Chapter 7: Chapter 7

KENDRA

His hand was steady on my back, matching the rhythm of the horse’s hooves against the dirt. I watched as Fjorn was swallowed by the darkness, Saxon men swarming around him. I had seen the arrow protruding from his upper chest. He was hurt. But that was a good thing, wasn’t it? I was saved.

“You’re safe now, my lady,” the man said, pulling me closer to his chest. His chain mail was cold against my skin, but I couldn’t pull away. His arm was wrapped tightly around my waist, his face hidden in the shadows.

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to loosen his grip on me.

“There’s a clearing up ahead. The lord of the manor lives there. We’re his personal army. You’ll be safe there.”

~I was safe now~. The words echoed in my head, but my chest felt tight. My mind was a whirlwind. Had Fjorn fallen in battle? I was free from him, yet my mind kept flashing back to his arms around me—his lips on mine—the warmth of his tongue in my mouth. I clenched my knees together as a strange sensation took over me. I found myself looking back, though I didn’t know why.

“There, my lady, do you see it?” He pointed to a faint glow in the distance. He pulled hard on the horse’s reins, and I grunted at the abrupt stop. I was jolted against his chest and tried to sit up, but my position on the horse prevented me from doing anything unless I wanted to fall off. My savior slid from the horse, his hands on either side of my waist, and he pulled me into him.

“I must go, but you’ll be safe here,” he said as he made sure my footing was secure. “The lord of the manor is a fine man.” His eyes didn’t reach mine when he said it, and I wondered what he was hiding. Was I truly safe? Safer than I would have been with Fjorn?

The man remounted his horse and disappeared back into the forest, where the sounds of battle echoed in the distance. Something inside me urged me to run, but where to? Back to Fjorn? Or further from him? I didn’t know. I stood there until the early morning mist was painted gold by the rising sun. Who would emerge from the tree line? Would it be him or the Saxon army?

The morning mist danced and shifted, revealing faint movements in the distance. My breath hitched. There was a flash of color, then another, then nothing. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Twice I’d been abducted by men, and I could feel myself teetering on the edge of my breaking point. How much more was I expected to handle?

Tears streamed down my face as I turned away from the forest. I looked up at the manor in the distance. The flickering glow of candles and grating fires that had lit the windows by night were now extinguished in the light of day. What would I find if I knocked on the door?

I wished none of this had happened. I wished it were all a dream. I sank to the ground and drew my knees up to my chest. I must have dozed for a moment because the next thing I knew, a hand covered my mouth, and another wrapped around my stomach, pulling me up to my feet and back toward the tree line.

My chest tightened, and a surge of fear surged through me. I struggled against my enemy, but it was no use. He was too strong. He finally released me once we were back in the tree line. It was one of Fjorn’s men who had cast a hungry gaze upon me back at the village.

Fueled by the determination not to be taken yet again, I unleashed my fury, channeling every ounce of energy within me as I kicked and swung my fists in a desperate attempt to defend myself.

“It’s Fjorn!”

His words stopped me, even as he shielded his face from my blows.

“Where?” I asked between heavy breaths, my chest heaving from the exertion. He pointed, and I took off. My heart pounded in my chest, and my lungs burned, but I didn’t stop running. Tents began to appear in the distance, and the smell of fire and blood filled the air as injured men groaned and others rushed around the camp.

“Fjorn? Where is Fjorn?” I asked anyone who would listen, but no one met my gaze.

From behind me, a voice I recognized spoke, panting for breath. “How are you so fast?”

“Where is Fjorn?” I asked, turning to him. Hunched over, he struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving as one arm leaned heavily on his knee.

“Seriously, how are you so fast?” he asked. “You know, it almost seems like you care about—”

“Are you going to tell me or not?” I interrupted, my hands on my hips.

“Yeah, he’s over there,” he said, pointing to a small gray tent off to the side of the camp. Of course, he would be away from the rest. I ran over to it. As I got closer, I could hear yelling and painful groans coming from inside.

“Would you just pull it out? It hurts.”

“I would, but I don’t know if I can.”

The two men stopped talking when I pulled open the tent. Fjorn looked up at me with a soft smile, and the other man, one of the men who had pulled me from under the cart back in the village, stood there looking confused.

“See, Ulf? I told you she’d come back,” Fjorn said, smacking his friend in the leg.

I shook my head at him and walked over. “I didn’t come back. The other man told me you died. I just had to see for myself.”

Ulf threw his head back, a roaring laugh filling the small space. “I’ll leave the dying man to you then,” he said, walking out of the tent and leaving us alone.

“Did Sten really tell you I was dead?”

“So that’s his name? You know, for a Viking, he’s not much of a runner.”

“Wait, you ran to me?” He winced as he tried to sit up.

“Don’t,” I said, placing my hand on his chest and sitting down next to him. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not that bad. I broke the arrow off, but the tip is still in my shoulder, and Ulf wouldn’t pull it out.”

I slowly pulled back the blanket. The sight of his strong and sculpted bare chest was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat. I’d never seen a man like him. My mouth felt dry as my eyes roamed his body, resting on every scar as I cataloged his previous injuries. They were a testament to all the battles he had seen—battles like the one in my village.

A flash of the dead, their bodies mangled and contorted in unnatural positions, flitted through my mind. He’d been a part of that. Fjorn. What had possessed me to run back to a man like him?

“See something you like?” he asked with a small chuckle.

“Huh?” I said, coming back to my senses. “No, I was just… um… nothing, never mind. Show me,” I said, helping him roll onto his side.

His shoulder was bloody and bruised from the arrow. And there it was, still lodged in his shoulder.

“I can try to pull it out for you,” I said.

He tried to reach for it himself, and I swatted his hand away. “Yes, please,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

My fingertips grazed the arrow, slick with blood, and I watched how his muscles immediately tightened and his broad shoulder flexed under my touch. Grabbing a cloth on a small stand beside the makeshift cot, I gripped the arrow tightly. As I pulled it out, he clenched his teeth and pulled me up and onto his lap, burying his face in my chest.

I could feel his hot breath through my clothes. He was panting hard and fast from the pain. Despite the tight grip he had on my dress, all I felt was the gentle caress of his fingers on my skin. With the arrowhead removed from his shoulder and now resting in the palm of my hand, I could have moved away.

But I didn’t.

I was straddling him, feeling the thick, powerful muscles of his legs against my thighs. As close as we were to one another, flashes of the previous night consumed my mind. That strange tingle I’d felt spread through my body did so again, making my legs tighten around his.

He didn’t pull away from me, but one of his hands fell to my lower back, pushing me down and toward him even more. My muscles relaxed, and I sank onto his strong leg, unable to resist the support it offered.

“I thought I lost you when that Saxon dragged you onto that horse,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, his breath still hot through the fabric covering my chest.

I kept silent, but my mind was filled with thoughts of losing him too.

~I thought I lost you when that arrow hit you.~

~When that man rode back into the forest to go after you.~

~When Sten came for me…~

As we sat, I slowly became aware of something stiff pressing against my inner thigh. A heat washed over me. He remained perfectly still, not uttering a word, yet I could sense his thoughts. His hand grasped my left knee as he effortlessly maneuvered my leg over his other thigh. I found myself straddling his waist, the proximity of our cores heightening the intimacy between us.

As he bucked against me once, his intense gaze never left mine, and I couldn’t help but gasp in response. He looked at me like a starving animal—like he would devour me if I moved.

His calloused hand leisurely moved up my back to the nape of my neck before gently gripping it. He leaned in close, tilting my neck to one side, and pressed his lips against my skin, leaving a trail of soft kisses and teasing licks. Soft moans filled the tent as I felt everything in me change.