HEY! I wanted to thank everyone for the review - its what writers live off of - and the PMs. I've gotten some help be it in encouragement, proof reading, story suggestions, or a kick in the butt telling me to sit down and write something. I'm so grateful

I'm happier with this chapter than I thought I would be. The next one is what really excites me and I alwreayd have a draft for it.

enjoy!

please read and review

~ ~ ~ 7 ~ ~ ~

Eric glanced round and when he saw no one, he walked to the front door. He tested the lock and decided he would have no issue getting in. The Viking slammed his shoulder in the door with all his might, the lock snapped, and he walked in with his men following closely behind.

Eric paid no attention to his men who were flanking him and listening for any signs that someone heard them break in. He glanced around. Every thing was dark except a distant glow coming from the bedroom where Aine's father slept. Bjorn did his best to secure the broken door against the frame. Eric motioned for his men to follow and he walked to the bedroom door. It was unlocked and he stepped in.

Aine's father laid in his bed, snoring loudly. It was unknown whether or not he left the candle burning for light or if he simply passed out before blowing it out. Dozens of thoughts crossed Eric's mind. He knew no matter what Aine asked him and no matter how honest he wanted his marriage to be, he wouldn't tell her he was excited at the prospect of killing this man.

The silence was ended as Eric let out a growl. Sven and Bjorn looked in the direction of their leader. Three pairs of Nordic eyes stared at a whip wrapped around the bedpost. Eric stepped closer and unwound the coiled leather. He positioned himself and with a hard look of determination, he raised it and struck.

The tail landed with a snap and the man woke up with a gasp.

"What the hell?" he yelped.

Eric brought the whip down hard again.

"I thought you would do well to learn what it is to be on this side of the whip."

Eric began to lash the man without stopping. His men stood back and watched as Eric's victim thrashed and became stuck in his blankets. He screamed and yelled curses. His skin soon split and he bled on his bed. Eric paid no attention to where the whip landed. He nearly smiled when the end of the tail fell across the abusive father's face.

Eric stopped as the man stood, wearing only his breeches, and began to command them to leave. The room was once again silent. It slowly dawned on Aine's father that he couldn't win. There was no way out of this room and no way he could take the three warriors in front of him.

"Wait." He put up his hands in defense. "I'm sorry she was marked. Perhaps I could pay you to ease your displeasure."

Eric shook with rage. This man didn't apologize even as he faced his imminent death. Instead he haggled, as he haggled for his daughter's marriage to a stranger, and assumed his son-in-law's anger was over the appearance of his daughter's body.

Eric thought about what he saw and how he felt about his wife's body. Selfishly, he realized he did recoil. He knew she was beautiful. He knew that once she healed her whole body would be beautiful. It crossed his mind that she might scar. He wondered if it would bother him. Would he see his wife's scars as he did his own? Or the scars of his men?

He also thought about the scars she carried that no one could see. What if he could never help her heal? What if she feared him for the rest of her life?

He decided that those marks, the unseen ones, were far worse; every welt on her body could never fade, every bruise could linger, and it would be a fair price to have her stop cowering.

Before Eric could react, Bjorn stepped forward and kicked the man in his side, shattering his ribs. Although Bjorn didn't know this, it was very fitting considering the mark left on Aine's side by her father's boot. Sven moved in and Eric couldn't tell if he was going to wail on the man as well or not. He lifted his hand and waved his men back.

"There only price I will settle for is the guarantee you'll never hurt anyone again."

Eric began to strike the man again with the whip and cornered him. He gave no thought as to where he hit him or how many times. Every time the man tried to move away, Eric only struck harder and faster. He managed to scurry a few feet from his spot only to be kicked back by both Bjorn and Sven. The more he cried, cursed, and eventually begged for his torture to end the more the men hated him.

Eric still felt rage rolling through his body when he forced himself to stop. He couldn't stay long. He could risk being caught. He couldn't leave Aine alone. He tossed aside the whip and walked toward the mewling, bloodied man. He pulled a knife from his belt, grabbed a fist of hair, and ripped his throat apart in one quick motion. He released the dying man, stood straight, and growled. His men had seen him in battles before and seen in fight in personal disputes. They couldn't explain how this moment was different ; how the same war noises from his throat seemed so much more barbaric, how his clenched muscles seemed harder, or how his face, which never showed kindness in the face of a fight, seemed much more colder.

He wiped his blade on the bedding next to him and tucked his weapon back in his belt. Without a word he walked from the room. His men shared a look before following him. There were no words spoken until they already began their ride back to the inn.

"We will have to leave early now." Bjorn said to break the silence.

"I know. Rouse the men and start packing as soon after sunrise as you manage."

The silence was back after Eric spoke. It was becoming almost unnerving to everyone but him. He was lost in his thoughts. His mind was consumed with worry and some regret. He could imagine doing anything different. It dawned on him that he might have wanted the final kill to be made by one of his men so he could tell his wife he wasn't her father's murderer. Nevertheless, he would not feel right allowing another man to do his job in avenging his wife. He felt confident they could leave without issue, but he knew they could return. His closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. He wasn't only removing Aine from her home, but he'd made it impossible for her to ever visit it again. He wondered how she would react when he returned and she learned all of this. He didn't even realize he'd sped up and moved beyond earshot of his men.

Bjorn and Sven could almost stand the silence if it wasn't for the slow pace they were forced to take. They wanted to draw no attention to themselves and make little noise. Eric had moved away and they pulled close together. Their voices were soft as they began to speak to one another.

"What do you think about this whole thing?" Sven asked.

"I trust Eric. He's never acted this way over anything, much less a girl he just met."

Bjorn and Eric were raised together. It seemed like they never spent a moment apart. It was joke amongst the men that Bjorn would accompany Eric and Hildr on their wedding night because they were so inseparable. He never knew this impulsiveness and need in Eric. He also knew that Eric rarely, if ever, heard the word 'no'. He would marry this girl if he wanted her, one way or another. Once Eric made his mind up, none but possibly, the Gods could persuade him otherwise. It was best to just accept it.

"If I wouldn't have met her, I'd swear she was an enchantress." Said Sven.

"No, I think it's clear to see that she doesn't have any guise about her."

"Except at the market – you couldn't tell she was abused. Its like he betrothed himself to one vibrant girl and married another altogether; a quiet little creature you'd hardly notice if you saw her."

Bjorn made no reply. Sven's account was very accurate. He wondered what made her change. In his mind, Eric should have been a threat to her just by being foreign, being a Norseman, and being so very large a warrior. There was no mistaking who and what Eric was. His Viking eyes, hair, weapons, and clothing. He built body, his astute eyes and ears, the confidence in his voice, and the wisdom in his actions. Eric was a born leader and lucky enough to be born into a position that called for him to lead. Often weak men were born with an inheritance they couldn't handle and the strong sat idly in the lower ranks of these men, denied by birth the right to lead as they were ready to do. It seemed like a blessing for all that Eric's parents has birthed a leader who only grew into a wiser man with each passing year.

To Bjorn, it seemed inconceivable that Aine's rescue was meet with such trepidation from her. He wondered if she would bolt before they boarded the ship, but he figured even if she had the inclination she'd be too fearful to propel herself to run. He feared for his friend and this new marriage he began. He feared for Eric's strong heart, that was bruised so by the loss of his first wife and child. While warriors went to Valhalla, widowed husbands were left to roam the earth and their wives sent on to an unknown after life. He also had the perverse thought about what Aine looked like without her clothes on. She bore no visible marks and Eric made a point of mentioning the use of a whip on her. He remembered how quiet she was and wondered if her work to be so silent and to not cry would be treated as bravery as it would if she were a man. He wondered if she held herself so serene went she was beaten as thought she was a slave. Would the women regard her scars as mark of valor? Did Eric?

Sven also lost himself in the silence and the deep meaning of the few words exchange between him and Bjorn. He couldn't classify his feelings for Eric's wife as warm, nor were they cold. He was curious, he was wary, and he didn't understand her. He would give her the respect due his leader's wife. He would tread lightly knowing her past. He was also wise enough to know that his thoughts should be expressed solely to Bjorn. The other men had no business in his friend's marriage and Eric may not react well to judgment. He had enough on his plate without feeling scrutiny from those closest to him.

They neared the inn and Eric felt a bubbling bout of anxiety rise in him. He would face his wife. She might be lying awake in bed, she might be asleep, she might be pacing the floors behind a guarded door. She may say nothing or ask him questions he didn't want to answer. Despite all that had transpired, he didn't regret his marriage for a second. He still felt unnaturally fixated on her. He still desired and coveted her in a manner he'd never experienced before. At least, for some consolation and solace he reminded himself, he did indeed have her.

"I'm going to my wife. I'll see you come sunrise and we'll leave." He nodded to his men and left his borrowed horse near a bale of hay.

He found his two men by the door. One had fallen asleep and the other was keeping watch with tired eyes. They reported that their new mistress hadn't made any notable noise nor did she try open the door. He relieved them of their duty and entered the room quietly. He bolted the door and stood for a moment. He saw her hair from under the blanket she'd pulled almost completely over her face. At least, any and all questions would wait until the day.

He walked closer to the bed. He didn't remember sleeping in clothing, much less during the summer, since before his beard. Even in the winter Eric prefer to keep the fire roaring and find extra blankets rather not sleep in his natural and most comfortable state. He knew there would be nothing funny about the frenzy that would ensue were she to wake with him naked beside her. He stripped off his shirt and boots. He thought keeping his pants on would be a bearable compromise. It would also be good for her to get used to at least some of his body ; in this case his bare chest.

He carefully pulled the blanket away from her back and slithered under it. She jerked and tossed slightly but did not wake up. He laid there wondering if he could or should hold her. He didn't want to wake her. It felt so odd to just lay there like this. It was as though he had to pretend someone wasn't next to him, while ensuring he didn't disturb that someone. He rolled to his side and with the greatest ease rested his fingers on her forearm.

"Goodnight." He whispered.