The heathen you want, desire, and grow wet for.
Shaking her head, she focused on moving forward, not about to look behind her and see if he was following. He was following her; she knew that, felt it in her bones.
She had to have the strength that she could get through this, because being a man’s property, having him touch her because he thought he had a right to it, because he “captured” her, was not the life she wanted.
She saw the town through the break in the woods and ran harder. Her feet and legs ate up the distance, and she felt sweat bead along her spine and between her breasts.
Her injuries were healing nicely, almost all the way mended, but she felt a twinge of discomfort in her arm. That wasn’t her concern right now.
Tearing through the part in the trees, she stumbled forward and into the village. A few blonde-haired, blue-eyed children looked at her but promptly ran away to their small, rustic, and crude-looking homes.
“Help me. God, can’t you hear me? Help me!” she shouted louder, screamed it out, and ran past the huts to the center of the village. A few men came running out, weapons in hands. Agata held up her hands, showing them she had no weapons and wasn’t a threat. “Help me… please.”
The men started shouting at her in their language and holding up their axes and swords. She stopped, everyone coming closer to her. Their expressions and words were angry and directed right at her.
Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, hard and angry, and Agata felt lightheaded, frightened, and pissed. They came closer though, and she turned around, looking at the men who were no doubt about to mob her for reasons she assumed were because of Stian.
“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” She hadn’t meant it in the literal sense, because judging by the way they lived, the angry looks on their faces as they stared at her, Agata knew these people clearly lived by their own set of rules.
Hot, angry tears fell from her eyes, and she grew heated from her rage that these people were blinded by their hatred. She knew they hated him, that they hated her for associating with Stian. Didn’t they know she hadn’t willingly gone to him?
“You’re attacking me over what… Stian?”
They went crazier then, yelling and shouting, tossing their hands in the air. Even the women had come closer, spitting on the ground in front of her. Then they charged forward. One of the men grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, and she cried out. They kept screaming out the same word—Dýr.
Over and over, they shouted that word, and she knew it was so wrong to leave, to think she had any hope of finding help with these heathens.
They were worse than Stian, brutal and hated her when they knew nothing of her, when she was associating with a man they clearly hated. But why, why did they hate Stian? What had he done to them?
The sound of something loud, dangerous, and almost animal-like, resounded through the village. She spun around, out of the grasp of the man who held her, and turned back around to kick him in the cock.
He grunted and fell forward, dropping his sword in the process so he could grab himself.
She didn’t waste a moment to grab the sword and start swinging at the men who came forward again, their weapons poised at her. The sounds of a man shouting above the rest, yelling out “konna,” had her turning and seeing Stian charging forward. He had a mallet in one hand, one that almost looked like it was used to tenderize meat, and an ax in the other.
Stian was swinging at the men who came after him. He was outnumbered, but these men weren’t a match for Stian and his skills. She turned just as a woman picked up a rock and was about to hurl it at her.
Agata used the butt of the sword and slammed it in the woman’s forehead, making her stumble back and drop the rock. Good. The bitch wanted to come after her, then Agata would show her she wasn’t some weakling.
Looking at Stian again, she watched in awe as he took out each man who came forward. They were relentless as they shouted things at him, tried to take him out with their weapons, but Stian was batting them away as if they were flies. She noticed he didn’t outright kill them, which she wouldn’t have faulted him for if he had, since clearly these people were insane.
He knocked them out, stabbed them in the shoulder or leg, incapacitating them so they were no longer a threat.
“Hitta vi, konna.” He held his hand out, having dropped his ax a second ago. Someone charged at Stian, and he knocked them out, his hand still outstretched to her. “Agata, hitta vi.”
He wanted her to come to him, and that was clear as he gestured her forward. She didn’t waste a moment, because even if he kept her chained up, even if she’d ran from him, right now, he came after her, was protecting her, saving her, and she felt this connection with him as she stared at the warrior he was.
The plaits on the side of his head swung around his face as he blocked a sword with his ax he grabbed at the last moment. She didn’t wait another minute to go to him. She moved forward, swung the sword out to a man who crept up to her a little too closely, and when her hand was in Stian’s, he pulled her close.
He sliced his sword through a man’s arm and, without fighting anymore, took off with her pressed tightly to his side.
She didn’t look back, didn’t wait to see if they would follow. She ran as hard and fast as he was, not sure what in the hell had caused those fuckers to attack, but fearing that if Stian hadn’t shown up, she’d be as good as dead right now. But her curiosity and will to live got the better of her, and she looked over her shoulder for a second.
They stood at the line of trees but clearly wouldn’t venture any farther. The villagers shouted until Agata couldn’t hear or see them anymore, and when they finally reached Stian’s home and they were in the hut, he started pacing and cursing.
He didn’t wear his fur-lined jacket, and she saw a few cuts on his flesh, blood trailing down. He was angry with her, and she knew rightly so. If she hadn’t been so foolish as to run off, thinking that maybe those people would help, even though they had been hostile the first time she’d seen them, they wouldn’t have had to fight for their lives.
“You’re hurt,” she said mainly to herself and went over to where the basin of water was kept. She grabbed some rags, needing to tend to him, because she’d caused this, and she could take responsibility where it was due.
Yes, she wanted to go home, and yes, he had no right to keep her here against her will, but he saved her life twice—tended to her when she’d been injured and now saved her when those fuckers had attacked her.
When she turned with the basin and cloth in hand, she saw he had his hands curled into fists, his eyes narrowed and trained right on her.
Steeling herself, Agata moved closer, looked at his chest, and stopped when she was only inches from him. Dipping the cloth in the water and then bringing it to his chest, she ran the thin, small piece of fabric along one of the cuts but kept her gaze on his face.
He looked so angry with her, and a part of her, a small, silly part, wished she hadn’t left; that way, he wouldn’t be hurt or upset. Of course, the much louder, stronger part said she’d done the right thing, even if it hadn’t ended the way she wanted.
Patting the wounds with the cloth, she looked at his chest and noticed they were just superficial. He took hold of her face with his big hands, cupped her cheeks, and looked down at her lips. He whispered something low, almost needy in nature.