I wake to the familiar sensation of my wrists bound. It’s happened countless times; all done for my captor’s gain.
As I take in my dire surroundings, I see that we’re in an abandoned church. All that is holy has been desecrated by these vile men who are hollering loudly, clearly proud of their conquest of capturing me.
I tug at the rope around my wrists, but it’s done up tight.
I’m surprised I’m still clothed, but when one of the men notices I’m awake, I know this luxury is soon to be taken away.
“The Dane wakes,” he says, nudging another man in the ribs.
The men turn, their eyes reflecting hunger, and not for food. The man with the deformed lip wipes the fallen ale from his chin with the back of his hand.
“So she does. Do you speak?”
I eye him something wicked.
“She understands us,” he says to the men. “She just chooses not to speak.”
“Perhaps we need to loosen her tongue, then. I have just the thing.” One man who is as short as a goat clutches his disgusting prick.
The men laugh, humored by his crudeness.
“Dane or not, you broads are useful for one thing—tending to men who are your superior. And we need a lot of tending to.”
Again, laughter spills from their repulsive lips.
I discreetly examine my surroundings and the weapons that are within reach. They all have swords, which I intend to use the moment I’m free. Men like these often underestimate women, which is always their downfall.
But this works in my favor because I tend to exploit their stupidity.
“Untie her,” a man with teeth as rotten as an apple orders.
There is no leader here—they’re all a band of misfits who came together because they are filth.
The short man reaches for the dagger in his belt and smirks as he walks behind me. He commences cutting through the rope at my wrists.
“I really hope you run,” he whispers into my ear, before licking the side of my neck.
Like all predators, the chase is half the fun.
The rope snaps, but the man ensures I won’t be running any time soon as he holds my wrists. I struggle, but he clutches me tightly. “I think we see what a Dane cunt looks like,” he suggests to his friends.
“Aye, I think you’re right.”
The man at my back smells my hair, his arousal pressing into me.
I need to think fast and offer them something they want more than filling their carnal lusts.
Revenge.
“I can take you to Queen Emeline,” I say, revealing my Saxon roots.
The room soon falls silent.
“I was once her lady-in-waiting, but she discarded me when I opposed her ruling to share this land with the heathens.”
They look at me incredulously. “Yet you wear a trinket of theirs around your gullet?”
“As a reminder of the Pagan who trusted me when he should not have. I took it…and his head.”
