Nena Page 5

  Jarl ignored them and ripped a strip of leather from her skirt, using the thong to bind her hands together behind her back. Misunderstanding his intentions, the men whistled in anticipation. After hoisting her to her feet, Jarl began to pull her in the direction of his horse. The two men looked confused, then openly disappointed as they realized, not only would there be no male bonding with their leader—worse, there would be no leftovers.

  “One of you fetch Tryggr’s dagger for him, and the other go find the healer and bring him here immediately,” Jarl ordered.

  “Yes-sir.” The two scurried to do as he commanded.

  After dragging her the short distance to the horse, Jarl grabbed the stallion’s reins and turned to pick her up. Before he could get a good grip, she bolted past him and kicked the horse in the girth, spooking it and sending it plunging away. Jarl swore out loud but managed to hold onto the reins and her arm as the animal dragged them both several paces. He heard Tryggr chuckle behind him. Jarl gave the horse the battle command to stand and turned back to face her, his jaw set with determination.

  After another brief tussle, he was able to lift her onto the saddle, but the conflict was far from over. Screaming in her native tongue, she rained kicks upon the animal, trying to get it to run again. Though the horse quivered under the onslaught, it remained steady this time. Infuriated, Jarl pulled her back down and used his body weight to force her to the ground. “If that’s how you want it,” he said through clenched teeth as he ripped another strip from her dress and bound her ankles. He hauled her to her feet once more. Satisfied that she was suitably restrained this time, he hoisted her thrashing body over his shoulder, then deposited her face down over the front of the saddle. He mounted behind her and turned back to Tryggr. “Will you be alright?” he asked.

  “I already told you. I’m fine. Besides, you seem to have your hands too full to be of any help to me anyway.” Tryggr grinned.

  Jarl spurred the stallion forward in the fading light—away from the burning village tents and out into the open grasslands.

  “WHO GOES THERE?” a man’s gruff voice challenged them in the Northman tongue from the darkness.

  “It’s Jarl.” The Northman holding her identified himself as he pulled the horse to a halt.

  “Yes sir.” The voice changed instantly from challenging to subservient.

  Even though it meant more Northmen, Nena was beyond grateful for the reprieve in the pace. Her head was swimming. She’d lost all feeling in her feet and lower legs. At a gallop, her unprotected abdomen had bounced mercilessly against the hard leather saddle, and her muscles burned from remaining tensed to protect her insides from the rough slamming. She struggled to get her bearings and clear her head.

  She’d regretted her second attempt to make the horse run almost immediately. Had it not been for that, she would have been sitting astride, hands still bound behind her, but not like this—head down, wedged between the front of the saddle and his hard thighs, with his repulsive meaty hand resting on the small of her back. But how could she have known he held some dark magic over the animal?

  She’d been able to see, by twisting her head from side to side, that they’d traveled south and east. Further from her mountain home and deeper into the Great Plains. Where was he taking her? As an offering to his leader? It would explain why he hadn’t forced himself upon her there in the village. She’d heard the screams of the other women who were not so fortunate. If that were the case, it would be a long night. Her fight would begin anew when they reached their destination. She needed to conserve what little strength she had left.

  The sentry whistled a low warble—a sound that was picked up and repeated multiple times from different locations, some near, some far. It was quiet enough to have been some type of strange night bird, had it not been so repetitive. Clearly it was a warning system, alerting other guards to their arrival. Nena tried to memorize it, wondering if she’d be able to duplicate it and what it actually meant. Were they signaling an all clear, or somehow referring to him specifically?

  Jarl had expected to feel her body go limp long before now. Her strength continued to surprise him. He was very aware of every inch of her body where it was pressed against him. Aware of every twitch of her muscles. Even though he knew she was secure, he still didn’t trust completely that she could not find some way to free herself. He’d underestimated her before and for that would always bear a mark. He glanced down at the dried blood on the back of his hand, clearly visible in the moonlight. The wound burned, but it was shallow and should heal well. He just needed to be sure to clean it thoroughly when he returned to his tent.

  His tent.

  Then what? His tent was no place to keep a prisoner. The idea that privacy was going to somehow make her any more willing was laughable, and it wasn’t like he needed another woman. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking, was the answer. Even now, the feel of her body pressed against the front of his thighs, the memory of her hair cascading around her shoulders and her sword whistling through the air, made his groin ache. Jarl pushed the stallion forward, keeping him to a walk now. He’d figure it out when he got there.

  With the new slower pace, the Northman’s big beast-hand remained on the small of her back, but now it was more resting there than holding her in place. Nena smelled smoke and food cooking. They were close to the Northmen’s camp. She had to stay alert and pay attention to every detail. She began counting the steps of the animal to know how far out the camp sentries were located for when she made her escape.

  Jarl reined in the stallion in front of his tent and nodded silently at the two guards stationed outside the doorway. Ignoring their raised eyebrows at his unusual package, he dismounted and cut the thong that bound her ankles before lowering her feet to the ground. She staggered and fell against the animal, grabbing onto the saddle to keep from collapsing. Jarl gave her only a brief moment to steady herself, then took her by one elbow and dragged her, stumbling behind him, through the tent opening. Her struggles were weaker now, but he knew that would change as soon as she regained the feeling and strength in her limbs—and he did not care to have a repeat performance of what had happened in the village, here in front of his guards. As the heavy hide flap fell silent behind them, Jarl watched her eyes quickly scan the interior. They widened slightly at the low platform and piles of furs that were his bed.

  Jarl also made a quick survey of the familiar items in his tent, trying to find something suitable to restrain her to. He hadn’t thought of anything appropriate on the ride, but had hoped seeing things would reveal something he had missed. It didn’t. His tent was not set up to hold a prisoner. Now what? He knew he should call the guards and have them take her to the prisoner compound; she was just a captive after all. There were a hundred more just like her. He glanced at her profile, partially obscured by her tousled dark hair. Well, maybe not just like her.

  The image of his men groping at this proud beauty, bound and unable to defend herself, flashed through his mind. Cursing under his breath, Jarl grabbed a short coil of heavy braided rawhide leather and began dragging her toward his furs. Her struggles increased in earnest now, first jerking away from him, then unexpectedly changing direction and slamming into him with her shoulder, trying to knock him off his feet. She almost succeeded. Using both of his arms, Jarl held her tightly against his chest while he continued toward the bed. She grunted and panted as she fought against his grip and kicked at his shins.

  The exertion, the violence of her struggles, and her closeness were exhilarating. He could feel every inch of her body straining against him. Traces of the exotic scented oils in her hair wafted up, teasing his nostrils. So caught up was he in the experience, Jarl almost changed his plan. No one would know. No one would care. And even if they did—no one would dare to interfere with him.

  He shook his head and pushed her face down onto the bed, then threw himself on top of her. Her scream of rage was muted in the thick furs. He loosened his grip slightl
y and waited for her to react. It only took a split second. She pushed up with her whole body, arching her back, trying to turn to face him. Jarl pulled at the same time. Using her momentum, he rolled her in a complete revolution, trapping her legs inside a wrap of heavy deer hide. He sat up, straddling her, then removed his hands to test the results. With her legs and lower body ensnared within the fur, and her hands still tied behind her back, he was able to keep her pinned face down with just his legs and the weight of his body.

  Finally able to use his hands for something other than her restraint, he formed two new stronger bindings from the coiled rawhide leather and attached one to each of her wrists. He paused and took a deep breath before cutting the original leather thong. He let go of one of her arms. She squirmed beneath him, using the arm he had released for leverage to twist her body around until she was face up. Her freed hand lashed out to claw his face. Jarl ducked sideways, grabbed it, and tied her wrists together, in front of her this time.

  He jumped from the bed platform, dragging her behind him toward the heavy center tent support pole. Her legs were still tangled in the fur, and it took a few seconds for her to kick herself free. That was all the time he needed. Reaching up with one hand, he took the lamp down from its hook on the pole and set it on the floor. As she staggered to her feet, he yanked her arms up over her head and secured the new bindings to the iron loop where the lamp had been.

  “There. That should keep you for a while,” he said as he grabbed the lamp and stepped back away from her. She jerked against the bonds several times, then stood motionless, breathing hard, looking at him with hate-filled eyes. Safely out of her reach, Jarl stopped to admire her while he caught his breath.

  With her arms over her head, her breasts pressed against the thin soft leather of the front of her dress. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like a wild beast—a beautiful wild beast with vicious eyes. Her only adornment was a gold arm band clasped above her left elbow below her tattoos. Jarl felt the tightness in his groin growing. Dor women affected him so much more than the fair-colored women of his lands in the North—more than any other women he’d encountered anywhere on his travels, and this one….

  “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice hoarse from earlier battle cries and now the added thickness of desire. She said nothing. He doubted she understood him, but he didn’t speak Dor. He looked back to his furs. He could not believe the power of the temptation, even still, to cut her down and drag her back to them. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, turned on his heel, and went to the tent flap.

  “Bring Altene,” he commanded one of his guards. “And tell her to hurry.”

  The guard nodded and raced away. Jarl dropped the flap, filled an oxhorn cup with wine and drained it before unlacing his leather armor. He shrugged the armor over his head into a pile on the floor in the corner, then poured himself another cup. He drained it, too. Dammit, what was taking her so long? He’d no sooner thought the words when the tent flap lifted and a lithe Dor woman entered. She had the same bronze skin, the same almond eyes and high cheekbones as his captive, but the similarities ended there. Altene’s hair was neatly braided in multiple small braids, and her dress was made from a sheer pale blue gauzy material that swirled around her, accentuating her feminine curves. The biggest difference in the two women, though, by far, was that Altene’s eyes were warm and inviting.

  She smiled at him and began to undo the dress clasp behind her neck when she spied the other woman bound to the pole. She hesitated, confused, and bowed her head. “Apologies, my lord. I came as soon as I was summoned. Am I too late? Have you chosen another?” she asked.

  “No.” Jarl covered the distance between them in two strides and pulled the clasp from her fingers. Without waiting for her dress to hit the floor, he scooped her up and carried her to the furs, tossing her to the place where he had wrestled with his captive only moments before. Altene giggled with relief as Jarl stripped out of his bloodied tunic and trousers and joined her. He pulled her head back by her braids and nuzzled her neck, then bit her ear before he turned her away and grabbed her by her hips. Altene moaned with pleasure as he drove deep inside her with one solid thrust.

  Nena had been thrilled to see the other Dor woman arrive. She identified her by the olive branch tattoo on her upper arm as Klarta tribe. That was disappointing; Klarta were known to be a weaker tribe, but at least she was Dor. As such, she must also be a prisoner, and her hands were not bound. Even a Klarta should be able to find some weapon, kill him when he was distracted, then free them both. Nena’s thrill turned to shock and disgust as they brushed by her on their way to the bed.

  Surely they weren’t going to…not with her right there—like two animals in rut. How could a Dor woman, even a Klarta, willingly lay with a Northern dog? She couldn’t, was the only logical answer. It had to be a ruse. This new woman had no weapon other than her teeth and was simply luring him into a false sense of security until opportunity presented itself. Perhaps she intended to bite out his throat. Yes, that had to be it. Any moment Nena would hear his scream of agony and see his lifeblood staining the furs.

  She watched with renewed interest, until it became clear that no such thing was going to happen. The woman had missed multiple opportunities and worse, had even allowed herself to be turned away from him on all fours. As the Northman mounted her from behind, like a stallion would breed a mare, Nena squeezed her eyes closed. She could not watch this—not watch their two bodies grinding against each other. If only she could close her ears as well.

  Only when Jarl lay spent beside her did Altene look up at her rival. She draped an arm possessively over his shoulder.

  “May I examine your prize, my lord?” she asked him.

  Jarl nodded and raised himself to one elbow as Altene slipped naked from the furs and approached his prisoner. As they stood side by side, he could see, though they shared the Dor coloring he found so attractive, Altene was a little shorter, a little softer and a little fuller. He watched as she walked around his prisoner. The hardness of the captive woman’s body was nothing compared to the hardness in her eyes as Altene circled her.

  “Ask her her name,” he instructed Altene from the furs.

  “I could, my lord, but you could just as well. She understands your language as I do,” Altene responded.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve already asked her.”

  “A Dor trick, my lord. That way they cannot be expected to talk if they are captured. But I assure you, as a warrior, especially a Teclan warrior, she understands your language and many others.”

  “Teclan? No.” Jarl shook his head. “This was a plains tribe.”

  “I have not seen the other prisoners yet to know about them, but this one is definitely Teclan,” Altene reaffirmed.

  “How can you be sure? Do you know her?” Jarl asked.

  Altene sniffed. “No, but I know of her. See these marks?” Altene pointed to the small black tattoos on Nena’s upper arm. “This star indicates she is Teclan. The plains tribes bear different symbols depending on what area they are from: a wheat ear, a bison, a hawk.”

  “But the Teclan stronghold is in the mountains, many miles from here. We intentionally skirted their lands to avoid them. Though that would explain the casualties,” Jarl surmised out loud. He paused, digesting the new information. “They are enemies of your Klarta tribe, are they not?” he asked.

  “We’ve had our disagreements with the Teclan,” Altene admitted.

  “What else do her tattoos say?”

  Altene pointed to another symbol on Nena’s arm below the star. “This lightning bolt tells that she’s the daughter of Meln, Chief of the Teclan tribe.”

  “Meln? Are you certain?” Jarl asked.

  Altene nodded.

  He exhaled. “And a princess, then.” Jarl looked back at Nena.

  “Of sorts,” Altene agreed, clearly unhappy with the new tone in his voice. “She’ll command a very high ransom.”

  Jarl nodded abse
ntly.

  “I can tell you anything else about them that you want to know,” she offered, trying to pull his attention back to her.

  “Traitorous Klarta bitch,” Nena seethed between her clenched teeth.

  Altene’s laughter filled the tent. “You see. She understands us plain.”

  “I understand a traitor who lies with dogs,” Nena spat, “But I should expect no more from a Klarta.”

  Altene’s fingers traced the gold bracelet on Nena’s arm. “May I have her bracelet, my lord?”

  “Maybe later,” Jarl dismissed her request.

  Altene was quick to hide her disappointment. “My lord asked your name. What is it?”

  “He’s no lord of mine, whore.”

  Altene smiled again. Unmoved by Nena’s insults, she continued her examination, reading the other tattoos that circled Nena’s upper arms. “Tsk, tsk. What is this?” She reached out to touch a small tattoo in the outline of a circle. That drew the first physical response from his captive who had stood unmoving throughout the inspection so far. She jerked her arm away from Altene and pulled again at her restraints. “Shall I tell him what that means?” Altene purred wickedly.

  Nena did not respond, regaining her stillness and her silence.

  “She is a virgin still, my lord. Unknown by any man. When a Dor woman takes her first man, this circle is filled in. You see,” she displayed her own upper arm, “as mine is.”

  “Lucky for you the circle is not enlarged for every man you take or your body would be blackened,” Nena hissed.

  A virgin princess. Jarl sat stunned by this most recent turn of events and suspected that had Tryggr and the other two men known that fact, they might have fought a little harder, perhaps even be fighting still.

  “Shall we have her together, my lord? Introduce her to the world of great pleasures? You and I sharing her first long moan together.” Altene’s eyes gleamed at the prospect, but Nena sensed the woman’s insecurity, and knew her offer was not motivated by the desire she suggested. The Klarta woman was afraid; she did not want this lord of the Northmen pleasuring himself with another. Not that she had to worry about that, Nena thought with disdain. If he kept her bound, he would be able to force her, but she would make sure his pleasure was minimal—and unlike the Klarta woman, she wouldn’t hesitate to bite out his throat.