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The battlefield sang with the sounds of sword on shield, axe against armor. Battle cries filled the frigid air. The Great Heathen Army fought their next conquest but not without loss. The mud ran red with the blood of the fallen. Ivar surveyed the melee. They were winning. The Christians were falling back to regroup. Except for a few, one in particular caught Ivar’s eye.
The solider swung their sword until they lost it, using shield and dagger to defend and advance after until they were finally subdued. Even then the soldier fought and kicked and refused to come quietly or easily. The other prisoners had been stripped of their armor and weapons, made to kneel in the mud and blood. Dark clouds loomed behind Ivar.
“You have been beaten. Will you become slaves or corpses? Or will you pledge yourselves to my army?”
The last prisoner was brought, struggling and screaming into the clearing. Weapons were gone but they still struggled, punching and clawing like a savage thing. One of the guards kicked the soldier’s knees out from behind. With a cry, they went down on their hands and knees but didn’t sprawl in the filth.
Ivar tilted his head to the side, regarding this new prisoner. “Take off your helmet.”
“Make me.” The soft growl amused Ivar, his eyes widening. He raised an eyebrow then nodded at the guards. The soldier was grabbed around the neck and made to kneel. Still, they struggled, bringing the first guard to the ground. The soldier crawled over the guard, snatching his knife from his waist belt. With a shrill, desperate scream, the prisoner stabbed the guard’s chest, once, twice, thrice. The body bucked underneath its assailant, blood flying from its mouth.
Ivar’s glowing blue eyes met the striking green of the prisoner. His lips twitched as if in a smirk. That was all the provocation needed. The soldier launched themselves at Ivar. The second guard finally moved, snatching the helmet off the soldier. The Army sucked in a breath.
She landed on the front of the chariot, a hair’s breadth from the blade of Ivar’s axe. This time, he grinned. Her knife clattered the floor of the chariot. “Do it.”
“Are you certain?”
More guards moved in. Her curly red hair framed her pale, freckled face like a halo. They stood on her calves and ankles, stretching her upper body back by her arms. Her enraged eyes met his. “I will not be conquered again!”
“But you already are, little rabbit.”
She bared her neck. “Then if I am for the axe, swing it. I will not bow to another false god.”
“I serve no false god.” Ivar leaned forward, his thoughts racing. She had great fire and strength, and her beauty more than he’d seen in the northern hell. His lips twitched. He pressed the blade against her throat. She hissed as her skin split around the dulling blade, a red mouth against pale flesh. He didn’t go too deep, no. Just enough for it to hurt, to sting, to bleed. Even with his blade at her throat, she did not yield. His jaw clenched. “It is you Christians who serve a false god.”
“I am no Christian filth.”
Ivar raised a sharp eyebrow. “Have her bathed and taken to my rooms.”
“I refuse to be your whore, Boneless. Kill me now in front of all and be done with it.”
“Gag her, would you.” Her screams of rage were cut off by a leather bit shoved into her mouth. Her struggles were cut off by a hard blow to the back of the head.
Ivar sighed, using the wall and his cane for support as he made his way down the hall of the home he’d commandeered. His wildcat would be waiting on the other side. Did he have the strength to fight her, to tame her? Brute force and strength wouldn’t win her. He’d have to be cunning.
He summoned the dredges of his strength, ignoring the weight of the day that settled into his bones, causing him much pain. He pushed the door open, letting it bang against the wall. She shot up from where she’d laid on the bed, raging behind the bit clamped between her teeth. They’d bound her hands together at the wrist. Ivar’s frown deepened into a scowl.
“Sit.” She charged across the room, hands raised to strike him. He caught them and shoved her hard, back against the bed. “I said sit.” She huffed out and dropped to the feather mattress, her hands dropping dully into her lap. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Victory celebrations and all.” He shrugged then sat heavily on the bed next to her.
His striking blues moved over her. Her hair had been washed and combed but left free about her shoulders. Bare shoulders, she’d been given the most basic shift in the camp. His gaze roamed over her milky skin, marred by the occasional patch of freckles and lovely bruises won in battle. Her dark pink areola showed through the thin material. Underneath his gaze, he watched her nipples pull tight and poke against the fabric. He touched her shoulder with the barest of touch.
She flinched at his touch then squared her shoulders. “So much fight in you.” His gaze moved to her neck, which had already scabbed over. With a sigh, he reached under her hair and untied the strap of the bit. Her jaw ached, it worsened at the release. “What is your name?”
“Why?” It hurt to speak.
Ivar jerked her head to face him and began to rub the juncture of her jaw on either side of her face. “Because I want to know your name.” It felt such a relief, so overwhelmingly good after hours with the bit shoved awkwardly between her teeth. She surprised them both with the soft moan at his touch.
“Aine.”
“You will help me, Aine.”
“And if I refuse?”
“The floor is cold but the street is colder.”
“So that’s it then? I’m to be your whore then cast to the floor. Or the street if I refuse.” Ivar merely shrugged. “You’re no better than the Christian dogs.” She stood up, but he jerked her back down.
“Watch your tongue.”
“Or you’ll cut it out? Empty threats from the great leader of the Great Heathen Army.” She put a sarcastic emphasis on both ‘greats’.
“Oh shut up.” She blinked at him. Her mouth closed with an audible click. He sighed, hooking his cane on the headboard. “Help me out of these braces and into the bath.”
“My hands?” He pulled a blade from his belt and paused at the ropes that bound her. He remembered the rage with which she murdered the guard in the clearing earlier. Their eyes met and the blade sliced through the ropes.
Ivar watched with her with a hawk’s gaze as she unbuckled his armor, tossing it to the floor. He let her handle him as she stripped him of his shirt. Her gaze dropped to her task at hand as she unbuckled his leg braces and the leather breeches over his tunic. She sucked in a breath at his scrawny, atrophied legs.
He seized the hair at the back of her skull, pulling her close as she knelt between his legs. “Do you pity me?”
“Yes…” He jerked her head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think me inferior?”
“No.”
He threw her backwards, causing her to sprawl on the floor. “Keep your pity.” His cock twitched at the glimpse it afforded him of her toned thighs and the fiery hair on the treasure between her legs. “Is the bath still hot?”
“They finished bringing the hot water just before you arrived.”
“Good. Give me your shoulder.” He gripped her forearm then pulled himself up to stand, leaning on her shoulder. Pain shot through his legs and up his back. He grimaced, grunting at the pain as he clenched his jaw. She said nothing as they hobbled to the great tub in the corner of the room. Once settled into the tub, he fixed her with an odd look. “Sit.”
Aine sighed and sat on the stool next to the tub. The only sounds for the longest time was the pop and crack of the fire and the sound of the water moving as Ivar settled into the tub and washed himself. “What are you going to do with me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She huffed. “Do you have somewhere better to be?” She looked toward the shuttered window.
“Not anymore.”
“Tell me.”
Aine moved behind Ivar and began to undo his braids. “I had a husband. And a child. A daughter…she had her father’s eyes but my hair and my temperament. Then the Christians came and took all that away. They murdered by Iann and my Reanne.”
“And yet you fought for them today.”
She shook her head, combing her fingers through his surprisingly soft brown hair. “I fought for my freedom. They turned me into a whore…forced me to worship their god.” Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed down her hurt and her anger.
“What gods did you worship?”
“The gods of my father and his father before him…we are Celts, proudly descended from the Druids.”
“I thought the first wave of Saxons wiped your kind out.”
“Most of us.” She lowered a pitcher into the water and filled it. “Sit forward, Ivar.”
“Oh, Ivar am I now?” But he sat forward none the less.
Aine gave his hair a playful tug. “Would you rather be Boneless again?” She poured the water over his hair.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into her massaging hands. His body responded to her touch below the water, his cock stiffening with her gentle tugs and soft breath against his ear. “No, I quite like the way you say my name.” She rinsed his hair then proceeded to comb it out. Her throat thickened with the tears in the eyes yet she refused to cry. “If you won’t warm my bed, join my army.”
“What?”
“I’ll not force you to play the whore. My prick doesn’t work by force. So if you won’t warm my bed by choice, join my army. Get revenge for your husband and child, as I revenge my father’s death.”
“Another slave soldier?”
“Slaves do not make loyal soldiers. You have your freedom if that’s what you desire.” Aine swallowed thickly, her hands stilling in his hair.
“I tried to murder you in front of your army…why are you being so kind to me?”
“I have suffered loss. I know how monstrous it can make someone.”
“Are you a monster?”
“I am.” Ivar opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “I was born one. A twisted, misshapen monster.”
She almost said the words on her tongue. ‘No, you’re not.’ “Am I a monster?”
He smiled. “You are a Valkyrie.”
“What is that?” She rested her hands on the edge of the tub, laying her cheek against the back of her hand. She smirked, thinking that this was a far cry from where they’d been a handful of hours ago.
He turned toward her, bringing his hand up out of the water to touch her cheek. “Warrior goddesses, they say they have fallen in battle and they spirit the dead from the battlefield to Valhalla.” He leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers. She didn’t move back. His lips pressed to hers cautiously. When she responded with a forward push, his hand moved to hold the side of her head, his fingertips digging into her fiery hair.
Aine stood up, breaking the kiss. Ivar opened his eyes to question but he didn’t need to. She stepped into the tub, shift and all. Her lips captured his and their hands dove into each other’s hair. She straddled his waist, whimpering at the feel of his hard cock nudging against her bare cunt. When they broke for air, both Viking and Celt panted eagerly.
“Aine, you do not-“
“Take me to bed, Ivar.” He gazed up at her, confused yet pleased at how the evening had turned. He looked her up and down. The water soaked through her shift, leaving little for his imagination to fill in. Her bright thatch of hair pressed against his cock. The wet fabric had become transparent on her breasts, the darkened areola making him lick his lips. He darted forward, taking one taut nipple into his mouth. He suckled her, his hands tugging the wet fabric up her back until they touched her bare skin. His teeth scraped her sensitive teat.
Aine whimpered, clenching her hands in his hair. “Ivar, please. Do not make me beg.”
Ivar released her nipple with a pop. “I do not intend to make you beg, lover. But I will enjoy your body as you give it to me. Off with this.” He raised the wet shift. She pulled it over her head and tossed it with a wet splat against the wooden floor. Ivar groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her sternum. “You are beautiful, my Valkyrie.”
“Ivar-“
“Hush, I know.” He dropped a biting kiss against each breast before he released her. She climbed out of the tub then helped him out. Their dripping bodies left a trail that finally caught up to them. Aine slipped in the water and toppled them both into bed. Ivar grunted, taking most of her weight against his legs.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine, fine.” He waved away her concern but his pain was writ on his face.
“You’re not fine.” She knelt next to him. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. The pain will pass.”
“Does it bother you often?”
“It’s mostly bearable. But there are times…”
“You shock me, Ivarr hinn Beinlausi.”
“Why is that?”
“You tell me things that make you vulnerable.”
“And will you use them against me?”
She thought about it. This beautiful powerful man wanted to share his bed and his battle with her. He told her secrets that he likely doesn’t tell easily. He gave her freedom. “No.”
“Then where is the problem?”
“I suppose there isn’t one.”
“Good.” He settled himself against the headboard and patted his lap. “Climb up and give us what we both want.” She crawled up his legs, careful to not put any weight on them. Her eyes darkened, reflecting his own. She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and licked a fat stripe up the underside, sucking the tip and the bead of precum that rested there. His breath hitched. “Save that for another time, my little Celt.” He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her up. “I need to be buried in your cunt.”
He crashed their mouths together, their tongues wrestling as she reached between them to guide him inside her. They moaned into each other’s mouth as she sunk down onto him. One hand fisted in her hair, the other gripped her hip with bruising force as it aided in her movements. One of her arms wrapped around his neck and head, holding him tight against her as she rode him hard and slow. The other dug fingertips into the wood of the headboard.
Her walls fluttered around him, making him grunt. “Faster, Aine.”
“It’s been so long…I think I’ve forgotten how to enjoy this.” Her breath shuddered.
“Are you enjoying it now?”
“Gods, yes.”
“Then you have not forgotten.” He surged up, rolling her onto her back. He braced his knees wide, opening her up for him. He held onto the headboard, using it for leverage as he slammed into her. Her nails dug into his back, forcing a grunt from him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, digging her heels into his ass, urging him to go faster, harder, deeper. His name was a chorus on her breathless lips. Ivar repeated one word with each snap of his hips, when he could summon the ability to speak, ‘mine’.
The pressure and pleasure swelled in him. She tightened around him as her coil drew taut. The pleasure became razor sharp then exploded on a scream from both lovers. He slumped forward, exhausted arms unable to save her from the weight of him. She didn’t mind. Her fingers combed through his hair.
“So I am yours, eh?”
He smirked against her shoulder then kissed her throat. “My little Celt, you were conquered the moment I stepped through that door.” Wrapped in his warmth, she couldn’t be pressed to care. She knew in that moment she would warm his bed, bare his children if desired, and she would fight in his army. Not to revenge the ghosts of her dead loves, but to protect the life of her new.