Viking's Stolen Bride

The new year had only just begun, ushering us into AD 857. Spring was on the horizon, despite the lingering chill in the air. I pulled on an extra cloak, unlatched the door, and nudged it open with my shoulder. My humble abode was situated on the outskirts of the village, but I didn’t mind. It was mine. Plus, I enjoyed the quiet.

As I inhaled the crisp morning air, a faint noise from the forest caught my attention, and my heart picked up speed. Traveling merchants had warned us of Viking scouts lurking around villages, a fear all too familiar to us Saxons. We had guards posted, though, and my mind was too preoccupied with the hope of spending my last few coins on some bread and venison before cleaning for the Eriksson family.

Brushing off my worries, I hurried toward the village center, ready to get the day started. In hindsight, I should have been more cautious. I should have made my way deeper into the forest instead. For as I turned to head to the bakery, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the village, followed by a single word that sent chills down my spine.

“VIKINGS!”

As the terrified scream echoed, and the word on the screaming woman’s lips hung in the air, a wave of panic engulfed us all. People scattered in all directions, their faces etched in terror. Women snatched up their babes and ushered older children toward the river or the forest, anywhere that could provide cover. Men, young and old, rushed to arm themselves, grabbing for bows, axes, and lances.

That’s when I saw them—the Vikings, their faces adorned with colorful lines, their beards long and braided, as they brandished shields and axes. I had heard tales of them, and my family had paid the ultimate price, but this was my first encounter. They were bigger, more menacing than I had imagined, and I shuddered.

My stomach lurched as fear consumed me, and I raced away from the scene as my feet finally listened to my brain’s command. I didn’t make it far. Someone grabbed a fistful of my hair, forcefully yanking me backward. I crashed onto the ground and immediately raised my hands to shield myself, only to find that the person who had caused my fall had vanished amid the increasing chaos.

The villagers’ terrified screams, along with the Vikings’ savage battle against them, echoed in my ears. Time was no longer relevant. Hours or minutes could have gone by, but everything—the sights, the sounds—was too overwhelming. The stench of blood and sweat filled the air as the battle escalated.

I managed to make it to the edge of the church, where I crouched to catch my breath, but I knew I couldn’t stay where I was. I’d be killed—or worse. The sod roofs of the white clay houses encircling the church were already ablaze, and the choking smoke was making it more and more difficult for my untrained eye to see. The stories of the heathens were whispered among the women, filling their minds with fear and dread as they imagined the possibility of being taken captive and forced into slavery.

Scrambling to my feet, I sprinted toward the forest, narrowly avoiding objects hurled by both friends and enemies. The ground was littered with the bodies of men, women, and children, their lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, their mouths twisted in eternal fear. Gagging, I maneuvered around them as best I could, all the while praying I’d survive, even as I wondered how I would ever be able to sleep again.

The clash of swords, the screams, and the shouts of warriors filled the air as the battle between the village men and the Vikings raged on. Out of nowhere, a Viking warrior emerged from the curling smoke, surprising me with a forceful blow to the head. I crumpled to the ground, my vision blurred and my head throbbing. Rolling over, I crawled under a cart, praying he wouldn’t find me.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I covered my ears and fought against the rising bile in my stomach threatening to spill forth. I lay there trembling, fearing for my life and those of the rest of the villagers. Was this what my mother went through? My brother and sister?

Tears streamed down my face as I thought of them and the terror they must have felt. I hated the Vikings and what they had done—and were doing—to my people. My sorrow gave way to anger, and that anger consumed me as I damned each one of them to hell. My prayers for forgiveness mingled with my twisted desires for their deaths to be filled with unimaginable pain.

I held on to my anger and hate, anything to drown out the horrible screams of the villagers, and after what felt like an eternity, the screaming subsided. The air grew eerily quiet, save for the sounds of doors being kicked in and rummaging.

I cautiously opened my eyes and peeked out from my hiding place. Not more than a few feet away, the blood-smattered leather boots of three men caught my attention, their presence sending a chill down my spine. I inhaled sharply and silently inched my way backward until my head lightly bumped the back of the cart.

I glanced to my right. There was nowhere to go. The cart had been flipped and lay awkwardly on one rim of its box, which dug into the ground, and one wheel. It’s what had given me the cover I needed to hide. There was no way I’d fit through the narrow gap without the men’s notice.

To the left, I had a chance. The sight was haunting—several bodies lay scattered in various positions. But if I could blend in with them…

Inching my way over to that side of the overturned cart, I let out a sharp hiss as my hand grazed against a jagged rock, and a small whimper involuntarily escaped my mouth. The men, who had been discussing the size of the village, abruptly stopped talking.

I didn’t have time to consider my next move. The cart was suddenly flipped over, and the men dragged me out by my feet. I swung my arms, my fists connecting with the warriors, but their hardened bodies absorbed the impact without flinching. I opened my mouth to scream, but one of the men clamped his hand over my mouth. I looked up at him, too shocked to move.

His piercing green eyes were the first thing I noticed. His face was mostly painted black, and his dark hair was pulled back with several braids. He lifted his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet.

“Pl…please let me go,” I stammered through his fingers, trembling with fear.

He glanced at the two men holding me down, whose wicked grins sent a chill down my spine. He gave them a nod before turning his attention back to me. Removing his hand from my mouth, he gently touched the bleeding wound on my forehead. I recoiled from his touch.

In a deep voice, he commanded, “Let her go. I can handle this from here.”

The two men frowned, but they released my legs. Immediately, I scuttled backward until I gained my footing. Despite my best efforts to flee, the Viking eventually seized my arm in a vice-like grip, preventing any chance of escape.

I attempted to kick and hit him, but he merely laughed, dragging me toward a hut. I could only imagine the horrors that awaited me there. I continued to resist, pulling away and screaming, but he seemed unfazed until I landed a hard kick on his leg.

He stopped and turned me to face him, gripping my jaw tightly. He muttered several words under his breath, but I only understood one.

“Stop!” he growled, anger flashing in his eyes.

I instinctively recoiled from him, but his fingers on my jaw tightened, and I stopped resisting. His grip on my jaw loosened slightly. Grunting softly, he hoisted me over his shoulder and continued toward the hut. He kicked the door open and tossed me onto a bed in the corner.

What was going to happen to me now?