Ravish Her

The women had braids woven into their locks, and the men had longer hair and beards. They looked like the pictures she’d seen of Vikings and the villages in the Scandinavian area centuries ago.

“I need help. That man—” She pointed behind her, saw the people look over her shoulder, and then saw their eyes widen. “—he’s after me.” She switched it up to Norwegian, but they either didn’t understand her or didn’t care.

The women gathered the children, and the men ushered the females away, then stood their ground and held their swords and axes in front of them, as if on the defense. She spun around, saw the beast man coming at her, and felt the world tilt. Why wasn’t anyone helping her?

“Du tror du kana kjøre fra megoki, konna?” He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. She tried to scream out, but he placed a hand over her mouth and stifled the sound. “Jeg er en rekker.” He stared at the villagers, and she heard the same word being shouted over and over again.

Dýr.

Agata could roughly, crudely translate that word, and knew that it meant “Beast”. She stared wide-eyed at this man who now held her, his hand still on her mouth.

“Ja konna. Jeg er Dýr.”

The beast had claimed a wife, and Agata was right in the middle of the lion’s den.

5

Agata stared at the man, hating that he chained her up like some kind of animal, but supposed he was smart for doing it. She’d run if she had the chance, get far away from this barbarian, and try to get back to her life.

God, how her boring, lonely life sounded like heaven right now. She looked down at the chain and wrapped her hand around it, giving it a tug. It was attached to the wall across from her and wasn’t budging.

“I’m not a dog to be tied up, and I’m not your prisoner.” It had been a day since he dragged her away from that worthless village filled with worthless people who wouldn’t even help a woman being kidnapped. The sun had risen, and she hadn’t slept more than a few hours, afraid of closing her eyes and not knowing what he’d do to her.

He hadn’t hurt her, but then again, he kept her chained up, forced water down her throat, and spoke in harsh grunts in a language she wasn’t familiar with. They couldn’t even communicate, or at least he pretended he couldn’t understand her, and she sure as hell couldn’t understand what those villagers said.

How was he supposed to have her comply with anything he wanted? He’d taken her, stored her away from the real world, and she had no clue how to get out of this.

He looked over at her but then walked away and left the hut. She sat up straighter, tried to peer out the door, but he came back all too soon carrying two fish strung up on a line. She wrinkled her nose at the strong scent. They were clearly fresh, but they certainly had that fish smell going on.

He kept his gaze locked on her as he moved over to the wooden, chipped, and scarred table pushed against the wall. He pulled it back so he could keep his eye on her, then started running a knife up the belly of the first fish.

He did the same with the second and ripped the insides out of the animals, tossing the remains into a wooden bucket.

She hadn’t spoken to him since, but he hadn’t said anything to her either. Maybe he preferred silence, but Agata wasn’t about to sit here and make this easy for him.

“I’m not going to be your wife. I’ll never give in to you willingly.”

He glanced up at her with just his eyes, his head still downcast and his hands shoved up the belly of the fish.

She straightened her shoulders. “I won’t be your konna.” She used the word he said to her, called her. It meant wife—that much she knew.

This language he spoke was similar to Norwegian, but it was its own dialect, confusing and thickly accented. She picked up on words here and there when he spoke to her, but other than that, she was in the dark.

“Do you understand me?”

He continued to stare at her as he worked on the fish.

“No. Konna.” She pointed to herself and shook her head. He stepped away from the table, went over to the basin of water he kept by the fire, and after a few moments of cleaning his hands off, he moved over to where she sat on the pallet. He was an intimidating man, and the sight of him easily put fear in her.

“Já.” He pointed to her. “Konna.”

The way he said it, telling her that she was his wife, was said with so much force, so much pure, unadulterated determination, that for a second—just a moment—she believed him. How could she feel any kind of lust for this man, this heathen?