She stood motionless, watching the scene unfold as the Northmen forced entry into the church, her hands clutching tightly onto the bloodied cross that now lay around her neck. She knew she should have warned those inside, even if it meant her own death but she couldn't. All she could do was watch in horror as blood sprayed against the walls, cries, and screams echoing in her ears as silent tears began to stain her dirtied cheeks.
The young Saxon woman had her father to thank for her survival so far during this attack. She had been hidden away under the floor, within a secret basement whilst he stood his ground, a small knife in hand that offered little defense or protection. She had heard when his body made contact with the hard and unforgiving floor, the sound of him gurgling on blood. It had taken all of her strength to stay hidden, every ounce of her begging to go to her father's aid but she had promised him that she wouldn't, that as soon as there was an opportunity, she would run. That's what she planned to do as soon as she heard them leave, taking what few possessions she could, including the cross that still lay around her father's neck.
Despite this, she now seemed to be in a trance, watching as these men slaughtered innocent and helpless people. No reasons came to mind as to why they were doing this but, that was perhaps what made them so scary. It was only when her eyes locked with that of one of the Northmen did she begin to shuffle backward, him advancing slowly towards her, shield and sword in hand. Her eyes were wide with fear, shuffling backward faster which only caused his speed to increase until finally, she turned away, sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her. She could hear him gaining on her, the chuckle that sounded from him as if this were all a game. She was sickened at the thought but that didn't matter. To these savages, it probably was all just a game.
Her lungs burned, begging for her to stop and rest. The sound of the man had disappeared a while ago and so finally, she allowed herself a break, panting heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her hands rested on her thighs, eyes darting around in every direction. She didn't know when she lost him or how she had managed to but either way, she did not care. Her soft lips parted, a sigh escaping past them. She knew she needed to keep moving but her body was too exhausted, her legs shaking underneath her before finally giving way. Thankfully the ground was soft and so with a grunt, she laid back, staring upwards at the sky, the events of the day running through her mind. She wanted to cry and scream but she daren't and so she laid there in silence, the tears once again streaming freely.
He knew that she must have thought him to have given up as he watched her lay there, being silent as he continued to gain ground. Whilst the plan had been to kill all the Saxon people in York, Hvitserk had different intentions for this one. Something about her drew him in. Perhaps he was simply attracted to her, with those deep brown eyes that had felt as though there were searching his soul earlier when their eyes locked. Or perhaps the way her lips were now pleasantly parted, her cheeks tinged a rosy colour. No, he couldn't place what it was, everything about her drew him in, made him want to claim her as his and so that's what he would do.
A branch crunched underneath his feet, which caused her to bolt upwards, frantically searching for the source of the sound until finally, her eyes landed on him, going wide with fear. She attempted to get up and run but Hvitserk was too quick, his body quickly pressed against hers as he grasped her dainty wrists with one of his hands, holding her in place. The other moved to stroke against her cheek, his calloused touch rubbing against the softness of her skin.
She had to admit that a part of her was attracted to him, something that she loathed about herself. Her struggles were futile and it seemed only to bring him joy and entertainment. Hvitserk moved his face closer to her own, his hot breath brushing against her lips causing her cheeks to turn a darker shade of red. Their lips were mere seconds away from touching when they were interrupted by two others, one of which was grinning while the other glared at her, making her feel even more scared than what she already was.
"Ah, we were wondering where it was you had gotten to brother." Ubbe spoke, chuckling softly as he looked towards Hvitserk.
Ivar continued to scowl, crawling closer towards the woman that lay on the ground. Despite her fear, she remained still and continued to stare into his eyes. He wasn't sure whether he was impressed with this or annoyed, as he knew many others would have certainly cowered away, "What do you plan to do with her Hvitserk?" he finally said.
"I plan to keep her as my slave. She is beautiful, don't you think?" Hvitserk grinned wolfishly down at her.
Confusion was written across her features as she looked at each one of them, attempting to understand what they were saying but it was useless. The weight that had been atop her shifted as Hvitserk stood, pulling her along with him, her body colliding with his chest as he held her tightly. She couldn't look any of them in the eye as her cheeks burned crimson, deciding instead to look downwards at her feet.
Ubbe moved closer towards her, his fingers gently resting on her chin as he tilted her head upwards. "She is for a Saxon." Those calloused fingers stroked her jaw gently before releasing it, grinning still as he turned and began to walk away, Ivar following closely behind as he dragged himself along the floor towards his chariot. It was only at this moment did she realise him to even be a cripple, watching him curiously.
When Hvitserk grabbed her chin gently, she turned her attention to him, watching as he pointed to himself and repeated his own name until she repeated it. Her voice was soft and quiet, he had to strain to hear it. She lifted a shaky hand, gently pressing a finger against his chest, "You are Hvitserk."
He didn't know what she had said but he easily guessed when he heard her say his name again, enjoying the way it sounded on her tongue. He nodded, grinning from ear to ear as he gently pressed a hand to her own chest, feeling the swell of her breasts. "And what is your name?"
She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of him touching her, as for some reason it seemed to burn her skin in the most intoxicating way. In her mind, she reprimanded herself and attempted to step away from him but this only caused him to move both hands to her waist, pulling her closer until their chests were pressed together, repeating the question he had asked her earlier which despite the language barrier, she could guess what he asked.
"Matilda." She quietly spoke, standing stiff, hoping that this would appease him and that she would be released from his hold.
Much to her relief, she felt his large hands slip away from her waist, one of them moving to grip her elbow as they followed the others towards what was now a mass grave. In her eyes at least. Matilda was certain that they would see it as a victory. As they neared the entrance, she could hear the cheers and laughter. No doubt in her mind they were celebrating, and she would be forced to join them when all she wanted was to mourn. During the walk she had remained silent, deciding to keep her eyes downward, even as they stepped through the gates.
Hvitserk wore a proud smile, pulling her along with him, showing her off as if she were a trophy he'd won. He continued to pull her along with him until they reached a table, pushing her to sit down before taking a seat next to her. Matilda's dark, wavy locks now covered her face, allowing her to hide, even if it was only a little. This was short lived however as she felt his fingers brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear.
Ubbe and Ivar could see that their brother was taken with the young Saxon woman, along with any other Viking who would look upon them though they all just assumed he saw her as a toy, something to play with and to warm his bed on those cold and lonely nights.
Hvitserk's hand ran along her neck, causing a shiver to run down her spine and goosebumps to rise over her flesh. It made him grin, made him want to do it more but he decided that he would leave that for later when they were in a more private setting. His hand continued downwards towards her collarbone, a finger tucking just under the top of her dirtied brown dress. Excruciatingly slow he moved along, stopping when he felt the metal of a chain. He pulled along the chain until the bloodied cross was exposed. Swiftly her hand gripped onto his, those deep brown eyes pleadingly looking into his own.
He wanted nothing more to be able to hide it but Ivar was quick to see, an evil smile plastering itself across his face. "Ah, I see your new slave has got something that belongs to us." He stared at her intensely, so much so she wanted to shrink away but she couldn't. She watched him intently, watching him stab a knife into the wood of the table, twisting it. Matilda could easily imagine that he would enjoy doing that to her.
She gripped tighter, her eyes shifting back to meet with Hvitserk's. "Please, it was my fathers. It is all I have left."
"She said it belonged to her father," Ivar translated, gaze shifting towards the celebrating Vikings as he brought a glass of mead to his lips, savouring the taste. "Personally, I would take it for myself. As a slave, her belongings are now yours."
Hvitserk sat quietly, contemplating his brother's words. He knew he was right in what he was saying and despite the resistance he felt to follow through on those words, he knew that removing the reminder of her God, a false God, was best. His hand moved away from the cross, fingers stroking along her collarbone and neck, pushing the hair there away until he found the clasp for the chain. Matilda's eyes continued to plead, palms sore and aching from where the cross dug in. The chain loosened around her neck as he pulled it away until he was no longer able to due to her grip. He pulled but again her grip did not loosen. A growl sounded from deep within him, his eyes giving her a look of warning. She whimpered, shrinking away from him as she finally let go of the cross.
The Vikings continued to celebrate as the sky darkened, their cheers and laughter ringing loudly. Matilda sat in silence, Hvitserk's arm wrapped around her waist, holding her body close to his. She'd attempted to shift away from him but each time he'd simply pulled her right back, giving her either a warning look or growl. She stifled a yawn, her eyes becoming heavy and limbs tired.
"Looks like your little slave is getting tired." Ubbe piped up, a grin plastered across his face as he drank some mead.
Hvitserk looked towards Matilda, smiling softly as his fingers moved to stroke under her chin, lifting her face upwards as he gently placed a kiss on her forehead. "Sleep."
Whilst there was a language barrier, she somehow understood what he was saying. Matilda didn't want to sleep, she was terrified of closing her eyes around these savages but there was no choice in the matter, both her mind and body were exhausted. Her head laid against his shoulder unwillingly, her eyes drifting closed as she fell into a deep and dark slumber.
"Looks like you will have no fun tonight, brother." Ivar spoke up, grinning as he attempted to wind up his brother.
"She is my slave, Ivar. There is plenty of time to have my fun with her. Perhaps, someday you will understand." Hvitserk was quick in his response, laughing softly as he saw Ivar snarl in his direction.
Ubbe had sat in silence, watching the two brothers conversing before his gaze shifted towards the slave, Matilda. He had to admit she was beautiful, very much so. The opposite of Margarethe, with her lightly tanned skin and dark hair. When she slept, she looked even more so, the scowl and frown she varied between since they'd met having relaxed from her features. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and touch her skin. Perhaps Hvitserk would share, as they had done with Margarethe.