Claimed By A Viking Read online

  On the seventh day, the boats were finally ready to commence their voyage. After another two days of travel, they made it to a large town, where the docks were bustling and people were busy talking, laughing, arguing, trading, and drinking. Hilda and Brenna were led to a large cage inside a quiet building, along with the rest of the soon-to-be slaves.

  “What are we doing here?” Hilda asked the man locking the gates.

  “You will stay here until the Market day, where you will be sold,” The man said, looking Hilda up and down as he spoke.

  Even at twenty one years old, Hilda had not yet experienced men openly showing their attraction towards her, for her life had been so sheltered living on the farm set on the outskirts of Fyrkat, where she was protected by Elder and Younger Ragnar. Even when she went into the village to help Elder Ragnar and his wife, when she was alive, to sell their harvest, people did not pay her any attention, for Ragnar was respected amongst the villagers and they knew that he looked at her as not just a slave.

  “When is market day?” She asked, despite her instincts screaming to stop talking to the man.

  “One week from now. Maybe I will buy you with the gold I took from your little village,” The man laughed, as he looked her up and down once more, before he left them in darkness.

  2

  Ragnar

  Ragnar earned the new name Ragnar the Destroyer from his efforts in Scotland, where he had destroyed the Mackenzie blood line. He had always been respected by other warriors, but now he was looked at in the same light as Ivar the Clever, the great viking warrior and leader, married to Princess Isla. Ivar had granted Ragnar four ships and one hundred and fifty men; a sizeable army by any count. Some leaders would be intimidated by Ragnar’s rise to fame and the fear he instilled in men, but Ivar was not, for he was a truly great leader, who rewarded and encouraged Ragnar.

  Ragnar left Newcastle with a farewell chant of people shouting out his new name, Ragnar the Destroyer, in unison. The cold wind bit at his face as he wrapped his great brown bear fur tight around his body. With viking war songs being sung by his men while they pulled hard at the oars, they battled against the current and made their way out into the deep blue.

  I will fight my way through all the viking lands until I find the truth of what happened.

  Ragnar’s power and authority had grown immeasurably since he had left Fyrkat at nineteen years old to fight for glory and gold. Four years later, at twenty three years old, Ragnar was in his prime, and there was no man alive who would wish to face him in combat. He was a giant man, with arms like oak trees and a barrel chest. The scars on his body told stories of glory and war; of men who tried and failed to kill him. And now, the once joyous Ragnar was coming back to Fyrkat. Ragnar was known for his joyous disposition and joking; but now there was no more joy in Ragnar’s soul, only dark stormy clouds and a thirst for war. For the only thing, the only people, that truly mattered to him, were in danger.

  They weathered the storms that matched Ragnar’s soul, with rain so heavy that men could barely get the water out of the boat as fast as it was coming in. Yet, Ragnar did not slow his pace, he cut through the ocean like a red-hot sword cut through freshly made butter. He had one thing on his mind. The only girl who he had ever cared for. He cared deeply for his mother and father as well, but something deep inside of him was awoken at the thought of his childhood friend in danger. The girl he had promised to look after. The girl he had promised to take back to her land. Hilda. His Hilda. His slave. His friend. His.

  Ragnar was also concerned for his mother and father, but the broken promise had haunted him ever since he left Fyrkat on that fateful day. He knew in his heart that he would bring her back to England, but now other men had interfered with his plans and taken Hilda from his childhood home. The man who lead him on his first journey to England was Bjorn the Fearless. Bjorn the Fearless could see that Ragnar had a weakness for Hilda, and that if he had brought her with him, it would have distracted him from what they were there to do: Win land and conquer armies.

  The one year journey turned into four years. Bjorn the Fearless had died and Ivar the Clever had taken command of his armies. Ragnar returned now, because of the rumours that raiding vikings had plundered his home town of Fyrkat, killed their Earl, and taken every woman and child with them.

  Ragnar knew that there was no other option than to rip through every town, city and country, until he found the people who had done this. He wanted to find his family and Hilda, and he wanted to kill the men who had taken them from him. Finally, after five days at sea, they found Fyrkat.

  Ragnar leaped from the boat onto the small dock, standing for a moment to take in the carnage of the town before him. The town was smaller than he remembered. The once bustling town was a deserted jumble of half-burned buildings, with no children or women in sight. He saw a group of old men sitting out the front of the Earl’s hall, huddled close together, looking at his boats that had arrived.

  “You have already taken everything, do you wish to kill the old men now, as well?” An old man shouted.

  “Who are you?” Ragnar asked the old man.

  “I am Einar,” the man said.

  “Einar, I have come looking for the men who did this,” Ragnar said.

  “Who are you?” The old man asked.

  “I am Ragnar the Ragnarsson, Ragnar the Destroyer, son of Elder Ragnar,” Ragnar said.

  “Young Ragnar?” The man said, his mouth slightly agape.

  “Where is my family?” Ragnar asked.

  “Alive,” Einar said, happily.

  A smile broke out across Ragnar’s face; the news like a shock of cold water on a winter morning.

  “He’s inside,” Einar said.

  “He?” Ragnar asked.

  “Elder Ragnar,” he said.

  “What of my mother and Hilda?” Ragnar asked.

  “You didn’t hear of your mother?” He asked, his mouth dropped, showing a sadness that he felt for Ragnar.

  “What?” Ragnar growled.

  “She’s been gone for years. She fell sick. I thought you would have known by now,” he said.

  Ragnar’s chest contracted, squeezing tight, causing his breaths to go shallow and sharp.

  “Show me my father,” He wheezed.

  Einar led Ragnar into the Earl’s hall, where injured men were lying in beds, being tended to by other old men. He saw Elder Ragnar sitting in a chair, talking with another man. He was holding his stomach with one hand, while gesturing with his other hand. His face was hard and serious. Ragnar walked slowly towards his father, butterflies took over his stomach, with mixed emotions pulling his heart one way and the other.

  Ragnar did not speak, for he was scared his voice would betray the abundance of nerves that he felt. Instead, he waited for his father to notice him as he stood before him. Elder Ragnar did not move his gaze until the man he was speaking to had become distracted from the conversation by younger Ragnar, who stood before them in all of his war glory. Ragnar knew he would be a fearsome sight, due to his sheer size, his weapons and his great brown bear fur that draped across his back.

  Slowly, Elder Ragnar turned his head, taking in the sight of his son who stood before him. His voice trailed off, and his hands dropped to his sides. He stayed seated, looking at his son, as if he were looking at a ghost. His eyes widened, and his jaw slackened.

  “Young Ragnar?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

  Ragnar stood before his father, feeling dumb and unable to answer, as he looked at him, who had aged a hundred years in the five years that he had been gone. His father had been young when Ragnar was born, yet he now had grey hairs that streaked through his long braids, and weathered lines made crows feet at the edges of his eyes.

  “Father,” he finally croaked, as white knuckles gripped his axe.

  “Do you intend to fight me?” His father let out a feeble laugh, looking at his son’s hands that were wrapped around the handle of his axe.

  Ragnar shook his
gaze from his father and looked down to his hands, releasing his grip, and putting his axe back into its strap on his back. He stepped forwards, putting his hand out for his father, and helped him to his feet. He breathed deep, fighting the emotion that was raging inside of him, as his father took him in his arms. The two huge men stood there, father and son, in an embrace that could not possibly make up for the years that they had been apart.

  “Mother grew sick?” Young Ragnar said, stepping back.

  “She said to tell you she loved you, if we ever saw you again,” Elder said.

  “I know she loved me,” Young Ragnar looked to the ground, fighting his grief, for he knew that what he needed was rage.

  “She’s with the gods now, waiting for us to greet her,” Elder Ragnar said.

  “We will all be together again, one day,” Young Ragnar said, looking back to his father.

  “Hilda?” Young Ragnar asked.

  Elder Ragnar looked at the ground, and sat back into his chair, groaning quietly.

  “I told her to run, but she wouldn’t listen,” Elder Ragnar said.

  “And?” Young Ragnar said, his voice almost a growl.

  “I don’t remember. I received a blade to the stomach and passed out. Other men say that all of the women and children were put onto the boats unharmed,” his father said.

  “To where?” Young Ragnar asked.

  “Do you think they would tell us, boy?” His father answered.

  “I’m no longer a boy,” Young Ragnar said, his voice low.

  “Then think for yourself. Ask less questions and think before you speak,” his father, though without anger or aggression.

  Ragnar was not used to being spoken to like this. Ever since he had left Fyrkat, he was seen as a fierce warrior, and more recently, as a leader of men. But now, he was standing with his father, who still saw him as his son.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Young Ragnar asked, stopping himself from falling into an argument with his father.

  “Nobody, yet,” his father answered.

  “Then I am,” Young Ragnar said, turning to walk out of the hall and address his men.

  “Ragnar,” his father called out, before he left the hall.

  Ragnar turned back around to face his father.

  “It’s good to see you,” a smile broke across his weathered face, and the lines around his eyes creased tight, showing the years he had spent smiling and laughing.

  “It’s good to see you too, father,” Young Ragnar said.

  Although he couldn’t have been happier to see his father alive and well, the news of his mother was like a dark cloud over his head, and not knowing where Hilda was, and if she was ok, left him with more questions than answers.

  “I want twenty men to volunteer to stay here in Fyrkat. Those who stay will re-build the village for when the women and children return,” Ragnar said.

  There are always men amongst the warriors who are just as happy to build or farm as they are to fight, and so it was not long before twenty men had volunteered to stay and restore his childhood home to its former glory. This left Ragnar with one hundred and thirty men, of which every single one he would need, if he was going to find and rescue his childhood friend, Hilda.

  The weather was colder back in his home lands, and the wind had a bite to it that he had forgotten. He spent a day with his men, organising them into groups, deciding what they would be responsible for.

  Einar approached him as he was speaking to several of his men, who would be responsible for felling trees and making pieces of timber to build new homes.

  “Earl Ragnar,” Einar said.

  “Earl?” Ragnar said, incredulously.

  “Well, you are in command of Fyrkat, that makes you Earl,” Einar said, matter of factly.

  “I am not Earl,” Ragnar said.

  “Then we must have a vote, before you go” Einar said.

  Einar shuffled through, stopping men from their work, telling them to gather in front of the Earl’s hall, before he stood on a raised platform to speak to them all. Ragnar knew that Einar was a clever man, and Einar knew that Ragnar was strong. He could see it in the rich clothes he wore and the shining jewels around his neck. He knew that if he announced Ragnar as Earl, that a repeat raid would not be so successful. Einar was clever. He then began to speak with an eloquence that surprised Ragnar.

  “If Fyrkat is to move forward and prosper in the wake of the horrible attack, we must have an official leader; an Earl,” Einar said.

  “I thought it was Ragnar,” One man said, incredulously.

  “So did I,” Einar said, shrugging his shoulders, “but he would rather we have a vote.”

  “We don’t need to vote, it’s Ragnar,” another man said.

  “Yes, it’s Ragnar,” more men began to echo.

  “Does any man object?” Einar said to the crowd.

  The only response he received was silence.

  “Then it is settled,” Einar said, looking to Ragnar. “You are Fyrkat’s Earl.”

  Ragnar looked around at the village he once called home. It was no more than a mismatch of half-burned cottages.

  “I cannot stay,” Ragnar said.

  “Why did you come here?” Einar asked him?

  Ragnar felt his father’s eyes on him, as he considered his answer.

  “I need to find Hilda,” Ragnar looked to his father.

  “I am coming,” Ragnar’s father said.

  “No,” Ragnar said.

  “How can you tell me no? I raised you from a young pup,” Ragnar’s father growled.

  “You will rule in my stead. I will retain Earlship, and if anyone contends my father they are contending me by extension and I will come back and slaughter them and their families,” Ragnar looked out over the crowd of warriors letting his words weigh down.

  “All hail Earl Ragnar,” one man shouted from the crowd.

  “All hail Earl Ragnar!” The rest of the crowd began to chant, stomping their feet on the ground.

  Hilda

  Hilda woke before the sun and walked to the edge of the cage, careful not to step on any of the still-sleeping soon-to-be slaves. Brenna stirred on the floor, her body missing the warmth that Hilda had provided. She gripped the bars of the cage, and stared at the door of the room, as if she could will it to open; as if she could will Ragnar to walk through that door and save her. Save her and take her back to England, like he had promised to her all those years ago.

  “What are you doing?” Brenna approached Hilda, she stepped gingerly over the sleeping bodies, and whispered quietly, so as not to wake the tired and hungry children.

  “Nothing, just waiting,” Hilda said.

  “What are you waiting for?” Brenna replied, her eyebrow raised.

  “Probably nothing,” Hilda said.

  “Nothing, or no one?” Brenna asked.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Hilda replied, moving her gaze from the door to the floor.

  A rattle from outside caused Hilda’s head to jerk back towards the door, her heart shuddering from vain hope. A dirty guard walked in. It was the same man who had looked at Hilda like she were a warm body to be bought; which, in reality she was. The man was obviously not a well-respected member of his raiding party, for the hay stuck to his clothes and the manure matted into his dread locks told Hilda that he had slept in the stables the night before.

  He dragged a cart into the room with him. The squeaky wheels caused the sleeping women and children to lift their heads and look towards the light from the rising sun that peeked through the door.

  “Hello my future slave,” the man said, his lips curling up, revealing yellow-brown teeth.

  Hilda looked away, not wishing to engage with the man, lest she encourage him to go out of his way to bargain with his fellow vikings for her. She knew he would not have the money to afford her, but that did not mean he couldn’t negotiate with the leader of his raiding party.

  He lifted a brown hessian sack from the cart, befor
e unlocking the door to the cage. He eyed them carefully, as he threw the bag on the floor. He also changed several buckets; some empty, and some with water. The empty ones were for the prisoners to relieve themselves.

  Hilda noticed the man walked with a limp, which probably explained his low status amongst the raiding party, for a man who was not physically capable of dominating other men was not often well regarded. A man who was not well regarded would likely be happy to take any woman who would look twice at him, and be grateful for it.