11. Cherine

Chapter 11

Cherine

I had never been so angry. I was angry not only at Erik for tying me back up, but at myself, for thinking he was interested in anything more than just keeping me as a sexual slave.

Oh, well, I suppose I was also upset that I was starting to like the idea of being his sexual slave.

Now that we were approaching Saint Martin, I was at the back of the rear cart, perched uncomfortably between a sack of grain for the horses and a stack of slaughtered chickens. When I wasn’t waving the flies away with my bound hands, I was glaring at Knut, who was sitting across from me. I had thrown a bunch of French obscenities his way, but Knut had only smiled in response. He was no dummy, though. He just enjoyed my vivacious company.

When the constant creak and rocking of the cart came to a stop, I knew we had reached our destination. I tried to get a good look at the village of Saint Martin, but I couldn’t see beyond the massive line of horses in front of me. The only thing I could see were rolling farm fields with a few peasants working in them. As soon as they spotted us Vikings, their small forms darted across the fields. In minutes, the whole village would know we were at war, if they hadn’t known already.

Before I could contemplate it further, there was a single cry. It was animalistic, deranged, and utterly mad. I knew without question that the booming voice belonged to Rolf. Its impact rippled through me, sparking my nerves. Seconds later, the forest filled with the battle calls of fifty crazed Viking warriors, causing birds to scatter from the trees. The sound of pounding hooves soon followed, and when the dust finally cleared, Knut and I peered out of the cart.

We were left alone except for another cart and one more Viking, the stocky red-headed man I’d seen earlier. He looked ashen and ill as he lay propped up against a pile of animal skins, which explained why he had stayed behind. Everyone else was gone in the cloud of dust moving up the lane. Beyond the dust stood the fortified walls of the village. To me, it looked like a stronger village than Criolium, but in the grand scheme of things, the stone walls were low and hastily put together, and the Vikings would have no problem getting through.

We waited in silence as the cries grew louder, joined by new ones. Fearful ones. Tortured ones. Dying ones. Screams and the gnashing of swords and armor, the ping of arrows, the slicing of axes, filled the air like a raging symphony of death. The sound of battle grew until it became a living breathing entity of its own, one threatening to smother me until I succumbed to it.

I hadn’t noticed I was screaming myself until Knut was at my side, covering my ears with his hands so I wouldn’t have to listen. But the sound of death was far too powerful, and behind my pinched eyes, I could see my countrymen dying, ruthlessly being murdered by a tyrant and his minions.

Then, the image of Erik flashed through my head, and I was struck with internal pain, like death was seeping into my veins. He was the only person I really knew out there, and the thought of him being speared by a sword—even if it driven by one of my own—caused my flesh to curl.

I couldn’t bear it anymore. No matter how mad I was at him, no matter how torn up I was about my feelings, the thought of him dead caused my heart to drop right out of me. I found myself ripping out of Knut’s hands and leaping off the cart and onto the road. Before I could even realize what I was doing, I was sprinting away from the cart, panic fluttering in my chest. It was an awkward run at best, and I tripped over my skirt every few seconds. Still, I was surprisingly fast, considering I didn’t have the use of my arms.

Knut was hollering after me, and I knew he wasn’t too far behind, but I couldn’t stop. I kept going until I collapsed on my knees not far from the moat that separated Saint Martin from the road.

I thought the scene in Criolium had been too horrifying to comprehend, but this was far, far worse.

Bodies upon bodies lay everywhere: on the grassy slope that led down toward the manor, on the bridge over the moat, on the dust-covered lane. Some of them were still alive, moaning, pleading for death while missing limbs. The fallen Viking at my feet was gutted, his steaming entrails spilling out of him. Close to him was a Frenchman—or what used to be one, as he didn’t have a head. A spear was clutched in his hand, frozen in death.

I jerked my head away, unable to take it all in, wanting to get away from the aftermath. But still, I heard the fighting from behind the village walls and remembered why I ran in the first place.

A gentle hand grasped my elbow, and I cried out in surprise, whirling around. It was Knut, eyeing me with concern.

“Erik,” I told him in a choked voice. “I need to know if Erik’s alive.”

Knut nodded, seeming to understand. Keeping his hand on me, he led me through the bodies. There seemed to be just as many Vikings as Frenchmen, and I could see he was trying hard not to be affected by it. His eyes watered with every familiar face he saw.

When we were almost at the walls, a Viking reached out and grabbed Knut's leg. I could barely look at the man. He was much older, with a long, greying beard and braided hair, folds of wrinkles on his sickly face. His legs had been cut off just above the knee, and he was dying a very slow, painful death.

I didn’t need to understand Norse to know what the man was asking of Knut. I clutched my hands tightly to my chest as Knut knelt and removed a sword that lay at the Viking’s side. I turned my head just before Knut drove the sword down into the man’s heart, killing him instantly and putting him out of his misery.

I let out a small sob, surprised to find tears rolling down my face. When Knut took my arm and lead me toward the open gate, I could tell he was crying too.

Once behind the walls, the number of bodies had dropped off. There were a few women in the mix, however, lying in puddles of blood that streamed down the dirt.

Suddenly, Knut cried out, “Erik!”, and my head snapped up from the carnage. My heart in my throat, Knut led me to outside a blacksmith’s shop, where Erik was on the ground, face down. I sank beside him, trying to touch him with my bound hands but unable to do much. I ground my teeth in frustration, wanting nothing more than to see if he lived. Knut did what I couldn’t and ran his hands over Erik’s arms and felt for a pulse. He gave me an optimistic nod to tell me he was alive and then proceeded to roll Erik over.

Erik was still a very large man, and Knut groaned from the effort. I anxiously sat back and watched as Knut gently slapped Erik’s face, getting him to wake up.

Erik’s eyes opened slowly, blinking at the light. He focused on Knut for a moment, acknowledging him, and then my tear-stained face. His eyes went a soft grey when he recognized me, and that only made another tear fall from my eyes.

He said something to Knut and winced as he tried to sit up, his hands going for the back of his head, holding it in pain.

I leaned forward. “What happened?”

He groaned, brows furrowed. “I don’t know. I was hit on the back of my head by someone. My helmet flew off.”

I couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t gravely injured. The feeling of relief poured over me like warm honey, and I opened myself to it. All I wanted was to take Erik in my arms and leave a trail of tiny kisses from his mouth to the wound on his head. I didn’t care that he kept tying me up. I didn’t care that he didn’t trust me. I cared that he, the only person I ever felt cared for me, was alive, that I would be with him again.

I was so overcome with these emotions that it took me a while to look over the rest of his body. His shirt was sticking to his stomach in a swath of red. I gasped, and Erik craned his head down to see.

“Oh,” Erik said with pained sigh. “Also, someone stabbed me.”

I peeled the shirt back, and he winced. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was long and brimming with blood.

“We have to get you stitched up,” I cried out, “and quickly.”

Erik eyed me as Knut helped him get unsteadily to his feet. “If you can’t tell, we are still in the middle of a siege.”

It was true; there were still cries and the violent sound of metal on metal, but they were coming from inside the manor and further down the crooked streets.

Erik then looked at Knut and said something sternly in Norse, which made Knut’s head hang in shame. I can only imagine he was blaming him for me being here.

“It’s not Knut’s fault,” I protested. “I heard the fighting and ran off. I wanted to make sure you were alive. I was so sure you’d be dead.”

“You have such little faith in me?” he asked, a brow raised.

I shoved my bound hands in front of him in challenge. “About as much faith as you have in me.”

The corner of his elegant mouth twitched, and I took that as a good sign. He quickly undid my ropes and threw them out onto the street. As he did so, he twisted at the stomach and immediately clutched his wound, bloodying his hands.

“Perhaps you’re right, though,” I said through grinding teeth. Knut took one of my arms for support, and I took the other as we walked down the dirt road until we found an apothecary.

Knut went in first, sword drawn. Then, he popped his head out and said something to Erik, both of us following him in.

“There’s someone dead inside,” Erik warned me as we were about to enter the shop.

My mouth twisted from all the death I’d already seen. “I believe I can manage.”

The shop was small, dark, and musty. Bottles filled with herbs and tinctures lined the walls, as did tiny pots I assumed were full of root powders and other things. There was a long, oak table, its wood dark and damp, where the apothecary would have mixed his medicines. And underneath the table was the apothecary himself, a thin little man, dead from a wound to the chest.

Knut quickly dragged the body out of the way. I tried not to think about it and helped Erik get up on the table. It took a lot of coaxing to convince him to lie down, and as he did so, he said some things to Knut, who in turn grasped the sword he had brought and ran out the door and onto the street.

“Where is he going?” I asked, bewildered at his departure.

“To find Rolf, to let him know I’m alive and being taken care of.”

“By me?”

“By you,” he answered softly. He closed his eyes and leaned back. “Though I suppose that depends. Do you know how to stitch a wound?”

I nervously wrung my hands together. “I know how to sew. I made dresses for my whole family, though none as fine as the ones Knut found for me.”

“That’s good enough,” he said with a wince. “If you find some thread and a needle, that’s all you’ll need.”

I glanced around the store, wishing it wasn’t so dim. “What about some sort of medicine to keep the pain away?”

“Would you know it if you saw it?”

I pulled a spool of thread and a needle out a drawer. “No…”

“Then I’ll be fine. Stitch me up good, and we can be on our way.”

My chest seized. “To another battle?”

He tilted his head to the side and stared at me curiously. “No. No more battles. We’ll be staying in Saint Martin for quite some time.”

“Because I don’t think I could handle another battle,” I added, coming to his side. I gently placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling the pulse of his warm skin underneath.

“Someone like you should never see so much bloodshed.”

“Someone like me shouldn’t have to fear she’ll be alone again.” I swallowed and started stroking fingers down his arm, feeling the fine, dark blond hair underneath. “If you leave me, I really will have nothing.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” His voice was hard with sincerity, and butterflies took flight in my stomach.

“Do you promise me?”

“I thought you couldn’t wait to get away,” he said.

I looked down at his hand and wrapped mine around it, relishing the feel of his fingers as they clutched mine. “I want to get away from these people. I want to get away from this war, from all this senseless death, but I don’t want to get away from you.”

“Even such a barbaric, cruel Viking as myself?”

He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “You are none of those things,” I told him. “A barbaric, cruel Viking wouldn’t do any of the things you have done for me.”

“And what have I done for you?”

“You’ve kept me alive. And by keeping me, you’ve made me…free.”

His eyes blinked rapidly and he chewed on his lip before saying, “You better hurry up and stitch me shut, because I’m not sure how much longer I can be this man you think I am.”

I picked up on the lustful tone and quickly got to work, doing the best I could with what I could. It took about 20 minutes of him in pure agony before I knotted the ends tight, making sure the stitch would stay shut.

“Well done,” he gasped, his body relaxing from relief.

“Thank you,” I said. “And I only got sick once.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and the tiny shop was overpowered by Rolf’s commanding presence.

“Knut told me what happened,” Rolf said, eyeing the two of us suspiciously. “Erik, I had no idea she could double as a nurse too.”

I flinched. Doubling? What else was I supposed to be?

Erik slowly sat up, trying to hide his discomfort. It looked like he needed to impress Rolf, even when he was wounded.

“She’s good at a lot of things,” Erik said, motioning for his tunic. I passed it to him, unable to take my eyes off Rolf. He was eyeing me like I was dinner.

“I bet she is,” he growled, and I felt a strange heat pooling between my legs. Despite his brusqueness, Rolf was having some sort of effect on me, and it was one I didn’t want.

Then, Rolf smiled, and it was like the room was lit by the brightest torch. “Well, I am glad to see you’re all right, old friend. It was a tough battle, but you and so many others came out alive, so I’d consider it a victory. Well, we also took hold of the manor. The baron is being held in his own dungeon, and we didn’t do a thing to him except chop off his thumb when he was being unreasonable. I thought your civilized side would be proud.”

I didn’t really like Rolf’s patronizing tone and wondered if there was some bad blood between the two.

Rolf continued, “I gave you the second nicest room in the manor. It could even be called a palace, if you prefer that kind of word. Much preferable to Criolium, and there’s even a bit of gold lying around. I left your share on your bed.”

“And where does Cherine stay?” Erik asked carefully as he slipped on his shirt.

Rolf’s smile softened before his gaze turned predatory again. “She can stay with me if she wishes.”

I felt my blood run cold, and I looked to Erik in shock.

“Or,” he went on, “there’s the guard’s chambers next door to the dungeon. It’s not too warm, but I’ll assume it’s a lot nicer than the pigsty she had to grow up in. What do you think, my beauty?”

I am not your beauty , I thought, but I placed a false smile on my lips and said, “I’m sure that will be a fine place for me to sleep.”

Rolf eyed my hands curiously and then looked to Erik for explanation. “I suppose we should tie her up again.”

“She won’t try and escape,” Erik assured him.

“She could try conspiring with the baron,” Rolf mused, rubbing at his chin.

“I will not,” I told him. “I don’t know this baron. He means nothing to me.”

“And we do?”

It was a dangerous question, and I could feel Erik tense up, waiting for my response.

“The Vikings are the only family I have now,” I said as diplomatically as possible.

Rolf laughed. “You have her trained well, old friend. Come now, let’s go explore our new palace.”

Erik got off the table and led me out of the shop, following Rolf onto the blood-stained streets. I would have felt better if, when Rolf laughed, the smile had actually met his eyes.

For the life of me, I could not fall asleep. The guard’s chambers were more comfortable than Lord Bouchon’s dungeon. At least here, I had a straw bed and some thick, woven blankets. But despite the comfort, I couldn’t get my brain to quiet. I kept thinking about everything and anything, from the bloody images of fallen men to their strangled cries, a tortured baron in the room next door to me, Rolf’s leering eyes, Erik’s surprising softness.

Oh, it was mainly Erik I kept dwelling on, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Knut was posted at my door as a guard (Erik had told me it was for my own safety, not because he didn’t trust me, and for once, I decided to believe him) but he wouldn’t be much of a deterrent. I quickly got out of bed, shivering at the cold floor beneath my bare feet, and made my way through the darkness to the door.

I opened it a crack, and Knut fell back against it. He had been sitting on the ground, sleeping. He jumped to his feet in surprise but was unable to hide his embarrassment at being caught.

I smiled, hoping I looked pretty enough in the light of the hall’s torches, pretty enough to woo Knut and let me slide past. It worked. I put my finger to my lips, and he nodded in response, doing the same.

I leaned forward and kissed Knut on the cheek. Before I had a chance to feel his skin burn underneath my lips, I ran off down the hall, my nightshift flowing behind me like a white sail.

I got to the main floor and tried to remember the brief tour Rolf had taken Erik and me on. Most of the Vikings were now settled throughout the village, since no natives of Saint Martin remained alive, but I didn’t want to walk into a room that wasn’t Erik’s.

Making my way to the second floor, I spied Rolf’s chambers at the very end. A strange thrill ran through me as I tried to imagine if Rolf would sleep naked or not. I was a bit disgusted with myself for thinking that.

I counted the doors as I went toward it. One of the doors was open, leading into the bed chambers of the lady of the house. Erik and I had quickly rifled through the clothes earlier, finding me things to wear. At that moment, I was wearing a dead woman’s nightshift.

When I reached the third door from Rolf’s, I recalled its gleaming handle and remembered it was the room he had told Erik to take.

Holding my breath in my lungs, I slowly turned the handle and opened the door.

To my surprise, the room was lit. There was a fireplace in the corner, where a large copper pot stood. Nearby was a long wooden tub, and inside that was Erik, soaking in the steaming water.

He was facing me, his eyes glinting in the low light, watching me intently. I raised my finger to my lips to show him I was being quiet and slowly shut the door behind me. My nerves felt like they were on fire as I walked, slowly, step-by-step, across the plush rugs and over to Erik.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I explained when he hadn’t said anything.

“Neither could I,” he said, his voice thick like cream. His eyes remained hard, and I yearned to break through that steel.

“How is your wound?” I asked, trying not to peer into the tub to see. If I did so, I would also see him naked. I didn’t need any encouragement. “Is it wise to get it wet so soon?”

“A little wet never hurt anybody,” he said smoothly. I blushed at his double meaning and started fidgeting with my hands. “But I could use some help. It hurts a bit to clean myself. I can’t reach my back.”

I smiled devilishly and picked up the bar of soap lying beside him. “I can do that.”

I came behind him and gently pushed him forward. I began sliding the bar of soap up and down his back, marveling at his smooth lines, the way his muscles rippled under my touch. I followed the ones that ran in firm planks down the sides of his spine. After taking my fill, I focused on his wide shoulders, feeling the power in them, wanting nothing more than to claw at his skin.

I moved the soap further in and pushed back his hair that gleamed gold and bronze when wet. Along with the runes and symbols Erik had tattooed on his front and his arms, I was surprised to see he had a beautiful raven at the base of his neck.

“What is this?” I asked.

A hesitation rolled through him. “It’s Odin’s raven.”

“Is Odin your god?”

“He’s one of them,” he answered, reluctance in his voice.

“You don’t seem to want to talk about it.” My fingers traced the raven’s outline, the shine in its thick beak.

“It means something else to me now.”

“The raven? What does it mean?”

“It’s a symbol of my beliefs, not theirs.”

“You don’t believe in the Norse gods?”

He exhaled through his nose and slowly shook his head. I knew I should keep washing, but I was enthralled by this side of him.

“No,” he admitted. “I was raised on those beliefs, fought on those beliefs. But I don’t think those gods are the right gods. Or the real ones. I believe they were made up—or at least twisted—to convince us to fight and die. Odin promises salvation, freedom, in death. You can only reach Valhalla if you die in battle, with a courageous heart. If you do not die fighting, you’ll never be saved.”

“Which is why the Vikings know no fear,” I mused quietly. I couldn’t get behind a god who expected that sort of sacrifice and was impressed Erik couldn’t either. “So what do you believe?”

“I believe that when I die, if I have made enough amends in this life, that I never really leave,” he said. “I got Odin’s raven carved on me when I was fourteen and ready to die by taking the lives of others. I killed hundreds of men and women and children by believing that. I had no fear and no conscience.”

I swallowed back the tiny bit of fear climbing up my throat and didn’t say anything.

He continued, “Now, I believe that if we are good enough, worthy enough, of whatever god is out there, we can come back after death and keep an eye over our loved ones. You just need ones you love.”

“And the raven?”

“Perhaps ravens are the souls of all the people who have died, flying high and watching over you. That’s what I’d like to believe, even when I’ve found there’s so little left to believe in.”

A hush fell over us as we mulled over his words. I hadn’t taken Erik to be an optimist, but I was still somewhat surprised at his admission. Did he really think there was nothing left in this life to believe in? Or was I being foolish, having lived my life as a poor, unloved peasant, to think there was?

I cleared my throat, trying to break the silence. “We seem to always be bathing each other.”

I felt him relax beneath my hands at the change of subject. I started rubbing down his hard muscles again, driving the pressure deep until he was clay in my hands.

When he didn’t say anything to my remark, I paused and looked over his shoulder. His cock was high and rigid between his legs, its moist tip poking through the surface. Heat pooled between my legs, and I shifted back, trying to ignore it.

I had scooped water from the bath and let it trickle down his back, the soap running off in foamy rivulets, when he reached behind him and grabbed my hand.

“I thought you couldn’t reach your back,” I whispered.

He twisted his head to the side and eyed me. The steel had melted, only lust in those smoky orbs.

“I lied,” he said. “But I do need you to do my chest.”

I smirked, still nervous and still on fire. I came around to the side and began rubbing the soap over his chest, so hard and so smooth, with light tufts of hair grazing between his muscles. I was too afraid to meet his eyes now, too stubborn to look at his erection. I kept my eyes on the soap and only the soap.

“Cherine,” he whispered, his voice sending chills down my back. “I hoped you’d come.”

I stopped and closed my eyes. I heard his hands leave the bathwater, and in seconds, they had my face between them, soft and wet. The soap slid from my hands, and before I could realize what was happening, his lips were on mine.

They were soft and sweet at first, tasting earthy and pure. Then, his tongue stroked the edge of my lips, and I parted them with a gasp. With Marc, kisses had been so close-lipped and stiff. I never dreamed I could feel so much sensation from Erik’s mouth.

Slowly, as if testing it out, I let my tongue out to touch with his. He responded in kind, and my mouth opened more. He quickly filled me with his taste and wetness. He nibbled at my lips and then soothed the spot with a lick before ravaging my mouth, his pace and pressure increasing. It felt like he was trying to eat me right there, enjoying every last drop, and I loved it.

I was so into it, wrapped up in our frantic desire for each other, that I leaned too far forward. I lost my balance and ended up in the tub with a splash. I cried out softly from the shock, and Erik let out a small laugh before his hands gripped my face and pulled me up. The warmth of the water seeped into my clothes, and I could feel his hardness pressing up against me.

His fingers nestled into my hair and made a fist in it. The spike of pain soon gave way to pleasure, and I wanted him to be rougher. I wanted to see the Viking in him come out, the fire let loose. As civilized as Rolf thought him to be, I wanted him wild and free. I wanted to be taken.

And yet, I was the one taking. Without knowing exactly what I was doing, I pulled my wet shift up around my waist then over my head. I flung it to the floor and pressed my bare breasts against Erik’s chest. I could feel his heart racing alongside my own, and his mouth swiftly found my breasts at the same time as his hands. He kneaded, caressed, squeezed, his tongue darting around my nipple, his teeth occasionally grazing them. I was pulled through pleasure and pain, from soft to rough and slow to fast, and the throbbing pressure between my legs built to new heights.

I straddled him in the tub as much as I could as he worked my breasts, the mushroom-head of his cock rubbing against me. I both felt like I was about to explode, and yet, I couldn’t get enough. The hard corners of the tub jammed into my kneecaps, but I tried not to care. I wanted him and, in my naivety, wasn’t sure how to get it.

But Erik did. He gripped me hard around the small of my waist and lifted me clear out of the tub. Before I had a chance to get up, he sprang out, water running off his perfectly toned body, and crushed me to the floor by the fire.

I reveled in the feeling of his weight on me. My hands went to his arms, feeling this biceps as they strained to keep him from crushing me completely. The muscles of his back rippled under my nails, as did his long, tight stomach as I scratched down it. I felt as frantic as a wild cat, arching my hips up to meet his cock, begging for him to be inside me.

He responded by reaching down and slowly caressing my wet slit. I writhed in pleasure, pressing myself into his fingers. He started rubbing the nub in a circular motion, occasionally dipping down into my opening and drawing the wetness out. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Just when the force became too much for me to keep back, he inserted two long fingers into me and twisted me open. I gasped at the intrusion before succumbing to it, and soon after, I felt his swollen crown press into my cunt. He was just as large as I imagined, and as he entered me, inch by wide inch, I felt the bite of pain. Unlike my first time, I welcomed it, opening my legs farther to accommodate him. When he was entering too slowly for my liking, I grabbed his high, clenched ass and drove him into me in one, swift motion.

I let out a small cry as the discomfort gave way to pleasure, and Erik quickened his pace. With one strong arm keeping his weight off my chest, he used his hand to rub my clit in time with his thrusts. The fire beside us was going strong, and soon, I was just as hot inside as I was outside.

Erik kept his eyes on me, even though I kept wanting to look away. The intimacy was too much at times, too real and too close, and yet, I felt waves of triumph as I watched the coldness in his eyes melt away to fire and lust. He wanted me so much, it drove me mad. I’d never wanted something so much and to be wanted in return.

The deft circles of his fingertips and the hard drive of his cock finally proved too much for me to handle. I came hard and strong, losing all control of my thoughts, my body, my actions. The orgasm rolled through me, leaving only the sensations of warmth and wholeness and love and flying. I no longer existed. I was just pleasure itself, a hedonistic creature. I had no idea I was emitting drawn-out moans that reverberated around the room.

Adding to my sensations, Erik came right away. He thrust harder and harder until the dam burst, and he cried out sharply, his mouth open, eyes clenched in the moment. His arm gave out from under him, and he lowered himself down beside me, careful not to crush me.

It took me a few minutes to regain my sense of self, for my heart rate to slow and my breaths to become even. I hadn’t even felt human during that time, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t even in the room. I rolled my head to the side and gazed at Erik, who was lying on his back next to me, his chest still rising heavily. This man was able to show me something I never thought possible.

As if sensing this, he reached for my hand and gave it a hard squeeze. I closed my eyes at the prickles that swirled from his fingers and up my arm, circulating around my chest.

I’m happy . The thought floated through my head, and my heart swelled with it. It took me a moment to realize I’d never felt happy before.