Dear Reader, Thank you for taking the time to read chapter Two of forbidden, and if you read the first one and left me comments! Big hug and lots of kisses xxx
Even though, every precaution has been taken to make sure the historical side to the story is accurate, there are no doubt some areas that can be disputed. However, I must stress, and i don't mean to be rude, this is a romance novel! I am human, i do make mistakes, and I'm not some, historical buff that lives in the past researching every tiny little detail.
But in the same sense! I will try my best in the future to provide as much accuracy as i can, and in doing so, i would like to ask that you as a reader, see past those mistakes, and focus your attention on the real reason you are reading this story... the romance!.
- Amber Maynard.
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CHAPTER TWO
Despite the weight and the warmth from the heavy cotton draped about her shoulders, she still shook. Not from the cold, or what she had presumed was the cold to begin with, but with fear. She was slowly starting to realize how little she had in this world. Not that she had expected her step mother and step sister to change the habit of a lifetime and suddenly start caring. But she hadn't expected them to give up on her so easily. She felt sick to the stomach when it truly sank in that anything could have happened to her, and they just wouldn't care. Their complete disregard for someone's life, for family was shocking.
She tried not to wallow on the pain of knowing her step mother and step sister would do anything to save themselves, rather than being selfless to protect others. But there was much more frightening things to think about...Like the Vikings who were slowly starting to pour into the room from the outside. They were all very large men with what looked to be fine strong blood lines. It was something she admired. She probably admired it the most because her father would insist that she spend her time around the most pompous of men. Half of them hadn't known the feeling of a hard day's work, and their hands were even softer than hers.
The Vikings though, be as they may the enemy, looked weathered and strong. She remembered the feel of Ivar's hands, his palm was rough and his fingers calloused. She had felt like she weighed nothing more than just a feather when he had dragged her along. The scary part about that was, he is the slimmest man among these men. It terrified her to think of what they were capable of. They could grind her bones with their mere hands.
She watched them cautiously from where she sat. Mostly because she was interested in the people most feared by her own... and because she preferred focusing her attentions upon them right now. Rather than the two women who sat to her right, her supposed family. A family that was broken in so many ways that it had become a disfigured blur in her memory.
Their accents were thick, so understanding them completely when they talked so fast wasn't easy. What she had observed was that most of them were distracted. Their attentions were turned upon each other, rather than Harriot. She knew that planning an escape, between her, her mother and her sister was practically useless. They weren't brave enough to make a run for it. But the bigger question for Harriot, was would she be able to? There was no judging what the Viking was capable of if she should try to escape him again. It was true that he had been quite nice to her so far, but she didn't trust him. Something told her there was more to this person than what meets the eye. He was the enemy after all, a handsome and intriguing enemy, but an enemy no less.
Harriot leaned forward and fidgeted a little. No one noticed. So instead she tried stretching. She spread her arms a little, still no one noticed. They really were engrossed in everything that they were doing. If she was going to attempt escape, she knew now might be her only opportunity to do so. Nevertheless that didn't stop the flip her stomach did at the thought. She must be crazy, really crazy. She closed her eyes firmly as she started to stand.
It was as though her sister's discomfort vibrated through the air around them. Still she took her first step in the direction of the door, and then another. She opened her eyes and it felt as though everything around her had slowed until she could miss no detail or movement. Her heart throbbed so hard against her chest as she sucked a breath into her lungs. The room was dimly lit by candles; their yellow glow flickered along the bare walls... Walls that were covered once with beautiful bright wall hangings, and luxurious curtains.
"And where is it you think you are going?"
His voice would forever haunt her memories. It was deep and one of a kind. It instantly sent a wave of chills running through her spine, and she turned slowly to face him with quite a bit of reluctance. She had been caught.
"Your men are hungry and thirsty. I was merely going to serve some food and mead to distract you all from killing me for a little while longer."
She set her shoulders as though she was insulted by his remark. Then, she looked up into his eyes with as much genuine sincerity as she could offer. She surprised herself, because she hadn't put a single thought into what she would say if she was caught. Which was quite stupid really, considering she never believed she would get out of this room unnoticed. But she did have doubts on whether he believed what she had said or not.
He seemed doubtful, and looked as though he was about to make her sit back down, but he didn't. Instead he swiveled on his heels and pointed to one of his men before he turned back to face Harriot.
"He goes with you."
It was clear from the look on his face that the terms were not open to negotiation. So she nodded to him and carried on making her way towards the kitchen. The guy Ivar had chosen to go with her was probably three times Harriot in size. His sheer size and presence could dominate almost any room. Looking up at him made her giddy. He had great big black eyes, and hair as long as hers. His lips were pulled taut into one sweeping line across his face. His whole demeanor was so much different from Ivar's. He didn't look like he was capable of much sympathy. If her father had caused these men enough trouble, that they would go out of their own way to find him and use his family for ransom. She was pretty sure he saw her as the enemy too.
She couldn't exactly blame them for treating her that way. All she could say is that she had no choice over what family she was born into, or other people's actions. She was not like them. She liked to believe she was not heartless or insensitive to the people around her. She cared for the little things she couldn't expect them to know that though. She wasn't even sure why she cared what people thought. These men would either become a blur in her memory, or the very last memory she would have.
She was conscious of the room around her. Everyone was watching her as she moved. They were all probably wondering why Ivar was being so nice to her, in fact she was too. It felt surreal.
Harriot could hardly breathe as she stalked along the walls of the corridor. She held the heavy material of the cloak away from the ground, hoping to avoid snagging it on any corners as she moved. It was miles too big for her, in both length and quantity of material. But she had not considered making her escape without it. It could hinder her if she needed to move fast. Overall that was a risk she was willing to take in order to protect her modesty a little, and to stay warm. She had wound her hands in the course material of the cloak so hard, they burned. She was nervous, and scared of how little control she had over her own life right now.
His sharp blue eyes were burned into her memory. It was easy to tell he had been born with a gift. Not only because he was beautiful, but because behind those bright blue eyes was anticipation. He didn't look at you, but through you, and that's what scared Harriot the most. She just had this horrible feeling when he looked at her. It was as though against her will, he could see straight through to her soul.
But enough of that...she had to concentrate on what she was doing or she would very likely make a mistake. There was no room for that. This could very well end up being her only option, and if it was she wasn't going to waste it.
She pushed at the heavy wooden door that separated the kitchen and hallway from a small room where a door to the outside rested against rusty hinges. It creaked and scraped against the course fine dusting of straw and always made her cringe. But she was convinced no one so far was onto her. The man Ivar had sent to keep an eye on her was consumed with the mead she had offered to him and the rest of the men. It had been too heavy for her to carry, and he had surprised her when he had offered to help. In doing so, he had played into her plan, and had given her the chance she needed to escape.
She made a break for the door as she heard someone re-enter the kitchen. She assumed it was the Viking returning for the next batch of mead to hand out. She knew it wasn't when she heard Ivar's hiss of frustration. She risked a glance at him as she ran out into the garden. His face was contorted with barely contained anger and she couldn't really say she blamed him for being angry. She had probably caused him more trouble than the worth of it.
He came after her, and she knew if he caught hold of her she was either dead, or would suffer for abusing his trust. Let's be fair though, who would trust someone you just captured not to escape? Harriot shivered inwardly with fear. She had heard so many times over the years of how fear could drive you to do crazy things. She had never thought of herself as so impulsive until her hand curled about the sword that was left just outside the rusty old door.
She needed both hands to lift it, as it was just too heavy. Even then she struggled to point it straight in his direction. It felt like it had a mind of its own as the blade swayed in her grasp. It glinted through the fog an orange glow from the fire that consumed the barn. However it would not stay straight, instead it pointed towards the ground as she battled with her own strength and determination.
She had a new-found respect for the men who could lift these and swing them with ease. They made it look so easy, too easy. She squealed and sidestepped as Ivar launched himself in her direction. The blade had now lowered even further toward the ground in front of her feet. With her lack of ability to control the fine long blade, it scraped against the mud. She tried her hardest to right her balance but it was not proving easy for her to do.
