Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

“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