Sisters Of The North Sea Pt 01

Hello, dear readers! This story will be quite long, and the central romance will build slowly. I have 12 chapters planned, which will be released in 4 parts, each about 3 chapters long. I have attempted to include some

steamy

scenes in every chapter, but the main characters do not jump into bed right away. This story features some non-consensual sex (outside the central romance), kidnapping, pregnancy and romance. So if that seems like your cup of tea, please continue reading!

***

Chapter 1 - Capture

Smoke was rising from Minster Abbey, as Eawynn completed her chores. The young nun usually rejoiced at any opportunity to get out of the convent's walls... but this time, she felt anxious. Eawynn picked up her woven basket, which was bursting with thyme, chamomile, and mugwort - all herbs that sister Aerlene required. With plants in tow, Eawynn sprinted towards the abbey, nervously eyeing the ominous black smoke.

The way to the abbey was long and winding. Eawynn's black veil fluttered in the wind as she ran towards the monastery, past a small lake; It was really no wider than a puddle, but still deceptively deep. The murky green waters reminded the young nun of home. Eawynn's childhood lake had always been crawling with frogs and dragonflies, making for good entertainment. Now those childish games seemed just a distant memory; In Eawynn's eighteenth year her parents had sent her away. Three years at the convent had taught her to grow up, leave behind childish thoughts, and focus on her new family - her fellow sisters under God.

Pushing memories of better days aside, Eawynn snapped back to reality. An uncomfortable feeling crept in on her; she was being watched. Stalked, like a rabbit is watched by a wolf, before being torn to pieces. Glancing nervously to her sides, the young woman noticed movement on the other side of the lake. By the treeline stood an unfamiliar figure, not belonging to one of her fellow sisters. It was a man - not a monk, like those living in the other building of the abbey - but an honest-to-god man. A warrior of some sort, concluding from his axe and wooden shield. He had a head of blonde, and a chin adorned with an equally light-colored beard. His facial hair was neat and well-groomed, as was seemingly every other part of him. His eyes were a deep blue, and glistened like the ocean. He looked like a warrior, but not a barbarian. Yet, Eawynn had heard tales of men like him...

For a moment both of them only stood, staring at each other. A few minutes, at most, but it felt like an eternity. Waking back to reality, Eawynn finally understood the danger she was in, and took a few sprinting steps towards the abbey. The man tried to follow suit, but in some kind of daze, tumbled down into the lake. The warrior let out a surprised scream, as he fell into the deep, green waters of the pond.

Looking back, Eawynn realized what had happened. The blonde man was thrashing and struggling in the water, desperately gasping for air. It was obvious he could not swim. Eawynn sighed, not out of relief, but in frustration.

"I am such an idiot,"

she thought. Instead of running away, Eawynn turned her heels and ran back towards the lake. Four years of reciting the bible had left the golden rule top of mind - and that rule didn't discriminate; not even against Danes.

Cursing her good Christian virtue, Eawynn stripped out of her heavy tunic and veil. Her unruly auburn hair frizzed up as it was released from its hood. Just another feature of hers she hated, along with her heavy freckles and bushy brow.

"There's no room for modesty when saving a life,"

Eawynn convinced herself. She threw her clothes to the side, and jumped into the lake, only dressed in her shift: at least the long cotton undergarment protected her virtue to some degree.

Grabbing onto the struggling Viking, Eawynn swam and dragged him ashore. After a few compressions to the chest, the man was gurgling and spitting up water. Eawynn held his head gently and waited for him to settle down. After a moment, the man seemed to be doing better. No serious harm had come to him, thanks to Eawynn's intervention.

A confused look washed across the man's face, as he realized what had happened. Eawynn sighed again, regretting her good nature.

"If only I hadn't heard you fall,"

she thought to herself.

Eawynn's breasts heaved as her body trembled, anxiously grasping for air. Her wet tunic clung tightly to her body, showing off every scandalous curve. Eawynn's round bosom was on full display. The man was not even trying to hide his wandering eyes, which were transfixed on Eawynn's breasts, showing through the thin fabric of the woman's tunic. Suddenly, the young nun became aware of her immodesty, and flushed bright red. Eawynn hadn't thought things through - her soaked white undergarment had become see-through, and she was almost as good as naked.

Now fully aware of her reckless decision, Eawynn regretted her act of kindness. The stories of Vikings and their victims came rushing to her mind. Stories of women - killed, captured, and worse... Eawynn jumped up to leave but was hindered by the man, who gripped her tightly by the arm. Eawynn tried tugging, shaking, and twisting but didn't get her arm loose. Despite her best efforts, all she managed to do was make the Viking smile. The man's eyes shone lustfully, as he pulled Eawynn's body closer to his.

With little more than a grunt, the man lifted Eawynn and swung her onto his shoulders. The young nun kicked and screamed, but again, only received an amused chuckle in response. She felt like a rabbit squaring off against a wolf - and was losing the battle sorely.

The man didn't bother to pick up Eawynn's clothes, as he made his way toward the abbey. Soon, the air was filled with a heavy, black smoke, as they entered the courtyard of the cloister. Eawynn screeched when she saw the horrors that awaited them: dozens of brothers of the faith, slaughtered at the steps of the monastery. Eawynn tried to fight her captor's hold, yet was not able to escape. She kicked and screamed, but she could not get any reaction from the man.

Eawynn and her captor soon made it to the rest of the Vikings. There were at least twenty, but Eawynn didn't care to count their exact number. Some of them were carrying bags of riches, stolen from the convent. Others were carrying women on their shoulders, and yet others were too busy slaying monks to care for either money or maidens. Eawynn realized that even though these men looked well-washed and groomed, they were anything but civilized. No civilized people could do such things: slaughtering and stealing were the domains of beasts, not men.

Sister Aerlene's golden locks waved in the wind, as she too hung from the shoulders of one of the Viking brutes. Eawynn cursed out aloud, praying for God's wrath to wash over the heathens. Aerlene's green eyes looked cold, but full of rage. Eawynn could tell that her sister was wishing the very same thing - but Aerlene was making the prayer silently, instead of cursing out aloud. It was typical of Aerlene, who always looked like she was thinking more than she was saying; as opposed to Eawynn, who always spoke what she thought; sometimes even acting before thinking.

"Like I did when I saved this uncivilized brute"

, Eawynn thought, as she chastised her brashness.

Instead of joining his comrades, Eawynn's captor made a sharp turn and waltzed into the convent's main building, towards the bedchambers. When Eawynn realized the man's intentions, she started kicking and screaming once more, but was unable to change her captor's course. Eawynn's blood boiled in disgust - she had been saving herself for the Lord, not for some disgusting brute!

Eawynn was dropped onto a small bed in one of the bedchambers. It wasn't Eawynn's room, which she shared with sister Aerlene. But it didn't matter much, as every room was practically identical. They were even filled with the same "personal" belongings, like a couple of nuns' robes, a hairbrush, and a bible. The room was small, but made for two nuns to share. There was only room for two beds and a large wardrobe. A small window separated the two sides of the room. It all looked very austere - devoid of anything truly beautiful or enjoyable. Eawynn's captor turned around towards the door, and barred the entrance to the room with a chair, so that no-one could get in or out.

Eawynn knew what the man wanted. The thought of it made her stomach turn, and bile rise to her throat. She had escaped having to marry a man she didn't love, only to be taken by a man she loathed. The thought was unbearable; even death would have been a kinder fate. Eawynn looked around the room desperately, trying to find something that she could use to defend herself... the young nun cursed, as she realized that the room had nothing of the sort; only a hairbrush.

Eawynn's thoughts filled with memories of her family: mother and father, with their stern and unyielding faces, her sisters... all of them suddenly felt so close, even though they were hundreds of miles away. Eawynn had begged and pleaded with her father that he not force her to marry - at the very least not the man he had chosen for her. Finally, they reached an agreement: a convent on the south-eastern point of England. The first year at Minster Abbey had been the hardest. Eawynn struggled with the physical work; something she never had to do back home. But after time and prayer, Eawynn found respite in her new home - and a new family in her beloved sisters. Thinking of those sisters was the only thing that kept her sane. Especially Aerlene, who had become like an older sister to her - closer than any of her blood relatives had ever been. Eawynn closed her eyes, and decided to be strong, and bear anything that was to take place. If not for her own sake, then for her sisters.

Eawynn waited for her inevitable onslaught anxiously. When minutes passed, and nothing happened, Eawynn opened her eyes, and noticed herself untouched. She looked around the room, and saw the man standing against the door, back turned towards her. On the bed was a fresh set of clothing: a dry shift, and a nun's tunic to boot. He had not provided her with a veil, but Eawynn was at least happy to receive something to retain her modesty with.

Eawynn slipped out of her wet shift, and into a set of dry clothes. The tunic felt almost foreign to slip into, after all that had taken place that day. Her captor was still standing against the door, back turned. Eawynn was puzzled by this display of civility. Was he attempting to protect her modesty? Why would a barbarian like him do such a thing?

After getting dressed, Eawynn looked around the room once more. The small window was too high, and too small for her to squeeze through. The only passage in and out was the door, which was blocked by her captor. But if she hid behind the large wardrobe on the right side of the room, she would not be seen from the door... Thinking quickly, Eawynn hid behind the closet. She took a hairbrush lying on one of the beds, and threw it at the window with full force, destroying the thick sheet of painted glass. In confusion, Eawynn's captor turned on his heels. He seemed panicked when Eawynn was nowhere to be seen, and ran towards the window. Seizing the opportunity, Eawynn bolted towards the door, and...

Without any words, the man swooped Eawynn up again, onto his muscular shoulders. Eawynn kicked, and screamed, trying to escape his arms. After some time, she realized it was pointless. The young woman groaned in frustration. In response to the annoyed growls, Eawynn's captor chuckled in surprise, in a manner that made him sound impressed with Eawynn's attempt at escape.

"It would have been more impressive if I had succeeded,"

Eawynn thought as she let out a frustrated groan.

The man carried her back into the yard, where the other Vikings were gathered. One Viking seemed to know Eawynn's captor, as he ran towards them joyously as they approached.

"Vidar!" the young man shouted.

"Magnus!" her captor responded. Both men burst into laughter.

It seemed they were greeting each other. Even though Eawynn couldn't understand the language, the meaning of the words seemed clear. "Vidar'' was apparently the name of the man carrying her.

The other man, Magnus, was younger, maybe only nineteen years old. Vidar was maybe ten years Magnus' senior. Magnus had curly black hair and dark eyes, as well as a wide, beaming smile. No beard adorned his slender face. Magnus seemed almost the opposite of Vidar; boyish, instead of manly. How the two were friends seemed a mystery. Eawynn also noticed that the youth had little more than an axe on him: no stolen riches, and no kicking, screaming woman.

"Maybe he's too young for such things?"

, Eawynn wondered.

Magnus looked at Eawynn, then back at Vidar, and shook his head disapprovingly. It was hard to say if he disapproved of Vidar - or her.

In the sea of Vikings, Eawynn spotted her fellow sisters. One of them was Sister Maethilde, a young woman a few years younger than Eawynn. Maethilde's brown hair was done in a simple french braid. The girl's hands and legs were tied - her eyes and mouth covered with a rag.

"Poor young girl,"

Eawynn thought to herself. Even though Maethilde was not that much younger than her, she still seemed so childish in comparison. Her looks and manners seemed like those of a girl, not yet a woman's. Maethilde was carried by an older man, maybe in his early forties. His hair had already gone a silverish gray; still he was in good shape, like one could expect a warrior and a Viking to be.

Sister Rowena was another familiar face. The raven haired woman was the complete opposite of Maethilde: not at all the young and innocent type. Rowena wasn't old: she was halfway into her twenties. But where Maethilde exuded a youthful innocence, Rowena seemed sultry and mysterious. Men found her irresistible. Even the monks at the abbey had often been caught ogling at her, transfixed by her charm. There was just something special about Rowena. Her black hair was as dark as midnight, and her eyes were a deep blue, almost purple in some lights. It wasn't a wonder that some man or another wanted to take her home.

Eawynn was struck by the difference in her sister's attitudes: Aerlene had been cold, but full of calculated rage. Maethilde seemed like the traditional damsel: sobbing silently as she was carried off. Rowena, on the other hand, was calm like a frozen pond on a winter's night. Seemingly in her own world, unaffected by the events transpiring around her. Rowena was a force of nature - things did not affect her; she was the force that affected others. Rowena was not carried, like the other Sisters were; she simply walked of her own volition, with men moving out of her way as she passed. It was as if no man even dared touch her.

There was little time for a reunion, because as soon as they had arrived, it was time to leave again. In single file, the Danes made their way from the abbey, towards the seafront, which was more than two miles away. The monastery went up in flames behind them as they walked. Eawynn looked back, and saw her old life burning up with the rest of the convent. The pit of Eawynn's stomach felt like the abbey looked - burning with hot, flaming rage towards the brutes who had destroyed her home.

The Sisters were carted onto a wooden ship, which looked almost graceful with its long and narrow hull. The ship was like a dragon: its long neck ended in the face of a sea-serpent, a terrifying, yet graceful monster of the depths. One large, square sail hung from the mast of the ship, and a dozen oars came off each side of the hull, with one Viking holding each oar. The ship was beautiful, but imposing, much like the Danes that used it to tame the unpredictable seas.

The teal-blue color of the evening sea gave way to something darker and more mysterious when the evening set. Eawynn shuddered, thinking of all the monsters that might be hiding in the dark waves. Sea-serpents and Nicor might be lurking, waiting for nightfall to capsize the ship. Of course, the shapeshifting Nicor would be more likely to lure you into the water, and let you drown on your own volition. But despite the dangers, there was something inviting about the sea - the dangerous waves that crashed into the shores on stormy nights had been calling Eawynn out for adventure. Now that Eawynn was truly on one of those adventruous journeys, she cursed her longing for excitement. The whole ordeal was more terrifying than she had hoped.

Vidar carried Eawynn onto the deck of the ship, and set her down carefully, onto a wooden beam. The hard wood was not too uncomfortable. Eawynn was used to long hours of sitting in silent prayer, on cold and hard wooden pews. The ship itself wasn't what made her uneasy - it was the company. Roughly twenty or thirty Danes were on the ship; but what surprised Eawynn the most, was that not all of them were men. There were three or four women, too. Not that they looked a whole lot like women: they were muscular, like the men, and their faces were stern and strong. Still, they were beautiful in their own way. They looked fierce and aggressive; like she-wolves on the prowl.

One of the women nodded in recognition towards Vidar, who nodded back. Unlike with Magnus, neither of them smiled. The mood turned suddenly serious, and Eawynn felt the woman staring at her with disgust. Her icy-blue eyes and blonde hair made her look hauntingly beautiful, but her disdainful expression was nothing short of terrifying. When Eawynn realized she was staring at the Viking woman, she tried to look away. But it was too late: the woman had noticed Eawynn's gaze, and started to make her way over to them. Vidar noticed the woman as well, and got up in anticipation.

The platinum blonde jumped at Eawynn, and tried to get a grip of her curly, red hair. She almost succeeded, if not for Vidar, who caught her mid-way and pushed her away. The woman screamed and cursed something at Vidar, then slapped him on the face. The blonde huffed and puffed, then stormed off to the opposite end of the Viking longship.

Eawynn looked at Vidar with a questioning gaze.

In response, the man shrugged his shoulders, and simply sighed, "Frigg."

There was clearly more to the story than Vidar was letting on. Despite herself, Eawynn felt growing jealousy towards the Viking woman's beauty. Not that Eawynn found herself ugly; she was actually quite pretty; but Frigg, she was downright stunning.

It seemed Eawynn was the only one still thinking of Frigg. Vidar, on the other hand, took Eawynn's palm, and inspected it curiously. Eawynn tried to pull her hand away, but the man kept it firmly in his grasp. With a defeated sigh, Eawynn relented: it was pointless to try resisting this man. Vidar was much stronger than her; attempts at protest seemed but a minor inconvenience for him. Eawynn let the man take her hand, and instead of fighting him, she tried puzzling out what he was doing.

Eawynn's hands were clean and dainty, very different from Vidar's, whose calloused and rough fingers were painful against her soft skin. Even though Eawynn did some work at the convent, she was mostly allowed a lighter burden than many of the other Sisters. Some nuns with a poorer background were used to toiling in the fields. But for Eawynn, it was a different story - at home, she had done embroidery and needlework, instead of cooking, cleaning or farming. And when she was sent to the cloister, her family's sizable donation ensured that she didn't have to labor to earn her keep. As a result, her hands were more like a noblewomans, than an ordinary Sister's. It must have been something quite unusual to a Viking, who according to the stories, were always getting their hands dirty either working or warring.