Cum For The Viking

Copyright © 2012 Virginia Wade

All Rights Reserved.

Published by I Love Stacy

Kindle Edition

Virginia Wade

http://virginia-wade-erotica.com

http://twitter.com/VirginiaErotica

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Cover Art by Adelaide Cooper

Inspired by M. J. Lance

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

“So, who is my husband, mother?”

She stared into a bowl, while the
wind howled outside, bringing a northern gale. “He’s not from around here.”

I’d begged her for years to read the
leaves, to see my future, and she had finally capitulated. I sat on the end of
a rickety chair, waiting anxiously to hear her precious words. Her readings
were always accurate. This was why the women in the village harassed us day and
night, begging to know their future. Mother, being far too honest for her own
good, had angered many with her less than tactful responses. If she saw death,
she said so. If she saw misfortune, she said so. Her predictions had always
come to pass, and enemies had been made. The future could not be altered; it
was predestined, created by the forces of the universe.

She moved the bowl, rearranging the
leaves, her brows drawing together. “I see…an invasion.” This declaration
seemed to surprise her.

“What?”

“They’re coming,” she whispered.

“But what about my husband? I’m tired
of being alone. I want a man to warm my bed.” The men in the village shunned
me, as they did my mother, although some of them didn’t hesitate to come
calling in the middle of the night.
Witches,
the women cried when they saw us. Harlots!
I’d had stones thrown at me my
entire life. “You said I’d have love. You said I’d be worshiped. I’m tired of
waiting, mother.”

“You’ll be worshipped, my dear. Your
husband comes…but he’s not what you think he is.”

And now she would channel magic and speak
in riddles. “Go on.” I watched her carefully, her nearly black hair falling
over her shoulders.

“He’s a great and powerful
man—”

“You mustn’t humor me! I can handle
the truth. I know I’ll be a farmer’s wife. I’m fully prepared to yoke oxen to
the plough.”

She held up a hand. “No. That isn’t
what’ll happen, Lora. You’re not destined to work the fields. You’ll have all
the pretty things you want with a pretty house. I see children. Several. But...”

“But what?” I rested my elbows on the
table.

“There’s some confusion here. I see
two men, but only the dark haired one will be your love, your protector. He’s
foreign.”

“He’d have to be,” I said bitterly. “No
one in the village would marry me.”

Her eyes met mine. “We have so little
time.”

“Will something happen soon?”

“This means change.” She pointed to
the clumps of moist tealeaves around the edges of the bowl. “Great change
comes, but you must be careful. I must be careful.” Her gaze took on a faraway
look. “I must plan.”

“Will you travel again?”

“Yes.”

My heart sank. “Why?”

“The future I see isn’t mine. I’d
only get in the way. I’m going inland. I’ll stay with my sister.”

I lay my hand on hers. “Don’t go.
You’ve only just returned. I hate it when you leave me.”

“You won’t be alone for long. He
comes soon. He’s going to take you away.” Her eyes watered. “Your future is far
away from here.”

A part of me hoped she was wrong, and
the other part prayed she was right. I’d been an outcast my entire life, and my
prospects were bleak. Men went out of their way to avoid me, fearing
me and the powers they thought I possessed
. I wasn’t a
witch, but I did know the healing arts and how to derive medicines from plants.
My mother was the gifted medium. I didn’t possess her skills.

“I wish you’d stay.”

“I leave in the morning.”

Alarm raced through me. “So soon?”

“Yes, my dear. I’m sorry.”

I slept horribly that night, tossing
and turning; the straw mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable. The wind howled,
the sides of our wattle-and-daub hut shaking. The thatch on the roof would
require patching in the morning. My mother was up before me, making the fire
and packing her belongings. I gazed at her, feeling a sense of loss.

“Are you sure about this?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes.”

“You’ve been wrong before.”

“Lady Abbot tricked me with false
questions, Lora. She was playing games. I’m never wrong.” She muttered under
her breath, “That woman will get hers soon enough.”

“I wish you’d stay.” I swung my legs
over the bed.

“Take what vegetables you can from
the garden. Kill the chickens. Eat well, my dear. Food will be scarce.”

“Did you have a dream?”

“Men are coming. The sea will be
filled with red sails. Go to the woods when this happens. Stay there as long as
you can.”

Fear lodged in my gut. “How much time
do I have?”

“A day, maybe. Perhaps less.” She
came to the bed, touching my face. “You’re the most beautiful girl. You’re my
salvation. Your father, God rest his soul, would’ve been proud of the woman
you’ve become. I’m proud to be your mother. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused,
but it is as it should be.”

I grabbed her hand. “Don’t go.”

“I must.”

She folded a small crust of bread in
a cloth. “Use the rest of the wheat. Fortify yourself.”

“I will.” I hugged her. “Will I ever
see you again?”

She smiled sadly. “No.” Her gray gown
hung loosely on her thin frame. A brown cloak went over her shoulders, and
leather slippers were on her feet. “Heed my words, Lora. They’ll come to pass.”

“Yes, mother.” I followed her out,
the wind catching my hair and a biting cold lashing my face. I watched her walk
down the path, her figure growing smaller and smaller. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

I spent the day gathering vegetables,
making bread, and slaughtering the chickens, which I cut up into a stew. I
would feast tonight. It was almost a shame to waste all this food on one
person. The wind drove the rain against the side of the house, dampening the
clay, water leaking in. The smell of moist earth assailed me along with the
tantalizing aroma of chicken stew. I ate until my tummy bulged, satiated on the
nourishing supper. Then I heated water and prepared a bath, using a cloth to
wipe myself clean. I would wash my hair afterwards, dunking my head in the
bucket. When this task was complete, I sat before the fire, warming my bones
and drying my hair, using a wooden comb to remove the tangles.

A scratching on the door garnered my
attention. This was followed by a soft, “Meow.”

“Vincent?” I opened the door, a gust
of freezing rain wetting my face. “Where have you been?” The black cat rubbed
against my leg. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. He looked well fed, which was
astonishing. “You naughty cat. What mischief have you gotten into?”

“
Purrrr
…”

He sat before the fire and began to
preen himself, licking his black, lustrous coat. I joined him, scratching
behind his ears. “I’m so glad you’re back. I won’t be alone now.”

“
Purrr
…meow…”

He slept in my bed, curled up next to
me, keeping me warm. A noisy seagull woke me the next morning, and I dragged
myself from the bed to light the fire. I ate a bowl of soup, filling my belly
to capacity. Then I dunked the bread into the mixture and ate that as well. The
gale had died down, the rain stopping for the moment. Wrapping a cloak around
myself, I left the house to check for damage. I might have to repair the leaks
before they worsened. A mist lingered, the fog so thick I could barely see five
feet before me. Remembering my mother’s words, I wandered towards the cliffs to
look down into the harbor, although, with the fog, I doubted I would see
anything at all.

The invigorating cold roused my
spirits. I loved this walk. On a clear day, the beauty of the ocean stretched
out as far as the eye could see, but today the mist had yet to lift. I sat on a
rock near the cliff edge and listened. It was eerily quiet. I lingered for more
than an hour, the air chilling me thoroughly, and waited. There was a part of
me that knew once the fog cleared, I would see my mother’s vision. I feared
this, yet I understood it was my future. The sun poked through the clouds
briefly, enough to burn away the blanket of haze that refused to budge. It was
then that I caught a glimpse of red. I sat straight and squinted, trying to get
a better look.

I gasped. The opening in the fog
revealed ships, lots of ships! Were they merchant vessels coming into port?
They looked utterly unfamiliar, which was worrying. Their shapes were long and
sleek, with dragon-shaped prows and high curving sterns. Billowing red sails filled
my vision. Bells began to ring in the village, the inhabitants having seen the
approaching threat, but it was too late.

“God help us,” I whispered. These
were no merchant vessels. This was an invading force, and they would wreak
havoc, no doubt. I sprang to my feet, hastening to the house, where I packed
quickly; throwing whatever food items I could find into a sack. “Vincent? Where
are you, you silly cat?” I had the clothes on my back and my cloak. I was
fortunate enough to have shoes. My mother had traded her psychic services to a
tradesman for leather slippers. Most of the villagers went barefoot.

I left the house, the wooden door
slamming behind me. I knew where I would go, but I dreaded it. Hurrying for the
forest, the faint sounds of screams reached my ears. I ran down the path, the
heavy sack slung over my shoulder and my heart thundering in my chest. I darted
into the safety of the trees, finding the refuge I needed. My legs carried me
to a small cave my mother had discovered years ago, while seeking protection
from the villagers, who wanted to burn her for witchcraft. She had lived in the
hideaway for more than a year, only returning when it was safe. That had been
Lady Abbot’s doing, but I suspected it was more out of jealousy, because of
Lord Abbot’s attentions towards her. We were hated for a number of reasons. Firstly,
my mother’s fortune telling abilities, then my particular success with healing
herbs, and then our beauty, of course. The Green women were renowned for their
lustrous black hair, pale, unblemished skin, impossibly large breasts, and heart-shaped
faces, which were bordered by delicately arching brows. I had always known my
mother was stunning, and, after father had died, the men came around. Married,
single, and engaged, it didn’t matter. She attracted them by the droves, and
they brought gifts: chickens, wine, cheeses, and silver. I would be made to
wait in the cold, while she let them have her body, her moans of pleasure
seeping through the clay and wattle walls.

As I grew and my figure filled out, I
also received the attention of the village men, who leered at me from their
carts and horses, calling me rude names. I’d been attacked once, on the road to
Dorset, but I always carried a knife, sheathed on my thigh, and I had stabbed
him in the arm, frightening the scoundrel off. The men avoided me after that,
but they would stare, hunger flaring in their eyes.