Claimed By A Viking Read online

  “I don’t know,” Ragnar said, looking at the boy.

  “We cannot take him,” his father said.

  “Why not? It will make her sad,” Ragnar said, looking at the girl’s face.

  Her big blue eyes darted between Ragnar and his father as she squeezed the boy’s hand so hard it looked like he would cry.

  “Separate these two slaves,” Ragnar’s father said to one of the vikings.

  The viking grumbled as he walked over, but did not argue with Ragnar’s father. Even though he was not a viking, Ragnar’s father commanded great respect within their village, for his great wisdom in town meetings and close relationships with their Earl.

  The boy began to scream and cry as the viking pulled them apart, and the girl began to kick at the viking who held the boy out of her reach. Ragnar tried to take the girl’s hand but she swung an open hand, slapping him hard in his face. The surprise sent him reeling backwards, and caused his father to laugh his great booming laugh. Ragnar the Elder picked the girl up under his arm, pinning her arms between his arm and his body, preventing her from scratching and pinching.

  “Take this ring from my arm and run it over to Erik,” Ragnar’s father said.

  Erik was the man who took charge of the raid, and would therefore accept all profits to present to the Earl. Ragnar ran over to Erik and presented the arm ring.

  “This is for the slave girl my father has taken,” Ragnar said.

  “Agh, this isn’t worth a slave’s left leg,” he said, looking at Ragnar, and then to his father. “Tell your father I want a good barrel of ale come harvest,” Erik finally said.

  “Yes, Erik,” Ragnar said, before running back to his father.

  Ragnar turned and ran back to his father, “Erik wants a barrel of ale when we harvest, as well,” he said once he reached his father.

  “Is that all? He’s letting me off cheap,” Ragnar’s father laughed.

  Most people would stay and drink and be festive to celebrate the return of the vikings, but Ragnar and his father went back to their farm with the new slave girl. When they arrived home, Ragnar’s father put the girl down, and gently guided her into the hut.

  “She’s such a pretty young lady! And look at her clothes, they are made of such fine wool,” Ragnar’s mother said, gushing over the slave girl’s appearance. “But she needs a good bath and her clothes must be washed. Leave and give us privacy,” Ragnar’s mother pushed the pair out of the cottage, sending them to work in the field.

  That night, as they sat around the fire, they discussed what the slave girl should be called.

  “Hilda,” Elder Ragnar said.

  “Why Hilda?” His mother asked.

  “Because Hilda means fighter, and she’s a fighter. She wanted to protect a boy down by the beach. She gave young Ragnar a good slap. I’d wager my money on her in a fight,” he said laughing as he poked young Ragnar in the ribs.

  “I like Hilda,” Ragnar ignored the teasing from his father.

  “Very well,” Ragnar’s mother said, “Hilda it is.”

  Over time, Ragnar learned English from Hilda, and Hilda learned Norse from Ragnar and his family. Hilda became more a part of the family than she did a slave. There were days when she refused to work in the fields, and neither Elder Ragnar nor Ragnar’s mother would force her to work or punish her for not working. The truth was, they were enchanted by the young girl, who had been taken from her father in the middle of the night and put on a boat to be sold as a slave.

  Eight years earlier

  Ragnar bartered with a battle-hardened man, trying to trade farming equipment that his father no longer needed, in exchange for an axe. He was fourteen years old and had outgrown the axe he had trained with since a young boy.

  “Don’t make that trade” Hilda whispered in Ragnar’s ear.

  In the two years that Ragnar had known Hilda, he had learned that she was smart; far smarter than he was. Despite his family owning her, he could not help but listen to her advice and even, at times, take orders from her.

  “You would let a slave girl speak to you like that? I would beat her,” The man said.

  Hilda’s face went red, as she looked from Ragnar, her eyes averting to the ground.

  “She’s right, you intend to trick me into a bad trade. I should beat you instead,” Ragnar said, stepping in front of Hilda and sizing up the fully-grown man.

  Ragnar was not yet the size of a man, but he was the biggest boy under the age of eighteen in the village. He, like his father, would grow into a huge man. And everyone could see it. Because of this, he was treated with great respect from all who knew him; especially because he loved to fight.

  “This is how you do business, boy,” the man said, looking at Ragnar with his arms folded across his chest.

  “I don’t do business. I do fighting,” Ragnar said, looking at the man.

  This caused the man to laugh, “Very well young Ragnar. I will give you this axe for the plow and sickle.

  Ragnar looked at Hilda, hoping to judge her expression, but she was still red faced and looking away from the two men. He prodded her arm, hoping for guidance, but she ignored him.

  “Very well, give me the axe,” Ragnar said, as he threw the two pieces of farming equipment onto the ground, while still holding onto another three pieces of equipment that the man had originally asked for.

  The man handed the axe to Ragnar, and the pair did a warrior’s handshake, before parting ways. Hilda followed Ragnar up the path that wound through the mountains and led to his parents’ cottage, nestled amongst the fields, overlooking the town.

  Ragnar did not notice Hilda’s bad mood, for he was too interested in admiring the axe that he had gotten in the trade. He ran his fingers along the blunt edge.

  “I will need to sharpen this at home,” Ragnar said.

  “Of course that’s what you’re thinking of,” Hilda said, stomping ahead of him.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Ragnar said, trying to catch up, but the tools he carried fell out of his arms.

  Hilda turned around with a roll of her eyes, as she snatched two pieces of equipment from Ragnar’s arms, without saying a word.

  “It was a good trade?” Ragnar asked, confused.

  “I don’t care your stupid axe,” Hilda said in her broken English.

  “Hilda tell me what’s wrong right now,” Ragnar ordered.

  “Why? Because I’m your slave? Or else? You beat me?” Hilda said, her voice rising with each question as, before she turned and stormed ahead of him.

  This time, Ragnar managed to keep up, carrying only the axe and one piece of farming equipment. He tried to run ahead and stand in front of her, but she walked around him, huffing at having to gingerly walk through the dense forest that was off the well-worn path.

  “Hilda, you know I would never do that,” Ragnar said, following her again.

  “I am just slave, why do you care?” Hilda said.

  “You’re not just my slave,” Ragnar said.

  “Then what am I?” She asked, finally turning around. The fire in her eyes caused his breath to catch in his throat, as he looked at the girl that had been taken from distant lands, the girl who refused to speak of her past or tell him her native name. The only thing he knew of her past life was her god. Jesus, she called him. A man who once walked the earth and could perform miracles and encouraged love and not war. Ragnar thought he was a boring god, a weak god, not like Odin or Thor or even Loki, the trickster god.

  “I don’t know,” Ragnar said, confused from his emotions. He knew he did not see her as a slave, but he knew he did not see her as a friend, either. It was closer than that. He didn’t like her the same way that he liked the other boys and girls from the village.

  “I am slave, Ragnar,” Hilda said, turning around again.

  “Well I will free you,” Ragnar said.

  “And where do I go? How I get home? I will never be free in this land. I love your family but I am not your family. I am slave, and I
will always be slave on your land,” Hilda said.

  “When I am old enough to go raiding, I will take you with me. I will take you home and free you,” Ragnar said.

  “Your parents will never let me,” Hilda said, though with less anger.

  “I would come home rich with enough gold for them to pay servants until they made it to Valhalla,” Ragnar said.

  “That is nice thought, but there is no Valhalla. There is only heaven and one god,” Hilda said.

  “Do you want me to take you with me or not?” Ragnar asked.

  “Yes,” Hilda said more quietly, her eyes softening as she looked at him.

  “Would you still speak to me if I freed you?” Ragnar asked.

  “Of course,” Hilda said, her smile transforming her face, all the way up to her eyes.

  “Sometimes I wonder if you secretly hate me, but you hide it because you are my slave,” Ragnar said, uncertainly.

  “Ragnar, I could never hate you. I am grateful every day for when you choose me on the beach,” Hilda said, looking at him.

  “I will free you when I’m old enough to take you with me,” Ragnar said, looking into her eyes with a fierce finality that told her there was no way he would ever betray his promise to her.

  And she trusted him. She believed him when he made a promise, for a man without his word was not a man at all.

  1

  Rose

  Current day

  Hilda meant ‘the fighter’ in Norse language, but she knew in her heart that she was not a fighter; she was just trying to protect a boy who was stuck in the same terrible situation as her. A boy who was taken from his family by strange men from a strange land, only to be sold as a slave, who would spend the rest of his life in the fields or fighting wars that he did not believe in. Hilda refused to think of herself as Rose. As the free girl, as the girl who had a family who loved her, as the girl who would have grown up to continue in the same business that her father had. Hilda knew she had to leave Rose behind and become Hilda the Fighter, if she were going to survive in the Northern land.

  Hilda was one of the lucky ones, for she was bought by Ragnar’s family, and as far as treatment of slaves, she was never once mistreated. They treated her with love and kindness; she was sure that they recognised the sad fact that she was just a girl who had been ripped from her home in England.

  Now, the small village of Fyrkat had been invaded by raiding vikings from a neighbouring country, men who spoke a different language to that which she had spent the last ten years learning. At twenty-one years old, she had resigned herself from the idea of ever going back to England. Ragnar had left and he never returned. He would never return. She could see that now. He broke his promise to her. He left without her and for that she would never forgive him.

  He lied to her. He promised her that he would take her with him, but he didn’t. He got on that boat when he was nineteen years old and she was just seventeen. For four years, he had not come home. Stories made their way back to Fyrkat of their success in England, and Hilda could only imagine the terror and sadness that Ragnar and his fellow vikings were causing to innocent people in her home country. She often wondered why her god allowed this to happen.

  And now, for the second time in her life, Hilda watched as the men slowly made their way through the town and towards the farms that sat atop the hill.

  “Shouldn’t we flee?” She asked Elder Ragnar. His wife had died two years ago, after falling ill. Hilda hoped that younger Ragnar did not know, for if he had, despite his selfishness, she was sure he would have come home. If he did know, and he didn’t come, then she knew that war and death had made him a cold man.

  “I want you to run. I will try and stop them,” Elder Ragnar said, his voice telling that he was resigned to the fact he would soon be fighting for their lives.

  “I won’t leave,” Hilda said.

  “You must,” he told her.

  “No,” Hilda repeated.

  “Leave,” he boomed, causing the walls to shake.

  Despite the shock from his loud voice, she did not move. Instead stood her ground, and took a scythe that hung on the wall, which they used in harvest season.

  “Are you stupid, Hilda? They are trained warriors,” Elder Ragnar growled.

  “They will catch me if I flee. We are safer together. Besides, you named me Hilda the Fighter, after all,” She said, her jaw set.

  “Do not let them know you are English,” he said to her, before turning to face the men approaching the cottage.

  The men came, and Hilda quickly figured that Ragnar could not stop all of them. He swung his rusted sword at them, taking down one of the slower men. In return, he received a sword in the gut, bringing him to his knees.

  Hilda was disarmed before she could do any harm to any of the remaining men. The image of Elder Ragnar lying on the ground stayed in her mind as she watched Fyrkat fade into the distance that night, huddled amongst the other captives in the vikings’ raiding boat.

  This is your fault, Ragnar Ragnarsson. You should have been here. You should have been there to help me and your father.

  Hilda cried silently as she sat against the side of the boat, huddled with other slaves for the second time in her life. She thought of her god, who she was sure had abandoned her again. When she was younger, she had so much faith in Jesus, the holy man who had once walked the earth with man and woman. But now? She wasn’t so sure.

  She felt she had abandoned her god, just as he had abandoned her, when she had decided to bury that side of her when she lost her freedom. She had abandoned Rose, the young girl full of hope and faith.

  When night came, and the temperature dropped, goose bumps broke out over Hilda’s skin. The light breeze that danced across the water brought with it a chill that relentlessly found its way into her bones, without any blankets to shield herself. She thought of the woollen blankets her mother had knitted, and the giant bags of wool her father would sell. She thought back to the nights when she and her brother Jack would sit in the bags of wool, hiding from their mother and father, feeling safe and protected from the harsh world.

  Hilda began to fall in and out of a restless sleep, waking in fits, only to remember that she was on the cold boat filled with strangers and vikings. The light breeze had turned into a strong gale, causing the boat to rock from side to side and icy water to splash over the edges, which stung her skin and soaked her hair and clothes. She instinctively huddled in closer to the person next to her, another girl who looked to be about the same age.

  They held each other through the storm, clinging equally as hard to the boat, lest they were thrown into the dark brutal waves. At one point during the storm, Hilda was sure she saw a small body fly from the boat when it came down from a particularly big wave, but she did not know if it was the lack of sleep causing her to see things. She began to pray again, but this time, her prayers were simply for god to take them to dry land.

  Before daylight broke, she felt the unmistakeable feeling of the boat being forced onto dry land.

  “Off the boat,” one of the men said to Hilda and the rest of the slaves. The land was baron and rocky. There were no people, no signs of smoke from fire; no signs of life at all.

  “We will be staying here and making repairs to the boats. You will all stay right here on the beach and if anyone moves, they will be killed,” one man with a huge blond dreadlocked beard told them.

  Hilda had not released her grip on her new companion’s hand. Now that it was daylight, Hilda could see that she had dark hair and kind brown eyes.

  “I’m Hilda,” she squeezed the girl’s hand, bringing her out of a distant gaze.

  “Oh. I’m Brenna,” the girl said. Her face was tired and her shoulders were slouched down.

  “Your family?” Hilda asked.

  “Dead,” Brenna responded, quietly.

  “I’m sorry,” Hilda said.

  “Yours?” Brenna asked, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “I’m not sure.
Dead, I suppose,” Hilda said, not knowing of her English family’s whereabouts, Young Ragnar’s life or Elder Ragnar’s life.

  They ended up stranded on the empty beach for almost a week, as they waited for boats from their convoy to find them and assist with reparations. They had broken many oars in the storm, which required men to fell trees and carve out new ores from fresh wood.

  Hilda could sense that Brenna was likely a quiet and shy girl even when her family was alive. She stayed close to Hilda at all times of the day and slept next to her at night. The pair of them watched the stars and wondered when they would be separated by the vikings and sold off to their new owners.