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“Be still woman and no harm will befall you.” Rolf loosened
his hold, but instantly tightened his grip when, with another string of abuse
from her tongue, she tried to escape. There would be no escape for her—he fully
intended to keep this prize as his own.
His men now laughed and cheered, their words abusive, as
befitted a victorious warrior. “Let us now take the other women,” one cried, waving
his sword above his head, while Rolf thanked his gods that his men dared not
make a move without his consent.
When Rolf pressed his mouth against Brigid's ear, she
squirmed away, but relentlessly he held her fast. “Tell your womenfolk to come
out willingly and no harm will come to them this night,” he said, taking the
opportunity to taste her skin before she pulled away, twisting her neck aside.
Her scent filled his nostrils. She smelled of bracken, lavender, but mostly female.
His body reacted instantly, and she froze like a wild animal that knew it was
in the sights of its hunter.
“You think they will believe that any more than I do?” she
hissed, a tremble in her voice. “They have probably already taken their own
lives.”
“And the lives of their children?” Rolf knew very well that Celtic
women valued the lives of their children as much as any Norse mother did.
Perhaps the virgins might be tempted to end their lives rather than submit to
his Norse warriors, but he doubted a mother would leave her children
undefended.
When he moved his arms until one hand rested beneath the
soft swell of her breast, she spat another Celtic word at him. Rolf swallowed
hard and closed his eyes at the rush of sensation surging through his blood. In
all his life no woman had ever caused such a reaction. Usually he took what the
willing females of his clan offered and shared the spoils of victory with his
men.
But this was different. This woman would be shared with no
man—he would kill them before they set a hand on her. He wanted this woman to
succumb willingly. If it took him until his dying breath, he would make her his
own.
When she kicked at the front of his lower leg, it caught him
so off guard that he almost toppled sideways, but he held her fast and at the
last moment righted himself. “Do that again and I will show you no mercy,” he
lied.
“I will fight you to my last breath.” With that fervent vow,
she twisted away from him and scratched at his arms. His clothing protected him
from her nails, the sturdy fabric of his over shirt covering him to his wrists.
Doubtless, the chains of his armour were hurting her tender skin, and his sword
would also be pressing into her side.
Relaxing his hold, while still ensuring she could not escape,
Rolf whispered, “Why fight?” His men were now shifting restlessly, while brandishing
their weapons and mumbling curses, and Rolf knew he must do something—and
quickly. “Accept your fate. Tell your clanswomen to come out peaceably and none
will be harmed this night. We have no reason to fight you or harm your
children.”
She made a small sound of derision before muttering, “You
have already harmed us by taking away my father and our brothers and kin.” The
forlorn note in her voice made him want to console her.
But even if he wanted to, Rolf knew that he must not show this
woman tenderness in front of his fighting men. “We are men; it is our way to
fight. Your men knew this fact also and fought valiantly. And be warned, my men
will take what is rightfully theirs if you do not order your women to come out
now. I am sure none wish to die, and you will find that Norsemen are not
wicked.” Some were, but he was not about to admit to that. The other Celtic women
must take what was their fate and make the best of it.
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