"The Dane and the Lady"

[KingOfOregon]

"The Dane and the Lady"

closed​

Eric the Dane
Image; image w/o shirt
26 years old
5'10", fit
Various scars from blades, arrows.


The flames rose high into the sky as the conflagration enveloped the village's wood and reed structures. Eric watched the fury from near enough to feel the heat nearly singing his skin. The fire brought back bad memories. Yet he continued to stand there and watch the flames, still and silent, as his Viking horde rounded up and bound the raid's survivors for their transport back to the long boats.

"M'lord?" one of his men called from nearby as the fire's fuel began to run out and the flames were finally decreasing in intensity. Getting no reaction, he repeated, "M'lord!"

The call pulled Eric from his trance. He looked to the Viking, who quickly explained the situation: they had 24 hostages secured in a train, mostly women and children; 14 large stock animals had been captured, including 2 horses, 7 goats, 3 milk goats, and 2 sows; and more than 50 geese, chickens, and piglets had been slaughtered and tossed into the back of a cart for processing once the force had put some distance between it and the destroyed community.

"The treasure is loaded as well, m'lord," he continued. "There wasn't much. Just the church's silver. Candle holders. Crosses. Bowls."

Eric's smithy would melt it all down for easier transport, much easier transport than that of the raid's survivors, now Eric's slaves. They had a walk of almost 8 miles back to the river where the long boats were hidden in the reeds under the watchful eyes of half a dozen Viking guards. The injured and frail who couldn't make the trek would be left behind. Fortunately for these English, Eric was unlike most Vikings: he would leave the stragglers behind alive.

Taking one last look at the diminishing flames, Eric mounted his horse and rode nearer the hostages, now huddled on the ground muddied by a recent rain. He looked down upon them over for a long moment, judging their value. As Earl of his people, all of the hostages and pillage taken tonight belonged to Eric. It would be his sole right and privilege to parcel out coin, goods, animals, and humans as he wished.

Eric eyes settled upon one particular young beauty sitting in the mud. She was filthy from being fleeing during the battle and being manhandled afterward, yet Eric could still see that she was dressed noticeably better than were the peasants. Eric wondered if perhaps she was of the doomed village's hierarchy. Her position within the devastated community didn't much matter to Eric, though: she was the most beautiful woman amongst the captives, and he already knew that he would make her his own slave, or thrall.

"That one," he told his most senior Nobleman. The jarl, Hagar, followed his Lord's pointing finger to the beauty. "Bring her to me."

Hagar pulled his dagger and cut the woman loose from the line connecting the others one after another. The big Viking manhandled the woman over to Eric's mount, and between the two of them they lifted her up to sit across the horse's back between Eric's thighs.

"Let's get to the boats!" he hollered. The 30-odd Vikings, on horse and foot, began the English, animals, and wagons toward the coast. Eric waited until the train had passed by him, then fell in behind it with a half dozen Vikings follow up behind him. It was only then that he told the woman in her own language of English, "They call me Eric the Dane. What is your name?"

 

[Perplexia]

Mylecent Hamlin
Only daughter of the Lord of Sortvand
5’5 Auburn hair, green eyes. Petite build with proportionate body. 18 years old. Unblemished olive skin.

In her lifetime there had been peace with the Vikings. She was the only child of Lord of Sortvand. Her mother had passed when she was only 14. About the age her father would have begun looking for a husband for her. Instead he was begotten with grief and hoped to hold on to his only child that resembled his beloved departed wife Gisele.

Most of the girls she had grown up with in the village were already on their second child. In some ways she felt ridiculous for not being wed yet; in others she was glad to not have to be forced into a loveless marriage to produce offspring. It had often been remarked that she was one of the prettier girls. She was a devout follower of the Christian faith and could often be found in the church praying or reading scriptures. Her father believed that the knowledge of words and writing would set her apart from others, and perhaps provide an advantage.

However, unlike the girls her age she had a curiosity which often left her being scolded by the priest as well as her father. She was supposed to just accept what they said like a good girl. But she often wondered how it was possible then for the pagans to have been so successful in getting their foothold in their country. If God truly was all powerful, how could he have allowed all of the raids and carnage to go unanswered? On occasion she had seen a Dane, and found their manners appalling. Most seemed to be savage brutish creatures that cared nothing but for coin and drink and stayed devout to their gods.

News had traveled that the raids followed the death of King William. He was a beloved leader to all people. She found herself interested in the tales of the past, never thinking that they would be once more. That was of course until the first screams reached her ears. She had been handing out bread to the poor as one of her charitable duties when the chaos began. People were running and screaming for their lives as the hoof beats pounded through the village as arrows soared through the air striking people down into the muddy streets.

She was the only child and had been taught how to defend herself with sword. As she ducked and swerved to avoid the heathen riders she managed to pick a sword off the ground. It’s weight almost toppled her as she tried to regain her footing. Her mind was jumbled as she tried to help hide the children, then it hit her… her father. Rushing through she tried to make her way back to her home, her refuge. She found herself being grabbed by a Viking and she swung her sword at him like a heathen. It managed only to give him a superficial wound upon his face and not deter him in the least. She kicked screamed and scratched at him like a wild animal, only to loose and be hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Another shouted something to him and he uttered something back unhappily. It resulted in her being placed in a horse pen with other women that gathered around her as if it was now their duty to protect her. Not willing to be taken alive she looked actively for a way to escape. It was then she saw her father being dragged through the mud tied to a horse. He was beaten and bloodied and not long for this world. She knew better then to scream out for him and give away who she was. Instead she went back to looking for an unguarded way out. It was too late. They were now being tied and bound together like slaves. Her heart sunk as she realized that was exactly what she was now. No longer was she the lady whose hand had been sought after by many suitors. Now she would be no more than a Vikings whore.

Words from a deep sultry voice came to her ears drawing her attention away from her thoughts. So that was the leader. Her chin rose up in defiance as her green eyes bore up at him throwing daggers of hatred and ill wishes (Though he didn’t seem to notice.)

Instead she found herself being untied from the others and dragged toward the leader. The ground was to wet with mud and blood for her to get a proper footing, although she tried with her might to get free. Two vikings lifted her to the horse of the leader. Her eyes darted for a path of escaped only to find none. Soon they were on their way.

Where they were headed she didn't know, but soon he had slowed the horse to fall behind the train of livestock and now slaves.

"They call me Eric the Dane. What is your name?" he had asked her in her own tongue. From this point forward she knew that if they had any chance of surviving this ordeal, she would have to put her anger and hatred away.

"I am Lady of Sortvand, or I was until you burned most of it to the ground. Why did you attack our village and kill my father? We have always been friends with the Danes."
'

 

[KingOfOregon]

Eric was disappointed by some of the lady's words and surprised by others.

First the disappointment: if this lady was in fact a Lady, Eric was duty bound to his people to ransom her for a bountiful bag of silver. And why was knowing that he was about to come into a great deal of coin a disappointment? Because the English Lords preferred that their captured wives, daughters, and other such female relatives returned to them without their wombs being filled with heathen seed.

The surprise of her words came from the fact that she had referred to the village as SortVand. In his Danish dialect, sort and vand together meant murky water or, in this context, a bog, as the procession of Viking masters and English slaves were now passing.

It wasn't the name in particular that surprised Eric but the fact that it was used by the woman sitting before him. The English didn't typically retain Danish names for settlements they took by force from the pagans. And SortVand had, indeed, been taken by force. The prime farmland, black water to its east, and mountains to the west (amounting to almost 1000 acres in total) had been given to Eric's grandfather, Sven, over two decades earlier as part of a treaty of peace and mutual understanding.

The mutual understanding part had been explained to Eric as meaning that the Danes would stop raiding English villages and the English would leave the Danes be, so long as they didn't attempt to expand beyond the agreed upon borders. And the agreement had held firm for more than 15 years.

Then, through political devices unknown to Eric (marriage, conflict, payment, Eric couldn't know), this coastal region of Southern Northumberland was transferred from the previous Dane-tolerating English King in the north to the Dane-hating King in the south.

Sven had left for Denmark 5 years earlier to once again marry after the death of his second wife and expand his holdings on the continent via that marriage, only to die of fever, leaving his Earldom to his closest living male relative, Eric. The new English King had known about Sven's absence and possibly even about his death, and he had taken this advantage by sending his forces down upon the sleeping village. The warriors were slaughtered, many still in their beds; the women were raped and then killed; the children, elderly, and infirmed were simply killed. Only a handful of Danes had escaped, and while most had ultimately been hunted down, three had been able to eventually reach Eric's village in Denmark to pass on the tragic news.

The capture of SortVand had been completed with relative quiet, not with the fire and fury Eric had employed to destroy it. The bodies of the Danes had been buried in a mass grave miles away; the few Viking long boats still in the nearby river were chopped up and burned; and without missing a beat, an Englishman in the King's favor was elevated to Nobleman and sent north with settlers to occupy and make use of the supposedly abandoned Danish village.

That English lord was, of course, the father of the woman whose ass was now teasing Eric's cock. Did she know of how her father had come to possess SortVand? Eric couldn't know. And Eric wouldn't care. She was an English occupier of Danish lands, and she (like the others ahead of them bound at the wrists or laying dead in the inferno behind them) would pay the price for the English betrayal.

"Friends with the Danes," Eric murmured, repeating the woman's words in her English. He thought of the many ways he could respond to her claim. Finally he went with, "Tell that to the Danes of SortVand whose bodies were never found. Whose souls will never reach Valhalla. Ask them if they are friends of the English."

He didn't know if she understood what he was talking about or whether or not she would respond. Even is she did, Eric would remain quiet. It was a difficult thing for him to talk about, because the loss of SortVand to the English had been much more than simply the loss of another village to an enemy. The Danish Earls lost control of villages in Denmark to their Dane rivals all the time. Eric's family had been run out of their own village in Denmark when he was a lad, only to take it back a few years later and then be run out once again.

The loss of SortVand had been personal to Eric, for the daughter of the village's Chieftain had been Eric's betrothed. To make matters even more personal, Eric had put a child in his betrothed's womb on his last visit to SortVand. There was no way of knowing whether or not that child had been born, though: Eric had returned to Denmark to deal with his Uncle's passing, with the intent of returning to England immediately afterward. But then word reached Denmark that SortVand had been taken and that Eric's betrothed was presumed dead. He wanted to return to England, but his Council convinced him that it was not the right time to return to seek revenge.

Well, that time had finally arrived, and Eric had gotten his revenge for SortVand. But what of his revenge for his lost love and his child? As he looked to the redhead before him, Eric couldn't help but think that maybe this Lady might become a major feature of that revenge. It would be a shame to slit such a beauty's throat as her father watched from just yards away, preparing to pay her ransom. Would that be enough for Eric? No. There would never be enough for Eric.

<<<< >>>>​

It was nearly sunset before they reached the boats. There were 6 full sized long boats and four smaller ones, the latter made for England's narrower rivers. It would take until well past sundown to get all of the pillage loads into the hulls of the larger boats. The crew of Danes who had remained behind had constructed sturdy loading planks that had even been able to bear the weight of the pillaged oxen. The largest two long boat were constructed with doors just below the level of the main deck through which the larger, heavier animals could be loaded.

The doors were just above the normal water line of the sea, but although they were sealed when closed by leather and thick animal fat, they did leak a bit and slowly fill the bilge. That was why the stock animals and humans were put in the lower holds. The animals wouldn't care about getting their feet wet, and the humans would perform their first duties of slavery by operating the pumps that would empty the bilge of building river and then sea water.

The goods that could be harmed by the bilge water were kept topside where they would be preserved from damage. The only English hostage to be kept topside was the Lady. She remained near Eric as his boat and the rest of the small fleet pushed away from the shore and began rowing for the coast line. It would take them the rest of the night to reach the cove a couple of miles north of the river's outlet where the rest of their people were waiting.

Once they were underway, Eric grasped the bindings holding the lady's wrists together and led her to the front of the boat. Here, a collection of grain bags and furs made for a relatively comfortable place to sit, and Eric manhandled her down onto the soft pile. He dropped down before her, studying her for a moment.

"Tell me your name," he demanded, a polite smile on his lips. "I cannot continue to call you the Lady of SortVand. Especially now that SortVand no longer exists."

 

[Perplexia]

"Tell that to the Danes of SortVand whose bodies were never found. Whose souls will never reach Valhalla. Ask them if they are friends of the English."
Mylicent sat silently for a moment as she reflected on the words that he spoke.

"My people had no part in the bloodshed that led to the possession of SortVand. My father told me of how it came to be, how the King had given him rank and title and titled the lands to our family. He was encouraged to rename it but my father said that he was keeping the name to honor those who died in vein, both Danes and English alike. In the end, our blood all runs red. Yes we have different cultures and beliefs but why can't we be civil?"

With no response she sat in silence trying to ignore the hardness that rubbed against her backside. The ride was long, it had been a long time since she had ridden a horse for this long. There really wasn't much need in her village to go anywhere. They had managed to cultivate the lands and have everyone contribute to be almost self sustaining.

She hadn't mentioned that her mother had been killed by a Dane when she was only 3. Yet still she didn't hold it against the Danes, but merely the man and his actions. Violence always seemed to beget violence. There was no way around it, there had to be another way. But before she could address the politics of the world they lived in she had to find a way out of this for her and her people.

Still silence from the brute that kept her upon his horse as they approached the sandy bank where their boats await them. Eric gave his orders and kept her close. She had hoped for the opportunity to make a break for it, but there still hadn't been any luck. Hoisted upon his boat like cargo, she scowled and still tried to find a way out. Her people had been put below. She had hoped that she would be put with them, but instead he still kept her with him as if she were valuable cargo.

Dragging her to the front like a stubborn mule he tossed her carelessly upon sacs of grain and fur. She scowled up to him with a silent rage, wishing her eyes would throw daggers at him. Her lips stayed tight to prevent the words of harshness from escaping. She wanted to say "how dare you lay a hand on me, i am a lady". But somehow she knew that would only be met with laughter or amusement. No, he knew she was a lady, but he didn't care. She was his hostage, and was bound to catch a pretty penny for his pocket.

"Tell me your name,I cannot continue to call you the Lady of SortVand. Especially now that SortVand no longer exists.""

"You may burn our houses, you may kill our people. But Sortvand is more then a physical plane, it is the home that we hold in our hearts. Whether we occupy it or not, I am still the Lady of Sortvand, regardless of where you take me, I still hold rights and title to that land now that your people have killed my father." Tears welled in her eyes as it became clear in her mind of her situation. Taking a deep breath she sucked in the pain and fear and maintained eye contact as if she were the fiercest warrior there ever was.

 

[KingOfOregon]

Eric repeated is his mind the lady's words, Why can't we be civil? Civil indeed. There would never be civility between the Danes and English, not because they were Danes and English but because they were Pagans and Christians. Religion had been the reason behind wars for as long as the world had had more than one religion. Of course, religion was only the excuse: the fighting that took place between the Danes and the English weren't actually about religion but were about land instead. The English thought that because they'd been here before the Danes, this land was theirs and theirs alone. Of course, the English ignored the fact that they hadn't been the first people to live on this island.

Eric listened to the English Lady rant and rail about her father's titles and claims and how they now belonged to her. And a thought came to him that had him suddenly thinking of things he had never considered before: if he were to marry this woman, this English noble who had a legal claim to SortVand and possibly even more lands beyond it, he would by English law and right be lord of these lands, regardless of his Danish blood.

"Snotra!" Eric said, standing tall over her. "If you will not give me a name, I will give you one instead. Snotra."

He told Hagar to keep an eye on her and headed aft to speak with the man at the tiller. Hagar watched him depart, then looked to Mylecent and explained with a polite tone and slower pronunciation, "SNOW-truh is the Goddess of wisdom. Why he chose that for you I do not know. But m'lord usually has a good reason for the things he does. I am Hagar, m'lady."

He returned to watching the progress of the longboat down the river. From the stern of the boat, Eric's attention shifted often from the river to the bank to the redheaded Goddess sitting in the bow, and each time she looked his way he couldn't help but give her a bit of a smirk. Oh, if only she knew what her new fate was to be.

 

[Perplexia]

Mylecent stuck her tongue out at him with a snarky face when he turned his back and left her with Hagar. Hagar's tone had softened toward her as he explained the name that Eric had given her. 'Huh' she thought to herself with a little hope that perhaps some of what she said sunk into his thick handsome head. "thank you" she said lightly to Hagar for his explanation.

"Any chance i could get you to take me below to be with my people?" she asked lightly. Hagar didn't even have to think about it to shake his head no. No he wouldn't go against Eric's orders. That was one thing the English and Danes' had in common. They were loyal to their leaders. She sighed turning to look out over the water. It was then the sea sickness took hold and wrenched her from the inside. Standing she gripped the edge and deposited her breakfast into the waves below.

She could hear laughter from the men. Hagar had been kind enough to hold her hair back as she continued to give the sea anything her insides would let go of. For a moment she thought she had recovered and went to sit back down. It was then she saw one of Erics men leaning into him and talking. Eric looked at her and laughed. It was in that moment that a pain of despair resonated deep with in her.

With in moments she was up and over the edge of the ship again as Hagar rubbed her back lightly with one hand and held her hair with another. Now dehydrated she sank back once again on the sacks of grain shooting daggers at Erics back. "Well good thing he didn't name me goddess of the sea" she said trying to put some humor into the ordeal. Hagar seemed to find that funnier then she intended and let out a boisterous laugh. Mylecent smiled and laughed along with him looking at Eric. Let him think we're talking about him and laughing at him. She thought to herself.

A few hours passed and her and Hagar had conversations comparing English and Dane, comparing words and generally building a great comradery. Anytime Eric looked in her direction she would scowl at him, then look back to Hagar and say something clever so they could laugh again.

When the boat hit the rougher waters the feeling better quickly turned. Mylecent went ghost white and began heaving over the side again.

 

[KingOfOregon]

Mylecent's ploy to make Eric self conscious worked for two reasons: one, Eric would have expected Hagar to make jokes at his expense because that was what the two friends did to one another on a regular basis; and two, he would have expected Mylecent to take advantage of that as soon as she realized that the other Viking was game. He tried not to let it get to him, but Eric couldn't, and every time he saw they laughing, then glancing his way, he wanted to surge up the length of the boat, bend the redhead over the side, and fuck the humor right out of her.

But soon enough, she was bent over the railing on her own, donating her stomach contents to the sea. That made Eric smile and laugh once again. Even so, after she'd risen the second time and returned to her pile of grain bags looking like death warmed over, Eric's empathetic side crept in and convinced him to do something about it.

He went below for a moment, then ascended once again through a second opening closer to Mylecent. In one hand was a wooden flagon filled with steaming water; the pirates regularly had a small fire burning in a brick stove located mid-ship, over which they cooked a variety of soups, roasted meats, and heated water.

In the other hand, he had fresh water in a flexible container made of a cow's bladder and then wrapped in caribou hide to prevent accidental puncture. Eric moved up close to Mylecent and told her forcefully, "Drink!"

She didn't immediately take the bladder, so Eric grasped one of the lady's hands and forced it into her palm. "It's water. Drink!"

"You must fill your belly, or you will only get sicker," Hagar said with a softer tone, feeling as though he had developed a bit of a report with Mylecent.

With an expression of permission from his friend, Hagar took the bladder from Eric, then the flagon. Eric pulled a large portion of bread from within his shirt and tossed it into Mylecent's lap before taking one last look at her and turning to return to the stern again.

"The water will prevent you from getting, what would you call it, tørre hiver," Hagar explained. He made a short, quick, repeating vomiting gesture, then translated with a questioning tone, "Dry heaves?"

Hagar encouraged Mylecent to take the bladder and drink from it. Then he sniffed at the steaming flagon and handed it to her as well. "Spyd mynte. Um, spear mint. From Germania. Help with stomach. Drink. Drink all."

Hagar grabbed the bread and tore a chunk off, eating it. He then tore a second chunk off and offered it out to Mylecent. He knew that all this new intake would cause Mylecent to once again vomit. But she needed her belly to be filled, then filled again, then filled again if necessary.

<<<< >>>>​

The long boats had traveled along a rocky coast for what probably seemed to Mylecent to be forever. With the sun long disappeared behind that coast line, the fleet had been making its way in shadows almost from the moment they'd left the river, even at its distance from shore of almost two miles.

Suddenly, the cliff seemed to just end, becoming a deep blackness that was hard to discern. The fleet turned west, into the waves, which pushed them faster toward shore. A beach was suddenly revealed between the south cliff and a similar north one. Little more than 120 yards wide, it was already occupied by half a dozen long boats, beached and tied to poles that had been beaten several feet down into the sand.

Vikings from shore (men, women, and children) rushed out to meet the boats, helping to pull them ashore and away from the pounding waves. There were tears of joy from wives, sons, and daughters as they found the faces of their warriors and shield maidens among the returning Vikings. And there were tears of pain as well, for the three Vikings who were unloaded from the boat, the life expelled from them while their souls waited to be sent to Valhalla.

It would take less time to unload the pillaged goods, living and otherwise, than it had to load them. The slaves were taken to a pen, in which a dozen or so English were already housed. The stock animals were penned as well, and the carcasses of the slain creatures were taken to an area set aside specifically for the mess that would be made in butchering them.

Mylecent was manhandled off the boat by Eric himself. He led her by a grasped upper arm through the gathering Danes. They stared at her with great curiosity; they couldn't help but wonder some of the same things Eric had about who she was and whether or not she was worth more than just a slave's payment.

Arriving at a wood hut with a skin roof, Eric gestured his captive to a bed made of furs and straw stuffed into canvas bags. There was a young woman in the hut whose demeanor left little doubt as to her status as a Thrall. Eric ordered her to get food, water, and ale, then turned his attention to Mylecent.

"Snotra, take your clothes off," Eric demanded. He registered her reaction, then stepped over to a pile of clothing and began selecting items. He tossed onto the bed next to her a simple wool gown that might have looked to Mylecent like little more than a large seed bag with neck and arm holes, the later with simple sleeves that would reach about half way between her elbows and wrists. It was a plain white color and dirty from overuse since its last washing. "Put this on."

If Mylecent refused to do as he wished, Eric was prepared to strip her himself and put it on her. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary, though it would probably be exciting for him. To help her make the correct decision, Eric turned away from her and headed out of the hut, sending the slave, Moira (a Scottish woman not yet two decades old) back inside with orders to help Mylecent.

 

[Perplexia]

"Drink!"

"NO!" and pushed the bladder back until Hagar talked to her softly. She wondered if it bothered him that even though she was on deaths door (of course that's only the way it felt), she would still reject any orders from him.

With Hagar's kindness and the rapport they had built she followed his instructions and after a few more trips over the edge of the boat she felt better. Enough to come up with a new name for Eric with help from Hagar.

Once they reached their destination she looked at the way the people responded to seeing their loved ones returned. The heartbreak on the faces of the wives and children whose husbands and wives died.

She didn't give much resistance to Eric manhandling her to the tent. Her eyes took in everything. It was a very humble set up from what she was use to. The girl that stood their taking his orders glared at her with disdain or was it jealousy. She wondered if the girl thought she was there to replace her for her affections with Eric. It was obvious she adored him, for what reason she didn't know.That however didn't bother her so much as Erics next words when the girl left.

"Snotra, take your clothes off,"

Mylecent turned and glared at him with her fierce warrior stare daring him to even think about trying to make her. Eric turned and left and the girl returned speaking to her in Gaelic. "I have no idea what your saying, nor do i care." The girl went to reach for her, and Mylecent stepped back. There was a look of panic that came upon her face, as if she was afraid to be blamed for Mylecent's lack of cooperation.

"Fine, but only so you don't get into trouble by The Dane heiðinn (heathen)." The girls eyes opened wide at the surprise use of old Norse from this proper English woman and let out a muffled laugh. With the girls help she got down to her tunic and placed what she considered a burlap sack over it. No this just wasn't going to do. "festr?" (rope?), she asked the girl holding out her hands to a length. The girl left and came back with what she requested.

It wasn't the most fashionable thing, but it did help to make her feel somewhat presentable as she wrapped it around her waist and fashioned it into a bow of sorts. She was glad that her and Hagar had time to compare languages. Mylecent pointed to herself and said "Lady Sortvand" then pointed to the girl. The girl said her name 'Moira'. Mylecent gave her a slight curtsy and a offered a hand to shake. It took her a moment before she did the same.

Whatever jealousy or animosity the girl may have been thinking seemed to have disappeared or at least subsided after Mylecent renamed Eric 'Heathen' in his own tongue. She was waiting for the opportunity to say it to his face for her own amusement. Now the next step was for to figure out how to escape with her people and steal a boat. How the hell was she going to manage that.

Moira came back with a bucket of steaming water and a rag and handed it to Mylecent to clean her self up. She also gave her a comb of sorts for her hair. Taking the rag she washed her face and practically moaned at the relief of having fresh skin. With Moira's help they untangled her red curls and got them flowing like weathers in the wind. Moira left and came back again with some small wild flowers that she stuck in her hair. Well, she may have to wear this burlap sack, but at least she would look presentable wearing it.

 

[KingOfOregon]

(OOC: The pics are out of context. Deal with it. Haaaa! )

Eric returned to his hut just in time to see Moira stepping back from a decorated Mylecent. He hesitated, taking her in from her tended-to hair to her bare feet. She was stunning, more so now that she was no longer speckled in dirt and mud from the attack, march, and boat ride.

"Få mig noget mad, kød, noget varmt fra ilden," he told Moira. Without hesitation, the slave hurried out of the hut. Eric's movement from the girl's path caused him to show some unsteadiness; he'd been drinking with Hagar and some of the Viking Nobles under his command, and his teetering was probably obvious as he neared Mylecent, ogling the curves that even her simple gown showed off. "You look like an angel. Or, a devil. I can tell."

Eric turned away and began stripping. He was bare from the waist up by the time Moira returned carrying a metal platter of roasted meat, potatoes, and other roots. He fell back into the bed of straw pillows and furs, telling the petite blonde woman, "Støvler"

Moira set the platter aside and quickly went to work unlacing Eric's boots. As she removed them, he was untying his belt and pushing his trousers off his hips. It only took a moment for him to be laying there naked.

 

[Perplexia]

"Have some decency sir you are in the presence of a lady. I was right to rename you 'heiðinn'. Mylecent went to the other side and sat facing the wall of her 'cell' to avoid having to gaze upon Eric's nakedness.

She had to admit it was a sight seeing his naked body. But there still should be a level of decorum. If he thought for one moment she was going to become his slave he had another thing coming. Just because he was devilishly handsome wasn't enough to tempt her into giving away her virtue.

For a moment she had though about going through the door but the firelight gave the shadows away of the men guarding it, just to keep her from doing such a thing. "I had hoped for one night you would do me the honor of just leaving me be alone so i could grieve in peace for all that I've lost today. But being a heiðinn (heathen) i should have known better.

 

[KingOfOregon]

Eric laughed when Mylecent called him a heathen in his own language. Eric's own experience with learning Mylecent's language was of first learning the profane words. They came in handy sometimes when facing off with English soldiers, to intimidate them or, sometimes, urged them into battle.

"I had hoped for one night you would do me the honor of just leaving me be alone so I could grieve in peace for all that I've lost today. But being a heiðinn I should have known better."

Eric laughed again as he laid back into the bed and pulled a fur over his lower half. He barked some orders at Moira, who hurried to the side of the hut nearer Mylecent. She threw open a large but simple wooden chest and pulled out some wool blankets and a heavy furs.

"You'll be comfortable here, m'lady," Moira said, making a bed for Mylecent over a patch of the grassy ground around which the hut had been built.

Without looking toward them, Eric mumbled, "Sove med hende, holde hende varm."

Eric knew that Mylecent would be cold with just a single fur beneath her. He didn't want her miserable, though. It wasn't uncommon for slaves to bed down with people other than their masters or mistresses, so Moira repeated Eric's demand as a question, "Would you like me to sleep with you tonight, m'lady. Keep you warm?"

If Mylecent wanted company between the blankets, the Scottish slave would strip her own simple gown up over her head and slip into the makeshift bed. If not, she would cross to her master's bed instead, also stripping to her skin. Either way, she would blow out three of the four oil lamps before hand.

 

[Perplexia]

By now Mylecent should have grown accustom to Eric finding amusement in her distress. Yet still it somehow increased the amount of distress she felt. Turning her head from Moira she wiped a tear that had fallen loose, and nodded lightly. It was better to have the girl with her then have to listen to his mating.

After making their makeshifts beds the girl stripped down to her single tunic and blew out the lanterns, crawling in beside Mylecent. Mylecent stared up at the dark ceiling and pondered her options. It would be impossible to see with out lighting a lantern. So finding a knife and stabbing Eric was out of the question.

She could try to sneak out, but with the amount of loyalty Eric seemed to have she doubted they would fall asleep for her to escape. Perhaps tomorrow she would find a better option. Still she wanted to be alone to grieve, she couldn't show weakness in front of Eric, not if she was going to find a way out of this.

 

[KingOfOregon]

Before Moira had even crawled into bed next to Mylecent, across the hut Eric was already snoring. The Scottish slave, more petite than the other, pressed up close to the English woman. She wrapped an arm around Mylecent's torso and laid a leg over her knee.

"Is this good, m'lady," she asked in heavily accented English. "Are you warm?"

She listened to Mylecent's answer, then, she began caressing a hand down the woman's body toward her crotch, asking, "Would you like me to touch you, m'lady?"

Moira was no stranger to pleasuring other women before. Her first sexual experience, as was true with many girls wishing to preserve their purity yet also fulfill their sexual needs, had been with her cousin, Aila. Soon after that, she'd been captured and given to Eric's mother, Astrid, who used her as a servant and bed warmer. Astrid spent many nights alone as did many wives of warriors who spent half of the year away from home raiding. Astrid trained Moira to fill in for her missing Viking husband.

Later, when she was given to Eric for his own pleasure, Moira quickly came to miss the touch and feel of another woman. And while she presumed she would enjoy such interaction with the English redhead, Moira's reason for offering was actually that she thought pleasing Mylecent would please Eric.

 

[Perplexia]

"Is this good, m'lady," she asked in heavily accented English. "Are you warm?"Moira asked her interrupting her thoughts.

"what? no, yes that's fine just take your leg down please" she answered pushing it off.
The next question from the girl took her a little by surprise. "Would you like me to touch you, m'lady?"


Mylecent had heard of such things before. Although she held the quiet opinion that people should be left to their own conscience rather then be condemned because whatever church was fashionable at the moment said so. She had never considered such a thing for herself.

In reality she had never quite thought about intimacy of any kind. Men married woman like farmers sold cows. Her virtue was her most valuable asset, and since she hadn't considered marriage, despite the suitors. Intimacy of this sort was just not an option.

"No thank you" she responded softly as to try to not sound ungracious for the offer. "The only thing I want is to take my people and go home"

"I understand Mi'Lady, I felt that way once myself. But over time you become accustom to your situation and find pleasure where you can. Eric is a generous lover despite his habit of shouting orders. But that is who he is, the leader, and a great warrior."

Mylecent snorted in disbelief that there could be anything gentle about the heathen. He had the manners of a bull, and the empathy of a volcano. Though there was something about him she found curious. Despite his barking orders and making demands, he still named her a wise goddess, and told her she looked like an angel or a devil. She assumed he had meant that she was alluring and took the devil part as that.

"It's been a long day Moira" she said softly again "i'd like to sleep now." Moira didn't say another word and closed her eyes leaving Mylecent to her thoughts and eventually slumber.

Morning came quicker then she had wished and found herself wakened by shouting outside. Moira was gone as was Eric.

 

[KingOfOregon]

Eric had awoken well before dawn, feeling the chill of the night without Moira's company. He rose and, still naked, cross the hut to stand over the pair. They were on their sides facing Eric's direction, the veteran Scottish slave behind the new English one; Moira's arms were wrapped around Mylecent's body, her belly, groin, and fore of her thighs hard against the other woman. They were warm, comfortable, and sound asleep, and Eric would have been hesitant to wake them if they had been anything more than slaves.

He was about to jostle them awake when Moira's eyes opened. She looked up into Eric's face and smiled. As she'd implied to Mylecent, she had come to respect and even appreciate the Viking who, since being given to him by his mother, had taken good care of him and treated her kindly. Moira slipped gently away from the other woman, replacing the blankets before stepping around the makeshift bed to press up against her naked master.

"Shall I please you, m'lord," she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss him softly as one hand found his already stiffening cock.

Eric drew a deep breath at the sudden discovery of pleasure. Moira performed her duties to her Viking Earl with eagerness and dedication, particularly those duties involving his cock. It was the reason she had accompanied him on the voyage across what the Vikings called the West Sea, as opposed to one or more of his other four slaves back in Kjelst.

He took Moira by the arm and led her back to his bed's side of the hut, sitting on a trunk that with its second lid raised became somewhat of a small throne. The blonde fell to her knees and took Eric's cock into her mouth, quickly pushing him to full stiffness and then, as it had been days since their last, quickly to orgasm. As his seed filled the slave's mouth, Eric held his verbal reaction to a relatively quiet groan, then waited for her to clean him up with her tongue.

And all the while, Eric's eyes had been on the face and one bared shoulder of his newest slave. One day, he would be filling her with his seed, he'd already decided. Though, the destination and purpose of that discharge would be far different than that of what Moira had just swallowed.

Eric was going to force Mylecent into marriage to give him the right to reclaim what was already legally his by birth right, the lands of SortVand. To legitimize his claim, Eric had only to do three things: marry the heir apparent to SortVand; capture SortVand; and then get the blessing of the King in whose territory SortVand existed.

That last one was going to be a problem. The King of Northumberland who had deeded to Eric's grandfather, Sven, the land that would become SortVand had died over half a decade earlier, and his son had transferred that land to the King of Middlesbrough, the man responsible for the eradication of the SortVand heathens. To make good his claim on SortVand, Eric had to either get the blessing of the murderer of his people or get the more northern King to reclaim the SortVand area as his own, through politics, payment, or power.

Eric's mind returned to him as Moira stepped before him, holding his under garments in her hands. She helped him dress and put his weapons about his waist once more, then headed outside to begin putting his breakfast together. Eric moved closer to Mylecent again, lowering his haunches to his heels as he balanced on the balls of his booted feet. He studied the sleeping English lady for a long moment, then stood and headed out to join his men as they began the were beginning their day.



"Godmorgen, Snotra," Eric said when he suddenly reentered his hut, followed quickly by Hagar and a trio of other veteran Vikings. He looked her up and down, as did some of the others, before saying with humor, "I half expected to find a hole in the back of the hut and you missing. I appreciate you not making me send the dogs after you."

What Mylecent couldn't know, of course, was that if she did run from this place, there was virtually no where to go. To the east was the pounding ocean, and to the north and south were steep cliffs that could not be scaled. Behind them, to the west, the terrain was steep and forbidding, but it could be climbed by someone with the desire to do so. The Vikings used that route to send men up and down from a watch station on the south cliff where they watched for English boats. But it was so steep, rugged, and potentially hazardous that the watch standers stayed up there for three day long periods and had their food, water, and ale lifted to them in a basket on a 200 foot long rope.

"Have you chosen, Hagar?" Eric asked his second in command as he himself fished through an open trunk.

"Yes," Hagar responded. He glanced to Mylecent with what might have seemed like a sympathetic and almost reluctant expression. He looked back to Eric as he clarified, "A woman for my bed. And a boy to tend my horse, do chores. And coin."

"By right, you get four, my friend," Eric said, reminding the Viking Nobleman of his seniority. Eric lifted one of the gold goblets pillaged from the SortVand chapel before it was set ablaze. "Will you take another woman, or perhaps this. You will look very good taking your ale from such a treasure."

The other Noble's laughed as Hagar continued, "My son, m'lord. He has reached manhood but is yet too young to partake of pillage. I will give him my fourth share. A girl perhaps. For his bed. Perhaps even to be his wife."

"So be it," Eric said, nodding to one of the other Nobleman. "A woman, a boy, and coin."

From the chest upon which Moira had earlier pleasured her Earl, the other Viking counted out a handful of pillaged English coins as Hagar's third share for his service in the raid of SortVand, handing them to Hagar. Eric and Hagar clasped their hands to the other's forearm and squeezed in a traditional show of respect and friendship. After Hagar had again casted a second look Mylecent's direction and left, Eric also looked to the English woman whose people and property were being given out as the spoils of war.

"Have you chosen, Rogan?" he asked the next man while looking to Mylecent with a devilish smirk.

 

[Perplexia]

It Mylecent a moment to gather her wits and thoughts over what she was witnessing. Her people he was doling out like animals to be bred and used for labor. The treasure she could care less about, but the people. No that was not going to happen.

"Stop this madness" she announced rather loudly rising and glaring at Eric like a naughty child. Taking a deep breath she inhaled. "Pardon me for my outburst, if I may, I would like a word with you for a moment before you continue doling out my people like farm animals."

Mylecent had no idea what she was going to say to cease this barbarism, but she had to try anything, even if it meant sacrificing herself.
Erics eyes widened and his lips curled as if he was on the cusp of bursting out in laughter at her once again. Dismissing Rogan after saying something she didn't understand he took a seat upon the trunk and crossed his arms, still with that smug smile that she wanted to smack off his face.

"I realize as a conqueror of lands and villages you have a right to it's spoils. It's people and it's treasures. However, you seem to be a man with a bit of culture and honor about you. It is apparent that you feel that you have some right to Sortvand, as after all it was your people that settled upon it first. As you're aware, the King will never admit he was wrong, and will never grant you the peace you and your people deserve to occupy it.

Even if you were to force me into a marriage, i could simply disclaim it and you would be hung. What I am trying to say, is having a place to call yours is important to you. The land that rightfully belongs to you should be left in piece for you and yours. To me, my people are important to me, their welfare and happiness are my responsibility."

She sighed and paced for a moment. "I will make you a deal Eric the Dane. I will marry you with a christian and pagan priest of my own free will. I will also submit to an examination prior to the ceremony to prove my virtue so that there can be no doubt shed on the legitimacy of our claim. In exchange, you will not give my people as trophies. I will discuss with them the arrangement and they will obey or leave. They will be allowed to mingle and learn about your customs as well as teach your people about ours. In order to make Sortvand an cohabitation of the two we will need everyone to do their part. I am a Lady of England, there can be no dispute of my rights to the land. There also can be no dispute to my husbands rights to it if it is proven that i married of m own volition."

 

[KingOfOregon]

"Stop this madness."

Eric smiled at Mylecent's outburst. He'd been expecting some sort of reaction, sending Rogan and the other Nobles away with a casual wave.

"I will make you a deal Eric the Dane," she began, continuing with her unexpected offer of becoming his wife.

Eric suddenly realized how appropriate Snotra, Goddess of Wisdom, was for Mylecent. She'd come to the same conclusion about her fate as Eric himself had been contemplating.

"I am a Lady of England, there can be no dispute of my rights to the land. There also can be no dispute to my husband's rights to it if it is proven that I married of my own volition."

"My men are expecting something from the raid on SortVand," Eric said after studying Mylecent for a moment. "If I can't give them your people as slaves, I have to give them something else, and I don't think goats and chickens are going to be enough."

He was standing near his treasure trunk, where Moira had sucked his cock. He leaned to open it as he hollered, "Rogan!"

The Viking Noble was barely inside the hut's fur flap door before Eric threw a bag full of coin to him. "Distribute that as appropriate. You're in charge. Hostages and stock animals stay with me."

Eric expected Rogan to pitch a fit. But the man shook the heavy bag, then opened it, finding it full of gold, not silver. His eyes opened a bit wider, then without hesitation or comment, he simply turned and left.

"That was easier than I thought it would be," Eric said, laughing. He reached down into the trunk again, then crossed to stand before Mylecent. After a moment of simply looking into her eyes, he reached to take her left hand, lifting her arm up before him. As he slipped a brown leather cuff around her wrist and rolled her arm over to tighten the strap on the back side, he explained, "Brown identifies you as a betrothed. A claimed woman. No man will touch you for fear of his life."

When he was finished, he pressed the other cuff into her hand, telling her, "Black indicates that you are married. You will wear it after we are wed."

He donned a bit of a solemn expression as he stepped back a bit, continuing, "Black is also worn should I die before we are wed. You will wear it until released from mourning by my closest female relative."

Eric couldn't help but laugh, informing Mylecent, "That would be my mother. In Kjelst. In Daneland. And if you think yesterday's boat ride got you sick..."

He laughed again as he took another step back to bow, then rise. He gestured toward the door of the hut, asking, "Shall we go out and see what your people think about our betrothal?"

 

[Perplexia]

Mylecent grabbed her stomach at the thought of rougher seas then she'd already endured. The thought of having to face Eric's mother was slightly frightening. But she would show no fear.

"Before we go out there, I think it's important that we address everyone together. So that both of our people understand that we are now one people. There is no more them and us. I will wear your cuffs, you are free to continue to bed whomever before we are wed. But i would very much appreciate having mine be the only bed you visit after being wed."

She wasn't quite sure why she felt it a necessity to add that last bit. After all if he was busy with other women he would leave her alone. At the same time, his devotion to her and their claim of love could then be questioned. The English would look for any excuse to get rid of him.

"On my necklace that was taken from me was my mothers wedding ring. There is also my fathers, i would like for us to use those as well. Not only will it show our unity and acceptance of each other cultures, but it will help to sway the legitimacy of our claim. Do you have a large hall or gathering place where we can address everyone?"

 

[KingOfOregon]

"On my necklace that was taken from me was my mother's wedding ring," Mylecent began.

Eric turned as she went on and dug into the trunk that had been brought in from his longboat after returning from SortVand. As she continued about her expectations for the announcement of their sudden engagement, he searched through the treasure that had either pillaged from the structures or taken from the village's necks, wrists, or fingers.

"Do you have a large hall or gathering place where we can address everyone?"

He turned back to Mylecent and offered out the chain with the dual bands dangling from it. "We have no Great Hall here because we are not staying here. But we'll have one when the time comes."

He headed for the hut's exit, opening the flap as he smiled back. "Let's go tell them."

Outside, Eric lead Mylecent toward the pen in which her people were being held. It had been built prior to the attack on SortVand, knowing or at least hoping that there would be slaves captured. Two Viking warriors were sitting on a log outside the door, drinking wine captured during the raid. They stood at Eric's approach, then opened the door at his request.

"Talk to them," Eric told Mylecent. "Those who agree to remain, to support you, will be freed. Those who do not..."

He'd planned on saying will be sold as slaves, but Eric knew that that would only anger Mylecent. He hadn't decided what to do with those who objected to the marriage of their English Lady to a Danish heathen. But, that could wait for now.

Instead, before he turned to go off and deal with other issues, Eric finished, "Just ensure they understand that betraying me, by betraying you, is a fate they don't wish to face."

 

[Perplexia]

Mylecent nodded to Eric's statement about betrayal. As he left a young girl rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her tightly. "Oh mi lady, I feared for you something aweful" tears sprung to her eyes as she searched the lady over. "he didn't hurt you? That heathen? He didn't force himself upon you?" Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing as they all stared and waited for her answer.

"No, no of course not. Eric of the Danes has been a most gracious host. He has provided me with every comfort. In fact I am happy to announce that he and I are to be wed upon our return to Sortvand." she paused for the gasps and continued.

"As many of you know, my father, rest his soul" Her fingers marked her chest in a cross and they all followed. "He wasn't happy with how he acquired Sortvand. He believed that a mans word is his bond. In his memory, we will be making Sortvand a cohabitation of our people and Erics. We will be one village, of one heart and one mind. There will be no more, us and them, it will simply be us. We are Christian, and We are Dane."

Some whispering chatter began. She held up her hand.

"If i can overlook the murder of my mother and father, then you too can put the past behind you as they will. It is up to us to help teach them of our customs, as well as to learn theirs. That is the only way that Sortvand will thrive and be the example that England requires. No more blood shed on our lands, there is a lot we can learn from them, and them from us. You will be free to roam and seek shelter now. But let me leave you with this warning. I am the Lady of Sortvand, and He will be the Lord. By betraying him, you are betraying me. I will support my betrothed openly, for that is a wifes duty. He has been open thus far to my suggestions, but he is his own man. Do not give him reason to regret it."

 

[KingOfOregon]

"How did they react?"

Gunnar shrugged to his Earl's question, then said, "Mixed?"

Hagar beat Eric to the next question, asking, "What does that mean, mixed?"

After Eric and Hagar, Gunnar understood the Christian's language better than any of the other Vikings. It was why he'd hid behind a pile of firewood within hearing range of the pen to listen in on the English reactions to their Lady's announcement.

"Mixed," Gunnar repeated. "Some of them seemed to show cooperation and respect for the Lady's decision. Others, not so. But she explained it to them a second time, then a third to those who seemed resistant."

The three men plus the other three Nobles who were part of Eric's force discussed the situation for several minutes before Gunnar finally said, "If some of them do not follow her, follow you, Lord, then do we get to have some fun with them?"

There was sudden excitement from most of the Vikings at the prospect of getting to find pleasure for their cocks within the depths of the English women. Most of the Nobles, like Eric with Moira, had brought a lover with them, be it a wife, a Karl (or free peasant) who served them in and out of bed for payment, or a slave who served them the same way simply for the pleasure of remaining alive. But that didn't mean that they hadn't been excited about all of the new English slits that had come to be available to them after the raid on SortVand.

Or, at least, that they thought had come to be available. When Hagar came out to tell them that the slaves were off limits for now and possibly forever, there had been less-than-serious conversation about an uprising. Viking warriors liked their tight, warm, wet, slave pussy. And now, there weren't going to get it?

"You were all given payment for SortVand," Eric stressed with an expression and tone that left little doubt as to his seriousness. "Unless Lady Mylecent--"

Eric ceased his words when Gunnar cleared his throat loudly and nodded a head to the approaching English woman. She made her report to him, and Eric responded with a nod of appreciation. He stood to retrieve an ax from the wood cutting pile and took it to Mylecent.

"Your people will need huts," he told her, grasping her hand and pressing the ax into it. He looked up to the forested slope that reached up from the beach to the cliffs, then back to Mylecent. He smirked as he said, "Tell them not to fall."

"I'll help!" Gunnar said, standing next to Mylecent and pulling the ax from her hands. He smiled broadly to her, repeating, "I'll help. I mean, if one of your ladies needs a man's assistance."

He looked to Eric, then back to the English woman. Hagar laughed, and soon all of the men including Eric were as well. The face of the helpful Viking filled with an embarrassed expression.

"My good friend Gunnar here would like to help, m'lady," Eric told her, believing that she was probably already beginning to understand what was going on. He finished, "My good friend Gunnar here ... is horny!"

There was another round of laughter, during which Eric raised his voice to ensure that Mylecent heard, "And I believe that he is hoping that by helping one of your women build a hut, he might find himself someone to warm his bed, or even wear his cuff. Is that right, Gunnar?"

The Viking smiled to Mylecent again, then playfully shrugged. "I'm sure there must be a lonely Christian amongst your people, m'lady?"

 

[Perplexia]

Mylecent looked at the axe that was now in gunners hands and back to her own as she thought about her next words carefully.

"They are our people not mine, not yours ,ours. A leader provides for his people sir. As to your question, there are a few single ladies that could use a good husband. As long as there is no man handling, or groping, i'm sure they could win their hearts. Perhaps Hagar could teach them the manners required in speaking to a lady."

There was a slight indication in her tone that was to give Eric the impression she was including him in that thought. "Please Gunner, gather the men that would be willing to help, and I will round up some as well." With a light glare she left to go speak to some of her people. With a crowd of both hers and vikings assembled they took march in the direction that Eric had indicated.

She was angry at him for a couple of reasons, one he walked away during her conversation with her people. Two they hadn't spoke to them together, and three he had the audacity of putting an axe in her hand. She was a lady, she had never held a tool in her life. What on earth was he thinking. If he wasn't going to act like a leader, and this was an early indication of how it was going to be, she wouldn't be going through with it.

Eventually Mylecent did take an axe in her hand and took out her frustrations on a tree. The result was blistered and bloody hands. Yet that still didn't deture her from the task at hand. Midday they were hauling wood down to the camp, and by night everyone had a place to lay her head. Food had been provided for everyone, and with the exception of a few the experience had begun to bond quite a few. The men were joking the women were laughing.

Mylecent retired to one of her servants tents where they tried to help her with her now bloody, bruised and blistered hands.

 

[KingOfOregon]

Eric couldn't help but smirk a bit at Mylecent's lecture. There were a great many differences in their cultures and how they dealt with such things as the Noble-Peasant relationship, and these differences were going to lead to many more arguments in the future.

Hagar seemed very thrilled at Mylecent's suggestion that she might encourage her female subjects to get friendly with the Viking warriors. His lips spread in an obvious smile, and when he glanced to his Earl his face was filled with hope. Eric couldn't help but repeat to himself, Horny.

As Mylecent had hoped, Eric had indeed understood that she was warning him about his own manners when it came to his intimate and sexual treatment of her. As she continued, he wondered what it would be like to make love to as opposed to fucking a woman. Oh, he wasn't cruel when his cock was thrusting in and out of a woman. But at the same time he wasn't all to careful about that thrusting. After all, sex was all about Eric's pleasure, satisfaction, and release, right?

Mylecent told the eager Viking, "Please Gunnar, gather the men that would be willing to help, and I will round up some as well."

Gunnar looked to his Noble, seeking permission to do something he'd already offered himself up for. Eric's lips spread even farther, which was all Gunnar needed. Before heading away, he gave Mylecent a quick and slight bow of respect and told her, "I'll get'm, m'lady."

Eric caught Mylecent's glare before heading away to once again speak to her people. He shared some knowing glances with Hagar but remained silent until the English woman was quite a ways off to laugh.

"I don't think my wife-to-be is very happy with me, my friend," he said with humor. He and Hagar spent several minutes watching the English and Danish putting together some tools and heading for the slope before Eric finally forced himself to rise. He looked to his most senior Noble and said with feigned reluctance, "Well, we have our own work to do."

<<<< >>>>​

It was one of the most interesting afternoons Eric had ever had. Normally the day following such a successful raid, the warriors would have been celebrating with drink, food, and sex. The women would have been providing all three in their own way, as would any female slaves who had been taken. The disappointment in not getting the latter was evident to Eric in the eyes and words of the warriors.

But that lack of on again, off again sex, possibly with multiple partners, reluctant or otherwise, made for a significant amount of free time for the Danish, male and female alike. Normal chores were tackled, including work on the boats. But as they day went on, Eric was finding himself consumed with his thoughts about Mylecent, her people, and the work they were doing.

Eric hadn't actually meant for Mylecent to climb the hill and swing the ax when he'd handed it to her. To be honest, he was being a bit of an ass about it all. It came down to yet another one of their cultural differences. In Eric's community, the Earl's wife was due the total, unquestioning, and unflinching respect and obedience of all persons (Dane and otherwise) living under her husband's rule.

At the same time, though, that wife was supposed to show that same respect and obedience to her husband, even if he wasn't in turn showing them to her. By law and tradition, Eric could treat his wife in any way he wished, even raping and beating her if he felt she deserved it. Hell, he could make her spread her legs for another Noble from another community if there was a political gain involved.

But Eric doubted very much that he would be having that traditional Viking relationship with Mylecent. He made his way over to the slope at one point, expecting to find the English Noble sitting on a log with a soft Danish pillow under her ass while her people slaved away. But Eric found her instead swinging an ax at the trunk of a small tree. It was obvious that she'd never in her life held such a tool in her hands. At the same time, though, it was obvious that she was trying her hardest to give the same effort that her people were.

Eric sat in the shade of a large tree and watched Mylecent and her people for a long while. They had quite a work ethic, particularly for a people who had very nearly been parceled off as slaves, as well as had a third of their people slaughtered, including all of the males who had been or might have one day been a threat to the Vikings.

Finally, Eric rose to find Hagar, who was tending to some issues on the boats. He told the man, "Get everyone together. I have a job for them."

The English and their Danish helpers had been bringing lumber and other resources down from the slope all day. They suddenly found more help, with the rest of the Vikings digging holes for the posts that would support the huts, as well as peeling bark to make into rope, stripping leaves from limbs to pad the floors to hold back the cold of the ground, and more.

And Eric worked as well. He had to, of course: as Mylecent had told him, these were their people, not just hers. He was standing atop a simple, makeshift scaffolding, shirtless and sweaty, slamming a heavy wooden hammer down upon the ends of poles that would support one of the hut's walls when he looked up to see Mylecent passing. Eric looked down just in time to see her disappearing past one of the nearly finished huts. He wasn't sure whether or not she'd looked up at him, though.

As darkness approached and both English and Danes were burning out, the simple lunch that had sustained them through the day was followed up by a large meal, which included several dozen fish netted from the sea and a pair of deer killed in the forest above the temporary settlement.

Eric stripped down to the skin and stood beneath the small waterfall coming down the side of the south cliff before putting on some cleaner clothes and making his way to the feast. The mood of the camp was as interesting as the afternoon had been. There were obviously still a number of English woman and children still wary of, afraid of, or seething about the Vikings who had destroyed their lives. But there were also a number of them who were in active conversation with the warriors, though with the vast majority of Eric's men not knowing but just a couple of dozen words of English, the language barrier was a bit of a problem.

Hagar, Gunnar, and some of the Thralls, Karls, and Jarls -- slaves, free peasants, and Nobles -- spoke English, to one degree or another. They seemed to be more involved with the English. But Eric also found a pair of the English women sitting close to and doing their best to communicate with two of his warriors, with both English and Danes teaching the other words. Eric could already tell that one or two of the women might be sneaking off into the dark with the strong warriors as it got darker, eager to see if their ferocity translated into a good hard and satisfying fuck.

Eric found that Moira had brought another of his chairs out to near the big fire, and he dropped into it as the slave brought a platter of food to a make shift table set near him. He looked around for a particular face, finally asking Hagar, "Where is my betrothed?"

 

[Perplexia]

Hagar took a quick long drink of his ale before addressing the question he was just asked by Eric.

"MiLady, not till this day has held an ax in her hand. She was going after that tree as if it were your head. I believe she may have called it heathen a few times as well." he gave a wide cocky grin before filling him on the rest to try to elicited a laugh from Eric.

"Her hands were bleeding, and yet she was still carrying on as if she hadn't noticed. That woman has a warriors spirit and a fire in her i haven't seen before. She could be Baduhenna (goddess of war and storms)." Hagar pointed to Ander, "she did that to his face at the village." He let out a hearty laugh.

"She went to one of her old servants huts, i saw the girl bring food back for her." Hagar pointed to the hut for Eric. "If i may offer some advice, you treat her like a slave she'll act like snake, you treat her like a flower, she will bloom." Hagar laughed again and got up to go get more ale.

****
"That bloody hurts" Mylecent complained as the girl tried to get the dirt from her hands.

"Milady, if we don't clean it, it will get infected." the girl tried reasoning with her.

Mylecent glared at her and the girl put down the water and rag and stepped outside the tent in tears. Taking a deep breath she gathered the courage to go to Eric.

"Mi Lord" she said softly using the title he would soon have when they returned.

"Mi lady will not let me clean the wounds, they're frightfully painful. I fear if she doesn't let me, they will get infected. Please sir, help me."

 

[KingOfOregon]

Eric listened to Hagar educating him about Mylecent. He wouldn't have believed the man if he had not seen her wielding the ax for himself. He laughed about the heathen comment, about the English woman imagining the trunk was his own head.

"I'll remember to remove the blades from our hut the night I make her my wife," Eric said, getting laughter from the men sitting around him. He got more laughter when he added, "Which of my heads do you think I should be more concerned for?"

By make her my wife Eric was referring to him and Mylecent consummating the marriage, not taking their vows, of course. That was one thing that the English and Danish did have in common: a marriage wasn't true until the husband had emptied his balls into his wife's womb the first time.

Hagar gestured to another of Eric's Nobles, Ander, and spoke of the bruising and cuts to one full side of his face. As Hagar laughed, Eric said to the man, "You said an English warrior hit you with a log."

As Ander tried to hide his shame, the entirety of Eric's Noble Staff erupted in laughter, with one of them calling out, "He got his ass handed to him by a girl!"

As the hilarity and jabs continued, Eric contemplated another difference between his people (specifically the women) and Mylecent's. It wasn't uncommon for a Danish woman to become a warrior in her own right. His own invasion force of 50 warriors included 8 Shield Maidens, and while most of them brandished the bow as their primary weapon, they all were more than capable of taking a larger, stronger, meaner man's life with the blade.

Back home, an even higher percentage of the protection force was female. Kjelst was protected by not just trained 60 warriors but also more than 200 lesser-trained farmers, fisherman, craftsmen, and others who would, for the most part, be ready and willing to give their lives in the protection of his town and their families. And of those who Eric could count on stepping up at the first sign of danger were 30 Shield Maidens.

But other than see an English woman pick up a knife or club or pitch fork to protect herself or her children, Eric had never seen a true English warrior of the female variety. Sitting here listening to the men continuing to rib Ander, though, and imagining Mylecent slamming whatever had been in her hands at the time up against the Viking's head, Eric could see Mylecent and some of her stronger, more agile female subjects with swords or bows in their hands.

He wondered, Can we turn these soft English women into hardened Viking Shield Maidens? Of course, there was nothing soft about most of Mylecent female subjects. The life of a woman, whether in Denmark or Northumberland, was anything but soft and easy. Eric knew that, of course: he respected the hard work of the female portion of his community just as much as he did the militaristic exploits of his warriors.

"Eric!"

The Earl flinched from his reverie to find Hagar still talking at him. The Viking went on with some friendly advice about how to deal with Mylecent. Eric only nodded. He listened to the men going on for several more minutes but his mind was on his Lady-to-be.

After a long while, he rose and made his way to his hut where he found Moira, put her on her hands and knees, and fucked her hard and fast until he was grunting out loudly to the delight of his cock leaping within her. He fell back into the bedding, where the slave cleaned away the combined bodily fluids, first with her mouth, then with a cloth rag.

"You think of her, m'lord," Moira said softly. When Eric opened his eyes to look into her own, she clarified, "You think of Lady Mylecent when you..."

She didn't finish, and Eric didn't respond. He put his clothes back together and found a half filled bottle of ale.

"Mi Lord."

Eric turned to find a somewhat familiar face at the door. He finally recognized her as one of the women who been near to Mylecent quite a bit during the day.

"Mi lady will not let me clean the wounds, they're frightfully painful," the servant began after he gestured her inside. "I fear if she doesn't let me, they will get infected. Please sir, help me."

He looked to Moira, telling her before gesturing to the English woman, "Go get Giselle. Take her. Find out what she needs."

Moira gestured Mylecent's servant to accompany her, and the two departed. Eric stepped outside and waited, and as he watched the three passing, he Moira back, telling her, "I have something I want you to do."

He gave the servant some instructions, then unhurriedly headed for Mylecent's location. When he arrived, Giselle was dumping liquids and powders into a bowl of steaming hot water. Mylecent and her servant were again discussing her unwillingness to have her hands treated.

When he saw that Giselle treatment was ready, Eric crossed to Mylecent and sat beside her. Her reaction made him wonder whether or not she really wanted him that close to her. When the almost crazy looking woman neared, carrying the bowl before her, Eric explained, "This is Giselle. She is our heiler. What would you call her? Medicine woman? Doctor? She is going to treat you. Put your hands in the water."

Mylecent appeared hesitant, though he couldn't know whether it was because she was still angry with him, as of yet to fully understand him, or simply distrustful of heathen medical treatment. The English called the Vikings heathens for a number of reasons, not least of which was their wild appearance. Giselle made her fellow Vikings seem almost cultured by comparison. She had a wild look to her, with unkempt hair that hadn't seen a brush in years, fire ash and plant-based dyes painting her face, and ragged clothing made of dozens of little bits of animal furs rather than one or two large pelts as was typical of their fashion.

Eric told her in a firm tone, "M'lady, I am trying to help you. Further more, I am trying to show you your due respect. Hagar says I should be nicer to you."

His lips spread in a playful smile, then a moment later he continued with his firm tone, "And, I am going to try. But until I learn how to do that, you're going to put your hands in that water, or I am going to put them in there for you."