6. Erik

Chapter 6

Erik

E rik tapped three quick raps on Rolf’s chamber door and waited. He didn’t want to intrude on him if he was busy, but some members of the fleet were getting restless, and Rolf was being anti-social and retreating to his new quarters after every meal. They had been in Criolium, Lord Bouchon’s holding, for a week now, and the men were having doubts about Rolf’s leadership. Surely, to hesitate so much before embarking on the next raid was a sign of weakness. They were Vikings, used to seizing rapidly and taking villages unaware. The longer Rolf held them back, the more the French had a chance to build up their defenses.

When Rolf didn’t appear, Erik took in a deep breath and opened the door. He and Rolf were so close, it wouldn’t even matter if Rolf was arm-deep in a screaming maiden—he’d seen it all before.

The bedchambers were empty, the ruffled red sheets of the high bed the only sign someone occupied the room. It had once been Lord Bouchon’s chambers; that was, until Rolf took it upon himself to behead the man and toss his corpse into the pig pens. Erik was wary of eating any local pork after that.

“Rolf?’ Erik called out, his eyes feasting on the rich wall tapestries, the hanging chandeliers, the candlesticks of pure gold—gold that Rolf would no doubt take before they left…if they ever left. He briefly thought of the girl in the dungeon and wondered if she had any idea how the other half lived.

“I’m out here,” came Rolf’s voice, and Erik followed it to the left, where velvet curtains had been pushed away and a chilled breeze smelling of salt and rain came wafting in.

Rolf stood out on a small balcony overlooking the tiny village and the sloping fields below. In the distance, Erik could see the mudflats where they first landed, a dirty slice of flat land cutting into the white cliffs surrounding most of the coast. Their fleet of ships was still there, all twenty boats, sitting on the beach and waiting, perhaps for nothing. Erik didn’t know if they’d ever make it back to Norway.

“A beautiful day, isn’t it, my friend?” Rolf asked. Erik joined his side and looked up at the cold drizzle falling into his eyes.

“If you say so.”

“Reminds me of home,” Rolf said. “Do you miss home?”

Erik looked perplexed at the somewhat sentimental question. “I haven’t had enough time to miss it. We just arrived here.”

Rolf nodded, looking back down at the town and its crooked, stone-walled streets. “You seemed hesitant to leave M?re.”

“Only because my mother hasn’t been feeling too well,” Erik lied. His mother was fine—and Rolf knew it—but he wasn’t about to admit the real reason.

Thankfully, Rolf let the lie slide. “Have you come to talk to me about the girl in the dungeon?”

Erik shook his head, though he knew she would have come up at some point.

“It’s the other men, Rolf. We’ve been in Criolium for a week, and they are getting worried. They think you don’t have a plan.”

Rolf laughed, thick and hearty. His dark eyes twinkled like diamond-dusted coal, and in that moment, he looked much younger than his thirty-five years.

“You know I always have a plan.”

“I don’t doubt you, but I do think perhaps you should let everyone in on it. They are growing restless and…well, I don’t have to tell you that being around the same men will take its toll.”

“They need a good fuck, do they?”

The corner of Erik’s mouth lifted briefly. “Yes.”

Rolf nodded and straightened. “As do I, Erik. How is the girl, at any rate? I’m starting to think I should have let you save more than only her.”

Erik thought back to that morning he went to visit the girl, taking away the food she didn’t eat. She had been lying on the floor, shivering in the stacks of blankets Erik had brought to her over the week, unable to get warm, unwilling to speak, although she did occasionally spit in his face. He also got a name out of her.

Cherine.

He thought it sounded like silk.

“She’s not doing well,” Erik said slowly, unsure of how much to reveal. “She hasn’t eaten since she arrived here.”

Rolf’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Our food not good enough for her? Let her starve then.”

“She is starving,” Erik said. “She’s traumatized. You can’t blame her.”

“You have grown soft, my friend. She should be grateful you spared her life. Should I pay her a visit?”

A strange thrust of fear gripped Erik’s heart. “No. I’ll get her to eat. It’s just taking some time.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing we haven’t moved on yet,” Rolf mused darkly. “You seem quite taken with this wench.”

Erik pressed his lips together, not wanting to admit to anything, knowing Rolf would find fault with whatever he ended up saying.

He waited while Rolf studied him. Finally, Rolf said, “She sounds like she might be worth holding onto then. She certainly is beautiful. You know, these French women have a certain quality we just don’t get at home. Fire.”

Erik choked on a small laugh. Even in her weakened state, Cherine certainly had that.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rolf said. “What could possibly anger the French more than just taking over their repugnant villages one by one? What if I had a French bride?”

Erik’s eyes shot to him, the grey-blue burning as Rolf smiled at him.

“If this woman lives, she might make a nice companion—at least a nice fuck. And then what will the French think when they see I’ve taken one of their own?”

“She is but a peasant,” Erik said, trying to hide his disapproval. “She is nothing to them.”

“Perhaps. But it can’t hurt, can it?” Rolf fell silent, seeming to mull it over. A breeze brushed his long black hair from his back, flowing behind him like Lucifer’s wings. “We will be leaving here in a few days for Saint Martin. We’ll follow the Yères River and take the holding by storm. There is a baron there, a very powerful one. We won’t kill him this time. No, we’ll hold onto him, send a message that we are a force to be reckoned with.”

“Don’t you suppose the baron will be waiting for you? All we’ve done here is give the other towns time to prepare.”

Rolf gave him a wolfish grin that sent shivers down his back. “Ah, Erik, and this is where you doubted me. Yes, we have given them time. That’s what we want. It doesn’t matter how many poor peasants this baron can muster up to fight for him. We will lay waste to every single one of them—the more, the better. Have you so little faith in what we can do?”

Erik’s faith in his fellow man had disappeared years ago, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Rolf would lead his men to victory, no matter how great the cost.

“In the meantime,” Rolf went on, “I want you to break the wench in for me.”

Erik swallowed hard. “Break her in?”

“Let’s give it a month. In one month, the wench will be my French bride. I don’t want a girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing in my bed. I’ve never understood these Christians and their reverence for virgins. I want a woman to give me exactly what I want, when I want it. And I want her to like it.”

Rolf noticed the ashen look on Erik’s face and the way he had grown silent. “Come on, old friend. I told you at the beginning that you had to hand her over to me when I demanded it. That was part of the agreement. Did you really think you could keep a beautiful woman like that to yourself?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Rolf gave him a dismissive wave. “And I know you haven’t been fucking her. Otherwise, you still wouldn’t be so uptight. But now you have an order: make sure she’s good and ready for me in a month, maybe sooner than that. Do you understand?”

Erik nodded, hiding the trickles of trepidation in the back of his heart. He focused on the tension building in his groin instead, the anticipation—and the fear—of what was to come.

“Shall I tell the others your plans?” he asked Rolf, who nodded in response. “Then I will be on my way.”

Erik turned on his heel and stepped back into the room. He was almost at the door when he heard Rolf call over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Erik? Try and have a little fun while you’re at it.” He grinned.

Erik exhaled sharply as he left to find the others.