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Getting to know Thorfast (Jenna's father) and how enemies were made:

Thorfast had grinned broadly as he and his men loped steadily up the shingled riverbanks and crept silently on through the mist drenched woods. The cluster of thatched dwellings had been unguarded , vulnerable beyond belief of the ever-wary creature, plums of woodsmoke rising through the chimneys to mingle with the pearl-gray dawn light. Not a single guard had stepped forward to bar their path, nor a solitary hound given voice to warn their owners of their coming.
He had given the war cry even as they approached the first house, he recalled, coupling the blood-curdling imprecation to mighty Odin and the Valkyries with a ferocious brandishing of the blood-axe in his fist. Like wolves they had fallen upon the house; the stolid door of timber was battered down in short order by well-placed boots and massive shoulders, weighty as hams. The unsuspecting family had been rudely jolted from sleep screaming and wild-eyed, to find themselves looking into the bearded face of death.
Thorfast, as chieftain, had slain the father himself, scorning the man's pitiful pleas to spare his women and little ones. He had cleaved the slow-moving cooper in two with a single, powerful downward stroke of his axe that had sliced through brains and bone and gut as if through warmed butter,and splattered a great gouts of crimson across the wooden floor. As he moved to a second man, who sprang at him from a corner with a stout club raised to attack, Thorfast glimpsed a wealth of tumbling red hair, caught a fleeting eyeful of bared female flesh, before the first of the woman was flung to the floor and eagerly and roughly mounted by his men in turn. Soon her screams had joined those of the others who had been felled by the axes and broadswords and daggers of Thorfast's raiding party as they overran the village and the chieftains home, sparing no man nor child-save a pitiful handful who managed to outrun them-a a precious few of the women.
Before dawn had fully broken, or the bright morning star paled into the charcoal of the sky, or the birds had begun their singing to herald the new day, the village had been put to the torch and swiftly consumed by hungry flames. The dead and the near dead still within its walls had added the stench of burning flesh to the acrid oder of crackling wood.
The captured women had huddled together beneath a spreading oak where they had been dragged, weeping softly for the children torn from their arms and ruthlessly killed, for the husbands who would never hold them again. Others had remained stonily silent, their eyes glazed with the horrors they had seen or experienced, their minds unhinged.
Off to one side Thorfast's men had amused themselves with some of the terrified women, or loaded what wealth the village had yielded into their packs, which were then lashed securely and carried to the waiting ships, concealed by morning mist a half league down river.
Thorfast, his fur spattered with fresh blood, his blood-axe still dripping gore, looked about him hungrily, filled with the heady lust that always followed hot on the heels of bloodshed and victory. A woman! By Odin, he needed a woman!
His gaze came to rest on one who stood apart from the other bawling cow, a anthro wolf with the proud, regal bearing of a princess. Her braided hair had at some point been wrested from its tidy confines and now spilled in a thick black cascade to her hips, which were full and invitingly rounded. A plump, rose-crested white breast jutted from the torn bodice of her shirt, yet she made no modest move to cover herself. Rather, she seemed to sense Thorfast's burning eyes upon her and turned to look him directly, meeting the blazing blue of his leer with a level brown gaze of her own that was, to the chieftains mind, peculiarly disconcerting.
"You!" he growled, aware that the thick, viscous breathing of lust slurred his speech. "Here!"
It was clear she understood the intent of his command if not the words themselves, for with only a seconds' hesitation she moved gracefully, proudly, toward him across the green yard. Tall for a female, she yet reached only to the shoulders of the towering, Thorfast, who was a giant amongst a race of giants. Looking up into his cruelly handsome face, she had calmly awaited his next words.
Her serenity irked Thorfast, and with somewhat greater force than he might otherwise, have used upon a captured female, he knotted his warriors gnarled hooves in her shining black hair and wrenched her brutally to him.
"Hold!"" she cried loudly
Despite himself, her imperious tone gave Thorfast pause. With a curse, he abruptly released her. "Sven!" he bellowed. "What says the black haired witch?"
Sven hurried forward, glancing from the woman and back to his chieftain. "The-the woman bade you 'hold' in her tongue, my lord." he translated.
Thorfast's brows arched in disbelief. He let out a great roar of scornful laughter. "Did she now, good Sven? And ask her, by Loki, who is she, that she dares give commands to Thorfast Jorgenson, Jarl of Danehof!"
The men around him stopped what they were about and turned to watch the exchange with keen interest now.
Sven did as bidden. The woman answered him softly, yet her manner was as aloof and controlled as before, and her composure filled Sven with respect, for few women behaved so when faced by a rutting buck such as his lord.
"She says that she is Wilone, the desired one, lady wife to the high chieftain Aeldred, who you and your men butchered along with their two sons this morning." Sven translated, his encouraging smile fled now.
"And what of it?" Thorfast snarled, a suspicious glint in his eyes. "She is but a woman to be used, like all the rest."
"She asks that you spare her, my lord. And in return, she swears she will please you in any manner you might ask of her."
Thorfast's eyes glittered hotly. She was a bold b***h, if ever he'd seen one! Against his volition, she fired his blood with her cool composure and her witch's dark comeliness. He yearned to break her spirit, to see her grovel before him and beg his mercy...
"Asks, does she now? Why does she not beg me, eh, Sven, like the other bawling cows of her village? Ask her, why I should bargain like a wine merchant for her body, when I can take it at my pleasure?" he scoffed arrogantly, fists planted on hips, his legs braced apart. There was a sly, lustful glitter to his eyes now, the hooded wink of an old wolf who knows he has the upper hand, yet sports at playing with his prey. It was an expression Sven knew it all too well-and one that made the blood run cold in his veins with dread.
He had haltingly repeated his chieftains words, turning to Thorfast with eyes downcast and fair-skinned cheeks a deep crimson with embarrassment. "The lady acknowledges that you can indeed take her by force, if that is what you will, my lord. However, she bade me tell yiou that she is very skilled in the mating arts, and would willingly demonstrate her-talents-if you would spare her life. And-and she bade me also remind you again that her very name means "The desired one" in her tongue. "
Thorfast rubbed his chest, nonplussed. He sorely doubted the black haired witch could teach him anything that was new. He was no stranger to women nor their bodies, either willing or hot, or reluctant and struggling vainly to flee him; had not been since he had reached manhood and taken his first servant. Yet-her quiet confidence intrigued him. He whetted his lips and eyed her covertly. Could this b***h know something he did not? "Why does this queen not place her honor over her life, as befits the woman of a chieftain? Why does she offer herself like a camp follower to the slayer of her menfolk and children?"
Again Sven and the woman conversed. "The Lady Wilone says that her lord had no brothers, sir. That his two little sons killed this morning were the last of his line-save for the child she now carries in her womb. She says that sons are a man's immortality, sir, his link with the-the gods. If you will accept the bargain she offers, then Aeldred will thus live on in his son or daughter. "
Thorfast grunted and hid a cruel smile. For all her loveliness, the woman was a fool! Why would he, Thorfast, allow even on of Aeldred's cubs to grow to manhood? Did the farmer permit weeds to flourish unhampered in his fields? No! not a one! A wise farmer knew that a single weed left to flourish could become many, many weed, and choke the life giving stalks of grain. So it was with cubs...But his stony features revealed none of his thoughts. Instead, he nodded.
"So be it." a cruel grin creasing his lips. "But tell the 'lady' she must please me mightily if she wishes to save her unborn whelp's life-and I am not a man easily pleasured by a woman. If she fails, it will go ill with her-I swear it by Mjolnir, the mighty hammer of Thor!" So saying, he touched the hammer shaped talisman of bronze that hung on a cord about his neck, and leered at her.
To his satisfaction, the woman named Wilone paled.

It was dusk before Thorfast struggled up from his flattened bed of bracken and furs where he had lain with the female all day long. He laboriously donned his leggings and trousers, his linen shirt and chain-mail coat, cursing his weakness. For all that he was a man grown, his knees trembled like a new born fawn. He buckled on his broad belt and made a stride away, back toward the river and his men. But before he went, he could not resist one last, backward glance at the bewitching female sprawled at his feet. She had inflamed him, drained him, pleasured him more than any woman had ever done, this whole day.
By Thor, she was a sorceress, he thought regretfully. He had enjoyed her many times since the dawning. Yet after each coupling she had fondled, stirred him, until yet again he hungered for her. If it weren't for the child she carried within her, he would have borne her way to his homeland and his hall and kept her for his pleasure alone, for besides her, a lush beauty of his plump, placid, golden haired Verdandi paled. The woman Wilone's bare body was the golden hue of mead, honey sweet and mellow and as ripely full as any man could desire. Her shining hair, damp now with her sweat as was the deep cleft between her full breasts, was a tangled black river, streaming down over the gold. In passion she was as the sh lynx, fierce and fiery. At his feet, Wilone panted shallowly, her eyes dark with fear and dark-ringed with exhaustion as she looked up at cunning Thorfast and saw that the coarse male was bent on rejoining his men. Mistrust was evident in her tired features.
She reached out and stayed him, grasping at his hair ankle as a drowning man clutches desperately for a passing branch. She cried something in a cracked, husky voice that was wracked with terror and uncertainty.
Her tone was enough for him to know that she asked if she had please him; if their bargain would be kept, and he would leave her and her unborn baby unharmed.
"Yes, witch, yes." he growled, and nodded for her benefit before shrugging off her hand and striding quickly away, afraid that he tarried he would weaken. As he went, he swung his mantle over his shoulder, his fingers trembling on the round silver brooch that served to pin it at the right shoulder so that he pricked himself. He growled an oath as the blood ran crimson down the sleeve of his axe arm, to mingle with the rusty stains of old gore before dripping to his golden fur.
Wilone saw this, and despite her exhaustion a tiny smile of triumph curved her lips. "Blood of my blood, blood of your blood, I curse you, mighty Thorfast!" she whispered, a distant, dreaming light in her dilated sloe-black eyes that hinted at madness. "They will mingle, yes, mingle here long-and mine will, at the last vanquish yours. I, Wilone, swear it!..."

Thorfast had found Sven and his men on the river banks, awaiting him.
"The wealth has been stowed aboard ship, sir," the translator informed the chieftain. "Your spies spoke truly. Aeldred's settlement was far more prosperous than it appeared from without. And on our land."
"Sven!" Thorfast called, and Sven's heart sank.
"My lord chieftain?" Sven asked, turning reluctant feet back toward his lord.
"Aeldreds woman. She lies back there, in the bracken. Deal with her Sven." He made to go on his way.
Gentle Sven was aghast. He called after the jarl-"But-did she not please you, my lord?"
"Yes, she did." Thorfast mumbled softly "She is well named." He scowled "But I'll permit none of Aedred's cubs to survive this day. Sons of murdered fathers have a way of rising up and seeking revenge. I shall pass no sleepless nights on Aeldreds account."
Sven's face paled in the gathering dusk and the gorge rose in his throat. "As-as you command, sir." he stammered, and turned back the way his chieftain had come, drawing his dagger as he went.
Sven let Wilone live, as she escaped into the forest to live. She bore twin boys. One named Roland, the other Raistlin. She died soon after her brother found them, the mother dead, the babes still wrapped snuggly and alive in her arms.

Growing up

As little Jenna grew, so did her awareness that all was not as it should be. She knew that Thorfast was her sire and wondered why, unlike other fathers, he showed no awareness that she was his daughter; no pride in her looks or accomplishments, as did they with their young daughters. That she was different was strongly brought home by the other children of the hall, who began to tease her cruelly and pick on her with vicious pinches and slaps until someone-perhaps her uncle Sven or a tender hearted servant would pull them off her.
"Girl-brat! Girl-brat! Your father doesn't want you!" came the cruel, singsong taunts. "Good for nothing doe!"
Jenna flung about, white curls flying, to see a young boy standing before her, his fists on his hips, his sky-blue eyes mocking her as he grinned broadly. It was the final straw in a week of hurtful, relentless teasing.
"I'm not! He does!" she cried furiously, tears of rage brimming in her dark brown eyes. She flew at him like a cornered lynx, small fists pummeling at his head, his chest, his arms, everywhere.
For all that he was four years older and over two feet taller than her, the unexpectedness of her attack knocked him off balance. He sprawled backward to the floor, with the little wild doe flailing furiously atop him. Blood was streaming from his nose when he begged for mercy.
"Stop! Stop!" he gasped
"No!" she cried furiously. "Take it back! Take back what you said or you'll be sorry!"
He had a black eye, a split lip and a hank or two of hair missing, clutched in Jenna's furious fist when Thorfast's steward finally pulled her off.
For all his throbbing face, there was a glimmer of admiration in young Olaf's eyes when he struggled to his feet and faced the little doe. By Loki, she was little more than a babe, less than half his size, he realized belatedly, throughly ashamed of himself. But for all that, shew as no coward! Her tears were tears of anger, not hurt, he sensed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, eyes downcast. "I-I take it back."
Fists on hips, Freya glowered at him. "You big bully, and so you should!" she retorted hotly, light brown eyes tempestuous.
"Friends, then?" Olaf suggested casually, extending his hoof to clasp hers in offer of friendship.
"Never!" Jenna hotly refused, and flew away, white curls bouncing, skirts flying, leaving Olaf gaping after her and feeling surprisingly crushed by her refusal.
Nevertheless, her fierce defense of herself had, unknown to her, engendered a grudging but sincere admiration in Olaf for the brave little maid. As the moments went by, he managed=though with only a greatest difficulty- to become not only her friend but her defender, self appointed protector, and partner in mischief too.
But despite her outward happiness , inside Jenna was confused, puzzled by her father's coldness. Though she tried and tried, she could remember no naughty deed, however distant and buried in the past, that might have caused him to ignore her so utterly. She ached, yearned with all her little heart, for him to notice her, to say he was pleased with some small thing she had done. But though she constantly sought ways to show a daughterly affection to the Lord of Danehof, if Thorfast noticed them he gave no sighn that he had done so. At least, in desperation, she determined to ask Sven what grave sin she had committed to turn Thorfast against her. Uncle Sven would tell her the truth. He never lied to her!
"It is simply because you are a doe, Jenna and not a boy. "
Sven told her with great gentleness. "Your lord father dearly wanted a son when you were born, and he is bitter that he has none. "
"Are boy's better than girls, then, Uncle Sven?" she had demanded with childlike innocence and trust in her brown eyes.
"Better, no," Sven answered her solemnly , wondering how to soften the new hurt and bitterness that the truth must instill in her. "But different-yes, they are different." He drew her onto his knees and fondly tousled her untidy curls . "A boy deer grows up to be a warror, like his father. He can become jarl when his father goes to Valhalla, and lead his men on raids to protect his land."
"Then what worth have girl-deer?"
"Why, a girl-deer marries, and that is a very worthy thing to do, for she may bring her father allies by the joining of two enemy households and thus put an end to the bloodshed and feuding of many years. She must also bear children for her lord husband- and remember, it is the woman who bears those new lives, not the man; she who nurtures the child in her body and brings it forth into the world. That is the great gift a woman-and only a woman-can give. The gift of life!"
Jenna wrinkled her little nose in distaste "Pah! Cows give life to little cows, and dogs to their whelps, do they not? It does not seem so very special to me, Uncle Sven, if even the animals can do it! Is that all girls are intended for, to drop babes, one after the other?" she asked, obviously disgusted.
Sven laughed. "No, not all. But for most women-your mother, for one- it is ample."
Jenna snorted and tossed her head. "Perhaps it is enough for most girls, but never for me! Why, I can fight as well as any boy! Olaf says so. He and I fought Eric yesterday even, and he is older by three years than Olaf-but it was us who won, not him!"
He laughed at the fiercely stubborn, indignant light in her eyes. "You are more like your lord father than he would ever believe," he said softly, for her expression was Thorfast's. "But little fierce one, you must learn to accept your lot in life, if you are ever to be happy."
"Accept?" She shook her head stubbornly. "No uncle, I will not. You taught me that the path to knowledge or any worthy prize is paved with questions and striving, not blind acceptance. I am as brave as any lad in this hall-or any hall, anywhere! You tell me that my lord father wanted a son? well, I, Jenna, shall be that son! Just watch me, Sven! Ill learn to hunt and to fight with the broadsword and the battleaxe , you'll see! In a few years Thorfast will have quite forgotten that mother bore him a lowly doe, and take pride in me, his little Jenna! Ill make it so!"
"Well talk more on this later," he promised vaguely, "For now, my pretty, Nissa awaits you at your loom." His eyes twinkled. "Concentrate on your tablet-braiding for now, Lady Jenna, and put all thoughts of swordplay aside.
She again wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Tablet braiding Uncle Sven? No! If I must do something, I suppose I'll practice my scrivening. The script with the pretty pictures is much more fun than such womens work!" she said with obvious scorn.
She dropped a kiss upon his cheek and skipped from the room, curls flying, her shift and over pinnings bitched up about her slim, bare legs.
It was the last time he was to see her in skirts for many, many years.

Battle

With naught but a hairbreadth saving her, she twisted sideways, feeling the rush of air disturbed by the heavy blade whistling past her cheek. She brought her sword across, yet found no target, for the stroke was expertly blocked by an enemies broad blade, and metal rang against metal. Before she could recover he pressed his advantage, slamming her against the ribs with the flat of his weighty weapon in a blow that drove the breath from her body and sent stars of pain ricocheting through her. Like a felled wand, she sprawled backward to the grass. The enemy fell heavily upon her and straddled her hips, raising his broadsword above his head to deliver the death stroke that would sever her head from her slender neck.
His heavy weight crushed her, robbed her of breath and strength. She couldn't move, could scarce breath! Blessed Frey, guardian of woman, help me, give me strength! she screamed silently, straining until sweat bled from her brow to throw him off. Death was imminent. With awful certainty, she saw his arm begin its descent as if motion were slowed; dimly heard her guardians bellow of rage nearby, followed by a strangled groan; saw the steel wink silver fire in the sunlight as the blade arced down-
"In Gods name, no!" roared a voice, a dear familiar voice, and a strangled cry escaped her as another body intruded itself between the blade and her own. Her nostrils were filled suddenly with the dear scent of her beloved-and by the rank coppery stink of his blood as the Saxon blade cleaved into his shoulder and back. The enemy flung the creature aside, disgust curling his lips as he clambered to his feet, looming over the fallen pair. He had raised his sword a second time to deal Jenna the death blow, when the wounded creature's eye's flickered open, filled with pleading.
"Pray sir! No!" he whispered in the Saxon tongue. "Spare her!"
The enemies brows arched upward in grim amazement. "Her?" he growled, and extended the toe of his booted foot to roughly nudge the helmet from Jenna's head, revealing her lovely face and a tumble of shiny white hair. "Ah!" he roared, grinning. "A wench!"
"Spare her, I beg of you." Jenna's companion repeated, his voice quavering "She-she is the daughter-the only daughter of the jarl Thorfast Jorgensen, he whom the-the Saxons once called "The Treacherous."
The enemy was stunned, yet not so stunned he did not notice the warrior maid stealthily reaching for her fallen weapon. Like lightning his booted foot came out, clamping down heavily upon her wrist so that she cried out in sudden agony.
"No, not so fast!" he growled "If what the old one says is true, my lord will want you taken alive!"
"Never!" she seethed "I am armed as a man, and I can fight like any man! Let me up and I will prove it to you-else I will also die like a man!" Her deep brown eyes glittered with hatred.
The enemy chuckled grimly at her fierceness, then shook his head. "No." He glanced around him, then suddenly bent and swept her up into his arms, tossing her casually over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Despite her struggles to free herself and her outraged curses and screams, he bore her rapidly from the woods to where the other's waited, older men and boys fro the most part, and at thier feet he dropped her without ceremony. "Guard her well!" he growled "If she escapes, Ill personally kill you." And with that, he returned to the raging battle.
By dusk, an eerie silence had settled over the still forest. The slick, red-soaked grass was churned and littered with bodies, twisted and broken in the obscene postures of death, and strewn with bloodied weapons. The greater number were her own dead, recognizable by the familiar armor they wore. The air reeked foully with the scent of blood and carnage as Roland strode between the bodies. His tunic was torn and ringed with sweat, his dark hair sodden, yet his eyes were alive, lit inwardly with the victor's glow.
"We vanquished them, cousin, though they outnumbered us two to one!" he murmured.
"Aye sir," he agreed. "And our own losses were small. We've taught these creatures a lesson they'll never forget! We will own them! They'll think twice about trying to stop us next time!"
"How many lost?"
"Twelve sir. There are four more gravely wounded who might yet join them."
"Twelve too many.." he growled
"Indeed it is sir, But,-"and he grinned, "-I have something to show you that I think will please you nonetheless."
"What?"
"Come with me, to where the horses are tethered."
"I am battle-weary, cousin, and in no mood for children's guessing games. What secret is it?" Roland demanded impatiently as they strode from the forest.
"Look sir, over there."
Roland looked, his brows lowering as he saw a slender female, dressed in armor , bound securely to a tree. Her hair made a bright splash of color against the dark greenery in the fading light. Her eyes, even from this distance, burned with rage at her capture.
"A captive woman dressed in armor?" Roland shook his head. "Take her as your prize, if you would have her, Cullen. Give me instead the warm and willing, comely female to warm my bed." he winked "With them, a man can at least be certain they won't be killed in action!" With a weary grin he made to turn toward the horses, but Cullen grasped him by the shoulder and stayed him.
"No cousin, I took her captive for you, after half her men turned on each other," he insisted. "She is not just any female, you see sir. She is the daughter of one on whom you have long sworn to take vengeance."
"Not Thorfast's daughter?" Roland asked, incredulous, glancing intently across at the wench.
"Yes," Cullen acknowledged, grinning at Roland's sudden surge of interest, "None other!"

A Slave

Jenna awoke to the sensation of wetness and rubbing, of hands moving with little gentleness over her, to find that while she has lain dead to the world she had been taken somewhere else-to a room within the towering fortress. There was a dull throbbing in her head and a less dull ache in her jaw where Roland's elbow had clipped her. A sharp stinging sensation on the back of her neck brought her to her senses. Sitting up, she thrust away the hands and cloths that moved over her body, and rubbed her soreness.
"Leave me alone!" she hissed "Don't touch me!"
An ancient serving woman leaned over where she lay upon a rough, unpillowed sleeping bench. "You'll do as I say! My lord has ordered that the filth be bathed from your body, and bated you will be!" A pair of bright blue eyes gleamed determinedly from amidst a crab-apple face.
"Yes, lady Jenna," jeered a second voice. "And when you are clean and fit to be mounted, you will be taken to our lord, to serve his...pleasure."
Jenna's head jerked about to see who the owner of this second, huskily mocking voice might be, and found herself staring into spiteful golden eyes framed by a mass of ebony hair of an anthro cat. The voluminously beautiful creature, richly robed in emerald and saffron, her hair, fingers and throat ablaze with jewels, stood aloofly across the room from her. "And who might you be?" she demanded. A wicked light kindled in her own eyes. "One of the local whores?"
The woman's jaw tightened, and Jenna knew by the sudden firing in those golden orbs that her gibe has struck home. It was all the woman could do to control her emotions, to resist springing across the room and scoring her talons down Jenna's cheeks. The knowledge gave her perverse pleasure.
"I am the Lady Kendra, wife to our lord's brother. You would do well to curb your tongue. Slaves who displease me are dealt with swiftly and harshly in this household."
"No doubt they are.," Jenna agreed, mocking the other woman with her brown eyes and a contentious curl to her lips. "All she-cats have claws!"
A dark flush rose up the beautiful older woman's face, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. She turned away, moving across the floor with angry grace. "See that she is brought to Lord Roland very soon, Lona." She turned back to face Jenna. "I am certain he is most eager to begin her taming! We will see how bold she is tomorrow morning, will we not?"
The old serving woman cackled with obscene laughter.
Despite Jenna's bravery, the woman Kendra's words struck icy tremors in the pit of her belly. Her taming! Her tongue dabbed nervously at her dry lips and she swallowed with effort, unable to still the sudden trembling to her limbs. By Odin's beard, how they quivered. Yet she would not be humbled, no matter what the price. She would give no quarter, not so long as there was life and breath left in her body!
She closed her eyes and lay back, letting the hideously wrinkled old crone clean the battle filth from her body while she tortured herself with visions of being impaled beneath that great wolf of a brute's body. Oh, dear Uncle Sven, she cried silently, if only I had heeded the warning of your vision. If only I had listened to your words, instead of blindly following my will, you would not now be dead, and I would not be here! So many good, loyal men had followed her to their deaths-noble warriors deaths with sword in hand that would bring them safe into Valhalla 'it was true, but deaths nonetheless-and because of her obstinacy, and one man's enmity, because of the treacherous warriors hatred for her-their deaths had been for nothing.
"You are ready, girl," the servant muttered, having raked a carved wooden comb through Jenna's tangled hair. "Here,give me your wrists."
Jenna returned from her gloomy misgivings with a start, to see that the woman held out a length of lightweight chain to which wristbands of iron were attached. She looked wildly about her, and the old woman smiled. "Let no thought of flight or refusal enter your head, my pretty. There are guards without these chambers. They have been instructed to prevent your escape from here in any manner, short of your death, that they deem fitting. I would advise you to yield, or it will be the worse for you."
Jenna turned her face from the old woman, unwilling to have her see the black despair she knew filled her eyes. "Very well," she murmured at length, tossing the silver curtain away from her face. Her chin came up defiantly. "Give me some garments to put on, and I will don these chained bracelets.
"No garments," the old woman said finality, and grinned a toothy smile. "My lord left orders that you were to be brought to him stripped naked of all coverings-save for these bonds." Her heard gave a momentarily stir of pity for the captive maid, but the stirring was quickly staunched. Had not this one's sire killed her Lady Willones first two babies, the infants she'd wet-nursed at her own breast, the dear little lads she'd loved as her own? Had Thorfast not brutally slain their father, and driven his lovely Wilone to madness with his rape, forcing her to seek out the spartan comfort of the convent's cold walls? Whatever means Roland might employ to break this one's spirit, to destroy that fierce will and humble it to his bidding, he had old Lona's blessing! "Quickly, now," she urged, her tone colder than before, "my lord is not one who takes kindly to being kept waiting."
Jenna felt dizziness overwhelm her. Heat flamed in her cheeks. The shame of it, to be brought naked and in chains to her enemies bed! She could not do it. No, she would not!
She sprang to her feet, snatched up the pottery basin of bathing water, and hurled it into the old hag's face, then flung about and flew to the curtained doorway, thrusting it aside. At once two rough guards stepped forward, spears in hand, to block her escape. Their eyes kindled eagerly at the sight of her shapely bare body, and the lust raged beastlike there as they came toward her.
"Now girlie, there'll be no escaping us," one growled. "What has she done to you Lona?"
Old Lona tore the sodden handkerchief from her bald head and tossed it aside, wiping her streaming face on her apron.
"Not much, to her disappointment, no doubt," she muttered irritably. "The chains! See them fastened, then take her to the hall."
Hands reached greedily for Jenna's limbs, and though she struggled wildly she could not writhe free of the two burly men.
"Ah, he's a lucky man our lord will be tonight," one of the louts muttered, grinning wolfishly into her furious, flaming face as he clamped one of the iron bands about her wrist. "Maybe he'll give us brave lads a taste of this when he's had his fill..."As he drew his hand away, he let his rough fingers graze the curve of her breast. "On your feet, slave!"
He jerked her to standing. The chains bit cruelly into her writs, but she gritted her teeth and muffled the gasp of pain that hissed from between her lips. "One day you'll pay for this!" she seethed "On the hammer of Thor, I swear it!"
"No girlie, tis you who'll be payin-and on our lord's mighty 'hammer' not your pagan Thor's!" The men tittered, and prodded her in the back with his spear. "Aye, Roland will exact a goodly price from your comely flesh, slut! Get along with you!"
With countless crude insults and not little rough handling, she was taken, naked and in chains, from the small room and across the bailey, then inside to the hall proper and to the great chamber that was its heart.
To her growing horror, she saw that the vast aisled hall was filled with the members of Roland's court and family. Richly dressed men and women were seated at long benches spread with a sumptuous feast. Maids and menservents hovered at their elbows with ready bottles of wine. But all turned with one accord to gaze her as she faltered in the wide entranceway.
Beyond, at the far end of the hall to the left of Roland's high seat, heavily guarded and also chained, stood Olaf, dark blood staining his red hair. Courage she had not known she possessed filled her being. She straightened her shoulders, drawing herself erect and proud, shrugged off the marauding hands of her guards, and began the longest walk of her life, across the floor and down the very center of the isle of the vast hall, between the carved posts that towered like an avenue of straight trees on either side, to where Roland, waited upon his high carved wooden chair.
The harpist ceased his playing,and the sudden silence trembled in the aftermath of his last note. A murmur grew in the hall, swelling as the lovely naked maid moved with grace and pride through their midst, seemingly oblivious o the hot eyes of the males feasting upon her nakedness and of the jealous spite in the eyes of the females.
Despite himself, Roland was moved to grudging admiration for the girl. Though he has sought to humble her spirit by having her brought naked before him, she had, he realized, with her fierce pride and grace, neutralized in part his intent by her regal bearing alone.
He watched her advance through hooded eyes, noting the way her lovely hair sprang away from her temples and brow with vigor, as if alive, before tumbling down past her shoulders in tempestuous waves. He found himself wondering how it would feel to twine those shining tendrils about his fingers, and a hot fire swept through him. His gaze dropped to the full curves of her body. His eyes smoldered like banked coals as he imagined how it would be to feast his mouth upon her body. Slender-waisted yet womanly of hip, she came at last to a halt before him, flung back her hair and faced him proudly, fists on hips despite the chains, her eyes hurling a challenge into his.
The color in her pale cheeks deepened furiously as she read his gaze, and for a fleeting second her rigid composure was lost. She felt small and vulnerable and afraid. She looked wildly about her, seeking and finding Olaf's sky-blue eyes boring into her own. Momentarily she was struck breathless by the helpless fury in their depths. "Forgive me!" she mouthed silently. A flicker of a change in his expression, and she knew that Olaf's anger was directed not at her, but at Roland and the men who betrayed them. Her heart went out to him, her dear, loyal friend Olaf, friend of her lonely childhood, and for a second she came perilously close to the foolish, feminine weakness of tears.
"My people!" rang out Roland's deep voice. "You see before you the only child of Thorfast the Treacherous, chieftain of those who dare to work against us. Some of us lost mother's and fathers, brothers or sisters, wives and little one's to the rebellions. Thorfast showed them no mercy-as this day I have shown his men no mercy! Their ships have been burned, their slaves freed, their gold recaptured . Their broken pagan bodies lie in the woods, carrion for the crows, and the wolves of the forest. All are dead or scattered, save for the two you see before you now: the red beard, Olaf the Oaken One; Freya the Frozen Hearted, the jarl Thorfast's own daughter."
"Thorfast himself has grown old and sickly now, and no longer goes to protect his land. yet will I have our revenge on him! It is my decidion to let the one named Olaf live. He will return to the vipers nest from whence they came, and tell his jarl that his cherished warrior-daughter is now my slave-in all ways!"
He stepped down from the dais and strode across to Jenna, cupping her chin in his large paw and squeezing cruelly as he jerked her head up so that he might look into her blazing brown eyes. "He will tell Thorfast that Roland, takes his pleasure upon the body of Jenna, his daughter! That the slave, Jenna, his own daughter, Jenna," he taunted mockingly, his hand sliding down her body. "will this very night surrender herself to me, her lord and master. Henceforth she will do my bidding, and will await my every pleasure with eagerness, as befits a bedroom slave."
"No!" A great roar came from Olaf, who would have flung himself upon the lord and throttled him barehanded, were he not chained. At once several guards came forward and dragged him, struggling, back. He was roaring curses in a mighty voice that shook the rafters and sent the hounds whining to the corners. "Your ploy will not work! I will tell Thorfast nothing! Kill me and set her free, Roland!"
A cruel smile curved Rolands lips, and his hand continued its possessive, causal, insolent caresses of the girl's trembling body. "Ah, your life for the maids? Such love for your leader? Surely your loyalty goes beyond a warrior's vow to serve his lord-or lady?"
"I deny nothing! I love the Lady Jenna more than life itself!" Olaf gritted through clenched jaws. His fists were massively balled against his thighs. "Enslave me, torture me, if you would bring shame upon the house of Thorfast, for my own father was among Thorfast's men that day, your father was killed. But Jenna-she was not yet born! The faults of her father are not her faults. In Odin's name-in the name of your White Christ-free her!"
"No Olaf. It will be as I have said," Roland said softly, releasing the furious, seeing young woman and insolently thrusting her from him with a lingering smile that threatened more to come soon. He strode across to the red-bearded one and they exchanged hate-filled glances, eye to eye. "You will go free. You will leave my place by dusk this very day. Or you will suffer torture and death. Tell all whom you meet that Roland, shows no mercy, be they male or female-even as the jarl Thorfast once showed the people of no mercy!" Behind Roland, his uncle Ordway, brother to the Lady Wilone smiled and nodded with grim satisfaction.
A might roar of approval went up from the gathering, filling the hall to the rafters. Roland waited until it had died away. "Release him!" he barked to the guards. "See them sent on their way!"
Turning to the leering guards at the captive maid's sides, he ordered, "Take her to my room!"
Rolands brother came forward to stand at his brother's side as the captive maid was taken away amidst the hoots and jeers of the gathering. "You will use her cruelly," he said softly, a statement rather than a question, "In revenge for what befell our lady mother."
"I will," Roland agreed, his expression cold and stern. "And in any manner I deem fitting. She will rue the day she led her forces down river to stop us."