Read Online Captured by Vikings (An MMF Bisexual Threesome) by Roxie Noir - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roxie Noir
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Padraig and I were having out their differences,” Duncan said. “Only person to survive when I attacked some of his lands. Nearly cut her down myself, but she was pretty even as a child.”
Alva tried not to listen. She remembered that day all too well: the terror, the screams of her parents after they had hidden her in their cellar, the only place in her tiny village that hadn’t burned to the ground.
“Maybe if she whelps, they’ll come out green eyed, too,” the man said, half-thoughtful and half drunk.
Whelp , thought Alva, in a rage. I’m not a dog, you piece of shit .
She didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she took away the dirty dishes from the table, her arms loaded high with the wooden and pewter trenchers before retreating back into the kitchen.
Still, she heard Duncan guffaw, an ugly sound that she knew all too well.
“Not for a couple of years,” Duncan said. “She’s ripe, but a baby will spoil all that.”
There was a murmur of assent around the table.
Just as well , Alva thought. I’d murder any children I had by you .
She dumped her armful of dishes into the basin and rolled up her sleeves, preparing to scrub down Lord Duncan’s dinner dishes. She thought every day about poisoning his food, but she was afraid that it wouldn’t take. Then he’d still be alive, probably figure it out, and torture her until she died.
It wasn’t how Alva wanted to go.
As she dipped the first trencher into the basin full of water, she heard the loud, hollow sound of the big doors to the hall slam open. Alva frowned — who the hell was just getting in now, after dark, like this?
Then, suddenly, all the raucous noise from the hall went quiet. Alva’s back straightened, and suddenly, she found herself straining her ears to hear what was going on.
Her heart sank. It couldn’t be anything good — not if everyone had gone quiet. She dried her hands on her skirts and walked quietly to the kitchen door, hoping to stay unnoticed.
Someone was still standing in the massive doorway, and Alva thought she recognized him as one of the guards on the grounds. He was breathing hard, gasping for breath, his sword drawn and in one hand. Past him, outside, it was raining lightly, and the cold, wet air was blowing in behind him.
No one seemed to notice — they all stared at him, goggle-eyed and wide-mouthed.
“They’re here,” he said, between deep gasps. “The others are fighting them off—“
Then the young man’s face froze, just for an instant, and he pitched forward, hitting the stone floor face-first.
In his back was a single arrow. For a split second, no one in the big room moved, and Alva felt rooted to the spot.
This can’t be happening again , she thought. I can’t live through another ransacking, even if this one is by different people.
Then all the men came unfrozen with a roar. Swords scraped out of their scabbards, benches fell over backward as men sprang up, tankards got knocked over and beer sloshed everywhere, but no one cared.
“Those mongrels will never take me!” Lord Duncan roared, pulling his out broadsword out and holding it high above his head.
It was the first time Alva had ever appreciated him.
A huge roar went through the hall, and for a moment, standing in the kitchen door, Alva felt her heart swell. Surely, these men would defend their home and their families, fight off the vikings outside, and she wouldn’t live through another sacking.
Just as she began to feel hope, they swarmed in through the big doors.
They looked like beasts to Alva, wearing fur and leather, faces painted, swords flashing, strange, unearthly cries erupting from them. In moments they’d decimated the first wave of Duncan’s men, and that was enough for Alva.
She darted back into the kitchens in sheer terror. Her hands shook as she grabbed a kitchen knife — the biggest one she could find — and then hid herself in the pantry. All she could think was not again, not again , as she huddled in
Alva tried not to listen. She remembered that day all too well: the terror, the screams of her parents after they had hidden her in their cellar, the only place in her tiny village that hadn’t burned to the ground.
“Maybe if she whelps, they’ll come out green eyed, too,” the man said, half-thoughtful and half drunk.
Whelp , thought Alva, in a rage. I’m not a dog, you piece of shit .
She didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she took away the dirty dishes from the table, her arms loaded high with the wooden and pewter trenchers before retreating back into the kitchen.
Still, she heard Duncan guffaw, an ugly sound that she knew all too well.
“Not for a couple of years,” Duncan said. “She’s ripe, but a baby will spoil all that.”
There was a murmur of assent around the table.
Just as well , Alva thought. I’d murder any children I had by you .
She dumped her armful of dishes into the basin and rolled up her sleeves, preparing to scrub down Lord Duncan’s dinner dishes. She thought every day about poisoning his food, but she was afraid that it wouldn’t take. Then he’d still be alive, probably figure it out, and torture her until she died.
It wasn’t how Alva wanted to go.
As she dipped the first trencher into the basin full of water, she heard the loud, hollow sound of the big doors to the hall slam open. Alva frowned — who the hell was just getting in now, after dark, like this?
Then, suddenly, all the raucous noise from the hall went quiet. Alva’s back straightened, and suddenly, she found herself straining her ears to hear what was going on.
Her heart sank. It couldn’t be anything good — not if everyone had gone quiet. She dried her hands on her skirts and walked quietly to the kitchen door, hoping to stay unnoticed.
Someone was still standing in the massive doorway, and Alva thought she recognized him as one of the guards on the grounds. He was breathing hard, gasping for breath, his sword drawn and in one hand. Past him, outside, it was raining lightly, and the cold, wet air was blowing in behind him.
No one seemed to notice — they all stared at him, goggle-eyed and wide-mouthed.
“They’re here,” he said, between deep gasps. “The others are fighting them off—“
Then the young man’s face froze, just for an instant, and he pitched forward, hitting the stone floor face-first.
In his back was a single arrow. For a split second, no one in the big room moved, and Alva felt rooted to the spot.
This can’t be happening again , she thought. I can’t live through another ransacking, even if this one is by different people.
Then all the men came unfrozen with a roar. Swords scraped out of their scabbards, benches fell over backward as men sprang up, tankards got knocked over and beer sloshed everywhere, but no one cared.
“Those mongrels will never take me!” Lord Duncan roared, pulling his out broadsword out and holding it high above his head.
It was the first time Alva had ever appreciated him.
A huge roar went through the hall, and for a moment, standing in the kitchen door, Alva felt her heart swell. Surely, these men would defend their home and their families, fight off the vikings outside, and she wouldn’t live through another sacking.
Just as she began to feel hope, they swarmed in through the big doors.
They looked like beasts to Alva, wearing fur and leather, faces painted, swords flashing, strange, unearthly cries erupting from them. In moments they’d decimated the first wave of Duncan’s men, and that was enough for Alva.
She darted back into the kitchens in sheer terror. Her hands shook as she grabbed a kitchen knife — the biggest one she could find — and then hid herself in the pantry. All she could think was not again, not again , as she huddled in
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