flutter. His rough hand came up to cradle her face.

"Mey. You are a creature raised behind castle walls. I think you will suffer in the saddle, and very likely perish on the road. But I am not one to stop those who want to seek their own fate. Do you really wish to come with me?"

Her heart thudded like she was about to fling herself headlong off a cliff. "Yes."

"You'll have to keep up. If you can't, I may have to send you back alone. And I cannot say what will happen to you then."

"I understand."

He tugged her to him and gave her a hard kiss.

"Come on then." He got out of bed and began to dress. "Talk to your father. It will not be a problem for us. Perhaps Freya's calling you. We'll see if you have what it takes to be shieldmaiden."

Wild elation and terror warred in her chest. Her life was either just about to begin, or just about to end.

As the northman fastened his trousers, he paused. "Forgive me. Your father told me, but I forgot your name."

"Amelina."

He grinned. "Amelina. Beautiful."

Elation it was, then.

---

When the Viking had left her room, Amelina changed into a simple traveling dress. She would have to try to find men's trousers before they left. If one of the servants was not willing to accommodate her unusual request, there was always Robin, the stableboy who might still owe her a favor for the few kisses she had let him steal.

There were no guards outside her door. In fact, the halls were eerily empty. Amelina was wondering where everyone was when there was woman's gasp, and the door to the sewing room opened to reveal her maidservant Enfelda.

Enfelda cast a terrified glance down the empty hall, then dragged her in.

"My lady... oh, my lady." Enfelda's eyes were red from crying. To Amelina's surprise, she dropped to her knees at her feet.

"Whatever is the matter?"

"Forgive me, I could do nothing. The guards.. they threatened to let the Danes have their way with me as well if I interfered. I am so sorry for what we've let you suffer. May the Lord forgive us." Enfelda frantically crossed herself.

"Oh." The terror of last night had faded so far away, Amelina had forgotten what the maids might still be thinking. "It's alright. The northman was good to me. Better than I knew a man could be. And he did not take my honor." She helped her maidservant to her feet.

Enfelda's eyes were so wide the whites were showing. "But last night... your screams..."

She did not know how to explain. If she had not experienced it herself, she would not have believed a woman who said the things she was about to say. But she said them anyways. "Enfelda. Of everything you heard last night, none of it was from pain. It is possible for a man to make a woman scream for pleasure, without even having her as a man ought to have. I am a maiden yet."

"How is that possible?"

Amelina sighed. "It's hard to explain. But I'm leaving with him now. I asked him to take me with him."

Enfelda stared at Amelina like the devil himself had seized her from behind, crossing herself repeatedly, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

It was no use. "Help me find some man's trousers that will fit me. I leave with the Danes, and my life depends on being able to keep up with them."

---

Her father began with an apology, at least. "Forgive me, dear child. Four marks of gold commissions ten fighting men for a year. We needed it, and there was a threat behind the offer. He put his sword on the table and did not let us tell you before he went. We could not fight him."

You could, she thought. He would have backed down if you'd fought him on it. But you did not want to. I was not worth it to you. But this she did not say.

"Father. What is done is done. Let me have a horse, a knife, and a week's worth of food as a bride price, and I will forget what has happened here. He is taking me with him."

Her father's expression darkened. "He said he would leave you here with us, and swore up and down that the Danes were men of their word. Does he think me a fool? This insult cannot be allowed to stand."

Rage, boiling hot, was rising up in her blood. All her father could think of was the insult to his own honor, even after he had sold hers.

"Do not fear, my dear," her father told her absently, paying no heed to the expression on her face. "You do not have to leave with that man. He said he would keep his word."

"I asked him to take me with him," she said, no longer caring if her words were wise.

"What?"

"I asked him to take me with him. I'm going with him."

A muscle twitched in her father's jaw. "What madness is this? You are not leaving with that man! I forbid it."

"Father," she tried to reason. "You sold me to him." Without telling me, she added silently. Without knowing if he would be gentle, or if he would spend all night raping me mercilessly, using me like a whore.

"Only in part! He will go away, Amelina. The northmen live short, brutal lives. He will be here once a year, maybe less, and in a few summers you might find yourself free to marry again."

"And what kind of life is that?" She could no longer hold her tongue.

"A peaceful one," her father insisted. "You will hardly have to see the Dane, and we might yet wed you to Lord Dyfnwal. Sullied though you are, I do not think they would refuse you. Everything in this country has been used by the northmen, at any rate."

Her vision whited out, and she no longer knew what she said. "If I have been sullied, it is only by your cowardice! He did not even take the advantage he paid for — he let me have my will! A country ruled by men as craven as you deserves to fall to the northmen. He is a better man than you."

Never had she been known to speak so free. It stunned her father into silence for a long moment. Mottled patches of color rose to his face, and his lips worked soundlessly.

"Whore!" he finally spat, and the blow he delivered struck her to the floor.

Before she could recover herself, a man was stepping over her. There was the sound of a sword being drawn, and she looked up to find her father on his knees before her, Bjorn's blade at his throat.

"Æthelred," the Viking said, pulling her father's head back by his hair. "You struck my woman."

"P-please," he stammered. "She is my eldest daughter. You cannot take her. You gave me your word."

"And she gave me hers. You sold her to me, and called her a whore. Under the Danelaw, that means you have cast her out. If you have not yet understood, let me make it clear. You live under the Danelaw now. And under the Danelaw, the price for striking my woman is no less than your life."

Lord Æthelred swallowed nervously. The mottled patches were spreading farther across his face. It seemed like Bjorn might be making up a new law on the spot, but the man who held the sword made the laws.

"Understand?" Bjorn pressed, his blade biting slightly into the skin.

"Mercy," Æthelred rasped.

"Who are you asking for mercy?"

"Have mercy, Bjorn Haraldson."

"It's Lord Haraldson, Æthelred."

Her father stared up at the young man who had him by the throat, and Amelina could see his pride crumble beneath him as he spoke.

"Mercy.... Lord Haraldson."

"Good." Bjorn abruptly stepped back and sheathed his sword, making her father sway on his knees. "You have plenty of horses in your stable, old man. I'm going to take one of them. And if you happen to see your daughter again, do not think to punish her or wed her off against her will. I'll be back, and if I am not, my brother will come in my stead."

The northman put out a hand to her, and when she took it, he hauled her to her feet. There was a smile in his blue eyes.

"Oh. One more thing." The northman turned to her father. "You have a fine knife. I saw at it dinner last night. Hand it over to this lass."

Oh Lord, he must have been standing in the hall listening the whole time.

Her father put a hand to his belt protectively. "It belonged to my father."

"Perfect. She will be reminded of home when she uses it."

"She can have another..."

"Æthelred. Give your daughter your knife."

With hands trembling in fear or fury, her father unbuckled his knife from his belt and held it out.

Of her own volition, Amelina stepped forward to take it. And as she did so, something fundamental changed about the world. Her father, who had always so awed and terrified her, looked small and shrunken before her. His eyes spelled betrayal as she took his knife, and she accepted its weight in her hand. It was a betrayal of the deepest sort. The world she had been raised in was dying, and she was choosing to stand with the men who were killing it.

"May the Lord be with you, father."

"The Lord will not receive a woman like you," her father spat.

Perhaps it was true. "Then my husband's gods will."

Both men laughed, her father in bitterness, her new lover in mirth.

"Do you think he has married you?" her father asked. "He has many more concubines like you! Perhaps a wife too! You foolish girl."

It hurt to hear. But she had not been entirely naive when she had thrown her fate into a northman's hands. "Then I will simply have to be his best."

The northman made a sound of approval. "How did a man like you produce such a fine lass?" he asked her father. "Her mother must have been a woman worth ten men."

The look on her father's face cut short any further words she might try to say to him.

"You made the right choice, old man. She's better off with me." Bjorn put his hand freely on her waist. "Amelina. Come."

And with that, she allowed the man who had paid four marks for her — enough to commission ten fighting men for a year — to lead her away from father, hearth, and home.

---

The things people were saying about her rang in her ears as they rode away. That the northman had raped her so cruelly all night that she had gone mad. That she was fleeing her home in shame, no doubt to fling herself from some seaside cliff along the road. That he had not only raped her, but stolen her very soul, leading her away to sacrifice her to his dark gods with her father's own knife.

Her sanity was surely in doubt, but it was a different kind of madness than people thought. Whenever Amelina looked at the man who had spent such an unforgettable night in her bed, her stomach did wild flips.

In the fairy stories, love sometimes struck people down like a bolt from above. A single glance at a fair maid, and the prince would cross the earth for her hand. She had never imagined it could happen so suddenly to a woman, and certainly not to one as practical as her, but she now felt the mad certainty that she would do anything to win this man's heart.

Bjorn laughed with his fellows as they spoke in their foreign tongue, and some of what they said was surely about her, judging by the mirthful glances cast her way. But she kept her head held high, and he did not leave her side, riding close beside her. She had no fear of the others while he was there. Whenever he looked her way, his eyes erased whatever fears had started to gather in her mind, like blue skies sweeping away a cloudy day.

They rode all day, only stopping for dinner shortly before sunset. She was dizzy with hunger and sore from the saddle, but did her best to hide it as she followed Bjorn into the wooded copse they had made camp beside. He had asked her to gather firewood with him.

Alone beneath the darkening trees, her heart beat wildly. He was a large man, and graceful on his feet. She expected him to take advantage of her as soon as he could, but they picked up a few pieces of wood, and he did not touch her.

"How are you doing, mey?" Bjorn suddenly asked.

"Hm?" Amelina was caught off guard. "How do you mean?"

"How are you doing?" he repeated. "Sore? Sad? Fair?"

"Oh." She had not expected him to care. "Fair. A bit sore. A bit sad. And perhaps a bit scared. But fair."

"Scared?" He drew closer. "Why?"

"I'm alone in the woods with a strange man."

"Well. Good thing..." He came closer, and closer. "I'm the most dangerous thing in these woods."

She suppressed a shriek as he caught her up in his arms, dropping her pile of wood.

"And I won't be strange for long." He met her willing lips.

Amelina wrapped her arms around his waist, dying to know if his kisses were as good as she remembered. Good enough to gamble everything for.

They were. That ache that built between her legs was the maddening force of her desire for him. A woman could hurt with desire as much as a man, she was beginning to understand.

Their firewood forgotten, the northman backed her up against a tree, letting her feel the hard male length of him pressed up against her hip. He would surely rip her apart when he sheathed in her, but she had no choice but to let him now. A terrified excitement tore through her at the thought, and she dropped her head back, letting him trail his kisses down her neck. Perhaps he would ravage her here.

But Bjorn lightened his kisses until they were the merest brush over her skin, then pulled away and stroked her hair out of her face. "We do actually have to bring back firewood," he murmured in her ear. "The others are waiting."

"Oh." Her face grew hot at the thought that she was the one that could not control herself, panting after him like a wanton whore. "Understood."

As if sensing her embarrassment, he grabbed her hand, pressing it to the hard length of him. She blushed harder as she felt the unmistakable proof of his desire.

"Ah," the man sighed. "I wish we'd had one more night in that big bed of yours."

A night had been more than enough to win her over. He smiled as she tentatively explored the shape of him through his trousers, pressing his hips lightly into her hand.

"Bjorn!" someone shouted, following up in clipped Norse.

Bjorn gave a soft curse and pulled away from her. "Come on. Firewood. We rode hard today to gain some distance in case your father got any foolish ideas. If we don't feed the others soon, they'll lose patience with me."

Amelina hurried to help him gather wood, stumbling a bit over the uneven ground in the growing dark. It was a pity she was not peasant born, she thought ruefully as a sharp stick scratched her palm.

The men stared openly when they returned, talking about her as Bjorn lit the fire. "Mey" meant lass or girl, she had gathered by now.

As the flames danced to life, Bjorn looked over at her, the golden glow flickering over his face. "Do you know how to cook?"

"Yes." She hoped it was true.

A dark-haired man handed her a pot. But as she took it from him, she realized she had no idea what to do with it over an open fire. In the castle, there were many ovens, many hearths, and the servants did all the preparation...