Avila woke to sunlight streaming in through the tent's walls amidst the sounds of the stirring camp. The sleeping man behind her shifted, nestling his bearded face into her neck. Suddenly, she was very aware of his hard shaft pressing against her buttocks. She desperately wanted to get away from her captor's threatening rod, but she dared not move for fear that she would wake him. He might still be capable of terrifying her in his sleep, but at least he could not actually hurt her. Or so she hoped.
In this moment of relative calm, Avila began to take stock of her situation. Thorlaf had his own tent, albeit a small one, and that must mean he was a man of considerable status. Although she knew little of the quality of weapons, she thought his gear to be in good repair. But perhaps most telling of all was his willingness to lie to his captain. Last night, Thorlaf had smeared her with his own blood to convince his leader she was not a maiden, and he still had not taken her, leaving his deception vulnerable to discovery. Surely even for a man of some standing that was quite a risk to take for the sake of an insignificant captive such as herself. Then again, if he had no qualms about deceiving his kinsman, what else had he lied about?
Come to think of it, he had hardly told her anything at all.
A high, woody horn blast rang out across the camp, and Thorlaf jerked awake. "Damn!" he snapped, sitting up sharply and throwing back the furs. "It seems I sleep a little too soundly with you in my arms."
"Then perhaps tonight you could lend me a blanket so that we may sleep apart."
No sooner had she uttered the words than Thorlaf was on top of her, pinning her to the ground beneath his mighty frame. "I think you'll find sharing a bed has other benefits," he murmured, his lips scarcely a hair's breadth from hers. Slowly he pressed his mouth down, coaxing hers open with a warm, buttery kiss. His manhood was rock hard against the softness of her belly, and Avila was shocked to find herself wondering what something so large would feel like inside her.
With an effort, Thorlaf pulled himself away from her delicate body and started to don his outer garments. Avila looked up at him, taking in the first clear look she'd had at him in daylight. He had thick, golden brown hair, the upper half of which was pulled back into a rough braid. Dark hazel eyes were set below straight, dense brows. His nose was slender, with a slight hook at the top, and a full, shortly trimmed beard surrounded his soft pink lips.
Thorlaf smirked at her, and Avila realized he had caught her staring. She blushed and looked down, still somewhat surprised at the allure of his features. Last night, while he threatened and abducted her in the dark, she had never imagined this villain to be so handsome.
Finished dressing, Thorlaf gestured at her to get off the bedroll. As she moved aside and he began rolling up the blankets, she remembered her ruined skirt, now exposed to the light, and the color rose once more in her cheeks.
"Thorlaf," she entreated, "do you have a needle and thread I could use? I need to mend my dress."
He grinned at her, as if seeing his handiwork for the first time. "I think you look lovely as you are, but there's a sewing kit in there if you wish." He pointed to a leather sack in the corner. "Be quick about it. We break camp within the hour."
It didn't take Avila long to find the little pouch with bone needles and a skein of thread, and she immediately set to sewing while he continued packing up in silence. A couple minutes later, Thorlaf grabbed the larger bags and ducked out of the tent.
As soon as he was gone, she felt a wave of relief wash over her and the tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding for the past few hours simply snapped. She hadn't been alone for a second since the raid, and now that she finally had a moment to herself the tears poured onto her skirt like a summer storm. "I'll see you again," Inga had said. Avila still hadn't given up hope that her words were true, but she had never spent a day of her life without her sister, and now the anxiety of not knowing when they'd be reunited was too much to bear. How long would little Anso be able to survive hiding in the forest before they could find shelter? Avila thanked every god she could think of that she did not yet have children of her own to worry about. Had her beloved friend Ermendrud escaped unscathed, or had she been raped by the warriors and cast aside? And what of her brother? Or Anso's father? Had they been killed in the fighting? She cursed herself for shutting her eyes at the last chance to see her hometown: any information, even seeing her loved ones mortally wounded, must be better than knowing nothing at all.
Thorlaf reentered the tent with a bowl of porridge, and Avila hurriedly tried to wipe away her tears. "Breakfast," he announced matter-of-factly. Then, seeing her reddened, watery eyes, he said "Don't be afraid, little wildcat. I have no intention of hurting you as long as you don't attack me again."
"Tis not myself I grieve for," she said, resignedly accepting the porridge.
Thorlaf was quiet for a while. Apparently, it had not occurred to the ignorant bastard that she had friends and family in the village he had just attacked. Finally, he said, "We showed little mercy to the men who resisted us, but your mother is probably unharmed."
Avila let out a short, humorless laugh. "She died seven years ago."
"I'm sorry."
She gave no response. If he expected her to be charmed by his platitudes, he was sorely mistaken. She finished her breakfast and returned to sewing while he took down the tent around her.
