Forbidden Ch 03 5

The lids to Harriot's eyes were heavy as she tried to open them to gaze about. Her body cushioned by something warm brought fear rushing to the forefront of her mind. The noises surrounding her were unworldly and foreign. It was exaggerated by the throbbing that spread across her forehead. She could feel the steady rhythmic throb of a heart beat pressed against her shoulder.

She sat forward in a rush, her world spun along with the gentle to and fro, of whatever was beneath her. Her first thoughts were for her family, her bitter step mother, sister, and a father that had practically abandoned them to fight for themselves. She didn't understand what she had done to deserve any of this. She had spent the majority of her life complying to the will of others because she had felt that was the right thing to do. That was her future and her destiny in this world. She had believed full heartedly that eventually the pain would end, and she would be rewarded for her perseverance.

She was starting to question everything, right down to the very last detail. So much so, that she hadn't noticed her wandering fingers, as they aimlessly trailed along her arm. It was only when her fingers brushed against the soft material; warmed by her skin did she remember everything that had happened. A part of her had hoped it had all been just a bad dream, but she had not been so fortunate.

"Don't"

Said in a soft drawl from the person she had been pressed up against.

Her eyes flung open in horror as she recognized the tone and the easy way the words had dribbled from his lips. She spun to look at him, but her eyes took their time to focus. When they finally did focus upon her company, she felt an unfamiliar throb within her breast at the icy blue eyes that were fixed upon her own.

"Where are we?" She forced the demanding words passed parched lips, but he did not answer her as readily as she had expected him to.

Instead, he ran his long slender fingers through his dark wispy curls of hair. The strands folded to one side, and accompanied by the lack of light it gave him a rather boyish look. It occurred to her then, that he was not much older than her. From the way he directed the people around him, it was easy to see that life had been no walk in the park for him either.

His face was shadowed by the familiar marks of returning facial hair, showing that the night had been long and grueling not only for him but for his men also.

"If you won't answer I shall have to find out for myself." She hissed at the figure.

She sat forward, despite the horrible rocking of her world as she did so. She started to stand once she had found the hardness of floor beneath her feet. But with the sounds of crashing water and the creaking of weathered wood, she lost her balance upon the abandoned carriage chair where they sat, and slid forward rather ungracefully.

His hand caught her about the waist before she could slide further and end up crashing to the floor. He did not for a moment mask his irritation with her, for he dragged in a sharp breath and exhaled it rather heavily. He edged her backwards until she sat securely beside him. She could feel the warmth from his hand through the material of her nightdress and the heavy cotton blanket that draped about her shoulders. She tried to edge herself away from it, to unwrap herself from his protective grasp but he would have none of it.

"Woman, if it is not clear to you already, that you will hurt yourself, if you attempt to search for your answer. Then you are not as intelligent as you once seemed."

Shocked by his words, Harriot couldn't decide whether to move or to listen. She was too stubborn to do as she was told, and as much as it pained her to admit, he was right. She really would hurt herself if she tried to stand up on the rocking surface beneath her feet. But then, she didn't believe she should be here in the first place, wherever she was.

Realizing that he was not about to answer her, Harriot decided she would try a different approach, on a topic that concerned her equally.

"Where are my step mother and sister?"

"They're gone"

Gone? Where could they of gone to? Not even she could escape the Viking men. She meant no disrespect to her family -- or maybe she did - but they weren't the brightest sparks in the bunch. "What...How?"

He simply frowned and shifted where he sat, as though the answer to that question pained him in some way. It then occurred to Harriot that she had assumed they had managed to escape. She had not considered the possibility that the Vikings had taken their lives because they had no particular use for them. In the same respect, neither did they have a real use for her. At-least nothing that she knew of. Yet here she was sitting beside him, patched up and vulnerable but more of a nuisance than anyone so far.

"They escaped while we were tending to you."

She was relieved by his answer, but also extremely unhappy. For the two had already tried to pawn her off to the Viking men today. Even though she had been hurt, they had cared little for her health and had used the opportunity to their advantage. They had escaped and left her behind. The distress she felt inside must have been clear upon her expression. Ivar's white teeth flashed in the corner of her eyes, now that they had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see him better.

"What's the matter little magpie? Have they ruffled your feathers by abandoning you? Surely, you didn't expect them to show you some concern. It was clear that would pain them far too much, even to me, a complete stranger."

The words he spoke were meant to taunt her on just how little her family cared. If anything, it ruffled her feathers, as he had known that his words certainly would. She felt the familiar sting of salty tears against the back of her eyes. Not because his words had been harsh, but because she missed her birth mother and angry at her at the same time. She had left her behind to deal with a horrible mess, a horrible upbringing filled with neglect and deprivation.

Her mother's face haunted her within her dreams even to this day. Her pretty golden curls cascaded like honey along her pale porcelain cheeks. The dress she had last seen her in as it hugged her curves with expensive red material was one of the fondest memories Harriot had. Her mother had not been happy though, and even once, a very long time ago Harriot had questioned why. Now being that she was older, she understood perfectly. Her father was no easy man to live with, and Harriot didn't wish the experience upon anyone. Even if some would argue, that it could not be so bad because she had a roof over her head, clean clothes to wear and even a warm meal in her stomach every evening. People were blinded by her father's wealth, and it made her furious because her father would not share it with none.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a long day." He spoke softly, almost reluctantly.

Harriot wished she could sympathize with him, but she could not, for it had been a long day for her also. These men had all but tore through her life in a single evening. She did not feel sorry for him, but she did accept his apology, but only because she was too tired to argue.

She nodded, because she really didn't have much to say to him that would involve less arguments and ill feelings. She did of course owe him a thank you. She was now within his debt because he had gone out of his way to help her. Her arm was a throbbing reminder of that still she said nothing. He didn't seem like he was in much of a mood to accept a single thing she would say. He definitely wouldn't appreciate how much effort it would take her to thank him. Of course, none of it would have happened if he and his men had just stayed off her father's estate.

The hand that had been placed protectively at her side, now loosened and the pressure from his fingers slowly slipped away. She saw him wince from the corner of her eye. It forced her to look at him just in time to catch his hand brace gently against his side. He was trying to shift his weight so he could sit more comfortably, but finding comfort was obviously difficult through the pain.

"Did that happen tonight?"

She assumed it had happened when he and his men had left her father's land with her in tow, but she could not be sure.

"It's an old injury." his eyes blinked open to look at her as he answered.

She hated to admit it, and she hated herself for even thinking it, but she loved his eyes. They were their own source of light among the darkness. They were beautiful and soft, but harsh and intrusive all at the same time. The never-ending blue flecked orbs were so expressive too, but easily deceiving.

"How did it happen?"

She asked even though she didn't expect an answer. Most men would tell her that it is not her business to ask questions. These men were different, even if a little more scary.

"I got hurt trying to get away. It was when your father and his men took my brother."

"My father did this?"

He leaned forward where he sat, braced his elbows against his knees so he could support his head in his hands. She sat back and watched how his fingers tangled in his hair. How his back arched powerfully and his muscles were outlined by the tight fitting tunic.

"Are you sure it was my father?"

"Absolutely." he answered without hesitation.

"You still never answered my question." she was risking it by pushing, but she wanted to know.

"I didn't?" he looked at her curiously.

"No... How do you speak my language?"

She wasn't sure she actually wanted the answer, but her curiosity always got the better of her.

"I learned it from slaves taken by my father and my brothers. I needed to learn the language so I could communicate with the people we raid. The others are learning it also."

Harriot was stunned to silence for the very first time since she had been within the company of these men. She should have guessed they would evolve to protect their way of life, however ruthless that way of life may be. The last of his sentence was lost against the crashing of water, and the violent rocking that followed. Now that Harriot wasn't so asleep or disorientated it was easy to tell that they were aboard a ship. As for where he was taking her, that was another mystery, and another question to add to her already mounting pile. She thought she heard a groan, but when the same noise sounded twice, she realized that it was just the deck creaking above them. It was no comfort to her either, that they were out to sea in a fog that was thicker than she had ever seen before.

As a child she had been fascinated with the sea, well, she always had really. As she had gotten older, her fascination had turned to different elements, like its soothing qualities. When she had been young, she had always wanted to go upon a ship. Her uncle though had explained to her how unlucky that was. For some reason he was a fond believer of a woman aboard a ship was bad luck. She wasn't sure she shared his view, because she didn't quite understand why a woman on a ship would be. So she had never been given the opportunity, and she hadn't expected to get the opportunity quite like this either.

He had taught her once about how deceiving the sea could be. They had stood upon the beach early in the summer so the weather had been quite mild, and they had watched the water together. Observing how it rocked back and forth with a gentle invincible pull. He had explained then how the sea changed its course or its strength as quickly as a butterfly should flap its wings. He had told her of the dangers that faced each man who come to the shore where her father's estate sat in the distance. How the weather, such as the weather on this evening, with its thick fog could take lives to easily. The waters depths were hard to judge when you could not see land clearly. Or the dreadful rocky cliff face to the right of the beach could end up being the ships final destination from the tiniest wrong move.

"Where are you taking me?"

A part of her had known he wouldn't answer the question. That would have been fine if it wasn't for the fact that she was afraid she wouldn't make it through the night. She turned to face him, even though she really hadn't wanted to. The small distance between their legs made her dizzy. That's without adding the fact she had been pressed up against him when she had woken. The memory alone sent a shiver up her spine. The only problem was she wasn't ready to question herself on whether it was a good shiver, or bad.

The tiny sound of rain pattering against wood echoed around them. The noise of it was almost numbing, and relaxing despite her troubled mind. It pained her to know there was no option of escape on this vessel, unless she fancied her chances with the cold violent rocking of the sea. She knew that was not an option. She wouldn't last five seconds in those waters, and she wasn't sure how she felt about an almost certain death. She didn't know where they were taking her, and she was certain Ivar was not about to tell her. So the prospect of where they could end up scared her beyond belief. Even when they reached their destination, there was no saying Ivar would not offload her into slavery, to pain her father the way he had pained him and his brother. So, as stupid and as irrational as it might seem, she wondered whether she could persuade him that she knew where his brother was. She could lead him and his men into a place where someone might help her. It was a huge risk, but a part of her knew he would do anything for his brother, and she would do anything for her life.

"Ivar?"

He did not make a single movement at the sound of her voice. He hadn't heard her because his eyes had drifted closed again. His soft intake of breath told her he was sleeping. He had propped himself up so he rested more comfortably. Despite what was going on around them outside, he had been relaxed enough to drift off back to sleep. He hadn't however, been foolish enough to leave anything within grabbing distance that she could use as a weapon. He looked innocent as he slept. It was hard to believe that such a calculating mind lay hidden beneath. However, there was not a doubt in her mind that he would find his brother, and she envied his love for him.

Giving in, as she knew she inevitably would, Harriot pulled her legs up toward her chest and pulled the rough material of the blanket around her to keep her warm. When she risked another glance at him, it was plain to see he was exhausted. He hadn't moved when she had, hadn't even felt her stir. His soft breathing continued, almost creating a pattern with the rocking ship.

She didn't want to open her eyes. She knew she was still aboard the ship, but she wished she had woken in a different place. She wanted to go home, to everything that was familiar to her. It was a life of unhappiness, but a life that could be set by her own terms, at her own pace, and somewhere where her life was not in imminent risk.

Finally, with a sigh, she opened her eyes and took an assessing glance about her. Everything looked so different during the day, to what it did at night. She could see now that the wood of the ship in that the small room were draped with luxurious wall hangings. It was not a Viking ship - or at-least she did not think so. The ships she had heard about in stories of Viking raiding did not have protection from the elements like the room she laid in. They were curved elaborate structures that oozed with excellent workmanship. Unlike this rather bulky design that felt more like it was going against the water, rather than flowing with it as one.

She could hear the faint sound of the men grunting as they fought against the ship to keep it moving. Harriot had always been curious of the men who did this. Now as they got further and further away from home, she found that the sounds disturbed her rather than prickled her curiosity.

Her stomach lurched, and then rumbled. She had barely eaten in such a long time that she had forgotten what a full meal tasted like. And, the rocking of the ship wasn't helping her. She curled her fists into the blanket that had been placed over her. She thought the small weighty material would stop the world spinning around her, and would root her in place securely.

The sun from outside blinked through the gaps in the door frame, she adored the little rays of sun that streamed across her body. It almost made her forget herself and her situation for a moment. She was half tempted to venture outside to soak it up, and enjoy the warming sensation upon her skin.

But a startling reminder brought her back to reality with a whoosh. She was still wearing her night-dress. And, she had nothing to change into, or so she had thought. She passed a worrying glance around her to see if there was anything she could find to cover up in. That was of course, anything but the male tunic, made with light brown fabric that was tucked just under her feet. She moved her ankle to use it to support herself, so she could stand but something hard and cold bit into the bottom of her foot.

She pulled away from it, faster than she had expected to. The tunic moved with her and the blanket, until the harshness of whatever she felt, thud against the floor. It tinged and bounced before it turned over on its side, and rested there. The red jewels glittered in the sun, and she recognized it instantly. It was the dragon clip, with the fire-red eyes, that had been fastened just below her throat yesterday. She reached out for it, and cupped it in her hands as she brought it towards herself for a better look. It was beautiful, and a lot of care had been taken to making sure all the details were pronounced and perfect.

A sash draped across her lower legs, it must have been placed underneath the tunic. She stared at it for a moment. Then it occurred to her that Ivar must have had the same thought, and had attempted to throw something together that she could wear. She should of known he would, he seemed to be one step ahead of her on everything else so far, so why not this too?

She could not wear that though. Those clothes belonged to men. She dreaded to think of what her mother would say if she were still alive. She would refuse to leave the room until a dress was presented to her. But Harriot wasn't that confident, and she knew Ivar would not put up with her demanding. He would drag her outside in her night-dress just to humiliate her, for not taking the clothes he had offered for being brazen enough to demand something of him. No, she would wear it, and make do with what she had and hope this ordeal doesn't last much longer.

She wished she could see herself, but in the same sense she was glad she couldn't. She pulled the tunic over her head, and was stunned to see it was much too big for her. Its length came almost to her ankles, and the shoulder span swamped her little frame. There were endless amounts of material falling loosely at her sides, but the material was soft. It was soft enough not to agitate her skin, or to rub harshly at the curves of her body.

She tied the sash around her waist to bring all the loose material in and around her. Then she fastened the dragon clip to make sure it would not come undone. Hesitantly she brushed her hands along her sides. She never thought she would see the day she would wear men's clothing.

Despite her trepidation, Harriot knew she would have to face the men sooner or later. She covered the dressing on her arm with the material of the tunic and headed for the door. A part of her hoped she could open it, and go amidst the men, but that was almost too much to ask wasn't it.

She opened the door and swallowed the thick lump building in her throat. A cool salty gust of sea air hit her instantly. It swiped the air clean from her lungs. The horizon was a blanket of blue, where the sky met the sea. With only the tiniest scattering of wispy white clouds that looked softer than goose feathers to the touch.