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Part 2 of Femslash February | In Bloom 2021 , Part 2 of NATASHA ROMANOV - 138 HEARTBEATS | THE LOST MULTIVERSE
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NATASHA ROMANOFF | DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE WE GO, Wandanat Lost Omegaverse
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2021-02-03
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2024-03-06
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26/?
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Élivágar (NatashapunX Afterdark Reconstruction)

Summary:

An unpredictable mission forces Natasha to face her feelings for a certain Witch. And Wanda can see underneath all that asshole troll mask lurks a protective angel sent from heaven.

OR

A Viking/Wandanat AU that no one asked but I re-write it and distorted to have a little fun. 😎😎😎

Our Journey Continues

Notes:

Phase two of in bloom is here.

• First of all, as the title says, this fanfic is a reconstruction of Sandra Hill 'the bewitched Viking. that means there will be some dark changes and twists in the plot and of course Wanda and Natasha as main protagonists.

• I just do this for fun and have a good time distorting the original story lines.

• The characters and the story belongs to their respective creators. The mistakes and nonsense words are all mine.

• Élivágar means Ice Waves and it is the name of the rivers that filled the primordial void (Ginnungagap) at the beginning of the world.

• I want dedicated this one to a three wandanat lovers, ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal, ChrisChen2213 and wumingxiaopengyou this is for you guys hope you like it.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Sól

Chapter Text

 

 

Birka, 952 A.D

 

"The king's manroot took a right turn." The messenger sat across from the red-haired alpha.

 

"What? What root? " Blinking with confusion, Natasha Romanovdóttir lifted her head off the tavern table and drunk she was, stared at Ward, the royal messenger.

 

"And he requires your services to correcting the ... um, problem." The messenger said awkwardly.

 

"Me? Do my ears plays me false?” With a brain that felt like a mashed turnip itself, Natasha ran her hand over her wild red curls and wondered how her cousin's messenger, King Aksel, had tracked her to Birka. And why, for the love of Freyja,  would she go to would the botherment of the grueling trek from the far northern reaches of Trondelag to the bustling market town on the island of Bjorko in Lake Malar? To tell him about… vegetables? Blody Hell! Natasha should be offended. “You are in front of a prominent warrior and a trader in precious amber. Since when have I become a farmsteader with knowledge of roots? "

 

Ward's jaw dropped at Natasha's ferocious overreaction. The boy immediately he clicked it shut and with a snarl of impatience tried again. "The king's cock has taken a right turn."

 

“His rooster? Natasha frowned, she was becoming more and more confused. First vegetables, now poultry. Next this lackwit would be asking him for help in drying lutefisk.

 

“Not that rooster.” Ward snorted grumpily, clearly disgusted by Natasha's mead-sodden state. In truth, Natasha hardly ever drink to excess. Though she seemed to have a light-hearted nature, she hated any lack of self-control. Of course, Natasha had a reason to celebrate, she had just returned from a successful trip to the Baltic lands, where her workers had harvested a crop of prized amber for her trading ventures. 

 

Still, this heavy dark cloud of depression had been hanging over her for several days. No doubt it was the boredom of repeating the same routine every day. "Fight with brave heart honoring Odin and take a wench after the battle." That had been her life’s motto for a long time "or at least, in the beginning, but for some reason those pleasures were fading.

 

After having seen thirty-one winters, Natasha had garnered more wealth than she could ever use in a long lifetime. Years ago she had lost count of how many Omegas she’d bedded, but now she no longer felt the same excitement and euphoria that she used to feel at the sight of a wench approaching her.

 


Then there was the matter about fighting "a well-known pastime of the Vikings." She had fought in the battles of various kingdoms like a wild and untamed Berserker since she was sixteen winters, just like her father Alexei and her mentor Fury 'may his soul rest in Valhalla.'

 

But lately Natasha found herself questioning of late the motives of  leaders who called for the rash spilling of blood from their underlings. Well, there was the part about a Viking. Natasha had seen adventures in all of her trading, Viking voyages. 


She had visited and revisited, explored and discovered, even conquered, from the neighboring Rus lands to Iceland, from the Baltic Sea to the English Channel. Natasha deliberately never stayed in the same place for long. It was not good for a woman in her position to form roots. 

 

What else was there to draw a Alpha’s jaded interest? What challenges that she had not already mastered? What new wild adventures awaited her? Natasha sighed deeply.

 

“By your leave, Natasha Romanovdóttir, tis the king's other cock I refer to.” Ward had been rambling while Natasha's thoughts wandered around. Suddenly, the messenger's words made sense as Ward rose and cupped his crotch. Natasha's green eyes widened with understanding. Manroot. Cock. Oh! A Cock! 

 

She glanced at the junction of her thighs and winced with Alpha empathy. “Oh, I see. The king's dick did what? " Natasha cleared her throat as she asked and saw the messenger sit down.

 

“Made a right turn. Halfway down.” Ward downed a mug of beer and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He cearly relieved that Natasha finally understood her message. "It looks like a flag at half mast, it does.”

 

“And he wants me to fix it? Natasha gasped with horror.

 

"Not you ... Precisely." Ward shook his head.

 

"C'mon start to talk!" Natasha shot the insolent guy a glance. "Who precisely?"

 

The tone in her icy voice must have caught the silly boy's attention. Looking at the redhead and shifting nervously in his seat, Ward replied, "Um, the witch."

 

By Odin's Blood!” Getting a concrete answer from this idiot messenger was difficult like lifting Thor's mjolnir. "Just any witch?" Natasha asked, looking with bored eyes at the messenger.

 

"No. She is a very particular one. " The messenger shifted uncomfortably under Natasha's scrutiny. The nervous boy raised his eyes to the sky and clear his throat.

 

"Well that is clear as fjord fog on a rainy day." If Natasha weren't so tired, she would shake this brainless idiot until his teeth fell out for so such discourtesy.


"The witch with the Virgin's Veil." Ward let out an exasperated breath.

 

“Oh! It was so hard to start from there, boy. " Natasha made a low growling sound and Ward, with belated wisdom, hurried to explain. “The witch's name is Wanda… Lady Wanda Maximoff of Northumbria. She is the one who put the curse on the Aksel manpart. All because King Aksel and his soldiers had the misfortune to stop at St Beatrice Abbey in Britain  one day last year. The abbey is home to a nunnery where Lady Wanda was seeking for a time from her bumbling cousins, Lord Rumlow and Lord Jack.

 

"I don't think your king is innocent." Natasha giggled as she wondered what would constitute"bumbling" in the mind of this bumbling and incompetent idiot. But she did not dare to ask and even less to listen to another long-winded speech. Instead, she focused on Ward's other words. “Stopped by? Aksel stopped by a nunnery? I would bet he went to rape and pillaging.”

 

"And what if we did? “In a lapse of stupidity, Ward responded irritably, revealing his part in the marauding band of soldiers. “Tis neither here nor there whether we were a-plundering or not. I daresay you’ve done a fair share of plundering in your day, too. At issue here is the fact the witch waved a relic in the King Aksel's face ... a blue veil, which, according to her, belonged to the Blessed Virgin Mary. " Ward paused and then explained, as if Natasha were an idiot. "The Virgin Mary is the mother of the Christian God and ..."

 

“I know who the Virgin Mary is. Idiot! Natasha clenched her fists again to refrain herself from strangling the fool.

 

“Well, as I was saying… that's when Lady Wanda cursed Aksel, she threatened him saying ... ‘Curse you, heathen! May your  manpart fall off if you do this evil deed!’ Well, his manpart didn’t fall off … , at least, not yet. But it took a turn to the right.” Ward took a deep breath after the long explanation.

 

"And? Natasha asked showing a small smile on her lips. "What has that to do with me?"

 

"The king wants you to bring the witch back and her magic veil to Trondelag to remove bloody the curse."

 

" Is that all? Natasha commented. But all she thought was. A Saxon, Aksel expects me to stop in the midst of my trading voyage, go to Britain for the wench, who obviously won't be willing, take her back to Norway, by way of Hedeby, where I must needs drop off  the last of my trading goods, and then go home to Novgorod. And all this before the cold winter freezes everything. Hah! Aksel ever was an arrogant idiot jerk since we were little children. But this time he has gone too far. "Nah! I don't think I want to help Aksel. "

 

" Nah!? You dare say 'Nah’ to your liege lord? Where is your Norse loyalty? " Ward asked in an offended and accusing voice.

 

“Listen to me cause I am not going to repeat.” Natasha tensed feeling offended and hissed. “Aksel is no more liege lord than the King of Wessex, Edred. You know well and good that the Northern Alpha’s pledge allegiance to a particular leader, not a nation. My uncle, Ivan, is all- king of Norway, and to him alone do I pay homage. " She hissed and clenched the fists until her knuckles turned white.  "Further, it was Ivan Romanovson, then fostering in King Athelstan's court in Britain and having seen only fifteen winters—who went back to Norway on King Harald Fairhair's death and returned to all bonders the odal-rights to their land. My Novgorod title was reaffirmed to me by Ivan and will remain free and clear in my family name for posterity.” Natasha felt a tug of pain in her heart at the mere mention of Novgorod. Her family resided there. She had to admit to herself that Novgorod mattered more to her in than anything. And that was really dangerous.

 

Ward's face burned with shame, but still he blundered on, "The king thought you might be reluctant to do that.”

 

" Oh yeah? He did, did he?" Natasha arched an eyebrow and then laughed. "The idiot know me so well."

 

"He said to tell you that you could have Syrio if you would do him this favor." Ward said kindly hoping not to upset the redhead Alpha in front of him further.

 

“Would Aksel give me his precious horse?” Natasha straightened up and asked with interest as she held her beer. "You mean the stallion that was gifted to him by that Saracen chieftain?"

 

"Yeah.” Ward nodded emphatically. “Exactly. That same black demon with white markings on his hooves. That be the horse. "

 

"Hmmm" Natasha hummed despite her doubts. Still, she refused. “Nope. I'm not interested in Aksel's proposal. I have too much to do before I return to Novgorod for the winter. "

 

“In that case, King Aksel instructed me to offer you the slave, Nadia, as well. The one with the tiny silver bells on her ankles and the two silver bells hanging from the pierced rings in hers  uh … ” Ward cupped his hands in front of his chest  to indicate Nadia's most notorious attributes.

 

"Hmmm" Natasha hummed thinking about the offer again, but not because of the slave, who Natasha knew was very attractive. Truth be told, the horse caught her attention the most. But in the end she repeated her earlier refusal. "Nu huh, I have no time."

 

"I didn't want to tell you this" Ward wrung his hands nervously trying desperately to dissuade this woman. "Well um, tell me one thing. You're not the type of Alpha who is won’t to kill the messenger for with bad news, right? "

 

"Speak!, you bastard, or I'll cut off your head and send it to Aksel." Natasha growled menacingly and tensed alertly, ready to carry out the threat and rip this idiot's head off at the slightest provocation.

 

"It's Peter, the healer.” The messenger screeched. "Aksel holds him as a friendly hostage until you bring the witch to him." Ward's face went pale praying to the gods that this Alpha won't rip his head off.

 

" What!? Natasha roared and immediately got up from her seat. “How did Peter end up in Trondelag? I thought he was in the Arab lands. And what in the bloody hell is a "friendly hostage?" “Peter was a young kid in his early twenties who had been studying medicine for six winters in the Arab lands, where the leading healers practiced their arts. He was the son of Natasha's half-sister, Pepper, and her husband Tony, who resided in Jorvik. Peter was part of her family to her, her lovely nephew.

 

“ friendly hostage means that Peter will not take any harm. He simply cannot leave Aksel's court. " Ward squirmed under the force of those intense cold green eyes.

 

"Holy Odin!." Natasha's throat rumbled with a low growl of indignation. "I'm going to kick Aksel's ass when I see it."

 

“Its not as bad as it seems." Ward flinched at her apparent anger and hastily concluded, "It all comes back to the witch and your mission to capture her."

 

Abruptly, Natasha stood up and grabbed Ward by his neck leaning him across the table toward her, swinging the beer mugs from side to side. The boy looked like he was going to wet his braies at how scared he was.

 

"Start from the beginning…" Natasha hissed coldly in the messenger's face before releasing him. "And don't omit any details." She settled in to hear what she hoped wasn't too long a tale. Especially since her head was being pounding like Thor's mighty hammer, Mjolnir. Especially Natasha wanted to end the nonsensical speech of this messenger. She urgently needed a bath to get rid herself of the fleas that infested her clothes and her wolf fur after a long sea voyage. In her angry state of  she saw how her good friend Bucky raised his equally drunk head from the table next to her and grinned, asking in a low voice. "A witch hunt?"

 

Bucky had good reason to enjoy the possibility of a witchhunt. He was extraordinarily handsome (second only to Natasha, in Natasha's not so humble opinion), he wore a beard and long brown hair in the form of intertwined braids. Bucky trimmed his mustache daily, as if it were a work of art. But Bucky's exaggerated vanity had been struck two winters ago ... by a witch, no less, a Scottish witch who had dyed a jagged  blue line of Scottish warriors across the middle of Bucky's face, while Bucky slept, from hairline to chin. Until now, Bucky had been unable to remove the blue color from his skin, or to find the wily witch.

 

Yes, Bucky would be encouraged her to undertake Aksel’s witchly the mission. Natasha wouldn't object. Her friend knew how to encourage her to take on big challenges. Then things got worse.

 

Before Ward could begin to talk, Clint "the Falcon", Natasha's personal skald and best friend. “For mercy on Odin! sat down next to her with a smug smile. Natasha couldn't suppress the groan of annoyance that escaped her lips. What she least she needed at this moment was a skald, especially a skald as loud as a small goat.

 

But what could she do when Clint saved her life in battle? Natasha felt compelled to offer a job to her friend, who retired when he lost an eye in the battle of Ripon five years ago. Until now, Clint had tried  and failed to be a cook, blacksmith, and armorer at one of Natasha's household. In the end, the occupants of the house had revealed themselves at the unpalatable food, the burned-down smithy, and the broken swords.

 

Natasha glanced at Clint and then looked at him again. “Oh no! " Too late she realized that Clint had the dreamy expression on his face that foreshadowed that he was inspired. Too late to get away or stop him now. “Oh that merits a new saga”

 

"Hear one and all, this is the saga of Natasha The Raven.” Clint began to say with a bombastic voice. That was the way all his sagas began. Unfortunately, if Natasha was sincere, that opening line was the best part of them.

 

Bucky's lips quirked up with glee. With one hand over his mouth he murmured to Natasha in a low voice, "Hverfugl synger med sitt nebb / Every bird sings with its beak."

 

"Oh Odin have mercy on us!" Natasha murmured in response. "Every bird may very well sing with its own voice, but Clint's bird song is the most unmelodious I've ever heard, Bucky."

 

Unaware of the opinions of his friends, Clint adjusted the black patch over his missing eye and took a stylus in his hand. Squinting through his good eye, he began carefully wrote runic symbols on the wax tablet in front of him. It was not normal for skalds to write down sagas, but Clint was thick and often forgot the words to the tales he had composed. “I think a good title for this one would be Natasha and the Crooked Cock. Let's see, how should I start? Hmmm. " Clint looked up at the sky wondering how to proceed before the inspiration escaped him.

 

 

In the land of the Saxons,

 

an evil witch did flying.

 

To Aksel proud duckling.

 

She set her evil eye.

 

Now alas and alack.

 

His furry pet and can't no longer.

 

Make quack.

 

Not with his mate.

 

Can fly straight.

 

 


“How does it sound so far?” Clint asked hopefully, pausing and looking excitedly at Bucky and Natasha.

 

"Absolutely magnificent!" Natasha said, patting Clint on the shoulder. If this was another skald she wouldn't last screaming HORRIBLE! But this is Clint and she didn't have the heart to break Clint’s illusions. Natasha barely suppressed a grimace of disgust and smiled instead of her. I hope my brother Bruce never gets to hear this one.

 

He will fall over laughing, almost as much as he did over the ‘Natasha and Reluctant Maiden' saga that Clint concocted last winter. For whatever reason, Clint's overlong tales almost always make Natasha look like an idiot. And best Aksel does not hear of  Clint enhancing his wordfame by referring to his manpart as a duckling, or there will be bloodshed.

 


Natasha scratched her cheek and wondered idly if she smelled as bad as her companions. Vikings were famous for their meticulous natures, unlike those piggish Saxon and Franks, who bathed once a season. Natasha wrinkled her nose at the smell. Ugh, she needs a hot bath soon.

 

"How do you spell duckling?" Clint whispered.

 

"C-O-C-K" Natasha replied dryly. She’ll let Clint figure how to translate the word into  futhark alphabet. That should take a goodly amount of time. She turned to Ward. "And you start talking" she addressed him with a wave of her hand. "I doubt me I will like your report from King Aksel, do not leave out even the smallest detail."

 

"Okay, let me explain everything ..." the messenger opened his mouth and began his speech while Natasha and Bucky remained without making a sound to avoid distracting Ward. After forever when Ward finally finished, Natasha had a sudden realization… one that made her smile, overshadowing her anger that lingered beneath the surface over Aksel unkind treatment of Peter. She is not so bored now. "Guys!!" Natasha drank the rest of her beer while she looked at Bucky and then Clint, before announcing. "It seems we are going on a witch hunt."


Bucky laughed and Clint looked at the redhead with raised eyebrows. "Prepare everything we need for the voyage. We leave tomorrow when the goddess Sòl brings the light over the horizon." Said Natasha with a smile pointed to her ship in the harbor.

 

 

 

Chapter 2: Seidkona

Summary:

Vikings like her were meant to sail the wild seas, not to travel long distances over bumpy roads, on horses, till their arses were bruised and their moods riled.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

North Yorkshire, Six Weeks Later.

 

 

 “The Vikings are coming! The Vikings are coming! " The loud maid screamed frantically running down the hill, dodging or tripping over the sheep that crossed her path. "Lady Wanda! Lady Wanda! " An innocent and playful sheepdog approached the maid and began circling her as she barked and wagged the tail with joy.

 

"Get out of my way, you! ugh beast!." The maid screamed and cursed to get rid of the terrible furry beast that was blocking her way. "Lady Wanda! The Vikings are coming! The Vikings are coming! " It seems that her high-pitched screams managed to scare the animal away because the dog let out a whimper and ran off to chase a few sheep that got separated from the herd.

 

Whether it be her crying sheep or the barking sheepdog or her shrieking, sheeplike maid Agnes, who was approaching her with wild eyes, and the dire warning of yet another North Alphas sighting, Lady Wanda had more than enough problems for one day.

 

A most unladylike phrase escaped her lips. One that had something to do with an unspeakable exercise the Vikings, sheep and dog could do for themselves, or to each other, for all she cared. " Oh Bloody Hell. " That was an expression she had heard from some soldiers use on more than one occasion when they were ready to explode with a bad temper. And Wanda was in a very bad explosive temper at the moment.

 

Gripping a tree root with one hand, Wanda was hanging into a shallow, gully-infested with briars, trying to free one of her sheep, Sheba, from the sharp thorns with the crook of her long staff. Her flea sheepdog, inappropriately named Bella, was barking in the distance as she attempted to lead a small flock of stray sheep back to the stone-fenced pastures of the lower dales.

 

Continuing to bleat his yearning nonstop was David, a lusty, overanxious ram of a curly-horned breed almost non-existent outside of Córdoba (a bridge gift from her last marriage. Ironically), Sheba was in heat and she was yearning mightily for the mating that would produce new lambs for Wanda’s prosperous flock when it arrived spring, but still the dumb female felt the need to play catch-me-if-you-will with the ram David. That’s when the coy Sheba had landed herself in the briar patch and with Wanda trying to get her out of there.

 

Wanda supposed not all that different from Alphas and Omegas in their mating rituals.

 

“The Vikings are coming! The Vikings are coming! " Agnes's screams grew louder, accompanied by barking and bleating.

 

"Oh, Holy Mary. Now What?" Wanda sighed and stopped cutting the branches caught in Sheba's matted fur, glanced over her shoulder and groaned as she saw her kitchen maid rushing towards her over the heather-blanketed flatlands with her headrail blowing in the wind and brown homespun kirtle hiked practically to her knees. Agnes always thought Vikings were coming, no matter if it was mere wayfarers approaching Graycote Manor from the old Roman road or straying cows from the pastures of Bellard Castle, five miles to the east.

 

In truth, Alpha warriors from the North had been coming into Britain in droves this last year as the news spread of Ivan Bloodaxe’s campaign to expel King Olaf Sigtryggsson and regain the control of Northumbrian crown. Recently he had achieved that goal, thanks to the efforts of Archbishop Wulfstan and members of the Norse nobility residing in the northern of Britain.

 

Agnes's fears had started last year, when she accompanied Wanda to the nunnery at St. Beatrice’s Abbey. Whilst there, they’d had the misfortune to witness a frustrated Viking attack on the poor nuns. Wanda had been hiding out at the convent from her cousins, Brock and Jack, who had come up with yet another marriage project for her: Lord Ecgfrith of Upper Mercia, a doddering old man with one foot in the grave. Actually Ecgfrith had passed away before Brock and Jack even found Wanda at the nunnery. What a birching she'd received for her willfulness! Even though she had only seen twenty-two winters, Wanda had been married and widowed three times since she was fifteen, all to satisfy the greedy needs of her cousins.

 


And it would seem her problems were unending, for just yestermorn she’d received a missive from her wool agent in Jorvik informing her that Brock and Jack had been boasting in the market town negotiating a new marriage contract that carried the seal of their third cousin, King Edred (a contract for matrimony between their cousin, Lady Wanda of Graycote Manor and Lord Cedric of Wessex.) The sickly king had been plagued by troubles since his reign six years past. If the Vikings weren’t stirring unrest in the north, his own noblemen (not least of whom her own cousins) were constantly nagging at him for favors.
It mattered not to her cousins that the short, corpulent Cedric was as wide as he was tall. He weighed almost as much as a horse and was old enough to be his great-grandsire. The only important thing to Brock and Jack would be the estates Cedric owned, which would be ceded to a wife, and therefore to them as guardians, upon his death.

 

Well, Wanda couldn't refuse the kings command, but if she never actually received the royal deemed lacking in proper loyalty? For that reason, she intended to be long gone, into a new temporary hiding place, before Brock and Jack's arrival, which she estimated to be two days hence, giving Wanda temporary respite from her cousins evil machinations. 

 

"Come, Agnes" Wanda held out her hand and pleaded now the maid drew. “Help me free Sheba."

 

"But ... but ..." Agnes protested breathlessly, almost pleading. "The Vikings are coming."

 

“And if they are? What is it to us? We have no riches from them to pillage, or apparent ones. “Wanda willingly given up  all estates deeded to her by dead husbands, except for this miserable manor in far north of Britain, precisely so that she would garner attention from her only remaining family. The fact that prospered with her thriving wool trade went unnoticed by her abusive cousins, since she plowed all the profits back into the sheep folds and hidden chests. Her biggest dream was that one day  she would just be left  alone.

 

"But they could rape us!" Agnes exclaimed in a horrified whisper. "We must escape, Lady Wanda."

 

Wanda laughed at that. They would have to be pitiful Vikings indeed to feel the inclination to toss the aging Agnes’s robes over the tights. And Wanda had known well and good from an early age, that she was not attractive to Alphas. She was always an unattractive introvert girl with her brown hair and freckles covering all ov her cheeks and her white skin and slim body. Wanda held no appeal for the average Alpha ... and the Vikings, renowned for their good looks, were reputed to be most peculiar tastes when it came to Omegas.

 

“Breathe Agnes.” Wanda shook her head laughing and added in a kindly tone. “We are in more danger of being raped by David than any Viking will, if we do not soon free his beloved lady from these brambles. Come on help me with this. "

 

Agnes grunted and leaned forward to help Wanda, but she muttered under her breath a famous Anglo-Saxon refrain. “Oh Lord, please protect us from the fury of the North Alphas. Holy Virgin Mary Protect us from that terrible threat. "

 

 


 

 

Natasha was furious. It had taken her two weeks to complete her trading ventures in Birka, along with some repairs on her ship before sailing for British soil. Now, for the past four weeks "twenty-eight bloody days wasted" she and Bucky and Clint had been riding from the one end of the British isle to the other searching for the elusive witch. Vikings like her were meant to sail the wild seas, not to travel long distances over bumpy roads, on horses, till their arses were bruised and their moods riled.

 

And it was all the fault of the Lady Wanda's fault. Rather, the "Lady Witch", Natasha corrected herself. That witch turned out to be an interesting lady. The three times widow sorceress (and didn’t that nobody was suspected that her three husbands were happenstance of three conveniently  dead spouses provoke a thinking man’s suspicion) Lady Witch owned a dozen prosperous and wealthy estates across this hellish island, all managed by her cousins, the clumsy brothers to whom Ward had told her about. But she chose to live in a poor holding in the bleak, far northern Northumbria, almost up to the Scottish borders … no doubt to have privacy while practicing her pagan rites, Natasha concluded.

 

Well, the search was almost over. When they'd stopped at Graycote Manor a short time ago, a Castilian informed Natasha that the Lady Wanda was in the hills tending her sheep. With that said, the excitement of starting the hunt flooded Natasha's chest.

 

Tending? Was she engaged in some black magic ritual that involved animal sacrifice or such? Natasha pondered imagining what she would see when they entered Lady Witch's lands.

 

The strangest thing was the timber and stone keep, with its crumbling ramparts and  stockades, was kept neat, but sorely out of date. At the same time, vast fields of cut hay lay there drying out for when winter feed. A dozen cows lowed in a  nearby byre waiting to be milked. Piles of turnips, carrots, cabbages, and other foods items rolled by in heavy carts. It was a poorly estate, overflowing with food. How peculiar! Natasha carefully looked around the estate. Well, whatever. She didn't care if the witch was rich or poor. Soon her journey would end and Lady Wanda would pay for all the troubles she had put her to and only when the mission is over will Natasha be able to return to Novgorod.

 

"We must be careful, Natasha." Bucky warned her with that overprotective brother voice that he used with her.

 

The three of them rode side by side on horseback and Bucky's dog in front of them, following the castellan’s directions. The Lady Wanda’s stupid Castellan (leader of a misaligned band of soldiers) had not even thought about the safety of her mistress when he sent three Vikings experienced in the art of war after her.

 

"I am loath to ask you …" Natasha asked looking at the brunette over her shoulder. “But why?”

 

"We don't know if this witch is a solitary or in a coven." Bucky responded suspiciously.

 

Natasha just nodded, even though she didn't have a great deal of knowledge about witchcraft, solitary or otherwise. She would have to bow to Bucky's greater wisdom in that regard.

 

"No doubt, the witch will  take on a most beauteous countenance to draw us under her spell." Bucky continued with the warning, alerting his friends.

 

" Do you think so?" Natasha smirked a bit and holding the reins in her palms, looking at the road ahead.

 

“Yes, that's what happened to me, I warrant. Why else would I have let my guard down in the presence of a witch in a strange country? " Bucky playfully slapped the redhead on the shoulder.

 

"Oh, Um. I don’t know. Maybe because the Scottish wench spread her legs for you, that's why ”Natasha narrowed her eyes and laughed.

 

“And because you are lustful Alpha. Because you think with your head between your legs and not with your head on your shoulders. " Clint added and snorted in amusement, joining Natasha's giggles.

 

"Hey!" Bucky lifted his chin with affront, calling attention to the tinted blue line down the middle of his face, proof of his stupid entanglement with that Scottish witch.

 

“Since we are so close to Scotland, why don't you go in search of the witch? Maybe you can get rid yourself of her mark once and for all. " Natasha said in a laughing voice as she wiped away her tears of joy.

 

“I've been looking for her all last year with no results. I refuse to winter my ass frozen in the highlands just to search for her. Next summer I will find her or die trying. " Bucky replied with a frown.

 

"I would like to know if the old tales are true about witches having a tail they hide beneath their robes" Clint commented absently. "It is said that the only way they can get rid of the long appendix is by marrying a Alpha."

 

"See, Bird Brain knows what I mean." Bucky argued to Natasha, pointing to Clint “I was right about witches taking on a tempting shape. It makes sense that they would need to be beautiful if they want to snare an Alpha and thus lose their tails. "

 

"Gentlemen, you two are pair of immature kids, believing anything." Natasha booed taunting those two. “All I know is that I want to be the one to light the fire  under that particular witch … once King Aksel is done with her, that’s it. Then, if I never see English land or an English wench again, it will be enough for me. "

 

"There she is" said an excited Bucky pointed at the young brunette in the distance. There was a long silence followed. Finally, Natasha snorted in disgust and said out loud what they were all thinking: "So much for the theory of the beautiful witches goes!" her eyes looked at the witch, there was nothing exceptional about Lady Witch in Natasha's personal opinion. Just a skinny and undernourished Omega.

 

“I think this calls for a saga.” Clint was already pulling his wax tablet from a saddlebag, muttering something like “Natasha The Raven and The Witch”. Then he started saying his usual introduction. " Hear one and all, this is the saga of Natasha "The Raven" ...

 

“How would you like a stylus  up your arse?” Natasha growled in Clint's direction. "I can make it happen, Bird Brain!”

 

"I cannot stop when I have been blessed by Bragi." Clint shrugged, ignoring Natasha and started on verses from her.

 

 

There were scars

 

but not weapons.

 

Wild marks.

 

Spilled in grains by

 

the witch's face

 

to catch the wary raven.

 

even if she was the granddaughter.

 

of the great king Harald Fairhair.


 

“Oh for the love of Freya! I have heard of those brands before. But this is the first time I have seen them. The healers at Miklagard say those marks bode ill.” Bucky said in admiration when he saw the strange marks on the witch's face. Natasha had never seen marks like that before.

 

“What are those marks that adorn her face? Clint shuddered into the distance. Every part of the woman's exposed skin was covered with freckles and she was undoubtedly freckled too beneath her gray robe. Her headrail and wimple, which would normally cover the hair of a lady of her high birth, hung ignominiously from a briar thatch just beyond where Lady Wanda was chasing a ram who was chasing a bleating sheep.

 

“Do you see her familiars anywhere about? Clint asked quietly, looking for any hint of company.

 

"Sometimes witches use cats as their familiars." Bucky looked at him and smirked. Natasha's eyes scanned the horizon. There was not a cat in sight. Fortunately.

 

"It will be possible," Bucky muttered, imagining a not-so-far-fetched idea. “ Her familiars are sheep? " 

 

Sheep?!” Clint and Natasha gasped as one, looked surprised at this incredible turn of events.

 

It will be possible. No! of course not. Natasha thought for a moment and then denied and reconsidered, dismissing the idea. No. Oh No! She is not going to get carried away by Bucky's crazy childhood fantasies. "I've never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life." Natasha laughed. She believed Bucky's dog is more mature than his owner.

 

"Me neither." Clint agreed and laughed. But they all looked at each other, unsure what to believe. If indeed she did use sheep as familiars, she must be a powerful witch. There were dozens of sheep in the area.

 

“And look.” Clint added the object in witch’s hand. "She carries a staff. Everyone knows that witches carries a magic staff. And of course, with a bell and a crystal.”

 

There was a tinkling sound coming from the neck of the female sheep being swived by the lustful ram. Although she will never admit it, Natasha’s fine hairs stood out all over her body at that confirmation of at least one of the witch's tools. Bucky and Clint narrowed their eyes to see if she might be wearing, or carrying, a crystal. But they saw nothing on witch's body than her simple dress. No doubt she kept it hidden.

 

“Do you think she dances naked in the forest? Bucky asked looking body’s Witch up and down. "I mean, it's a common witch practice."

 

“Did your witch that?” Natasha asked with a devilish smile.

 

"Yeah, she did." Bucky answered, smiling back. "It was almost worth receiving her cursed mark to see that exhibition." The brunette licked his lips at the memory of those days.

 

"I don't think seeing this witch naked is very pleasant." Natasha murmured, Bucky and Clint agreed with her. The girl looked thin and haggard, totally disheveled with her wild, tousled hair. And those marks on her face were enough to make her unappealing in Natasha's eyes.

 

Natasha gritted her teeth as Bucky's dog began to bark wildly, the sheep bleating and the horses neighing nervously, all while they made those observations. In the midst of this chaos, a flea sheepdog came toward them, while a flock of bleating sheep following behind. Apparently the sheepdog had noticed Bucky's wolfhound, Beast, who stood near his horse’s right front leg, trying to appear distant but pissing trickles of excitement.

 

Natasha and her comrades without believing in their eyes gaped with this ungodly spectacle. Just then, the ram finished his rutting and sheeply mate escaped.

 

But apparently the horny ram had other ideas. He chased after her, but then stopped dead in this tracks, did an about-face and began chasing Lady Wanda, who had been shouting at the two of them to desist at once his lustful intentions. When the ram struck Lady Wanda's rump with his curly horns, the witch gave a cry and fell to the ground with her rump in the air.

 

The three Alphas stared, transfixed, at one particular spot.

 

Natasha could only wonder ...

 

Did the witch have a tail or didn’t she?

 

Notes:

Seidkona means Witch

Chapter 3: E Heiti Natasha

Chapter Text

 


The Vikings were really coming.

 

In fact, they’d already come.

 

And they were staring at her ass.

 

Lecherous heathens! Bloody libertines! Viking curs! If they dare try to rape me, I'll pull out my  shears, and at least one of them will no longer have such lewd inclinations!" Wanda thought, her cheeks burning with an intense blush of shame as Agnes whimpered a continuously with the mortal fear she feels. "Oh no, oh, oh no."

 

The dog and half a dozen sheep were circling the whole a lot of them, with Bella yipping an overexuberant dog welcome to beatiful wolfhound who’d arrivey with the North Alphas. Meanwhile, David had already mounted the finally docile Sheba, and the look on his face was pure ecstasy.

 

Wanda would have been mortified if these Alpha were not Vikings, who probably witnessed such crude behavior all the time in their primitive lands. Clearing her throat and trying to calm embarrassment feeling on her. "My good alphas, what do you do here on my lands? How may I assist you?" Wanda inquired in the Norse tongue, which was very similar to English. She'd become proficient in the language these past years as she’d negotiated her wools in the markets of Northumbria, which were heavily populated with peoples of Viking descent.

 

Now, as Wanda spoke to them, she stood awkwardly to her feet and put one hand on her hip, trying to strike a casual pose of fearless while at the same time adjusting her headrail with the other hand. Except that her headrail and her wimpel had manages to disappear. Wanda ranked her trembling fingers through the chaos on top of her head. She suspected that she looked like a long haired sheep before the shearing. To be honest, Jack had once told her just that, in a lame attempt at encouraging her to improve her appearance to help their matrimonial pursuits for her. Wanda felt enormous frustration when her ragged nails kept snagging on the knots in her hair, she gave up with a little groan of exhaustion.

 

"My manor is over the fells a short distance." Wanda informed the Vikings, pointing Westward. "If it is food and drink you seek, my steward will offer you and your fine steeds hospitality. We are a poor estate, but you need not frae..."

Wanda's words trailed off as she tossed her hair back off her face and got her first good look at the three Viking Alphas, who still sitting on magnificent black destriers, with finely tooled leather and silver trappings. She shivered inwardly, but not from the autumn breeze, which was brisk and gaining strength. Deadly sharp swords, pattern-welded in the Viking tradition, hung from scabbards at their sides. On their horses  highly embossed shields. Two of them were tall and muscular. The woman was … Oh! Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Wanda had to bite her bottom lip to keep from whimpering, just like Agnes and losing control.

 

All the alphas wore slim black wool braies and short leather ankle boots with cross-gartered up trim legs. The one on the left was a blond with a bow on his back. His blonde-brown hair hung loose to shoulder length. He wore a brown wool tunic, beltedd at the waist and covered at the shoulders with several layers of matching mantles of different length that left one arm exposed, an arm rested on a long-poled battle ax, braced now on the ground. 

 

He had probably seen no more than forty winters, but he had hard lines etched his face, aging him beyond his years.  A black patch over one eye completed the image of a battered soldier punished by the horrors of war.

 


The Viking on the right was dark hair, and Wanda guessed he was as vain as a peacock. At least five years younger than the blond, he stroked his silky mustache. His beard and hair were woven into perfect intricate braids, (a habit many warriors adopted to avoid their hair flying into their eyes in the midst of battle) but this Viking's plaits were interlaced with colorful beads. Most interesting was the blue jagged line down the middle of his face, which detracted not all from his appearance; in fact, some might say it enhanced his attraction. He wore a blue wool tunic, matching his eyes and his face design, but instead of a shoulder mantle, a gray fox skin was tossed carelessly from shoulder to opposite waist, front and back, tucked into a wide belt tanned leather.

 

The animal that had died for his comfort must have been huge. Reaching down nimbly to the ground, he pattef the clamoring dog, cautioning. "Shhh, Beast. She's just a scurvy bitch. Beneath your interest of a quick dalliance, my good dog." The brunette Alpha grinned scornfully at Wanda as he spoke, making it unclear whether he was referring to Bella or to her.

 

But it was the Viking in the middle. (who was apparently the leader) who caught and held her interest. Wanda’s head had  never been turned by a Alpha’s pleasing countenance in the past. It was now. Her eyes rested on every part of the Alpha body.

 


She had long curly red hair with orange highlights. Wanda likened it to the color of blood or ripe pomegranates, that reddish color giving the appearance of shimmering blood. the curls seemed to glow for the exposure to the sun.  The redhead looked older than her, she was probably thirty winters old, and goodly gorgeous. Blessed St. Bonifies!" Wanda cursed herself for her recklessness but she must admit the years sat very well on Alpha redhead.

 

Her curls, too was braided, but only on one side, where show a her ear was pierced by few tiny earrings. She was dressed all in  black " braies, tunic and belt" she was covered shoulder to ankle by a cloak of magnificent wool of the best quality, lined with black sable. The cloak was pinned off one shoulder with a heavy gold brooch in a design of intertwined ravens with clear chrysolite eyes. Hanging from a chain around her neck was an amber pendant in the shape of an arrow.

 

" Well?" the red-haired alpha said, green eyes taking her measure with icy disdain.

 

"Um … Wha … What?" Wanda asked awkwardly, the redheaded alpha must have been talking while Wanda was lost in her ridiculous thoughts.

 

"I said, my lady" she repeated with exaggerated patience, feigned gentleness. " e heiti Natasha …  I mean … My name is Jarl Natasha Romanovdottir, and I have not come this great distance for your food or drink."

 

Wanda cocked her head to the side. Not understanding why this unfamiliar woman was acting so rude to her. Wanda frowned and asked. "Why then have you come?"

 

"Is for you I have come, Lady Wanda." said Natasha as she climbed down from the horse with a jump. “Show me your tail …”

 

 "What?!!!!" Wanda with wild eyes just screamed with shock  and backed up a step as this crazy woman approached her. HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS!

 

 

Chapter 4: Mjöd

Chapter Text

 

 

"Show me your tail."

 

"What?!"

 

"You heard me what I say." Natasha immediately scoffed and smiled, "Show me your tail."

 

"Ta... tail...?" Wanda not understanding what this stranger was referring to, reeled inwardly with shock. Oh! How she would like nothing more than to take a wooden trencher off the table and whack the thick head of crude oaf, Natasha Romanovdottir. Her reference to a witch was the latest in a series of outrageous remarks she said to her since they’d come from the sheep pasture, the first and most outrageous being that she’d come all the way Norway for her.

 

She was sitting next to her at the high table in her hall with an iron hand gripping her forearm, locking her to the arm of the chair. Otherwise, she’d have long long ago-stand and exited her presence, forthwith. She and her two comrades had refused to leave her out of their sight since they had arrived at the manor house, not even when she gone to change the garderobe. Wanda refrained from running them out of her home and decided to talk to them diplomatically before making their situation worse.

 

"Listen, uh..." The brute female Alpha had informed her from the first of his title, a jarl, which was one step below a king, a similar in nobility to an English lord. She held this link to the upper Norse nobility, thanks to bloodlines linking her to her grandsire, the famous, long dead, King Harald "Fairhair". Like if Wanda cared whether she was a lowly slave or a high jarl. That redhead was just rude with no education or decorum.

 

Or whether she was a Viking, Frank, ol, or Saxon, for that matter. That Alpha was still a crude oaf. But how does one adress a Viking of higher station? (My lord? My jarl? My barbarian?). Listen, my jarl..." said Wanda measuring the effect of her words.

 

Suddenly, Natasha let out a laugh, shaking her head in amusement. "Call me Natasha. Lady Wanda." She leaned forward and clasped her hands together on the table. "Well, are you going to show me your tail and end these bothersome protest? If you have no tail, it... though I am inclined to believe that a true witch could make a tail appear and disappear at will."

 

Despite her efforts to restrain herself, Wanda bared her teeth at her and made a low hissing sound in offense as she turned her face to hide the blush on her cheeks. Oh no, a wood trencher would be too mild pun punish for this horrible alpha. Better a rock. A big one. Wanda just want to hit that hollow head to bring it her to her senses.

 

Natasha grinned at the young witch's reaction. She would think witches were libertine by nature, but this girl seemed quite the opposite. A real prude.

 

"If I were a true witch, I would put a spell on you right now and turn you into a toad." Wanda gritted her teeth and began shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

 

"Be that as it may, my lady." Natasha laughed. "I have wasted more than enough time in pursuit for you. I expect to be aboard my longship in Jorvik in three days. So stop pretending and do us a favor."

 

 

Are these alphas idiots or deafs. Wanda let out a noise of frustration. "Arghh." She’d been trying to convince the stubborn blackguard of her innocence ever since she’d told her out on the fells that she’d come to Graycote for the witch who'd put a spell on some Viking king. A likely story! No doubt she was searching for a target to pillage. Well, she’d find naught of worth in her poor keep. Or maybe she was hoping to kidnap her to use as a hostage. Little did the redhead know that her cousins, wouldn't pay a penny for her return. Her only value to them was in the bride price they received for her every time they arranged a marriage ... along with the estates that ceded to her on widowhood, of course.

 

And her indiscreet Castilian, Gerald, would be of no help. Wanda grimaced with disgust as her gaze hit on her supposed protector, the leader of her bird of soldiers. The pitiful man was over there, at the end of the high table, almost nodding off to sleep and it was barely past high noon. These Vikings must think they’d been handed a gift from their heathen gods on viewing the weak protection of her keep. Hah! That was a deliberate tactic on her part. Her prosperous farms and sheep pastures were in sharp contrast to the starkness with provisions, but with no embellishments or luxury fur belows, like wall tapestries or silver tableware. If ever Wanda enlarged her timber and stone mannor house into a fine castle, Brock and Jack would take it from her in a trice. The same was true of her bird of soldiers under Gerald's leadership.

 

Strong fighting soldiers would just draw the attention of their annoying and abusive cousins.

 

"Hey, look at it this way. You don't have children who demand your presence here." Natasha looked at her and sighed deeply, hoping to convince the young girl.

 

Huh?" Wanda realized she’d been half-attending while that insensitive rude woman prattled on.

 

"You are free to leave your estate in the care of minions for so long. Actually, you could consider this a pleasure trip in the Nordic Lands." Natasha commiserated and smiled as she crossed her arms over her chest, well pleased with herself for coming up with that ridiculous justification for her actions.

 

"A pleasure trip?" Wanda gave her a cold look, she could scarce keep her voice down to a low shriek. “Wouldst that be comparable to plucking out person’s fingernails and calling it good grooming?

 

"Probably." Natasha said cheekily, shrugging her shoulders.

 

Wanda thought about it for a moment, thinking of something to help her out of this. Maybe a lie or a pretext. With an idea in mind she asked. " 'How do you know whether I have children?'

 

"Your fool Castellan told me so." Natasha replied firmly. "Actually he told us all about you. If I were you, I'd have him flogged for such a terrible indiscretions"

 

Oh, maybe she would do that. If she got out of this one, Wanda was going to have a serious talk with Gerald about his loose tongue. In the meantime, if the alpha could bring up children, then so could she.

 

"What will your children think of you hauling an unwilling woman halfway 'round the world, huh?" Wanda stared at her, not letting those green eyes intimidate her.

 

 

Her face turned red under her pale skin. "I don't have children Well no...not that I know of." Natasha growled, suddenly feeling angry.

 

Wanda arched an eyebrow at the way she said it. Feeling curious at such a peculiar reaction she remarked the questions into a question. "That you know of?

 

"Listen to me well my lady. My family or lack of no one is none of your business." Natasha shot her an angry look as she replied icily and held up a hand to stop the Witch from saying anything else. "I have been kind to you thus far, Lady Wanda. We can do this the good way or not. It doesn't matter to me."

 

Wanda parted her lips just enough to object and say. "But..."

 

"Gather your belongings, I beseech you. Or I will. One way or another, we must leave soon if we are to make camp at Aynsley afore nightfall."

 

"But-" Wanda tried to object again.

 

"No, no." Natasha refused to let her complete her arguments. "You should know this, my lady. I promised to deliver a witch to Aksel, and a witch I will deliver to Aksel “

 

"Ha!... I am ...not ... a... witch," Wanda said pausing between words, so that twat, foolish alpha would understand as she rose from her seat.

 

"Then... prove it... lady Wanda." Natasha did the same, mimicking the pauses between words and rose to be eye level with the troubled woman's face.

 

She bristled. Don't say anything Wanda. Keep your wits about you. Having a clear head has gotten you out of worse situations than this.

 

"Everyone knows a witch has a tail." Natasha continued, making fun of the witch.

 

" Everyone?" Wanda scoffed, still incredulous the nonsense words coming out of this redhead's mouth. Wanda thought this Alpha had a brain, how wrong she was.

 

"Thus I've been told," Natasha said defensively, frowning sternly as her red eyelashes fluttered with uncertainty.

 

"By whom, if may I ask?" Wanda asked more amused than concerned at this point. She wants to meet that ignorant idiot

 

"Um, he ..." Natasha's face flushed as she pointed regretfully to the side where the one-eyed Alpha, Clint "the world's most unlikely skald", was drinking great gulps of mead and mumbling something about between his teeth like ... "Hear one and all, this is the saga of Natasha "The Raven" who met a scarred witch-shepherdess …”

 

"Natasha The Raven?" asked Wanda, covering her mouth with her hand, unable to contain a chuckle. Natasha only blushed and tried to look unconcerned and cold as her friend embarrassed her in front of the enemy.

 

“To straighten the king's tail.

 

Did the brave warrior come.

 

To lose her tail.

 

Did the bold witch aspire.

 

Which tail will win.

 

In this battle of the tails?

 

Natasha shrugged in embarrassment and shared a chuckle with her at her own expense. She liked that in an Alpha or Omega, the ability to laugh at oneself. Clint was terrible as a skald but his crooked, uninspired lines made Natasha smile ... most of the time.

 

"But you must recognize that this whole situation is absurd, I'm no more a witch than you're a...a troll." Wanda's lips twitched with amusement at that comment. "On the other hand..."

 

"Why, you imprudent wench! Are you implying that I'm a troll? " Natasha frowned and squeezed witch's forearm as punishment, but not very hard. "In truth, I must be honest with you, I can't help but admire your bravery, even though it passes all bounds of recklessness. Has no one ever warned you about tweaking the wolf's tail?

 

"Don't you mean the troll’s tail? " Wanda asked cheekily.

 

 

" Too bad you're not a more appetizing morsel. I might have enjoyed tasting your charms on the long journey to Trondelag." Natasha stifled a chuckle and smiled mischievously. Her green eyes assessed the form of the witch wrapped in a fine green wool with a matching headrail.

 

Her wild brown hair was tucked neatly under a white wimple, but she knew that Alpha held no appeal for her. Of course, it was the freckles. They repelled most Alphas, superstitious fools that they were. And if not superstitious, then overly concerned with traditional standards of beauty, like milk-skin. Wanda angrily hissed in the Viking's face. "Do you think I care if you find me lovely as a goddess or homely as a hedgehog? I've buried three husbands. The next man, wedded spouse or not, who tries to taste my wares, will do so over my dead body."

 

 

The female Viking's mouth dropped open in surprise. Then she slapped her knee with appreciation.

 

 

"Oh, Thor’s Blood!!! As Omega you can't speak to me like that." Natasha muttered in a icy tone. "Your tongue does outrun your good sense. Don't you know I could pull that talksome appendage from your mouth, slice it off with a mere flick of my sword and roast it for dinner?"

 

Now, that is an image she do not need planted in her head. She inhale and decide to try a different tactic. "Do you honestly believe in witchcraft?" asked Wanda with narrowed eyes.

 

" Yeah .... No." Natasha seemed to calm down and sighed. "Maybe."

 

Wanda cocked her head, trying to understand how a woman who seemed to be intelligent ... (well, at least not a drooling lackbrain.) could believe in black magic, witches and curses.

 

"You must needs understand that the Nordic lands are harsh and wild, especially the far north of Norway when I live there a few winters ago. Everything is vastly different from Britain, even up here in Northumbria " Natasha explained to her, loosening her grip on witch's forearm a little. "There are times during the summer when there is continuous daylight, and times during the winter when there is a continuous darkness. In a land where darkness is a fact of life for long periods of time it is easy to appreciate how people have a superstitious bent. Out of the deep forest, down from the mountains, up from the rivers and fjords they believe that the magical creatures come: : the hulders, the nisser, the fosse-grimmer, the nokker. Witches are nothing compared to this terrible creatures. Oh, I forgot. There are also the elves, the dwarfs and the trolls."

 

Natasha raised her eyebrows playfully at the last word and saw the witch's eyes soften. "These are not all bad beasties, though. Some of them are quite playfully, like the spirrei by Loki, our god of mischief.

 

" Also, I would tell you a tale of King Harald Fairhair. An intense loathing for wizards and magic the my grandsire have, despite the fact that one of his sons, Ragnvald Rettlebone of Hadeland, practiced the magical arts. In the end, he ordered his other son, Ivan "Bloodaxe", to kill his own son. Ivan did not only that, but killed eighty other wizards as well, for good measure. So … yeah! I believe in the black arts.

 

" Oh!" It was all nonsense, as far as Wanda was concerned. But then a sudden thought ocurred to her. That fierce alpha warrior could fight off her bullying cousins with swat of her hand, if she so choose. What if she went to the Norse lands with Natasha for a short time, just till her cousins gave up their latest matrimonial efforts? Wouldn't that be a way to solve both of their problems? " the Viking would fulfill her promise to deliver a "witch" to remove a curse, and she would escape a fourth wedding. She and Natasha would win at the end of the day

 

"Unhand me, Viking " Wanda said then, looking down to her arm, still trapped against the chair by her long-fingered grasp. "I would hear more about your mission. Exactly how long would it be afore you could return me to Nothumbria?"

 

" My duty ends once I present you to King Aksel" replied the redhead nonchalantly.

 

She tilted her head in bewilderment. "What does that mean?"

 

 

"I'm fairly certain, Aksel would send you home with an armed escort after the curse is removed, but I predict, by then the winter ice have set in. So I'd say you'll be able to return home for Easter."

 

Fairly certain?!!!! Wanda thought in alarm. Then the final words snagged her attention. She asked suddenly shouting, "Easter? Easter? But that's six months from now. I can't be gone for that long.” she had a busy season ahead of her. “What of the winter weaving? And the spring lambing? And the first shearing? My business at the port? "You're crazy! I have more than a hundred sheep to care for here in Graycote. " Wanda have her a fulminating glower, then she concluded. “It's impossible.”

 

" You have no choice, my lady." Natasha leaned in and gritted her teeth.

 

"Well, we shall see about that. I don't want to take drastic measures, but I will if you force my back to the wall, Viking." Wanda gritted her teeth as well. "So, tell me again. Exactly which high Viking personage am I accused of cursing?"

 

Natasha stared at her and arched an eyebrow. " Are there so many?"

 

“Are there so many?" Wanda repeated sarcastically in her head. "No, there are not. I cannot remember even one... " Wanda with wide eyes, paused as a quick flash of memory came to her head. "Except... Oh! Surely you do not refer to that Viking assault on St. Beatrice’s Abbey last year?”

 

"Uh huh." Natasha nodded and with a slight smile added. "That was King Aksel of Norway, Lady Wanda."

 

Wanda's forehead furrowed with confusion. " I thought Haakon 'the Good' was king of Norway.

 

" Well, yeah. My Haakon is the all-king of Norway, but there are many minor kings." Natasha explained shaking her head as she speak. "My cousin Aksel is the chieftain, or low king, of a region in Trondelag."

 

"You … Your uncle... your cousin? ... Kings?" Wanda sputtered feeling all her blood drain from her face. Her tense muscles automatically relaxed with that shocking revelation.

 

" Finally! Now you understand?" Natasha smiled unabashedly as she noticed the realization appear on brunette's eyes.

 

" Understand? Why, that brute, your cousin, was about to rape Sister Mary Esme." Wanda replied defensively, leaving her concerned state aside.

 

Natasha just shrugged, that didn't matter to her." And you put a curse on him."

 

"I did?" Wanda asked in disbelief.

 

" Yes you did. And waved the magic veil." nodded Natasha and the girl immediately asked. "What magic veil?

 

Natasha growled. All this exchange of words is making her tired."The Virgin Veil. And, by the way, do not forget to bring the blue veil with you. Aksel will want to see it when you remove the curse."

 

Wanda closed her eyes in frustration. " That blue veil was my headrail, and I was not waving it. It fell off my head during the tussle to get that barbarian off of Sister Mary Esme.

 

"You can't be serious!" replied Natasha groaning with exhaustion.

 

" And another thing, I may have cursed the man, but I didn't put a curse on him. There's a big difference." Wanda murmured.

 

" Are you trying to confuse me with your words?" Natasha frowned and hissed.

 

'That wouldn't take much.” thinking of that. Wanda just keep her mouth shut and rolled her eyes. This alpha was disappointing her expectations.

 

"Okay. Let me understand what happening here." Natasha denied and sighed before adding. "Did you or did you not proclaim, "By the Virgin Veil, may your Alpha part fall off if you do this evil thing?"

 

There was a long silence during which Wanda tried to assimilate Natasha’s words. She blushed with embarrassment, then as she asked with awe, " And did his alpha part fall off?"

 

" Nah, it just look a right turn." Natasha denied. "Lucky for you. Otherwise I would have cut off your head on Aksel's orders."

 

"It? His alpha root. It did what? " Wanda remained stoic so that seconds later she snorted and choked with laughter. “Oh, I can barely credit what you say. His alpha part took a right turn. Ha ha ha …”

 

" It's not funny!" protested Natasha, fighting the smile that threatened to break out on her face as she gently slapped the witch on the back to stop her choking.

 

"Ha ha ha ha! Oh, yeah, yeah! it is. But, please " laughed Wanda as she wiped away tears of amusement with the edge of her headrail. "Please do not tell me that you and that cloddish king think I would touch his... root.

 

 

Natasha waved her hand airily. "I know not of witchly rites for straightening a Alpha's lance. I don't care if you touch it or not. For your sake just take the spell off."

 

 

"And if I cannot do so?" asked Wanda clearing her throat.

 

 

"There are laws held sacred at the Things " our governing bodies " where witches can be stoned or drowned if they are bad witches, that is. " Natasha slitted her eyes to study her for a moment. "By the way, are you a good witch or a bad witch?"

 

 

" Aaarrrgh!" Wanda made a sound of frustration.

 

 

" Actually, it doesn't matter. I doubt Aksel will wait for a Thing to be called of you cannot remove the curse. " Natasha said releasing her grip on the witch's forearm.

 

 

" Oh? Wanda gulped worried about her uncertain future.

 

 

" Aksel will, no doubt, just look off your head if you fail." Said Natasha with a shitty smile on her face.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5: HIRD

Chapter Text

 

 

"You don't have to be watching me every blessed time."

 

 

" Do I not?”

 

 

“A big, fearsome warrior like you! What have you to fear from a harmless young girl like me?"

 

 

“You were not harmless from the day you came squallmi from the womb, I wager. Seem to me, I’ve heard that bad temper and brown hair go hand in hand." Natasha snorted and thought about it. Or was that just something Clint used in one of his sagas? Enough! She's wasting her thoughts on pure nonsense. “That was good you noticed my impressive stature."

 

"How could I not when you block the entire entrance?" Wanda replied sarcastically. "Besides you're not so tall, you only outrank me by a palm or two."

 

Natasha had her shoulder leaning casually against the door frame of the Lady Wanda's bedchamber, her arms folded across her chest. Block was a good choice of word on her part because Natasha suspected she would bolt in an instant if she were not acting as the barrier to her freedom.

 

Natasha grunted and tapped a foot against the floor impatiently as the wench...rather, the witch...or the lady... arranged a neat pile on her high bed of the garments she intended to take on her journey to Trondelag. Worst of all, there were four blue headrails, and none of them looked magical, or for that matter, old enough to be the Blessed Virgin relic in Natasha's opinion.

 

 

The whole wait was getting ridiculous. She even had enough time to drink all the mead in this pigsty. Natasha clenched her jaw and swore inwardly if she folds that gunna into one more perfect square and smoothes out every single wrinkle, she going to stuff all witch’s belongings in her saddlebagd and be done with it. Maybe Natasha stuff all that scrawny body in there, too, all neatly folded into squarish parts.

 

It was clear Lady Wanda was employing a delaying tactic, but for what purpose Natasha could not yet fathom. Lady Wanda appeared to be an intelligent Omega ...or as intelligent as a weak Omega could be. She had to know her fate sealed; she would delivered to King Aksel, willing or unwilling.

 

Still, Natasha kept her temper under control. A good soldier knew to wait for just the right moment to pounce. She would not be fooled by Lady Wanda. The witch was up to some mischief. Natasha saw the evidence in the nervous fluttering of her fingertips, and this was a woman not prone to flightiness. She had given in too quickly, in the end, to her demand that she accompany her to the Norse lands.

 

Being a mite stubborn himself on occasion, Natasha recognized a fellow mule. She grinned to herself at that mental picture, and how the missish Lady Wanda would hate that she put her in that animal category.

 

On the other hand, Wanda cast her a sidelong glance through narrowed, spectaculative eyes. Maybe there would still be a way to escape. All that was left was to utter the right words to make it happen. "Wouldn't you consider taking a Danegeld?"

 

" Aha! Now you want to bribe me?" Natasha scoffed at the girl's efforts. "With what? Mutton?”

 

 

Wanda bristled at redhead’s ridicule of her precious sheep. On the way back to the keep, Natasha noted with amusement that she had names for each of the stinky animals.

 

 

Straining to keep up a string of offenses. Wanda put on her best smile and offered. "Maybe I could gather together a few coins."

 

 

Natasha was an expert reading people, and something in furtive shadow of that eyes told her clearly that Lady Wanda was hiding something. “Mmm … Now that Natasha thought on it, the number of sheep and cattle she'd seen on the fells, along with the well-cultivated fields, bespoke a more prosperous estate than exhibited in Graycote's austere keep or in Lady Wanda’s jewelless attire. Mayhap she hoarded her gold. But for what purpose?

 

Natasha pondered, trying to decipher such a complicated riddle behind this girl. Really, it was no matter to her whether Lady Wands was wealthy as a Baghdad sultan or poor as a landless cotter. Viking's duty prevailed above all else. Natasha shook her head and emphasized. “I promised Aksel a witch, and a witch he shall have.”

 

 

"All for the sake of a horse?" scoffed Wanda spitefully. Her life amounted the same, if not less to a beast.

 

A while ago that disrespectful Viking had told her about all the trouble she'd gone to since the king's emissary had come to her in Birka, including Aksel's wily inducements to seal the mission. Her scoffing tone irritated her. Whether she’d been barmy or not to take on this mission was her concern, and whether she did so out of boredom or for a fine stallion did not merit her criticism.

 

"Uh huh! Don't forget the slave girl." Natasha pointed out in a deliberate attempt to rattle her composure. "The beautiful girl with the bells on..." For some reason, Natasha mentioned the horse and the jingling Nadia with soft huge breasts, but she hadn't mentioned anything about Peter. The less people who knew the better, especially his sister Pepper and her husband, Tony. They would go off in a rage if they discovered Aksel's perfidy regarding their adopted son. In fact, their rage might cause a whole bloody war over an incident that Natasha could handle by simply delivering a witch.

 

Wanda's lip curved in contempt and she spat out all the venom she kept bottled up with a few words. " All idiot Alphas are the same everywhere, are they not? It doesn't matter if they be Norse or British, Alphas are led by the tail betwixt their legs. They are just beasts without thoughts, just a bunch of instincts and empty desires.”

 

Natasha tensed in surprise at the frankness of Lady Wanda's words and realizing that she was referring to her comment about the slave girl. Seeing the bitter expression on Lady Wanda's face, Natasha tensed, she was not accustomed to such crudity coming from a lady, but she forced herself to remain expressionless. "My lady, you exceed yourself. You would do best not to earn my scorn. Speaking of tails, how much trouble does yours cause?"

 

" Aside from deaf, Alphas are clumsy." Wanda chuckled to herself and repeated a refrain that was becoming tiresome to Natasha. "I'm… not ... a ... witch."

 

 

"I would think it could pose problems when to attend to your needs in the garderobe." Natasha replied scathingly, as if the girl hadn't said anything. She’d already notified that Lady Wanda hated it when she ignored her words. "Or riding a horse. Oh, oh, I just thought of something..."

 

"Now theres is a rare event." Wanda laughed more heartily. "Don’t do that. You can get tired or hurt.”

 

Natasha frowned at her impertinent interruption and more at the mockery of Lady Wanda’s words. "I am loath to ask, but...do you have a mood tail?" Natasha realized she didn't want to ask, but she couldn't help herself.

 

" A humor tail?" Wanda arched her eyebrows, stopping for a moment.

 

"You know... does it wag of its own volition when you are in a happy mood, like a puppy?" Natasha mimicked the movement with her index finger. And droop when you are in a despondent mood, like when the blood curdles in your witchly cauldron?"

 

"I find no humor in your foolery." Wanda replied in a flat voice and bit her lip with frustration.

 

Natasha didn't know how or why, but there was something appealing about the woman when her feathers were ruffled, but she just could not see past those hideous freckles. And even though a crisp wimple covered her bright brown hair, Natasha knew it was there underneath, just waiting to spring forth. Besides, she had almost no eye-catchers to speak of, as far as Natasha could tell. Just some nice breasts she wouldn't mind holding in her palms and lick them in near future.

 

Her preferences didn't always necessarily lean towards a voluptuous front, but honestly Lady Wanda’s front looked more lumpy than ripe peaches, those pale globes and firmness drew Natasha's attention a lot.

 

"Keep your eyes on your face, you perverted Viking." Wanda hissed, warning Natasha to look away when she noticed the gaze of those green eyes.

 

Natasha smirked smugly. Aha! Another feather ruffled. She liked to tease the girl too, so she added. " Oh, Holy Thor! How could I have forgotten the most important thing? What do you do with your tail when you spread your legs for a despicable Alpha?"

 

Wanda gasped and clenched her fists, but masked her shock quickly with a bland face. "Mmm... Since I've been a widow for over a year and more, I rarely go to bed with an alpha. Have you all-knowing Vikings found a way to engage in bed without a mate?" Wanda batted her eyelashes at the redhead as if she meant it, when she was actually teasing her, while in fact she mocked her.”Verily, there was not all that much mating even when I had a mate … not that I ever complained about that.”

 

"Oh, Lady Wanda, that's exactly the kind of provocative mark you should not make to a Viking." Natasha hummed and smiled lasciviously at the young woman, teasing her. She wanted to see this girl furious and out of control.

 

Wanda glared at Natasha and sneered, flexing some of her angry a little too rudely. “How dare you.”

 

"I know how to play a teasing game too. So don't try to distract me with your tempting propositions, we must be on our way.”

 

 

"Tem … tempting." Wanda sputtered angrily under her breath. "Perverted. Devilish woman."

 

 

"By the by, Bucky, Clint and I were wondering if you've ever danced naked in the forest." Natasha commented absently playing with her arrow necklace.

 

 

"Danced ...danced ...oh, you are the most rude, insufferable, loathsome, lecherous lout, and most perverted person I have ever met in all my life. And believe me, I've met a lot of Alphas like you." Wanda spun around and pointed at her in an accusing, angry voice.

 

 

“Well, yeah." Natasha put a hand on her chest and smiled as if they were the most beautiful compliments coming out of Lady Wanda's mouth. Until she dramatically changed her expression and added. "Okay, but enough with the compliments for now. We have no time for pleasantries.”

 

 

Wanda stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, insulted by this rude woman. "Turn aside while I gather my undergarments. Tis not meet that you should ogle my intimate apparel.”

 

 

"Ogle? Me?" Natasha stiffened. "Lady, despite my mention of temptation, do not delude yourself. Your intimate apparel holds no allure for me. Nor do you intimate parts. Your virtue will not be forfeit in my company, I assure you."

 

 

Just then, Clint approached from the corridor and patted Natasha's back. "I've already gathered provisions from the kitchen, and Bucky says the horses are ready. When you order we'll get out of this scary place. Natasha looked toward Lady Wanda's, her eyebrows arched in question of her readiness.

 

A flush of panic swept across Lady Wanda's face, causing the freckles to stand out even more. However, before Natasha could assure her safety, leastways till they got to Aksel's court , a loud rumbling came from Natasha’s gut, followed by a most painful cramping. At the same time bile rose without warning into her throat.

 

"Nat!?" asked Clint, really surprised by such a brutal reaction on her.

 

Startled, Natasha glanced first at Clint, who was looking at her with concern as she bent over at the waist, clutching her abdomen, then glanced at Lady Wanda, who had the effrontery to grin. Natasha thought she heard her mutter "Mmmm ... looks like I had a choice after all, silly Troll." Without another word, Natasha made a mad rush for the garderobe.

 

 

There were two things Natasha heard Clint say behind her as she laid one hand over her mouth and other over her stomach, praying she would make the privy before she embarrassed herself in front of the enemy. "Lady Wanda, if you have put a curse on my leader Natasha, I will light the torch beneath your stake myself. And it will be a slow-burning fire ." -And then, Clint muttered between silly giggles, following Natasha. "Hey Natie! I think a good title would be Natasha 'The Raven' and the Raging Bowel, don't you think?"

 


 

Two days later...

 

Tired, with after-effects of bowel disease and a bad mood.

 

Natasha sat atop her horse in the inner bailey, about to leave Graycote, finally. She was weak-kneed as an inexperienced little girl after her first swiving, and she’d lost so much weight she resembled a starvling, but she was alive, praise be to the gods, and there had been several times in the last two nights when Natasha questioned whether she’d survive the violent heaving and purging. Fortunately she made it. "I still say you should have let me kill the scurvy witch when first realized she had laid a curse on your entrails.” Clint complained and looked fraternally at Nat. "Maybe then, the spell would have been removed earlier."

 

All of the castle folk—three dozen of them, from the high castellan to the lowly kitchen carls—were barricaded in the stable under Clint’s stern-faced guard.

 

 

When Natasha and her comrades reached a village later today or tomorrow, they would make sure someone was sent back to unlock them. There was plenty of water to share with the horses, and it would do done of them harm to go a day without food. Some would say that's called revenge, for Natasha it's justice.

 

Clint left his post and mounted his horse upon seeing Bucky emerging from the great hall. He led the much-subdued Lady Wanda by a rope tied around her neck, even though her eyes sparked green fire of outrage at her mistreatment by her three captors, including herself. Hah! Natasha would like to speak with her about real mistreatment.

 

 

Welt marks stood prominent on her right cheek from Bucky’s slap yestermorn when she finally confessed her perfidy, though she'd claimed that was a mere herb, not a deadly curse. Furthermore, she'd avowed that the herbal potion was intended to delay Natasha departure from Graycote, not cause her departure from this world. If she'd wanted to kill her, she would have given the tainted drink to Bucky and Clint, as well, she contended. Natasha could have accepted that explanation if she hadn't then refused to explain what purpose could be served by a delay.

 

That’s when Bucky had wielded his open palm on her. It had taken both Natasha and Clint to hold Bucky back from more permanent injury. No doubt Bucky would have liked to mark the witch’s face permanently, just as his had been.

 

That side of her face was swollen and bluish-yellow with healing—a stark foil against her pale skin highlighted with the ungodly freckles. Wanda was fortunate Bucky hadn’t loosened all her teeth with the force of his blow. Bucky’s hatred of witches had intensified threefold since their arrival at Graycote.

 

 

Still furious at such a cowardly attack, Natasha stared at dispassionately. Violence was commonplace in a Viking's life, especially in battle, but it was rarely directed against female Omegas. Natasha could feel no sympathy for this woman, though, since she had suffered so much worse at her hands.

 

She supposed they should be fearful in her presence after what she had done to her and Aksel. But the three of them now wore makeshift wooden crosses hanging from leather thongs on their chests. It was Clint’s idea. A sure method for warding off evil spirits, including a witch's magic, or so he asserted. Plus, they had put their braies on backwards to confuse the witch—another of Clint’s bright ideas—something that was inconvenient when visiting the garderobe for a mere piss. Finally, Bucky had brought forth a small vial of holy water he'd been given by a monk in Dublin. Periodically, these past two days, Bucky sprinkled each of them with the blessed liquid. He intended to replenish his supply at the minster in Jorvik.

 

When Bucky had doused the witch with a generous splash of holy water, they’d all backed away, fully expecting her skin to sizzle and burn. But nothing had happened, except she looks like a sodden rooster.

 

Natasha wasn’t so sure about all these maneuvers, especially when Lady Wanda snickered the first time she had explained their purpose, including the backwards braies. Which had made Wanda choke with her thunderous laughter." Are you an idiot?" She asked.

 

" No!" he’d snapped. Maybe, Natasha thought.

 

Two days had gone by without another witchly spell; maybe they were safe for now. And it was past time to leave this bloody Saxon land and return to Trondelag, where witches, trolls and magic events were the stuff of legends. Natasha could scarcely wait till this whole witchly mission was over and done. If it weren’t for Peter, she would have abandoned the ill-fated assignment sennights ago.

 

Because the Lady Wanda’s hands were bound in front of her, Bucky put his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her up to her saddle, none too gently. She wore loose underbraies so she could sit astride, something she had protested vehemently, but he’d insisted upon for the sake of speed. The lady’s snarl was her only reaction to being touched by a Alpha who clearly repulsed her. With good reason.

 

In a moment of consciousness these past two days, Natasha had discovered that Bucky was piling a pile tree limbs and kindling in the courtyard... enough wood to feed a bonfire. In the middle of this was a wooden stake, to which Bucky intended to place the witch the moment Natasha died and went to Valhalla.

 

Luckily, Natasha had not died. Lucky for the witch, as well. No that was not going to happen. Natasha wished for a glorious death in battle and not the death of a cowardly commoner.

 

But the witch’s pyre still stood as a reminder in the courtyard for all to see. And the grim-faced Wanda was all too aware of its continuing existence.

 

  In the process of arranging the Omega on the shifting mare, Bucky jerked her restrained hands forward so she would be able to grasp the front of the saddle. Clint had already taken her reins in hand and would lead her horse.

 

" You brute!" Lady Wanda shouted at the despicable Alpha. "You are a beast."

 

 

"And you the daughter of Satan! -" countered Bucky hissing through his teeth. "You'll burn in bloody hell soon.”

 

 

"If I had real powers, I would have struck you dead long ago." Wanda hissed as well and scowled.

 

 

"That's enough! Desist!" Natasha roared in a harsh voice. Her angry growl echoed around. With dead eyes and icy voice, she growled menacingly. "It will be two or three sennights, at the least, on land and sea, till we get to Aksel's court. Let me tell you, I refuse to listen to you two bickering endlessly the entire time. The next one who speak or does anything stupid, I'll cut its head off, understand?"

 

 

"But he..." Wanda started to say, pointing to the brutish Viking beside her.

 

 

"But she...” Bucky started to say, pointing at the horrible witch.

 

 

"But nothing!" growled Natasha rubbing her forehead. It was an ill omen of things to come if she had a headache even before they began their journey. Natasha fixed Lady Wanda with her gaze now. “You do know how to ride, don’t you?”

 

"Ha! And now you ask me?" replied Wanda indignantly.

 

 

"Answer the bloody question." The expression on Natasha's face must have alerted her that she was treading a fine line. “Uh, yeah, I can ride, thought I've never done it with my hands tied."

 

Natasha shrugged. "Either ride thus or you ride on my lap. You decide.”

 

“I …” Lady Wanda looked at she’d just suggested her riding her, instead of her horse. "I can ride my own horse. Thanks ..." Wanda replied in a strangled voice.

 

"Fine. Let us be off then." Natasha took the reins in her hands and caressed her horse on the head.

 

"Come, Beast." Bucky called cheerfully to his wolfhound, who was standing next to Natasha's horse. The animal had switched his allegiance to Wanda ever since Bucky had taken her sheep and her mangy sheepdog, Bella, to a far pasture. Thereafter, Beast had been alternately despondent and mad with frustration, howling till the wee hours of the morning. It would seem Beast was smitten with Bella. Their constant chasing of each other about the keep these past two days, with a dozen dumb sheep following after, had driven all the servants nigh mad. 

 

"Oh! So be it then, traitor." Bucky nudged his knees against his stallion's sides to prompt him into motion. At the same time, he reached over and slapped Wanda’s mare on the rump.

 

The mare whinnied and bolted, rearing up on its two legs. And Lady Wanda slipped ignominiously to the ground, smack onto her bottom. Since she appeared merely chagrined, not injured, Natasha assumed her tail had buffered the fall.

 

 

All three Alphas burst out laughing at such a funny scene.

 

 

"Oh, Lady Witch." Natasha gasped out. "I thought you said you could ride."

 

 

“You could have given me fair warning, you... you..." Embarrassed Wanda stammered, trying to get up as quickly as possible, but failing. Her shaky legs wouldn't respond her.

 

Clint was laughing so hard that his one eye was watering, and Bucky smirked with delight.

 

"Curse you all, you heathen louts,” she shouted, scrambling clumsily to her feet. “I hope… I hope… “ Wanda mumbled, cursing that bloody Alphas. Just then a flock of winter geese came flying overhead, honking loudly… And splattered the three Alphas. Lady Wanda had the good sense, or the mental forewarning, to duck under her mare’s belly. Thus, she was the only one unanointed by the vile “rain.” Tears of laughter were streaming down her face when she emerged from her hiding place.

 

 Natasha exchanged a meaningful look with her two comrades as they all attempted to brush off the goose droppings with scraps of cloth. And then they exclaimed as one:

 

  “She really is a witch!!!”

 

 

Chapter 6: Fyrd

Chapter Text

 

Five days later

 

 

"Natasha! Na- ta- sha-! What in the name of heaven are you up to now?”

 

 

Natasha put her face on her hands at the familiar female voice addressing her from the steps of the royal palace in Jorvik. "Betty?!" She muttered under her breath. " Holy Odin! Just what I do not need!"

 

 

Standing near the entrance to the king's garth where her uncle, Ivan, the Norse king, resided, Natasha’s sister-by-marriage, Betty . All Britain was under Saxon rule, except for this incessant splinter, Northumbria, which was once more in the hands of the Vikings. And if Betty , a Saxon lady, was in Jorvik, the Viking seat of Northumbria, then that could only mean that her husband, her half-Viking brother Bruce, Lord of Ravenshire, was close by.

 

 

With Bruce and Betty as witnesses, she would never, ever live down this misadventure. Never.

 

 

" What are you doing with all those sheep?" Betty stared at her with a clinical eye as she crossed the arms over her chest" You hate sheep. You always claimed your grandmother's sheep smelled to high Valhalla. Are you trading sheep now, instead of amber?"

 

 

Natasha just grunted in response. When Betty opened her mouth it was hard to stop her and even harder to respond. "Who is she?" asked Lady Wanda. The witch was sitting astride the mare next to her.

 

 

"My sister-by-marriage, Lady Betty." Natasha explained by way of introduction and pointed to the brunette in front of her. "She is married to my brother Bruce, Lord of Raven-shire."

 

 

"You are ... You are kin to a Saxon lord?" Wanda's eyebrows lifted with astonishment and disbelief. "You have blood links to Norse kings and Saxon lord’s. What's next? A Byzantine emperor?"

 

 

Natasha would have said something wittsome and biting back to her, but she never got the chance.

 

Betty, fists on hips, was railing at her again before bombarding Natasha with so many questions. "Why are the hands tied on the woman sitting on that horse? Why does she have a rope dangling from her neck? And why is she glaring at you so? Are those fingermarks on her cheek? Did you strike a woman, Natasha? Did you? For shame!”

 

 

Lady Wanda did look awful. She’d long since lost her wimple and headrail. Luckily, they were not blue, or he would have had to go chasing back after them, in case it was the Virgin’s Veil. Her hair stood out like a bush of dry curly leaves. Though autumn was in full bloom, her pale complexion was sunburned… not a pretty picture with the freckles standing out even more. Her clothing was dirty and disheveled since she’d refused to allow her or Bucky or Clint to watch—uh, guard … guard —her whilst she changed.

 

 

Natasha heard Bucky and Clint chuckle behind her. Betty shifted her attention from Natasha to the other men. "Why are you three dolts wearing your braies backwards? Is it some kind of lackbrain jest? And crosses… since when have you turned the religious zealot, Natasha?”

 

 

 

 

Bucky amused by the whole situation, snickered, but not for long. Betty walked over and examined the tall brunette's face. He just grimaced and said. "Bucky, what happened to your face? Did you fall in a vat of woad dye? Do you attempt to stand out in a crowd? Ah, vanity ever was your weakness, and you no doubt think that silly mark is attractive. Well, it’s not.”

 

 

 

Now it was Bucky's turn to groan and down his face to hide the embarrassing mark over his face. Betty spun and saw the blond man dismount from the horse, with a bright smile on her face she hugged him. "Hi Clint! Good to see you again. Have you come up with any new sagas? How is Laura?"

 

 

"For a certainty, my lady. It's good to see you too. Ah, Laura is pregnant. I'm going to be father next spring with Freya's blessing." Clint smiled as radiant as the sun and Betty hugged him again for such good news. "For now, I follow my leader in her journeys. Natasha The Raven has been so busy I can scarce keep track of all her exploits."

 

 

"I can just imagine." Betty said, eyeing at Natasha with dry humor as she quietly mouthed. "Natasha The Raven?"

 

 

After five days of riding up one fell and over another, in the company of the most shrewish witch from hell, followed by a smitten sheepdog and a half-dozen sheep who refused to stay in their pens despite being returned to Graycote three times, Natasha had thought she'd experienced the worst days of her life. She soon found out that the worst was about to come. Lady Betty was a force of nature to be feared.

 

 

Just then, an arrow whizzed past her head, barely missing her right ear, and embedded itself in a passing cart. Amazed, Natasha turned to see a group of armed horsemen approaching. Just entering the high-arched gates that separated the Norse palace from the Coppergate merchant sector of Jorvik, the attackers were still some distance away—at least ten ells—way too far for even an expert archer to aim his bow.

 

 

 Startled passersby strolling the stalls of the tradesmen, a well as personages about to enter the palace grounds, gaped with alarm at the peril entering their midst. Many ran for cover or ducked under the canopies of their trading booths. “Helvtis” she swore upon seeing that the two noblemen in front had bushy brown hair and same color eyes. “Damn!”

 

 

 

 

Bucky, Clint and Natasha exchanged looks of incredulity, even as they instinctively went into battle readiness. Reaching for weapons and shields, they prepared to fight off whatever for threatened them. But what idiot man in his right mind would risk starting a fight in the midst of the business center of the city, or so near the palace and its fighting forces?

 

 

One of the brown-haired miscreants yelled. " Halt, you whoresons of the North!". The pitiful idiot was waving a sword in the air so wildly that Natasha feared he might chop off his own head.

 

 

The other brown-haired miscreant seemed to have trouble staying upright on his horse and was holding on to the reins with both hands. From the bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, Natasha assumed he was the ill-trained archer who'd attempted to shoot her. The lackwit managed to inform Wanda in a shrill shout, "Never fear, sister dear, we have come to rescue you from that red-head devil spawn."

 

 

"Red-head devil spawn?" asked Natasha pointing to herself with a hand on her chest. She felt indignant at the peculiar use of words. "That whoreson is referring to me?"

 

 

"Well... you're the only redhead here, Nat." Bucky scoffed and shrugged, but stopped when Natasha shot him an angry look and said. "Shut the fuck up, blue face.”

 

 

"Betty!" Natasha turned and ordered to Betty. "Betty, get into the palace, out of dangers way. You'll be safe in there."

 

 

"Nooo. I want to stay. This is going to be exciting." Betty was gaping, watching the impending action, open-mouthed, as if it was a jester’s show. "I want to watch you kick some arses.”

 

 

"Betty! Make the haste, now!" roared Natasha, and Betty nearly jumped out of her skin and mumbled angrily. "All right, all right. Don't yell at me."

 

 

Clint had already released his halberd, affectionately named “Head Splitter,” from its specially designed leather strap at the side of his horse. Grinning with anticipation, Clint hefted the long-handled battle-ax in one hand. On more occasions than Natasha could count, she’d seen Clint save the day in a fierce fight by severing an enemy from crown to cock with just one swift blow from “Head Splitter.”

 

 

 

Bucky pulled a leather helmet with a metal noseguard over his head, lay his favorite sword, “Death Stalker,” across his lap, and grinned at her. She probably relished the prospect of spilt blood, since they’d not exercised their battle skills for a long time.

 

 

 As the attackers approached, Natasha noticed another nobleman trailing behind—a short, balding man of at least sixty who was as wide as he was tall. His poor horse looked sway-backed with the excess weight. “No heathen barbarian steals what is mine,” he asserted. He, too, was waving a sword in a dangerous fashion.

 

 

 

 

“Halt, if you value your lives.” Natasha warned the group of idiots in a firm voice, standing up her stirrups and raising an axe high. The whole time, she surveyed the third: twelve soldiers, in addition to the three noblemen, (two Alphas and a Beta). She and Bucky and Clint could handle the lot themselves with ease, maybe even have a little fun.

 

 

Suddenly, in the midst of her assessment, Natasha understood why Lady Wanda had attempted to delay their departure from Graycote. The witch had been hoping for her cousin’s arrival. And could that human lard barrel bringing up the rear guard be her latest betrothed? Had Lady Wanda poisoned her so that they would have time to come to her rescue?

 

 

 

Natasha turned and searched her eyes in a silent accusation. Lady Wanda just shrugged without saying anything about such an embarrassing rescue attempt. “Let me guess. These would be the Lords Brock and Jack, I presume?” Natasha questioned looking straight to Wanda’s eyes.

 

 

“Um, uh huh. Indeed.” Wanda replied, with less enthusiasm than Natasha should have expected from a woman who’d been saved from a fate worse than death. Vikings. “Uh huh.” Natasha nodded and asked with a mischievous grin. “Mmm … and the Lord of Lard?”

 

 

Wanda’s eyes twinkled with merriment at that misname, the first show of genuine pleasure he'd witnessed since their first chaotic meeting. Natasha laughed briefly, the girl was almost (ALMOST) pretty when she smiled... if one could overlook the freckles .. . which she could not, of course.

 

 

 

“Cedric.” Replied Wanda. “His name is Lord Cedric.”

 

 

“I certainly hope you intend to be on top on your wedding night, lest you’d be crushed to death.” Natasha scoffed in amusement as Lady Wanda made a most unbecoming snarling sound and blushed.

 

 

Another arrow flew by, far over Natasha’s head, shot by one of Wanda’s cousins, the one with unsteady saddle seat. Natasha placed her battle shield in front of her face nonchalantly, fixing a questioning glare alternately at the distant archer and then Lady Wanda. Natasha arched an eyebrow and said. “And that idiot is?”

 

“Jack.” She replied sheepishly, lowering her face, feeling embarrassed again.

 

 

 

“What the hell is wrong with him. Is he trying to warn me off?” Natasha stared at the clumsy man yelling curses at her.

 

 

“Nah.” Wanda shook her head, and replied uncomfortably. “He’s just inept.”

 

 

“And an suicidal idiot too.” Natasha laughed before adding. “I’m going to enjoy kicking your cousins’ arses, Lady Wanda.”

 

 

Bucky, Clint and Natasha, quickly dismounted and drew their swords and axes, prepared to fight off the attackers, who now galloped into the castle courtyard. Jack almost flew headfirst out the saddle when his horse came to an abrupt halt. “Bloody idiot.” Natasha thought as she refrained from laughing at the ridiculous scene. 

 

 

Lady Wanda sat atop her horse like a bloody queen, oblivious to the impending danger. In truth, these misguided knights would not harm her, not deliberately. But they might accidentally kill the very person they wanted to rescue. With a muttered curse, Natasha pulled her from the saddle and shoved her behind her, where Wanda fell to her knees. Meanwhile the sheep were bleating, the two dogs were barking, Betty was screaming into the palace doors, “Bruce, Bruce, come save your sister,” and the riderless horses were bumping into each other with fright as they tried to escape the melee.

 

No one present saw how Wanda began to walk away from crowd, followed by her loyal sheep. Even worse, Viking soldiers poured from the guardhouse and passing Saxon soldiers rushed to their allies.

 

 

“ Aaarrrgh!” Wanda chocked out as the rope around her neck tightened and jerked her head back.

 

 

“Were you going somewhere, witchling?” a smooth femenine voice whispered against her ear. One arm wrapped around her waist from behind, drawing her flush against her hard body.

 

 

Wanda gritted her teeth and replied in a stifled whisper. “Twould seem I’m going to hell.”

 

 

“For a certainty,” she agreed, nuzzling her hair… just to annoy her. “Now, you have two punishments to anticipate, my lady. One for the poison spell. Another for calling your cousins down on us. Oh, wait… I misspoke. There are three punishments. The third will be for your attempted escape” She kissed her cheek as a final insult, and Wanda felt the outrage all way her toes. And, oddly, some places between as well. Very indignated, Wanda struggled violently against Natasha’s imprisoning arms. “You bloodthirsty brute! You enjoyed that fight, didn't you?"

 

 

"Better to be the raven than the carrion." She laughed and pulled the rope around her neck.

 

 

Wanda had forgotten about the rope, which still dangled from her neck. She turned slowly within Natasha’s grasp. She tickled her nose with the frayed end of her rope, which sh must have grabbed while she attempted to escape. If she'd been thinking properly, she could have loosened it with her tied hands and pulled it over her head while all the fighting was going on.

 

 

But nay, Wanda realized, escape would have been impossible, even then. Glancing behind Natasha, she saw that the six sheep, one ram and two dogs had been following after her, bleating and barking a traitorous chorus that couldn't have been more clear to the Viking: "There she goes, there she goes, there she goes."

 

 

 

And there, on the dirty ground with broken noses and puple eyes lay Brock and Jack and an unconscious Lord Cedric. "Ugh...bloody hell." Wanda sighed with dismay. She would have to come up with a new plan, since she obviously couldn't depend on her idiots cousins Brock or Jack to rescue her. Plainly, they were no match for the superior fighting abilities of these Norse alphas. Before she had a chance to think of a new plan, though, Natasha the Troll bent her legs slightly, grabbed her around the knees and flung her over her shoulder. Then she headed back toward the Norse palace, with the dogs and sheep protesting loudly and laughters and shouts of encouragement surrounding them as they passed.

 

 

 

“I take exception to your hasty retreat, Lady Wanda. Do you not favor my company?” Natasha teased and gripped Lady Wanda's thighs to keep her from slipping off her shoulder.

 

 

 “About as much as I favor the company of slime-bellied snakes." Wanda tried to squirm free, pounding Natasha’s back with her bound fists, missing half the time because she was blinded by her hair hanging down to the backs of her thighs. Natasha chuckled at her antics and clamped a large paw over her posterior.” That stilled her... for a moment. "You brute... you animal... you... you... Viking!" Get your hands off me. Ahhh!”

 

 

"Natasha, tell us truth." She heard Bucky call out with an ominous snicker. " Does she hve a tail or not?"

 

 

"Um. I don't know .. ." Natasha laughed at the joke and pretended to think about it. "But we can find out." A devilish grin appeared on Natasha's face as she rubbed Lady Witch's entire bottom, side to side, even the crease, before playfully patting one buttock and announcing. "Nay, there is not a tail, but me thinks I will have to examine the situation more thoroughly … in private...without these cumbersome garments."

 

 

More laughter and guffaws resounding around the redhead, followed by ribald remarks on exactly how she might proceed in that regard, there were even those guys who offered to fulfill that task.

 

 

Wanda gasped and gritted her teeth. If the blood were not rushing to her head, she would have told to Natasha what she thought of her outrageous suggestion and her comrade’s crudity. Instead, Wanda took a good bite out of Natasha’s shoulder and would not let go.

 

 

 

"OUCH!!!" Natasha's howl of pain echoed throughout the courtyard before her knees buckled at the surprising attack. Natasha tripped forward, causing Wanda to go with her. Wanda closed her eyes as she landed on her back, her bound hands raised overhead, her legs spread wide, with the hem of her gunna hiked robe knee-high and the red-haired Viking troll on top of her, with her face planted in her belly... laughing.

 

 

"How... dare... you? Get away from me!" Wanda exclaimed, not sure if she was outraged by her position atop her or by her laughter. She lowered her bound hands and grasped a hunk of red curls, forcing her head off her stomach so Wanda could address the loath directly. “You are a …” Wanda stop for a while and forgot her anger, when she saw the face of her kidnapper. Natasha’s nose was still bleeding. A bruise just above her right eye was beginning to swell and turn the socket black and purple. A bit of dirt shadowed her face, and green eyes glistened in the sun's rays. Her wild red curls were sticking out in all directions. The red locks are so soft where Wanda still grasped it. Despite all that, the insufferable Viking woman was extremely gorgeous.

 

 

 

Aware of her actions, Wanda released the red curls as if it had suddenly caught fire and burned her palm. Hearing a chuckle, she peered up and noticed all the faces staring down at them ... some in wonder, like Lady Betty and her husband Bruce. Some with amusement, like Bucky and the Viking soldiers; and some others with contemplation, like Clint , who was mumbling something about sagas and poems and witchly tales... or was it tails?

 

 

Wanda groaned, then and groaned again as Natasha raised herself on her elbows, still laughing, and adjusted her body against her. Sudden Natasha’s laughter stopped immediately.

 

 

"Oh my..." Wanda's eyes went huge with amazement at the hard object prodding betwixt her legs. It was unlike any of the limp threads she'd experienced in her three mates. More like the whole bloody spindle. Natasha groaned too .. but her was a low femenine sound.

 

 

"My Lady, are you in pain?" asked Clint, reaching over to help Natasha.

 

 

Natasha shook her head, apparently unable to speak through her silent giggles. When she was a child, her father used to say "There are only two things to light a Viking's loins. A good battle and a woman." Natasha thought to herself how right her father was. Excitement bathed her entire body, igniting her skin like an intense flame. Lady Wanda's scent only worsened her state.

 

 

"Natasha! Nat, are you hurt?" Lord Bruce asked worriedly, appearing at Clint's side. "Shall we send for the healer from the hospitium? Or our sister Pepper?"

 

 

Natasha bit her lips and shook her head harder. "Ah." Clint understood what happened with his leader. " Is it the witch." Natasha nodded, refusing to lift her face until she could control the blush over her face.

 

 

"What?! What did you say!!!" A witch?! A witch?!" Lady Betty squealed with horror, covering her mouth, staring at the young girl.

 

 

"Yea, the witch with the Virgin's Veil." said Clint to Lady Betty and pointed to the young girl under Natasha's body. "Lady Wanda is a witch."

 

 

"C'mon boys. Don't scare my wife." Bruce let out a snort of disbelief. "There is no such thing.”

 

 

"Hah! You would not say that if you were King Aksel!" interjected Bucky, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

 

 

'King Aksel? Our cousin Aksel?" Lord Bruce seemed genuinely confused. "What has he to do with witchcraft?"

 

 

What has he got to do with witchcraft?" Betty asked with eyes as she hugged Bruce.

 

 

"This witch." said Bucky, pointing to Lady Wanda on the floor. "She put a spell on King Aksel."

 

 

"A spell!" asked a dumbly Lord Bruce, not believing the gibberish Bucky was sdumbl to him.

 

 

"Yea, a spell that made his root take a right turn" explained Bucky and mimicked the twisting of the root with his index finger.

 

 

"What?!" Lord Bruce and Lady Betty exchanged a look, then burst out laughing, as did all the Viking soldiers and lookers-on who'd gathered at the outlandish scene. The only ones not participating in the mirth were Bucky and Clint, who were chagrined at the lack of belief in their tale.

 

 

Wanda and Natasha weren't laughing either. The women were locked in their own world, away from the loudly laughters.

 

 

Natasha held her gaze the whole time, until she finally whispered in a low, seductive voice, as she insinuating herself more intimately against the cradle of her hips. "I think … I am bewitched.”

 

 

Bucky must have overheard because he commented. "Oh-ho! She must be a witch, for never would you be attracted to such a pig-ugly wench.”

 

 

"James! For shame." Lady Betty chastised, causing Bucky to jump and tense up like a small child.

 

 

Wanda was barely aware of all the conversations swirling around her. All she could do was gaze back at Natasha, unable to break eye contact. New, unbelievable sensations swept her body. They were horrible, horrible, horrible. And so wonderful she could scarcely breathe. How stupid she was to feel this way.

 

I am the one bewitched, she admitted to herself then. And this time when she prayed silently, the well-known Anglo-Saxon prayer took on a new format: "Oh, Lord, from the passion of a redhead Viking, please protect me.”

 

 

Chapter 7: Freyja Seid

Chapter Text

 

 

“I still say we should ride to Tony and Pepper’s estate and tell them of Peter’s plight." said Bruce once again, scratching his chin . He had been saying the same thing for the last hour, over and over again.

 

"Nah, Nah." Natasha insisted, denying that possibility. Her fingertips played with the threads of her thin robe as she said. " “You know they would overreact and demand to come with me. They have enough to worry about with the orphanage, Pepper’s hospitium and their four children, not to mention her being with child again. Besides, Peter will be safe at Aksel’s court till I arrive… just restricted a bit.”

 

They both smiled at the image of Peter being restricted. Ever since he’d been a wild youthling, rescued from the Jorvik streets with his sister Gwen, no one had been able to hold Peter down. Natasha looked forward to seeing just how Aksel had managed to confine the boy who’d traveled to many foreign lands, despite his young years, in his quest to become a healer, like Pepper.

 

Natasha was sitting with his brother on the stone steps of the king’s personal steam house in the palace gardens, now brown and dormant with the coming winter. A young male house servant lifted a heavy wooden bucket of water and tossed it onto the red-hot rocks, causing more steam to issue forth. Soon she would be washing off her perspiration in the icy waters of the adjoining bathhouse, where Omegas female thralls would assist her in wash her hair and moisturize her skin and donning clean garments.

 

Vikings did like their personal comforts, cleanliness being one of them. It was why so many Omegas in so many lands fell at their feet and into their bed furs, in Natasha’s opinion. Oh, she and her fellow Viking companions liked to boast of their great looks and superior talents in the bedding, but she suspected that offtimes it just boiled down to their smelling a mite less than other Alphas.

 

"But why involve the witch?" asked Bruce with confusion.

 

"He asked for a witch in exchange for Peter." Natasha shrugged. "At the time, it seemed the expedient thing to do, since I was coming to Northumbria anyhow. You know I could have gained Peter’s release, but it would have involved much coin or fighting. If I'd known then of the excessive delays I would encounter, I never would have bothered."

 

 

"But to kidnap a lady of high station, Nat? Really, 'tis pushing the bounds of propriety, even for you." Bruce scoffed and took a sip of mead.

 

"A witch of high station." Natasha corrected and took a long sip of mead from the goblet next to her. She licked her lips enjoying the taste before giving her older brother a playful smile. "And since wjen have I claimed to be proper."

 

"Uh, you know, Betty will try her best at matchmaking." Bruce scratched the back of his neck and commented sheepishly.

 

 Natasha choked a little on her mead and coughed before saying. "With a witch?" she looked at Bruce and her throat went dry when she noticed Bruce's amused expression.

 

"Well, can you blame her?” Bruce shrugged and laughed. "All her best efforts with every other Omega have come to naught."

 

Natasha was going to reply "You're kidding right?” she let out a laugh at that implication. Just then, one of the female thralls walked in, carrying a pile of linen towels. She was blond and buxom, and Natasha wasn't certain, but she thought she knew her. In truth, she might have bedded her once or twice in the past. The woman did a little curtsy and gazed at her shyly.

 

Natasha couldn't help but flirt with the young thrall and winked, it was so satisfying when the young blonde blushed and lowered her face.

 

"Oh, Thor!." Bruce made a grunting sound of disgust and shook his head. The man coughed uncomfortably at the situation and better asked. "I think you should come back to Ravenshire with us for the winter”

 

Natasha shook her head, but her attention was focused on the young blonde who was bending over pick up some items of dirty clothing she had tossed on the ground. Her backside was in the air. Oh, yep, Natasha recognized the young blonde now. Natasha would recognize that sweet bottom from a distance.

 

Bruce frowned. "Why not?" Her little sister was a stubborn, he just wished he could spend some time with her, but first he would have to convince hee little sister. Which would be difficult task. Natasha is distractedly devouring the female thrall with her gaze. Natie is still the same incorrigible wild little girl thought Bruce with brotherly affection.

 

 

 “Why not what?” Natasha snapped out of her distraction lapse and turned back to her brother, who was grinning in a knowing fashion and shaking his head at his obvious distraction. “Oh… you mean, why not return to Northumbria? I might have if I’d gathered the witch sennights ago, as I’d planned. Now, there will be no time left, even if I make haste, to get to Hedeby, then Aksel’s court, then my home for the winter.”

 

"Okay, I understand. Just promise me you'll visit us soon." Bruce stood up and looked at his sister, who nodded and said giving him a bright smile. "I promise you, Big guy."

 

 

Before leaving and giving Natasha some privacy. Bruce pressed a hand against her thigh with concern. "Ah, Natasha, is your leg bothering you overmuch?"

 

"Just in the winter. That's why I prefer to be snug in my own homestead." Natasha said with a smile and gave Bruce's hand a squeeze. "Then, too, I want to go to the Baltic Lands come spring for the first amber harvest of the season."

 

"I worry about you, Natasha. I have not always been there with you when you needed me. I would make up for past mistakes."

 

"Hey! Do not concern yourself over me, brother.” Natasha ran a hand over her hair before rising and escorting Bruce to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I wish to take a hot bath now."

 

 

"Fine!" Bruce commented unconformably, before getting up to leave the room. "We haven’t finished our talk." Before leaving, Bruce turned to look at his little sister. " What will you do with the witch?"

 

"Oh, don't worry, Bruce." Natasha gave him a coarse and explicit two-word answer before closing the door. But she didn’t mean it. Really.

 

With her back pressed against the large wooden door, Natasha smiled innocently at the young trall. "And now, we're both alone." She took a few steps as she unbuttoned her tunic. "I think we should honor Freyja." With the last word leaving her mouth, Natasha let the soft tunic slip from her shoulders, standing naked before the young blonde who still stood there, staring at her with mouth open. "Do you want to ride me?"

 

The blushing young blonde girl let out a moan of surprise as Natasha hold her in her arms and began to strip her clothes and led her to the steamy bath. Natasha planned to do many fun and pleasurable things with her.

 

 


 

"She's a terrible, rude woman. I hate her."

 

"Natasha is really not a bad sort at all." insisted Betty as she poured a pail of clean water over Wanda's soap-lathered hair. The unruly brown strands hung down to her waist when unbond. Betty had insisted that Wanda call her by her given name several hours past, when they'd left the company of the women and men back at the palace, excepting for Clint , who stood guard downstairs. Natasha and her brother had spoke of a visit to the bathhouse at the palace, where Natasha steam off the dirt and grime of "battle". And regale with overblown tales of conquest in the little skirmish she just ended.

 

"In fact, Natasha is one of the most charming alphas I've ever met." Betty laughed softly. "And that includes my husband, Bruce , who can be the most...ah, persuasive, when he wants to be." Betty flashed Wanda a secretive smile, as if Wanda could understand perfectly. Hah! No Alpha had ever exerted himself to be charming to Wanda. Certainly not her three aged husbands, who'd believe they were doing her a favor by marrying her. As to that other assertion … Wanda snorted her opinion of Natasha being proclaimed the most charming alpha in Betty acquaintance. Betty must live in a nunnery..

 

"Natasha is a troll." Wanda contended as she parted the wet swaths of her hair to peer up at the woman with disbelief.

 

“Well, of course. All Alphas are troll’s betimes.” Undaunted, Betty countered.

 

Wanda couldn’t be concerned about Natasha, or the other Vikings, or her captivity right now. She was taking too much pleasure in her first bath in over a week too. Sitting in a copper tub, she sighed at the joy of mere soap and water in her skin.

 

 They were in the second-floor bedchamber of Angie, an elderly Viking widow who was a longtime friend of the Romanovson family. As Wanda bathed, Angie sat in a straight-backed chair, working a hand loom and listening intently to Betty’s palace gossip.

 

"I can scarce believe that Ivan is king once again." Angie commented, her fingers waving the various colored threads into an intricate Norse pattern. "He's like a pesky fly that keeps coming back, no matter how often swatted away. I have no love of Saxons, of course." Said the old woman, casting an apologetic glance at Wanda. "But he has been a thorn in the side of King Edred off and on for years now. I wish he would either leave or manage to stay in power here in Northumbria.”

 

"King Ivan is Uncle to my husband and Natasha, but a more ruthless man I have never met." Betty explained to Wanda, who was lathering up her hair again.

 

"Even when they were babes, their father, Alexei, could not acknowledge them to fear Ivan would come after them." added Angie. "That's the reason they lived with me and my Peggy for many of the years of their youth, apart from their beloved father, who went off Jomsviking to protect them. Orphans, they were, for all purposes, even with livin kin.”

 

Wanda frowned and paused her hair washing. "I don't understand. How could the father's abandonment protect the son and daughter?"

 

"Ah! You do not know how Ivan the King got his name and position then.” Betty declared and glanced toward Angie. Both shook their heads in disgust. "King Harald "Fair Hair" Harald, one of the most powerful rulers in Norway, was the father of dozen of sons and daughters alike by his numerous wives and mistresses. He practiced the more danico. Ivan was ruthless from an early age in his pursuit of his father's crown. It is a fact that many of his brothers died under his blade to feed that ambition. Thus the name Ivan Bloodaxe.”

 

"And Natasha and Bruce's father. Alexei, methinks you called him … how did he fit into the story?" Wanda asked, turned and glanced at both women.

 

"Alexei never had any interest in a kingship, and he was illegitimate, besides. But though Ivan’s blood was legitimate, he was hated by the Norse people for his cruelty.” Betty said. “There was the unfounded fear on Ivan’s part that while Alexei disdained a crown, his children might not.

 

"And so Alexei pretended at first that he had no child, abandoning the babes to the care of others. They were forbidden to call him father, and never did he give them a warm word or gesture of affection. Some time later, when word got out that the were indeed his children, Alexei was forced to pretend an indifference." Angie clicked her tongue as her eyes clouded over with unpleasant memories. "And his overprotection was warranted. There was a time... I remember it well... an evil Viking villain, Ivar 'the Terrible', chopped off Bruce's little finger and sent it to Ravenshire in a parchment, all to lure Alexei to his death. Which was the final result, in the end. Death. Both Alexei's and my wife’s, Peggy."

 

Betty reached over and patted Angie’s quaking shoulders to comfort her. "Odin bless both and may their souls rest for eternity in Valhalla."

 

"And ... And how about their mothers?" Wanda was trying to break the grimness that had overtaken their conversation. She didn’t want to bring back more painful memories to Lady Angie.

 

"Alessia, a Saxon thrall, was Bruce's mother . She died in birthing." answered Angie as she wiped away a tear from her cheek. "But Natasha ... well, her mother, Melina, was a Viking princess who abandoned the little girl when she was still in swaddling clothes. Alexei offered to marry her, but she sought a nobler marriage, and never once wanted to see her daughter over the years."

 

All the women exchanged appalled looks at that unnatural behavior for a mother. Especially, Wanda, who inevitably got a lump in her throat. It seems that she is not the first and last abandoned child in this world.

“Yes. That was very sad. Bruce and Nat were such lonely children. Bruce was a shy Beta while Nat was an aggressive and reckless Alpha puppy.” Angie continued and exhaled heavily before continuing. “They were both raised here in Jorvik by me and Peggy, then at Ravenshire by Dottie, their grandmother, till her death. But I think Natasha suffered most, being the youngest. I remember how the little girl would ask every woman she encountered in the street “Are you my mother?” Angie murmured sadly. Betty and Wanda remained completely silent as Angie continued. “ It was heartwrenching, I tell you. Natie was left alone when she was only eight and Bruce eleven when Bruce went off to foster in King Athelstan's Saxon court. Bruce was only half-Viking, you recall, but Natasha pure Viking to the core. I remember how she proclaim, even when she was too small to lift a mighty sword, that someday she would be a Jomsviking, too … just she could stand beside her father Alexei. Then, her father died later that year, when she was eight winters, and Bruce was off a-fostering. And finally, her stepmother, Inar, disappeared in a mysterious fashion … without saying goodbye.”

 

“Angie.” Betty murmured, feeling suddenly curious. “ Do you think that is why Natasha has refused to settle in one place all these years? Why she never wed?”

 

“Oh my little girl. I am certain of it.” Angie said with an emphatic nod and a soft smile adorning her lips. “Natie was rejected or abandoned by everyone she ever loved. So she protects herself from hurt by never caring deeply for anyone. Even her own brother, Bruce, whom she visits only on rare ocassions.”

 

Wanda felt her heart break in two at devastating and poignant story, at least the melancholy feeling lasted until a new realization hit her. “Oh no. No! Oh, this is too much. You two are trying to turn my anger away from that redheaded troll by playing on my sympathies. The woman has seen thirty-five winters, and if she fails to care about anyone but herself, it’s because he’s a selfish troll. Nothing more … nothing less.”

 

Angie and Betty surprised at the frankness in those words, just stared at the young girl without say a word. Only then did they look at each other and share a soft smile. “Do you think…?” Betty leaned toward Angie with a slight smile.

 

“Maybe. Maybe” Angie laughed merrily and nodded in response, looking at the young girl in the copper tub. “In a world of trolls, nothing is impossible my dear.”

 

For the first time, Wanda wished she was a real witch and could read the minds of those women who looked at her in the weirdest possible way.

 

“Here, my dear.” Betty smiled radiantly and handed Wanda a small soap stone container filled with a rose-scented cream. “Your hair is just like mine.”

 

“Uh…” Wanda surveyed Betty’s silken locks and laughed. That woman must be blind. Her hair was wavy and unmanageable. Wanda rejected the small container.

 

“curly and unmanageable.” Betty interrupted the girl, placing the container in Lady Wanda’s hands. “I have developed a wonderful concoction for the hair that tames even the wildest locks. Come on, use it!”

 

Wanda was skeptical, though the cream did smell wonderful. She usually didn’t indulge in such vanities, but maybe just this once she deserved to enjoy. “Can I ask you a question?” As she worked the delicious substance into her long strands, Betty addressed Wanda once again. “Is it true that you are a witch?”

 

“Do I look like a witch?” Wanda scoffed, then immediately regretted her words as the eyes of both women traveled over her freckled body. She was aware of that old wives'tale about freckles being the devil’s spittle, and apparently so were they.

 

“It is well known fact that a witch cannot be discerned by outward aspects. Take Ivan Romanovson's wife, Agatha, for example.” Betty said, as she rinsed the lotion out of Wanda’s hair and motioned for her to stand so she could comb out the tangles in wet strands. “Yeah, Agatha, the sister of King Harlad Gormsson of Denmark, studied witchcraft in her early day in Finnmark, and a more beautiful woman there never was. At least from outward appearances. That said Ivan rescued her from a most bizarre witchly voyage into the White Sea and over the years has gained strength from her powers.”

 

 

"There are good witches and bad witches, of course." Angie stopped her weaving for a moment and stared at Wanda, attempting to determine in which category she fell.

 

"I am not witch." Wanda said again, but neither of the women paid her any heed.

 

"You must talk with Agatha this eve when we sup at the palace." Betty offered" Maybe you can share potions and such in the midst of the feast."

 

"Me? Me?" stammered Wanda awkwardly. "Why would I be asked to participate in some Viking feast?"

 

"Oh, Because you ate Natasha's captive, dear." Betty declared, as if that was a normal thing to be. "And you must remain under guard at all times. Natasha insists. Natasha wouldn't want Clint or Bucky or any of her men to miss this feast tonight by staying behind to guard you." Betty glanced at Wanda reprovingly, obviously deeming her a most selfish girl to think otherwise.

 

"I am not a witch." Wanda repeated again, then exhaled with exasperation as she clenched her fists under water. Really, it was like talking to a wall trying to convince people of her innocence. "Do you even know what this is all about? Do you have any idea what they think I have done?"

 

Angie just shook her head slowly and Betty said hesitantly. "Um, Well, I know what Bucky said at the palace, but I can hardly credit ...tell us your version, dear." Betty waved her hand to let Wanda explain her situation.

 

When Wanda explained, their mouths gaped with amazement. It seems King Aksel’s story and his crooked root leaves the same expression on all are unfortunate to hear that story.

 

"The king's root did what? "Betty asked with a choked voice, her hands stopped moving in Lady Wanda's hair.

 

"Uh, Timed right, apparently." Wanda answered dryly.

 

"Wow! Um... And you put a spell on him to make it do such?" Angie grinned, rather impressed by this young witch's feat. "If you don't mind, there are a few alphas I wouldn't mind afflicting so."

 

"Oh! Holy Freyja!" Betty grinned mischievously." Can you teach me the spell?"

 

"I am not a witch! I keep trying to tell you, it’s what they accuse me of, but it's not true." Wanda gritted her teeth and pounded the water with her fists.

 

The women just laughed and remained unconvinced. "You know, my dear. I remember... "Angie said, tapping her pressed lips pensively with a forefinger "It seems to me that I have heard of this malady afore on Alpha’s private parts ofttimes it is caused by an injury that scars over and forces the staff to go crooked. The few cases I've heard of eventually corrected themselves.”

 

"So all King Aksel needs to cure himself is time?" asked Betty hopefully, changing her gaze between Lady Angie and Lady Wanda.

 

"Maybe." Angie touched her chin pensively and looked pointedly at Wanda. "Lest the crooked root is caused by a witch's curse, of course.

 

"I am not a witch. Why won’t anyone believe me?" Wanda murmured as she hugged her knees to her breasts, feeling like weeping out of frustration. No one seemed to listen or even understand.

 

"I don't know dear. Your reprehensible actions make us suspicious. What of the bowel spell you put on Natasha? Surely you cannot deny that." Betty crossed her arms over her chest and nodded he head, as if she’d just won some point of arguments.

 

"Well, no, but..." Wanda was going to object and defend herself.

 

"Aha!" said Betty and Angie at the same time.

 

"But it was a mere herb that grows ..." Wanda quickly retorted.

 

"A poison?" Betty lashed out harshly. " You gave Natasha a bane drink? That is as bad as a witchly potion, Wanda. I could kill you myself for that."

 

"No! It wasn't a deadly potion..." Wanda started to justify herself only to give up. Her words would not be welcome on deaf ears. "Oh, what’s the use? No one believes me anyway.”

 

"Betty!" a loud male voice rang out from downstairs. "Where are you?"

 

Betty shuddered and Angie gathered her weaving items, preparing to leave the room. "Oh, that brute! He knows I hate it when he yells for me like a cow in the field."

 

"Betty!" her husband shouted once again. "Where are you? I have something to show you."

 

Betty's face turned bright red. "Uh, I have seen it more than enough times, believe me." She informed Wanda with a wink. Wanda felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Here ... "Betty said, handing her a towel. "Better dry yourself afore my husband comes blundering in here."

 

Both Betty and Angie left the room, giggling. Through the closed door, Wanda could swear she heard Lord Bruce say, “Betty, I dropped honey on the front of my braies back at the castle. Can you think of any way I can remove it?” Betty said something that Wanda could not overhear, but Bruce let loose with a low growl of pleasure at whatever it was.

 

Wanda with a smile on her lips, decided that Betty needed no lessons at all from a witch.

 

 


 

 

Natasha leaned against the doorjamb of Angie’s house and watched with amusement as her brother greeted his wife with a pat on the butt and a deep, noisy kiss. Seven years they had been wed, and still they acted as lovestruck youthlings. Three children they’d had together Thorkel, Ragnor, and Freydis-and three others they’d brought into the marriage betwixt them … Betty’s John, and Bruce’s Larise and Emma.

 

Ravenshire rang with the joyous sounds of children of all ages, and yet these two behaved as children themselves.

 

There was a Norse legend about a golden apple and how adventurers searched for this treasure a lifetime and more, across many lands, risking life and family. The moral of the tale was that often the precious fruit was growing in one’s own orchard.

 

Bruce found that precious golden apple. Natasha was happy and pleased for her brother, truly she was. There weren’t many women or men fortunate enough to find a lifemate who was steadfast and loving. She never had. As Natasha contemplated the lovely interaction between those lovers, she thought about how she never was one of those lucky souls to find that precious golden apple. Natasha lowered her face at exhaled when Clint’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

 

“Have you left any mead for me back at the castle?” Clint asked as he passed by her through the door.

 

“Yeah, I did. Not as good as Betty’s home-brewed ale , but sufficient to you. There is Frisian wine as well.” Natasha raised her eyebrows and smiled. “And Bucky discovered a group of young thralls bought from a Nubian slave trader. He said for the price of a gold coin, one of them has a surprise for him.” Natasha jiggled and raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

 

“Oh! That bastard will have a lot of fun all night with the dozens of gold coins he owns.” Clint chuckled. He hesitated a moment and then added with a soft smile. “I’m going to sleep in my place, I’m tired. But if you need me I can stay here and drink some mead with you.”

 

“Nah, I’m fine, birdbrain. Go to sleep and get some rest. “Natasha patted him on the back and smiled. Clint just laughed and ran his hand through Natasha’s red curls. “I’ll see you aboard at dawn when we set sail.”

 

Then Bruce and Betty came after Clint. “We have decided to dine with the king, then come back here to sleep tonight.” Bruce informed her. “Betty has not inclination to sleep under our uncle’s roof. Nor do I.”

 

Natasha nodded and said in a flat voice. “I can’t blame you, big guy.”

 

“Will you come with us?”

 

“You go ahead. I wouldst get the witch first.” Natasha pointed upstairs.

 

“Why not leave here tonight?“ Betty suggested, leaning against Bruce’s side.

 

Natasha shook her head. “Nah, the witch does not leave my sight till we are asea. Even then, I cannot be sure she will not put a curse on my ship if I do not watch her closely.”

 

“But …” Betty begam to protest, but Bruce gave her hand a gentle squeeze on her arm. “Leave be, Betty. That’s Natasha’s concern, not ours.”

 

They left then, and Natasha waved aside Angie’s tsk-ing reprimand when shee took the steps two at a time, attempting to locate Wanda. The night was wasting, and she had much mead to imbibe afore dawn.

 

“Wanda, where are you, witch?” Natasha called out, at the same time she opened a bedchamber door. “It’s time … to … to … to …”

 

Her voice trailed off, becoming a faint murmur, at the fantastic vision in front of her eyes, greeting her. A beautiful woman was standing knee-deep in a hip bath. Her arms were raised overhead, pushing long strands of wet, brown-colored hair off her beautiful face. The sleek tresses hung in a silky swath down her back practically to her buttocks, which were round, soft and really enticing. Natasha’s throat went dry as her heart thudded to the floor at the goddess in front of her.

 

With a start, the woman turned quickly, arms still upraised, and regarded her shock with her own. Time froze for a brief moment as neither of them moved or said anything.

 

Natasha just let her eyes drink the beautiful scenery, her nostrils filled with Omega’s sweet scent. It mattered not that the creamy skin was covered with tiny freckles from her chest to knees, and probably down to feet under the murky waters. Wanda’s body was spectacular. Large, soft, high, firm breasts with big raspberry tips. A slender waist and curve sensual hips. Long, shapely legs joined by a thatch of clear brown curls dewed with droplets of water. In all, a perfectly proportioned body that would put even the most beautiful goddess to shame. Natasha closed her mouth and thought … My very own witch goddess. She felt as if Thor himself hit her with a mighty thunderbolt when she understood the stupidity that crossed her mind …

 

“Bloody hell! When did I start thinking of her as mine?

 

The witch blinked at her through green cat eyes, as if she was held in the same spell that immobilized her. Mere seconds had passed since she’d opened the door, but it seemed like a hellish eternity. Only then did she admit what she’d already come to suspect earlier. Natasha was bewitched. And she didn’t care.

 

Nor did Natasha care when a stone container with rose cream impacted her face.

 

 

Chapter 8: Captive

Chapter Text

 

 

"Stop it.” Wanda hissed at Natasha, with the mouth full of rye bread.

 

They were sitting on long benches in the vast great hall of the Norse palace, along with hundreds of other noble, and not so noble, personages. Everyone of high station in Northumbria, whether Norse or Saxon by birth, had come with their entourages to pay self-serving homage to the newly reinstated king,  Ivan Bloodaxe Romanovson, and his wife, the witch-queen Agatha Harknessdottir.

 

The royal couple was ensconced at the high table up on the dais with those of  highest rank. Natasha, her friends and family, along with Wanda, her captive, sat just a short ways below, definitely a position of favor.

 

"Stop what?" the insufferable Viking knight inquired with exaggerated concern, as if she cared what was bothering her... which she did not, of course. The red-haired troll braced her shoulders back against the wall behind them, sipped at her goblet of mead and regarded her with lazy amusement.

 

Wanda felt as if she'd landed in a Viking version of hell. Especially since she was practically joined at the hip, and other places, to the Alpha who had become her nemesis of late.

 

 “Stop moving your hand about for one thing." Wanda gritted her teeth and glanced pointedly at their bound hands – her left tied to Natasha's right. At moment, the pair of appendages were sitting high on Viking's thigh. Very high!

 

"Oh! I beg your pardon, my lady." Natasha said solicitously. Then, with a total lack of social grace, she raised he hand to gently rub her belly. Which brought Wanda's hand just about ...

 

"Ew! You're a brute!” Wanda tensed and jerked her hand away. Peak rubbing that hideous redhead's crotch. She hissed through her teeth. "You dum dolt! … Perverted, filthy woman! You ... you  … you ..."

 

Natasha grinned, clearly enjoying Wanda’s anger explosion. Well she was enjoying until Bruce's wife stepped in. "How about loathsome lout?" Betty offered with a bright smile from across the table before sipping some mead. "It always works well for me.”

 

"Ouch!" Bruce grimaced and then laughed, looping his arm around her and hugging her affectionately. Although Bruce and Betty were married couple though they be, the two could not seem to keep their hands off each other's persons. Wanda had never witnessed such spousal behavior. For a certainty, she'd never yearned to touch any of the slimy maggots she'd been handed in matrimony
Well, maybe she would feel differently if she was as beauteous as Betty, with her luxurious bright-brown hair lying wimpleless about her shoulders under a gossamer-thin headrail of palest lavender, held in place by a gold circlet of twisted flowers. Her headrail matched her misty violet eyes and her darker lavender gunna, which was embroidered at the edges in the orphrey style with gold thread.

 


Then, too, Wanda might feel differently if she’d been married to an Alpha as gentle and sweet as Bruce, who was only a few years older than Natasha. For God's sake! The shy man was a sight to behold, with his black hair and brown eyes, bedecked in a deep blue wool tunic over black braies, belted at the waist. A short mantle was pinned back off one shoulder with a most unusual gold brooch in the form of a twisted dragon with amber eyes.

 

 

"Oh for Thor’s sake!" Natasha rolled her eyes and coughed, recalling Lady Wanda's attention. "Its not polite to ogle an married Alpha, Lady Wanda."

 

Wanda frowned. "I was not ogling! I was just wondering how such a sweet comely man as Lord Bruce could have such a homely troll as you for sister.

 

"Some Omegas like my looks." The smile on Natasha's face told Wanda how much cared whether she considered her ugly or not. And Wanda had to admit that even with a blackened eye and bruised nose, (her fault) the redhead was far from ugly. 

 

"Some Omegas  cannot see past a Alpha’s money pouch. And speaking of looks, I would appreciate it if you would stop looking at me in that manner." Wanda said this in an sarcastic undertone, making fun of Natasha. Ever since she'd come barging into Angie's bedchamber, Natasha had been staring at her in the strangest way. And smiling.

 

"What manner?" Natasha asked with a crooked smile before biting a piece of lamb.

 

She must have spoken louder than she realized because Bucky, who sat on the other side of Natasha, leaned forward around the buxom Viking maid who sat on his lap and commented, "Yea! She’s right, Natasha. You have been gaping at the witch like a tasty sweet from a sultan's harem. Are you drunkkinn?"

 

"Ugh, not yet." Natasha replied wearily, taking another long gulp of mead from her cup, her green eyes holding Wanda’s all the time. Wanda averted her gaze, feeling uncomfortable under those green eyes. No Alpha had ever looked at her in quite that way before, and she found it discomfiting. Even more annoying was Natasha's appearance. No Alpha should be so sexy and beautiful. Or as rascally.

 

She was wearing a red tuni of the softest wool, over a pair of dark braies. A star-shaped amber pendant hung by a gold chain against her chest. Wanda assumed that Natasha had bathed in the palace bathhouse that afternoon because the perfectly defined red curls glistened like blood-red strands. A braid adorned her mane of curls exposing the piercings in her ear and an arrow-shaped earring, as it had been the first time she had seen her. Her sword was in the scabbard at her tip, and her sable-lined cloak lay on the bench, on her other side. "See anything you like, Lady Wanda?" Natasha winked at her.

 

  Wanda blushed deeply, wishing she could sink into the rushes to hide her mortification. It was one thing to be caught ogling Bruce of Ravenshire, quite another unacceptable thing to be caught ogling Natasha "The Troll" Romanovdottir.

 

"Be careful, Nat. You must not let the witch cast her spells on you.” Bucky warned, shooting Wanda a deadly glare. "Are you still wearing your cross?"

 

"Uh huh." In answer, Natasha pulled the leather thong with the wooden cross from inside her tunic and settle it on her chest next to the amber pendant. 

 

“Well, if you are going to take risks by engaging in eye contact with a witch, you must exercise every precaution." Before anyone realized what he was about, Bucky stood, dropping his lap companion unceremoniously to the floor. She shrieked with outrage before scurrying off indignantly.

 

Annoyed by the interruption, Beast shifted in the rushes at his master's feet, growled then immediately went back to sleep.

 

Still standing, Bucky pulled a vial out of a flap his tunic and commenced to  sprinkling holy water all over Natasha.  Except thst he was feeling the effects of about a tub of mead, and the water came out in a splash, instead of a sprinkle all over Natasha's meticulously arranged red curls and forehead.

 

"Bloody Hell, Bucky! Are you crazy idiot!!! I'm not bewitched ... well, I probably am bewitched " The redhead shuddered, feeling the water running down her face and neck. She noticed how Betty, Bruce, Bucky looked incredulous at her words. Natasha sighed and corrected herself “But not because of some dark spell." Natasha annoyed, stood up abruptly, forcing Wanda to stand as well, and shook her head like a shaggy dog, thus causing her and everyone else around them to be anointed as well. “Wait." Wanda closed her eyes and whined as water splashed her face. "Don't do that, troll."

"What do you mean?" demanded Bucky, stood up from his seat. "Bewitched, you say, but not by the witch's spell?"

 


“Yeah, I truly am in Viking hell. Or a Viking madhouse." Wanda grunted under her breath, wiping the water droplets from her face.

 

"I... I saw Lady Wanda... naked." confessed Natasha, as if that was any explanation at all.

 

Everyone gasped in shock, not least of all Wanda. Poor Bruce almost spit the mead out of his mouth.  Wanda blushed deeply, quickly regained her wits, she swung her free arm in a fist to land on the idiotic Viking's arm with her free hand. It was like hitting a stone wall. The redhead didn't even flinch.

 

"What!?" Natasha asked innocently and put her hand up in surrender.

 

"You’re not supposed to tell people that." said Wanda suddenly. And Natasha frowned. "I’m not?”

 

"Most definitely not." Wanda looked away and blushed, bitting her lip.

 

"You can look at my nude body if you like." Natasha hummed and offered magnanimously.  "That we will be even, huh?"

 

"You're drunk." Wanda snorted, not looking at that insufferable Viking.

 

"Nah, I am not." Natasha denied, letting out a sigh and grabbing her mug of mead.

 

“Well, what does that signify?” Bucky wanted to know. “ Seeing a nude witch… I have seen such, as you well know.”

 

As one, everyone stared at his blue face marking with sympathy, including Clint, who'd just come up and sat next to Wanda. Clint had gone to send a missive to his wife for the fourth time in the evening, by Wanda’s count.

 

“The design appears to made by woad, much like the Scottish warriors adorn themselves with in battle.” Betty remarked, analyzing the blue mark on Bucky’s face. “but I have never know it to stay permanently.”

 

“It’s not just woad. The dye had essence of zephline mixed with it, I warrant.” Wanda observed, flicking at some crumbs on the table in front of her.

 

“You…you know how to remove this mark?” Bucky spputtered incredulously. “You’re a witch, then.”

 

“Nah, I’m not a witch. I am a  shepherdess and weaver, with a talent  for dying fabric.” Wanda affirmed. “In truth, I make the best wool fabric in all  Northumbria.”

 

Bruce let out a laugh and Betty jabbed him playfully. “Behave yourself, husband.” 

 

Bruce smiled and hugged Betty. “My wife has spouted similar such modest claims on occasion.”

 

Betty chucked her disapproval at Bruce and explained to Wanda. “I make the best honey and mead in all  Northumbria.”

 

“Bloody Hell!” Bucky didn’t care about wool, mead, or honey, however. The Viking demanded impatiently to Wanda. “Can you remove the mark, witch?” 

 

“Maybe I can, and maybe I cannot.” replied Wanda hesitantly.

 

“Maybe I can lop off your head, and maybe I cannot.” was Bucky’s reply as he made a primitive low sound of outrage. He would have jumped over Natasha, to decapitate the witch no doubt, if Natasha had not raised a hand in caution and growled.

 

Grumbling with frustration, Bucky stopped a passing house carl and took another jug of ale from his tray “And you find attraction in this bitch … I mean, witch?” he took a long draw,  from the jug, then swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

 

“I never said I was attracted!” protested Natasha. The harsh sentiments smarted, and Wanda could not keep her face from heating up.

 

“Natasha! I’m disappointed in you.” Betty remonstrated. “Surely you above all others know to look beneath the surface. Remember the lecture you gave your own brother at our wedding feast about good Alpha knowing how to judge an Omega fairly?”

 

“Del er ikke gull alt som glimmer.”  Bruce added, nodding his head in agreement. “ All that glitters is not gold. And some of the glitter you have been sniffing after of late has the lackluster of brass, if you ask me sister.” 

 

“I don’t remember asking you.” Growled Natasha grumpily. “And 'tis unfair of Betty to remind me of things I said seven years winters ago.”

 

Wanda cringed and felt like putting her face on table. She abhorred the idea that these people were discussing her as if she was not there ... as if she was of no significance.

 

“All I said was that I’d seen the witch naked.” Natasha objected. “And it was a surprise. A big surprise!”. She rolled her eyes in emphasis.

 

“Oh! I am beginning to understand, Natasha. Did you finally see the tail?” Bucky said those last words in a whisper… the inference being that if he spoke aloud she might do something witchly like levitate and ride out of the Norse castle on a broom or a black cat.

 

Dumber than dung, the whole lot of them! Wanda silently implored to heavens for an lightning to strike her head and put her out of her misery. 

 

Just then, an older Viking nobleman could be seen approaching their table. He was accompanied by a finely garbed woman. Wanda would say that woman was a Saxon, by her mode of dress and a daughter of no more than seventeen winters. A girl of passing fair appearance, buxom and pretty.

 

“Oh no, you are truly snared now, Nat.” Her brother teased, gladly eating his salmon. “ Earl Phil and his lady May have been trying to contrive a marriage betwixt you and their youngest daughter, Daisy, for the past two years.”

 

“Oh bloody hell. You could have warned me.” Natasha hissed but stood as a courtesy when the nobleman stepped closer with his family. 
Natasha must have forgotten that her left hand was bound to Wanda’s right hand because she raised her arm in greeting, which caused Wanda’s arm to rise as well, like a puppet. And as she gesticulated while talking with a wave here and a wave there, Wanda’s arm was forced to follow suit. In the end, Wanda grumbled with disgust and tugged on Natasha’s wrist in reminder and stood beside her.

 

“Be nice, lady Wanda.” Natasha had the nerve to wink at her. Apparently she had remembered their bound hands the whole time and chosen to embarrass her. Bloody Troll! Wanda shot her an angry gaze. Then she saw the lips of Lady May's flatten with disdain as she noted their tied wrists. The young girl, thought, twittered shyly with a hand fluttering coyly to get face. Clearly, the young girl would favor this union, if it could be arranged. Her mother was not predisposed, if her clenched fists were any indication.

 

And Wanda noticed something else. The woman was as condescending in her demeanor to Betty as she was to her. Betty caught Wanda’s eye and pulleda face to show her opinion of the haughty lady. Wanda startled herself by feeling an unaccustomed roil of annoyance at the fuss Natasha was making now over the young girl. Could it be jealousy? 

 

Wanda with a smirk, said to herself. “ Nah. Never.” A little later she paled, as the realization came. “Maybe. Oh Holy Virgin Mary. I’m loosing my mind.”

 

When the couple and their marriageable daughter walked away, finally, with Natasha’s promise of a visit to their Northumbrian estate sometime soon, Natasha sat down with a long sigh, dragging Wanda with her. "Whew," she said, rubbing her forehead.

 

Her family and friends were grinning at her discomfort. “So, would you like my help in finding a bride gift for the fair Daisy?”  Betty inquired cheerfully, before eating a piece of cheese.

 

“Not bloody likely.” Natasha response, taking a long gulp from her cup of mead.

 

“Tell me.” Wanda paused deliberately. “Would you be taking a wet nurse with you to bridal bed?”

 

Everyone laughed at that, except Natasha. “Are you saying I’m too old for Lady Daisy?” asked Natasha defiantly.

 

Wanda gave ge a look that said, “What do you think?” but then she had to admit. “Actually, I was her age when I was wed. And my husband was a little older than you.”

 

“How much older?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, before taking another gulp.

 

Wanda smiled. “He was six and five.”

 

“A bit?!!!” Natasha choked on the mead. “ A bit?!!! I am only thirty five winters old.”

 

“Ah, well.” Wanda declared with a shrug. “Alphas do deteriorate quickly. That’s why they buy young wives, to put on a false front to the world that they  are still virile.”

 

Natasha’s face flushed with affront as Wanda relished her small victory.  

 

Betty laughed and reached across the table and patted Wanda’s hand. “I am developing a fondness for you, Wanda. You and I appear to be cut of the same cloth.”

 

“You must admit,  that the maid had a fine sit of tits.” Bucky commented with his usual crude bluntness , smiling dirtyly.

 

“James! Mind your tongue in the presence of Omegas.” Bruce cautioned.

 

Bucky ducked his head. In truth, the wretch was so often in the company of rude Alphas that he probably forgot himself. And Wanda didn't mind all that much. She'd heard much worse in the company of Brock and Jack's troops. But Wanda quickly changed her mind when Rurik added, "Do not be gloating so, Natasha. You were the one back at Graycote who said that the Lady Wanda boobs looked too saggy.”

 

It was Natasha who chastised Bucky now. “Shut your bloody mouth up. Such talk is becoming amongst the Omegas.” Natasha apologized to Wanda and Betty for Bucky’s behalf saying. “Sorry about that. That’s just mead talking.”

 

“Did you say that?” Wanda blurted out angrily, and immediately wished she could take back the words. Her voice came out angry and a little broken.

 

“Maybe.” Natasha shrugged.  “ But If I did, I have change my mind. After seeing them I knew I was wrong.”

 

“I’ve never been able to understand Alpha’s fascination with Female Onega's breasts.” Wanda opined with a frown before she had a chance to bite her tongue. “Really, if Alphas like you are so fascinated by that particular portion of flesh, I have a good milk cow with a fine set of udders that would no doubt set you to drooling.”

 


"What did you say." Bucky reared up, as if he would strangle her. Clint restrained and held him back, chuckling and patting him on the back. "Take it easy, idiot. Don't do anything stupid in front of King Ivan.”

 

Natasha smiled and salute her in congratulation for having won this particular bout of cross-wills. Meanwhile Bruce and Betty were laughing heartily.

 

Betty wiped her tears of mirth from her eyes with the edge of her headrail "Yea, Wanda, I do believe  you would suit."

 

She didn't say for what precisely Wanda would suit. Still, her words heartened Wanda. But then, their attention was drawn to another quarter.

 

"Hey, look at that." Bruce said suddenly, pointing to the hight table, where a group of Saxon nobles were talking animatedly to the King Ivan and his castellan. "The nerve of the villains.”

 

It was Brock, Jack, Cedric, along with a few of their high-born associates. Wanda grunted and cursed between her teeth as she recognized her abusive cousins.

 

"Tis naught of concern." Natasha waved her hand airly in voicing that opinion. " King Ivan told me earlier that Wanda's cousins are protesting her abduction to the Saxon King Edred.”

 

Anxiety gripped Wanda, she should have known that her cousins would not give up so easily.

 

Chapter 9: The King

Chapter Text

 

"That's Edred's Northumbrian toady, Earl Jasper Sitwell, who is addressing King Ivan’s son Bjorn over there to the side." Wanda informed them. Natasha, Bucky, Clint and Bruce gawked at her with surprise, wondering how she would know that.

 

Well, this is a good moment like no other to tell the truth. Wanda thought as she takes a deep breath before saying. "Edred is my cousin."

 

"The king of England?" Bruce exclaimed and gave a reproving glare at his sister. "Is that true?”

 

"Oh, Natasha!" Betty said in a sigh, really disappointed with Natasha's recklessness. " When will you learn to exercise caution?"

 

"What?!" Natasha tensed, with a frown she accused the young woman. "You didn't tell me that the king of all bloody Britain, except Northumbria, was your cousin."

 

"Well … In my defense, you didn't give me a chance to mention it." Wanda defended herself and amended. "And, he’s my cousin thrice-removed.”

 

"That makes me feel better." Natasha said with dry humor and Wanda looked at her defiantly.

 

"Enough! Once, Twice, Thrice … it matters not. King Edred will surely send an army to rescue one of his kin!" Betty insisted on a wail of dismay. "What have you gotten us into, Natasha?"

 

Wanda would have liked to rub more salt of their disapproval into Natasha's wounds, but she had to be honest. The young brunette sighed and laughed humorlessly. "I have no illusions about Edred's motive in helping me...if in fact that is what’s happening. Edred isn't much older than me, you know, and I have twenty-five winters. But the King is so weak of digestion at times that he can swallow only juices of food he has masticated, to the great revulsion of his guest." Wanda explained while all remain silent. "It's a disease that afflicts many in the House of Wessex.”

 

"Well, thank you for the lovely saga." Natasha said sarcastically. "Is there a point? Or an ending?”

 

Wanda shot the red-head troll a sideways scowl and continued. "While I might sympathize with Edred's maladies, I am not so naive as believe my cousin exercises familial concern. There are two sides of Edred, as most Englishmen know. He is a devoutly religious alpha who suffers his bodily pain with stoic acceptance. His palace in many ways is a school of virtue. On the other hand, he can be brutal... as well as a barbaric Viking.”

 

Wanda got a number of glowers for that remarks, including from Betty. Though a Saxon herself, she clearly defended her half-Viking husband and his countryalphas.

 

"Just recently, Edred destroyed the entire town of Thetford just to avenge the death of the local abbot. Every man, woman and child." Wanda said, in explaining the king's brutal side. She couldn't help but wonder: Which side was King Edred acting from today?

 

Edred's emissary could help her, if he wanted. Of that there was no doubt. But was she important enough? What were Brock and Jack, or even Cedric offering in return?

 

Wanda's heart lurched with sudden hopeless, but then an odd depression settle over her. She was betwixt and between in this situation. Wanda had two choices, and both of them bad.

 

Be rescued by her cousins and end up with... What was it Natasha had called him? … Oh yea, she remembered now … "The Lord of Lard." Or be carried off to some heathen land to face a Viking King who expectedly her to remove a non-existent spell.

 

Natasha squeezed her hand and smiled confidently. "Never fear, Lady Wanda. King Ivan won’t interfere in my business. He plays with your cousins and the Saxon king's emissary. He will bleed as much coin in ransom from them as he can, but in the end you are mine.”

 

You are mine.

 

What a disconcerting thing to say! A shiver ran through Wanda's whole body. If Natasha meant to reassure her, she was sadly misguided. Especially since one of King Ivan "Bloodyaxe's house carls came up and notified them that the king wished to speak with Natasha Romanovdottir and her captive, the Lady Wanda. Soon Natasha, Wanda, Bruce, Betty, Bucky and Clint were walking toward the dais in a group. "like a swarm of bees, we are." Betty said under her breath.

 

"You should know, honey. You should know." Bruce smiled amusedly at his wife, with a pat on her butt. Betty let out a squeal of consternation was drowned by the noise of hundreds of Vikings enjoying the feast.

 

Wanda had been in this very hall years ago with her second husband, and it actually looked much better now. The Vikings were great ones for decorating their door and window surrounds, not to mention the roof beams, with intricate carvings. And the Vikings themselves were certainly an attractive lot, with their colorful clothing, magnificent jewelry and meticulously groomed beards and hair. These were a taller than the average Saxon, and cleaner too. No wonder so many Saxon Alphas and Omegas fell in love with their Norse counterparts.

 

All these observations Wanda made as they moved along the aisle separating the long trestle tables. Their passage was barely noticed, except for a few guests who huddled their heads together, whispering and pointing at Wanda’s nether end.

 

Except for Brock, Jack and Cedric.

 

“Wanda!” Jack cried out and hugged her warmly, which was an odd experience since she was bound to the grim-faced Natasha, who was forced to move with her. Natasha didn’t appear really pleased to be in such close proximity to the Alpha who’d tried to shoot her with an arrow earlier that afternoon. It was also an odd experience because Jack had never hugged her a day in her life. He'd applied a birch rod on more than one occasion, but hug her? Never.

 

“You’re safe!” Brock added, taking his turn in hugging her. “We were so worried about you, dear cousin.”

 

Worried?! Ha! Their only worry was that they might lose their bride money. Wanda just grimaced in disgust at her bullies false happiness.

 

Brock wore a large bandage wrapped around his crown, presumable from an injury sustained in that afternoon’s fight, and Jack had a split lip. They'd probably wounded themselves running away from the fray.

 

Cedric waddled forward and seemed about to take her cousins' place in that hugging business, but Natasha grunted and put a stop to that with a halting hand. For one insane ñ moment, Wanda wondered if Natasha might be jealous. But then she took another glance at her furious face and decide otherwise.

 

“Natasha, Bruce.” King Ivan of Norway greeted them cordially. “We give you welcome. Have you had enough to eat and drink?”

 

“Yes, my King.” Natasha and Bruce nodded respectfully to the King of Norway, who was dressed sumptuously in purple wool. Wanda hiding behind Natasha could see the king’s majestic robes. From braies to beltec tunic to over-mantle lined with white fur. King Ivan must have seen more than fifty winters, if the streaks of gray in the red hair that lay about his shoulders under a thin golf crown were any indication. The red-haired King was clean-shaven, otherwise, and still handsome, in a cold-eyed way.

 

“Agatha, my dear. Come forth and greet our guests.” The King spoke over his shoulder, inviting his queen. Then a black-haired woman approached them.

 

Wanda gasped with appreciation at her first close up view of Queen Agatha. An uncomfortable beautiful woman, she had to be the same age as her King, but her skin was unlined, her thick dark hair untouched by gray. She wore an embroidered gown of the same purple fabric as the king’s suit, and a veritable fortune in jewelry, including gold and silver rings on every finger, wide rings that extended from knuckle to knuckle. Queen Agatha’s eyes took on Natasha’s amber pendant and Bruce's dragon brooch in a greedy glance.

 

“Have you brought me any fine amber trinkets this time, Natasha?” asked the Queen with bored voice.

 

“I have many a jewelry for purchase …. ” Natasha shrugged and Queen Agatha frowned at such an action.

 

“Uh ... All fit for a queen of your renowned beauty.” Natasha corrected herself with an soft tone, causing Queen Agatha to preen. “I will bring them by for your inspection later tonight, my Queen.” Natasha nodded politely.

 

Queen Agatha nodded, then turned to Wanda and gave her a quick, dimmising assessment. With an air of boredom, she inquired insolently. “ You are the witch, I presume?” Wanda started to nod but caught herself. God’s teeth! She was beginning to think of herself as a witch now.

 

 “Nay … ” Wanda was going to reply forcefully. “ I am not a Witch.” But that red-haired Viking interrupted her.

 

“Yea, she is the witch I am taking back to Norway.” Natasha answered for her. She held up her hand to demonstrate that Lady Wanda was her prisoner.

 

“There is much I would like to discuss with you, my dear.” Agatha said enigmatically to Wanda. Before she could say more, Brock and Jack interrupted, pushing themselves in front of Wanda.

 

“Nah, she is not a witch.” Jack asserted. “She is our dear cousin, the betrothed of Lord Cedric here, the cousin of the king of all Britain, a gentle-bred lady who should not be handed over to this …this heathen!”

 

King Ivan raised an eyebrow at the word heathen, asking without words whether they put him in the same category. Then he homed in on another part of what Jack had said.

 

“Dost claim that Edred is king of all Britain?” Jack realized his mistake and immediately corrected himself. “A … All Britain, except for Northumbria.”

 

“Are you really cousin to King Edred’s?” Queen Agatha queried Wanda.

 

“Thrice-removed.” Natasha pointed out. Wanda just glared at her for speaking on her behalf, but Natasha just grinned at her.

 

“We demand that you hand our cousin back to us, and pay werglid for the soldiers sorely wounded by you and your barbarians this afternoon.” Jack said pointing Bucky and Clint behind Natasha. “Is that not so, Earl Jasper?”

 

The Saxon nobleman, adviser to King Edred, had been standing quietly in the background. He gave his assent with a curt nod of his head.

 

“Nay!” growled Natasha, stepping forward and possessively squeezed Wanda’s hand, daring the outsider Alphas to dare touch her captive.

 

After that, King Ivan heard both sides of the argument. In the end, he offered. “We could call a Althing in a sennight or so to decide the issue.” Wanda knew, from what Natasha had told her previously, a Althing was the governing body for Vikings, similar to the Witan in Britain.

 

“I can’t wait that long!” Natasha roared, rejecting that option. “Already I am month late in getting my trading goods to Hedeby. Tis a two-week journey to Norway in good weather. With autumn advanced now, another sennight of malingering could mean my being unable to return to my homestead for winter. That I cannot accept.” The King nodded and pondered his niece’s words.

 

“Is the witch worth drawing swords?” The king addressed to Jasper Sitwell, gesturing with his hand to the young girl at Natasha’s side. “ Maybe a full-fledged battle?”

 

 Sitwell's face went pale, and his eyes scanned the great hall, noticing the many Nordic warriors there. “Uh… No. Not at the present.” The bald Beta concealed, clearly intimidated. “But I will have to report back to King Edred your refusal to intercede on behalf of Lord Rumlow and Lord Jack. I guarantee he will not be pleased, King Ivan.”

 

“Then so be it.” King Ivan nodded with a confident smile, clearly unafraid of a battle. “All Alphas of my kingdom are eager to fight if you give us an excuse. You are dismissed, my guards will show you the way out.”

 

Brock, Jack and Cedric, muttering curses and vows of revenge, were being led away by an angry Earl Sitwell. For now, a stunned Wanda realized her fate was decided. She was still the captive of the red-haired troll. Everyone would continue to think of her as a witch, including King Ivan, who'd just listened to some hushed message from Bucky as the King was gazing speculatively at her buttocks. Wanda just clenched her fists, repressing the intense urge to slap Bucky’s face.

 

Queen Agatha came forward to give a parting kiss to Betty, and then to Wanda, much to her astonishment. Even more surprising was Agatha’s words in Wanda’s ear. “Do not mind my husband looking for your tail. He has been searching for mine nigh on twenty winters now, and he still has not found it.” Queen Agatha winked and chuckles at her, then she turned and walked regally back to her seat at the high table.

 

As they returned to their benches, Wanda frowned and noticed, to her chagrin, that a great number of people were glancing her backside. Apparently, the rumor had spread since her passage up to the dais a short time ago. She was certain she had Bucky to thank for that. One of these days, she would like to twist Bucky’s tongue into a knot … a blue knot to match his ugly face design.

 

Just then, when Wanda thought things could not have gotten worse, they did.

 

Beast, who'd been sleeping at their table the whole time they were away talking with the king and queen, sat up with sudden alertness, his black ears standing up like sentinels. With an ominous growl, then a bark, he watched the open doorway on the other side of the great hall. A wild barking ensued, followed by a familiar bleating. Bella came galloping across the great hall, her broken neck chain trailing after her, with David and Sheba following close behind, and after that a half dozen more baaing sheep. A stunned silence overcame the entire great hall, in a rippling fashion, as the interlopers trotted by. Soon Bella and Beast were reunited, with much licking of faces and sniffing of intimate body parts.

 

It was a scene right out of Wanda’s worst nightmare.

 

Wanda blushed with embarrassment and pushed aside the manchet trencher and pressed her forehead on the table. Laughter started low, then crescendoed as the Norse assemblage roared their mirth at the antics of Wanda’s minions.

 

“What an inspiring situation.” Clint laughed and murmured something about a new saga. “Natasha “The Raven” and the nude witch” immediately followed by “Natasha “The Raven” and the Lusty Dogs.”

 

“Oh, Clint, I forgot what a wonderful skald you are. “enthused Betty, clapped. “Please, wouldst thou honor us with a saga?”

 

Everyone at the table turned a shade green, Natasha just rubbed her forehead wearily, repressing the urge to groan at such bad idea. Instead, Clint smiled, looked as if he'd been handed the Holy Grail.

 

“Hear one and all, this is the saga of Natasha The Raven.”Clint began to say as he waved his arms theatrically.

 

In the year of our Lord nine fifty-two

 

In the land of the Midnight Sun

 

There was a king with a crooked cock

 

Aksel was his name.

 

And he was mightier... "

 

On and on Clint went, and for the first time Wanda wished she really was a witch. Her first act would be to fly away from this unbearable castle. Natasha turned her face to see Lady Wanda’s reaction, finding the young girl, looking mortified and embarrassed with the forehead on the table.

 

“Never fear, sweetling.” Natasha whispered in her ear. Wanda could tell Natasha was stifling a laugh. “ I’ll take you away from all this soon enough.”

 

Oh sweet Lord!!

 

That was what Wanda was afraid of.

 

Chapter 10: Drakkar

Chapter Text

 

 

 

  Five days later...

 

 

"It wasn't my fault," Wanda contended. "I tell you, I'm not a witch."

 

 

"You fed the seagulls. The seagulls died. The evidence speaks for itself." Natasha exhaled loudly with exasperation, rubbing her forehead. "Never have I seen birds fall from the sky like snowflakes afore. Twas... well, magical. You are a witch, and that is that."

 

 

 The Alpha turned her back on her and was about to stomp away. How the Viking woman managed to keep her balance aboard ship, Wanda couldn't figure out. They'd been five days into their voyage, and Wanda still didn't have her sea legs. Nor her sea stomach, for that matter. No wonder she'd been unable to digest that horrid gammelost... old cheese... which the Vikings favored on their sea journeys, along with the even more unpalatable salted cod known as lutefisk. Hard bread and an occasional apple were the mainstay of her diet these days. That was really disgusting.

 

 

 "Wait a minute," Wanda called out, and stood, about to follow after Natasha. "I'm not done explaining …”

 

 

 The redhead pivoted abruptly and shoved her in the chest, forcing Lady Wanda to sit back down on the large wooden storage box under a tented area in the center of the ship. The look on Natasha’s face was so mean and vicious that Wanda recoiled. She could scarce remember the softer glances she’d been casting her way back at the Norse castle—not that she wanted such—because all the redhead brute had been doing these past five days was glaring at her.

 

 

 "Sit!" Natasha frowned as she holds Wanda’s shoulders to keep her in place. "Did I not just tell you to sit? Did I not warn you about moving from this spot? Did I not say that my men are threatening mutiny if you pull one more witchly trick? Did I not say I would lop off your head and feed you to the sharks if you opened your mouth one more time?"

 

 

"Did I not? Did I not? Did I not?" Wanda murmured and crossed her arms over her chest, looking like a spoiled little girl.

 

 

 

 

"Are you mimicking me?" Natasha growled and raised an eyebrow.

 

 

"No, I'm saying my prayers," Wanda snapped back.

 

 

 

 

Natasha scoffed at that. "Prayers? Hah! 'Tis likely more of your incantations."

 

 

"Oh, that's unfair. I wasn't performing some dark rites when we were in the midst of that storm yestereve.” Wanda rolled her eyes and shook her head afterwards as she tried to make Natasha understand..”I was wailing with fear. I've never been on a ship afore. How was I to know that we weren't going to sink to the bottom of the North Sea? How was I to know that bulge water was normal? How was I …”

 

 

"Bilge," Natasha said, correcting the young girl.

 

 

Wanda frowned. "What?"

 

 

 "It's bilge water, not bulge water." Natasha explained patiently.

 

 

 "Oh, for the love of Mary! Bilge, bulge, barge... it matters not to me. I was standing in water ankle-deep. I still have mold on my shoes." 

 

 

Natasha leaned down and pointed a forefinger at her, "You did a chant and the storm stopped."

 

 

Wanda pointed a forefinger back at Natasha. "Chant? I was moaning, 'Oh, oh, oh, please, God, oh, oh, oh, oh!' "

 

 

“My men are already sore mad at you. Because of you, we are sin sennights late in returning to Norway.” Natasha just made a harrumphing sound of disbelief. “They have homes and families to attend to afore the ice comes and the fjords freeze over. One more delay could mean our being stuck in Aksel's court for the winter months. Worse yet, in Hedeby, where we must stop first to unload the last of my market goods."

 

 

It was true. Autumn was on the wane and winter fast approaching. Even with the sun shining brightly overhead, the air was brisk and chilly to the bone. She was wrapped in one of Natasha's thick wool cloaks, lined with fur, but the cold air still whipped through her. Some of the alpha men rowed naked to the waist when the sun was high, but mostly they were garbed for the cold.

 

 

And it was true, as well, that the Norse sailors—big, brave warriors that they were—feared her greatly. All of them wore handmade wooden crosses on leather thongs around their necks, and they were seen to sprinkle themselves with holy water on occasion. Bucky must have purchased a barrel of it from the good monks at the abbey of Jorvik.

 

 

 Worst of all, when the men weren't sneaking peeks at her bottom, they still harbored this silly superstition about a witch's tail, the men were scowling at her, forcing her to keep a distance. Part of that was due to mere coincidences that seemed to crop up over and over in her vicinity. "Twas not my fault that the milk curdled in the vat the first night out. Or that the wine barrel had a loose stave causing the precious cargo to seep out overnight. Or that Bucky's dog Beast has been crying without end, ever since you sent Bella and the sheep back to Graycote. Coincidences! I swear that’s all!"

 

 

Wanda knew Natasha was still angry over her refusing her request to slaughter one of her sheep over the bow of her vessel as a pagan sacrifice to the sea people for weather-luck and good voyage. She'd informed her in no uncertain terms that all her sheep were valuable, but the curly-horned ram was nigh priceless, coming from Cordoba, a land that rarely allowed that species to leave its boundaries, except as royal gifts. How her third husband managed to obtain one of the rare beasts she had no idea, but it had almost been worth putting up with the marriage to gain her prized ram.

 

 

 Natasha hadn't even smiled when she'd jested with her, "Besides, sacrificing my sheep would not bring you luck. They are Christian sheep, you see."

 

 

 "You have an answer for everything, my lady.” Natasha responded scathingly and pointed to the sailors on the deck of the ship. “But the fact is, my men believe you are a witch."

 

 

 

 

“Of course they do. They are encouraged by Bucky's rancor and Clint's skaldic imagination, not to mention your constant grumbling.” Wanda snorted humorlessly and glanced around at all the Alphas. Some of them sending her deadly looks and others muttering words full of contempt at her. Wanda swallowed nervously and added. “And speaking of men, who knew there would be so many of them? 'Tis not proper that a lady Omega should travel, unchaperoned, in the company of so many Alphas."

 

 

 "Didst think that Bucky, Clint and I would row the ships ourselves?" Natasha laughing, answered with undue sarcasm.

 

 

“Uh … Mayhap I should have known a great number of sailors would be required... to man one vessel. But how was I to know the number of ships you own?" Wanda just shrugged and turned to watch the other Drakkars sailing behind them . The longship on which she traveled now, Swift Dragon, was one of a fleet of seven dragonships, each manned by more than sixty Viking warriors. The other ships were Fierce Dragon, Bold Dragon, Brave Dragon, Savage Dragon, Mad Dragon and Deadly Dragon, all of them owned by Natasha. Apparently, it was necessary to travel in convoy to fight off pirate ships, which lurked off the coasts of the northern market towns.

 

 

“Umm …” Natasha hummed playfully, feeling proud of her fleet of ships."Didst think I was a pauper?"

 

 

Wanda denied and response. "Nay. I know you for what you are. A rude troll." Natasha's expression changed in a blink. She bared her teeth in a gritted smile, and Wanda knew she pushed the redhead alpha dangerously.

 

 

To Wanda’s surprise, the number of ships and the treasure trove of market goods they carried bespoke great wealth on Natasha's part. It was a good thing her abusive cousins didn't know about Natasha's affluence. They'd probably try to make a marriage pact with the redhead alpha. But, nay, Natasha was too young for their devious designs. They would want an old Alpha, soon to die. Besides, Natasha would never agree to wed such as her. Wanda knew that deep in her heart..

 

 

Where are these horrible thoughts coming from? She pushed those thoughts out of her mind. "Natasha," Wanda cleared her throat and began in a conciliatory tone. "I was standing at the prow of your ship, avoiding the sailors, as you told me to do. I was trying to eat the midday meal, as you told me to do. But I just could not stomach that revolting gammelost. So I fed crumbles of it to some passing seagulls. And before I knew it, there were dozens of the birds taking the bits of the smelly stuff right from my fingers." Wanda just sniffed first one hand, then the other, She winced at the pestilent odor on her fingers. "I still stink."

 

 

"It is just old cheese." Natasha chuckled, amused at Lady Wanda's appearance.

 

"Old cheese?" Wanda scoffed. "That cheese could walk by itself."

 

 

 Despite Natasha best efforts, a grin tugged at her lips. "Actually, there is a legend that says gammelost contributed to the victory of King Harald Fairhair, my grandfather, at the Battle of Hafrsfjord in 872," the redhead disclosed with a sheepish smile as Lady Wanda arched a brow in question.

 

 

Natasha said at once, remembering that funny and fascinating story Angie used to tell her before bedtime. "The story goes that the king fed his warriors gammelost for the breaking of fast in the morn, prior to battle, thus transforming them into berserkers."

 

 

Wanda smiled softly . "See, it wasn't my fault. The seagulls just went berserk."

 

 

 "I... don't... think... so," Natasha said with a short laugh. "In any case, stay here and enjoy this beautiful day, My lady. We may not have another. Weather changes abruptly during this season." Natasha rolled her shoulders then, by pressing her elbows backward till they almost touched at her spine, then crossing her arms in front. Several times Natasha did this, as her sailors were wont to do on occasion, to remove the kinks that came with cramming so many bodies into such a small space.

 

The woman was godly gorgeous with those puffy lips, green eyes and wild curls, and her raspy sexy voice, Wanda had to admit. Even now, wearing a salt-stained leather tunic over black braies, with a wide leather belt tucking in her waist, and a black bear fur on her back. Natasha’s body was the embodiment of Alpha strength. Her reddish curls was flowing with the sea breeze, its silken texture was still apparent. Omegas must make much ado over her.

 

Unaware, or uncaring, of Wanda’s scrutiny, Natasha feel the pain pulsing again, she stopped rolling her shoulders and leaned down to rub her upper thigh. Betty had told Wanda of Natasha's grave injury at the Battle of Brunanburh several years ago, where she'd almost lost her limb.

 

"Does your leg hurt?" Wanda asked, looking at the affected area with concern.

 

 Immediately, Natasha head jerked up with open mouth. "Which one has the running tongue? Clint or Bucky?"

 

Wanda shyly answered. "Umm … Betty."

 

Next time, she will have a stern talk with Betty about what the word privacy means. Natasha shook her head with disgust as squeezed her upper thigh "Yea, my old wound rears up on occasion."

 

"I have no sympathy for you. An Alpha your age has no business riding across several countries in pursuit of a non-existent witch." Wanda sighed as she settled the fur over her shoulders.

 

"An Alpha my age?" Natasha sputtered indignantly, for a second forgetting the pain on her leg.

 

Wanda didn't hold back from taunting the redhead. With a smirk she muttered. "Yea, do not pretend to be a youthling. You are just like all the other alphas approaching their middle years, trying to be younger than you are. Cavorting and fornicating till your heart, or other body parts, give out."

 

 "Ca-cavorting?" Natasha was doubled over with laughter at her words. "I am thirty-five years old. I am not yet in my dotage, I assure you, My Lady Witch."

 

There was a small silence where it was possible to hear the sound of the sea breeze hitting the sails. Wanda could catch the hostility radiating from the redhead, for that reason she preferred to stop bothering her and help her with the pain.. "Be that as it may, I could prepare a potion for you that would help. Applied directly, it soothes on contact."

 

“Oh! Thanks … No thanks.” Natasha laughed and refused the offered help, remembering the painful illness that left her vomiting in bed. "Lady, your last potion put me on intimate terms with the garderobe. I will decline your offer." Taking a deep breath, Natasha scanned her ship and those following in an arrow formation behind them. The pride on her face was unmistakable.

 

 Wanda smiled softly, looking appreciatively into Natasha's bright eyes."You love this life, don't you?"

 

Natasha turned to her with wariness, a happy smile crossed her face when she said. "Yea, I do. There is no better sight this side of Valhalla than a Drakkar ship with her sail hauled up and the wind filling it. 'Cloaks of the wind,' we call our sails. A good longboat, a strong breeze and cloaks of the wind... surely these are gifts from the gods."

 

As Natasha walked off to assist the helmsman maneuvering the tiller on the steering oar, Wanda had to agree with her.

 

These long, slim ships, with their carved prows and big, single square sails of red and black stripes, were works of art, as well as being functional... a credit to some of the finest craftsmen in the world. The oaken vessels were low in the center, rising gracefully like a swan's neck at prow and stern, soaring high above the waves. They were light in weight—in fact, they could be lifted overhead by the men for portage on reaching stretches of dry riverbeds—yet the ships sailed equally well in shallow waters or rough seas. Rich carvings in the form of intertwining dragon beasts etched the sides of Natasha's ships where the black and red battle shields of the warriors hung majestically on the outer edge. Those colors, and white as well, were picked out on the carved dragon heads that embellished the prows, as if the fierce animals were leading a bold path through the dangerous seawaters.

 

 The crew, tanned by the sun and burned by the wind, their clothing stained with salt, were brawny examples of prime alphahood. The sailors had to have dexterity to step adroitly about the moving ship, where two viking Alphas sat on personal seachests at each of the sixteen oar holes lined up on either side of the ship—one to row and the other to spell. At the same time, great strength was needed to raise the long mast and to row in a continuous, backbreaking rhythm.

 

One of the smaller viking, a nimble-footed lad, was performing a feat he'd done on one other occasion... dancing over the ocean atop the shafts of the spears. It was a contest the bored seamen engaged in on occasion, betting to see who could perform the oar dance without falling into the salty depths.

 

Wanda had to smile. It was a beautiful day, just as Natasha had said. There weren't many occasions on which Wanda had the free time to just sit back and admire God's nature around her, The surrounding nature, the deep blue sea, the sun, the breeze blowing on her cheeks, and the gentle tide rocking the Drakkar.

 

But what she did, instead, was start to weep. First one tear, then another escaped her brimming eyes. With a muffled sob, Wanda used the hem of Natasha's cloak to wipe her cheek. But no sooner did she sop up one tear than another replaced it.

 

It was untenable. Wanda did not cry. Long ago, when she was no more than eight or so, she'd realized that tears colored her eyes with gold, glistening with wetness. Remarkable, really, how beautiful her eyes were in a face mottled with those ugly freckles.

 

Natasha turned quickly as she heard the faint sound of sobbing. She then immediately noticed how the young woman began to cry and wipe the tears from her flushed cheeks as she let out small sighs. "And now what?" wondered Natasha looking intently at Lady Wanda sad and dejected with those tears staining her face. The mere sound of Wanda's sobs stirred something inside her. Natasha's mind screamed in alert. "Get away from her." However, the protective wolf inside her compelled her to go there and do everything she could to make Lady Wanda feel better. Holy Odin! Natasha sometimes hates her instincts.

 

Reluctantly, the grumpy Alpha did exactly that as she wondered since when did she become a nanny of that cute witch.

 

Chapter 11: Hedeby

Chapter Text

  

 

 

 

“En me mjg falleg augu,” Natasha murmured softly. “You have very beautiful eyes.” Then the redhead tensed at her words. Where the hell did that concern come from. ‘Now, why would I feel the need to tell her that?’

 

 “What did you say?” Wanda asked in confusion, thinking her ears were playing tricks on her.

 

“Your … uh your eyes are crossed,” Natasha mumbling lied. “When you weep, your eyes look crossed.” Her beautiful eyes set on her, but not with sorrow. She suspected that she got so few compliments in her life that Natasha’s rude criticism rang with with her. No doubt her One-God exercised fairness in giving the woman one single mark of beauty to make up for all those other less beauteous attributes.

 

But, nay, that wasn’t quite true. There were other attributes. Like that naked body she had seen. Nay, nay, nay! I promised myself not to think about that. Natasha stopped thinking about it and cleared her throat before saying. “Not crying? My lady, you are making more water than a war horse. Soon we will have to bail out the bilge again.” Natasha thought the girl would smile at that jest, though her smiles were infrequent, and reserved only for Clint, or for her bloody sheep. Mayhap that was what caused her sudden dispirit. She missed her sheep. “Do you miss your familiars?”

 

 “My what?”

 

“Familiars. Don’t all witches have familiars?” Natasha felt rather silly now and could feel her face heat up.

 

“And my familiars would be…?” Wanda asked confused. Natasha hated that superior attitude she exhibited betimes. Like now. “Sheep.”

 

“Sheep?” Wanda stunned blinked at her.

 

No doubt her perception stunned her. Perchance if she made a baaing sound that would cheer her up. Better yet, Natasha could butt her derriere like that randy ram of hers. Natasha bit her lip then couldn’t help but grin at that.

 

“Stop smirking. I am not crying. I never cry. ‘Twas just the wind.” Wanda snorted and shook her head disapprovingly. “Furthermore, you have strange objects rattling about in your skull if you think my sheep are familiars.”

 

“Your freckles are growing.” Natasha pointed her finger at Lady Wanda's blushing face. Now where did that half-brained observation come from? Natasha mentally kicked herself. Humph! I guess I’m just trying to avoid noticing those magnificent eyes. Or thinking about her naked.” Natasha felt her throat dry up at the mere thought. ‘Nay, nay, nay! I have wiped that image from my mind.’

 

“What nonsense do you speak now? Do you think to disconcert me with your idle remarks?” Wanda grumbled. “Well, you can forget about that nonsense. I care not if you like my freckles or not.

 

Truly, your tongue wags more than a puppy under the high table at a drunken feast, my lady blabberer… rather, blubberer. Natasha smiled, looking sad. “I am wounded at your unjust criticism, my lady. What I meant was that your freckles grow larger when you blubber… or leastways, they appear to do so when your nose reddens and your face splotches up.” ‘Well, I feel better now.’

 

 “You are a troll.” Wanda hissed, turning her face to avoid looking at such rude woman.

 

“So you have said afore.” Leastways, Lady Wanda must be feeling better, if sniping at her caused her to stop sniveling. Natasha felt really proud of herself. She ever did have a talent for brightening the spirits of fair Omega maidens. Not that she was fair, but … Natasha put that line of thought aside and with a bright smile added. “Just so you stop your watery show. It bothers my sailors.”

 

 Wanda suggested she do something to herself that she knew for a fact was nigh impossible. And she said her bothered sailors could bloody well join her in the exercise. She put a hand over her heart with exaggerated shock. “I have never heard a high-born lady use such words afore. Of course, you are a high-born lady witch; mayhap the rules of your society are different.”

 

"Go away,” Wanda said with a slump of the shoulders as her lips trembled slightly, as if she was start to cry again.

 

'Uhh ... Why me?’ Natasha hated it when Lady Wanda slumped her shoulders. It made her feel as if she was responsible for her woes, which she was not. “Hey …” Instead of going away, Natasha hunkered down in front of lady Wanda, her forearms resting on her widespread knees. Instinctively, Wanda shifted her body so they were not touching.

 

That annoyed Natasha. So, of course, she moved in closer. Now her inner knees bracketed her tightly closed thighs, under the enveloping cloak. Her cloak, by the by, she smiled softly and noted with a clutch of unreasonable warmth that Lady Wanda was wearing her garment. Almost as if Wanda were under her protective shield. Then reality snapped Natasha out of her sentimental thoughts. That voice in the back of her mind screamed. ‘Nay, nay, nay. Lady Witch is a mere captive. To be delivered and be done with. Do not get involved, Natasha.’ But she was never one to listen to good advice, especially her own. “Tell me why you weep,” Natasha urged as she tilted her face.

 

 “I was not weeping,” Wanda said with a break in her voice, wiping tears from her cheeks “But if I were… weeping… which I’m not… I well, I have good cause, do you not think?”

 

“And why, pray tell, is that?” Natasha amused, raised her eyebrows.

 

Lady Wanda wore no wimple or headrail today, but her brown tresses, held in place by a braided silk cord around her forehead, did not fly about, as was their norm, because she had taken to using a pomade that Betty had given her, causing her hair to lay in gentle waves. The rose fragrance of the cream wafted out to her in delicate enticement. The best part was being able to smell the scent of Omega pheromones. Natasha didn't realize her own actions until Wanda in a husky voice asked. “Why are you sniffing like a hedgehog?”

 

 That brought Natasha back to reality with a rude jolt. Lopping off her head was gaining more and more appeal. Or, leastways, lopping off her tongue. “And would you mind moving?” Wanda snapped, trying unsuccessfully to shuffle backwards, away from Natasha’s legs’ embrace. “You are blocking the sun.”

 

"Lady, you avoid my question. Why would you have good cause to weep?” Natasha smiled at that. She was not a large Alpha to eclipse the sunlight.

 

 “I was not …” Wanda defended herself and blushed deeply when Natasha held a forefinger to her lips to prevent her further protestations.

 

Natasha’s heart beats erratically with that simple touch. ‘Oh Thor!’ A big mistake, that. Touching her body. Wanda’s lips parted with surprise under her finger, which lingered in place. And Natasha noticed for the first time that her sweet lips were full and puffy. And kiss-some, truth be told. Furthermore, they were raspberry-colored, just like her nipples. 'OH BLOODY HELL!!!!’

 

"Aaarrrgh! Forget I thought that.” Natasha just looked at Wanda with wide eyes. ‘Twas a mistake. I have forgotten entirely how the wench looks naked. It has been so long since I’ve seen a raspberry, I no longer even remember how they look, or taste. Taste? Bloody hell! My so fucked!!’

 

“Oh, good Lord, not that again!” Wanda said, swatting Natasha’s finger away, trying to put some distance between her and the perverted alpha.

 

 Natasha asked confused, clearing her throat. “Uhm … What?”

 

 “You are staring at me naked, again.” Wanda frowned, pulling the bear fur around her body to cover it from Natasha's lustful eyes.

 

“I am not,” Natasha grinned and scoffed, obviously liying.

 

Wanda hissed. “Yea, you are, and I will not stand for it.”

 

Natasha wondered how Wanda could stop her. In truth, she would like to know so she could stop herself. Then her reckless tongue took on a mind of its own. “My lady, do you deliberately remind me of your raspberry nipples, which match your raspberry lips, by the by, to avoid speaking of your tears?”

 

 

“And to think I was envisioning you as my guardian angel!” Wanda exclaimed with indignation, feeling offended and a little nervous. All Alphas are depraved and lustful creatures.

 

Now, that remark surprised her. The Omega did have a knack for catching her off-guard. “What? Who?” Natasha exclaimed in amusement, placing a hand on her chest. “Me? Ha, ha, ha!”

 

 “Yea, it is humorous, isn’t it?” Wanda mumbled, holding the fur tight against her chest. “Humorous? It is preposterous.”

 

This british catholics think they are privileged to criticize and judge others. Natasha thought a moment, before start hissing. “Why is it so preposterous? Dost think there are no Vikings in your heaven? Dost think we have no godliness in us? Dost think you Christians hold the rights to goodness? Dost forget that many of us Vikings practice both the Norse and Christian religions?”

 

Wanda froze, her mouth gaped open with incredulity at Natasha’s vehement words. Her lips were not quite so kiss-some when sucking air like a North Sea puff fish. ‘Thank the gods!' Natasha thought.

 

“What? You want to be my guardian angel?” Wanda asked, once she’d clicked her teeth shut.

 

Natasha denied and response with a grin. “Nay, I do not want to be your guardian angel. I do not want to be your… anything.” Now, that was a near mistake. She’d almost said that she did not want to be her lover, which was a lie, Natasha admitted to herself now.  Yea, ever since she’d seen Wanda naked, the thought of wetting her fingers … whetting her length … burying her face between those pale thighs … at least once… had been hovering in her head like a tiresome headache. Once? Hell, in Natasha’s mind picturess she was wetting and tasting and licking again and again.

 

Wanda held her breath before admitting with a faint murmur. “It was a foolish notion, I admit.”

 

She noticed Wanda's mouth moving but didn't register what she was saying. ‘What is she talking about?’ Natasha frowned, not taking her eyes off Lady Wanda. “I am so busy thinking about sex I’ve lost the thread of her talk. Now I remember. Angels, that was it. Oh, she thinks I’m her guardian angel, of all things. “Aha! So that is why you wept. They were tears of relief that your One-God had sent you the most gorgeous, attractive, bravest, perfect guardian angel.” Natasha scoffed, bragging about her impressive physique as she thought. ‘I swear, my tongue has gained a mind of its own.’

 

 “Are you really as lackwitted as you appear betimes?”

 

“Yea. No more lackwitted than you… that you would insult a fierce warrior as you do, constantly.”

 

Wanda shrugged. “Tis just that you provide so many instances of idiocy.”

 

“Aaarrrgh!” Natasha hid her face in her hands. “Your head must be like a pond and your thoughts like little frogs, jumping from one lily pad to another.”

 

 “How poetic!” Wanda snorted, pleased to exceed Natasha’s limits patience.

 

Natasha made a low, snarling sound of exasperation. “Could you just once finish one subject before hop-hop-hopping to another?”

 

“If you insist,” Wanda said demurely. What a farce! The Omega wouldn’t recognize demure if it smacked her in the middle of her freckled forehead. “What would you like to know?”

 

 Natasha sighed and ask.“Why did you think I was your guardian angel?”

 

“Well, not precisely a guardian angel,” Wanda amended. “More like a protector sent by God.”

 

“Sounds like a guardian angel to me,” Natasha argued.

 

Wanda just waved a hand dismissively. “Leastways, this was my logic… “

 

'Logic and weak Omegas are an impossible contradiction.' Natasha refrained from saying that out loud, however she concentrated on what Wanda was saying. “… you know how some people believe that if you save a person’s life, they are forever beholden to you? Well, I was thinking that mayhap God sent you to Northumbria for me to …”

 

Natasha denied and laughed “Oh naive girl. Aksel sent me for you. Last time I checked she was no way close to being a god.” her nasty cousin is a rapist, murderer and corrupt king.

 

“Stop interrupting me, you troll.” Wanda clenched her fists. Doesn't this woman know how to shut up and listen?

 

Natasha raised her eyebrows and moved her index finger from left to right. “Tsk-tsk. Is that any way to speak to your guardian angel?”

 

Wanda made a scowly face at her, which made her resemble an angry rooster. Not an attractive picture. “As I was saying .. . mayhap God sent you to Northumbria for me, by way of King Aksel, so that you could rescue me from my cousins’ latest outrage. In truth, I suspect he sent King Aksel to that Northumbria nunnery in the first place to set his plan in motion. And further, I was thinking that mayhap you are now responsible for protecting me. So, really, I should not be worried anymore about what will happen to me in Trondelag because you will be there as my personal… well, Viking angel.” Wanda flashed Natasha a brilliant smile of satisfaction at her deduction.

 

Natasha remained open-mouthed at this revelation. Incredible! The gall of the Omegas! “And that is why you wept?”

 

“Yea, in relief.” Wanda shifted her eyes, avoiding direct contact, and she suspected she twisted the truth more than a bit.

 

Natasha just put a hand to her forehead and rubbed out the furrows. 'It’s now or never.' “First off, methinks you think too much. Second, you surely jest if you say your One-God sent Aksel a crooked cock in order to lure me to your side. Third, I am in no way responsible for your safety. Get that through your muddled head. Once I deliver you to Aksel, I am done with you. And, finally, do not for one minute think of me as an angel, Viking angel or otherwise. Believe me when I tell you that I have led a less than saintly past, and believe me when I say that the picture of you, naked, in my head does not prompt visions of me flapping my wings about you in protection. More like I am flapping another body part, in you, naive girl.” That was rude. Her stomach contracted a little with every word leaving her lips.

 

Wanda gasped at her crudity. Natasha ignore the sting on her chest. Good. ‘Tis best to set the witch straight from the start.’

 

“You… are… a… troll.” Wanda hissed, wanting desperately slap Natasha’s face.

 

It was a favorite refrain of hers. Natasha smiled really amused.“Well, then, just call me Saint Natasha the Troll.”

 

Regardless of what Natasha said. Wanda had faith, faith in this woman. “I don’t care what you say. You won’t abandon me to some wretched king who might… who might …'

 

“Lop off your head?” Natasha offered.

 

Wanda replied “Yea.”

 

Natasha with icy voice said. “You have the wrong opinion of me, my lady. The wrong opinion, by far. I know I jest overmuch, but do not be mistaken in thinking I am soft. I am not. From the age of thirteen till recently, I was a warrior in the armies of any king paying the price, whether it be Jomsviking or Byzantine, it mattered not to me. I cannot count the Alphas and betas I have killed.”

 

 "So?”

 

“So? What do you mean, ‘So’?”

 

"I never questioned whether you had been a stalwart soldier, or are still. But I misdoubt you ever killed an Omega, leastways not without some great provocation.”

 

“Oh, my lady, best you think about how much provocation you have given me thus far.”

 

"You will not abandon me to some tyrant if there’s the least chance of his killing me,” Wanda insisted.

 

“Well, that is no longer the issue” Natasha said in a lazy voice and Wanda was puzzled by that.

 

Natasha just shrugged with a grin. “Now that I have seen you naked, and once Aksel sees you naked, I know that the king would take you on as his sixth wife.” The alpha could see by her fisted hands that she barely restrained herself from clobbering her… or trying to. “Even if I am a witch?” Wanda asked in an overly sweet voice.

 

 “Even if you have a tail.” Natasha response in a overly sweet voice too.

 

“Well, I still say you won’t abandon me. I’m your responsibility now,” Wanda persisted. She faithfully believes in God and his plan.

 

Natasha used a very coarse word in connection with responsibility. Wanda raised her chin and glared down her nose at her. “I’m going to say a prayer for you tonight. Among other things, I intend to beseech the Blessed Lord to cleanse your foul tongue.”

 

 Natasha licked her lips, looking straight to Wanda’s eyes. “Hah! When you tell your beads this eve, best you pray that this image of you, naked, leaves my head. Otherwise you will have a lot more than my foul tongue to worry over.”

 

"And that would be?”

 

A warrior, such as herself, knew when to charge and when to retreat. A trader, such as herself, knew when to bargain and when to accept defeat. The wench, who apparently had the skills of a rock, did not have the sense to stop when she was ahead. Natasha raised up on her knees with a palm braced on either side of her hips on the storage box. Leaning closer, she pressed her body and breasts against Wanda’s body. Layers of clothing separated them, but Natasha’s message was clear. Her puffy lips were almost touching hers. Natasha felt Wanda’s breath against her gritted teeth as she inhaled and exhaled with some strong emotion. Their eyes held the entire time, her in challenge, hers in irksome defiance. Natasha stayed in that position for only a moment before rising to her feet. It was enough time… for both of them. Natasha proceeded to leave Wanda then, and the lady called out in a foolish attempt to have the last word, “Well, speak up, you perv troll. What do I have to worry about with you? Wanda’s final words—rude and provocative and, yea, just a little bit enticing lingered on the sea breeze long afterwards.

 

“You do not want to know, my lady. Truly, you do not want to know.” Natasha walked away laughing without looking back.

 

 


 

 

Several days later they approached the land of the Danes and its famous market town at the base of the Jutland peninsula. Hedeby, which the Vikings referred to in their Northern tongue as cet Hcedum, was located at the junction of several major trade routes, by sea and land. Despite being more than a thousand miles from home and in the heart of Viking territory, Wanda had more than one reason to feel a vast relief… and not just because she would finally be stepping on land again.

 

It was only noon, but already, three times that day, they had encountered vicious-looking pirates. Seamen often put their long shields on the mast-top with the point turned downward to indicate that they came as friends. Not these sea wolves! With their scarred faces and burning eyes, these scavengers of Zealand put a bone-deep fear in Wanda, as Natasha and her Vikings Alphas had not thus far. Clint had explained that these particular sea outlaws, led by a alphas called Hord the Rat, maintained a den somewhere between Zealand and Funen… a place of terror to one and all. They had gained much success of late in terrorizing the southwest coast of Norway, the Oesund Passage and the Baltic.

 

The pirate leader had bidden his sailors heave to and grapple the nearest of Natasha’s ships. Fortunately, they had given up their attempts quickly on getting a closer view. The mere presence of the fierce fighting forces on Natasha’s ships had convinced the pirates to keep their distance thereafter and let them pass by unmolested.

 

Wanda wondered if her prayers in regard to her fate in King Aksel’s court hadn’t helped in this regard as well. Or perchance it had been the sight of Natasha and her tall, imposing male and female Vikings, their muscles well honed by battle, donning chain or leather shirts and pulling out sharp swords and battle-axes. One thing was certain: With each passing pirate sail, Wanda’s respect for Natasha as a leader had risen a notch. She didn’t have much respect for her as a woman or an alpha, since she’d captured her and disrupted her life on a whim and still declined responsibility for her fate. But as a ship’s captain and a chieftain of fighting vikings, she’d never met better.

 

There had been times when Natasha’s longships rode close to shore, and on some of these promontories and river mouths she’d sometimes seen bearded heads on pikes, indicating that the peoples of that particular land did not welcome seamen from the north. Even when they’d been Vikings themselves. Fortunately, Natasha seemed to know how to choose her battles, and when to ride away from a fruitless fight… though Wanda suspected that Natasha enjoyed a good fight like any other alpha. ‘Twas the nature of the alpha beast.’

 

Now Wanda was leaning against the ship's rail near the prow, with Clint at her side. He was the only one of Natasha's men who would speak with her. Though even Clint, kind as he was, made sure that his wooden crucifix was visible and that he was doused with Bucky's holy water. As a further precaution, he kept making the Christian sign of the cross on his chest when, in the midst of conversing with her, he recalled that it was a witch with whom he made discourse.

 

Yestereve, Natasha had doled out small sacks of coins in payment to her men, though she'd cautioned them that a wise sailor never counted her wealth till she was home. Some of Natasha's sailors would be disembarking in Hedeby, staying with two of the longships that would be beached there over the winter. Amongst those men and women, some would take ship on other vessels leading to their homelands, to return next spring for the amber harvest in the Baltic.

 

The other five ships would travel to Trondelag in a day or two, first to King Aksel's court, then onward to Natasha's home. Natasha was busy with the ships' last-minute business, and she had ordered Clint to stand guard over Wanda, which was ridiculous. How did they expect she would escape here? Jump overboard and swim in the frigid waters? Fly away on one of the blustery late autumn breezes? And to what safe haven? A shark's teeth? The pirates' den?

 

Now the seven ships were making their way across the smooth lake at the head of the river Schlei. It was a beautiful day with clear skies and only a faint breeze, the kind of day when autumn is shiveringly over but winter's icy blanket not yet covering the land. The lake resembled a blue-tinted mirror, broken only by the wake of the long-ships as they rowed smoothly across its calm surface.

 

 "It's spectacular," Wanda said, staring at the unbelievable sight before them. Hedeby.

 

A huge timber rampart and a lengthy moat surrounded the trading center in a rough semicircle. To the east it was bounded by the waters of Haddeby Noor, with its notably shallow and therefore protective entrance from the Schlei. There were three wide gateways or tunnels—paved with stones—one south and one north for the transit of men, horses and wagons, and one on the west, where a thin stream ran between its piled and strengthened sides down to the fjord.

 

"Have you never traveled much with your cousins?" Clint asked, no doubt amused at her gaping at every new vista like an awestruck child.

 

 Wanda gave the blond viking a sideways glance of disbelief. "My cousins took me nowhere... lest it be some estate or royal gathering where they might barter my body for yet another marriage bed. Never outside Britain."

 

Clint shrugged, as if it was the lot of Omegas. Not worth discussing. Wanda thought about filling the oaf's head with a thought or two about what it was like to be a young lonely Omega ... an uncomely young Omega with freckles and unmanageable hair. Could he imagine the humiliation of being rejected, over and over these past ten years and more, since the age of fourteen, as a mate by all the eligible alphas below the age of fifty of suitable lineage and wealth? No, she guessed that this thickheaded fool—like Alphas of all nations—would fail to see the unfairness of a system that placed women lower than thralls and fine-bred animals. Maybe Clint would consider it a omega's lot, and that was that.

 

“I've been to Jorvik many a time, of course," Wanda said, instead. "I have an agent there who sells my raw wool and fine fabrics for a good price in the trading stalls of Coppergate. I go into the market town at least twice a year. 'Tis best for a person to keep a hand in her own business."

 

Clint smiled down at her, crossing the arms over his chest. "You sound like Lady Betty. She is ever protective of her honey and mead interests, as well. In truth, Natasha carries many of her products with us this trip to see if she can get a better price for her in the north lands than she does in her native England. Mayhap the jarl will do the same for you when... if... " His words trailed off, and Wanda knew he stammered because he was unsure whether she would be returned to her home and her sheep. It was disconcerting to know that Clint shared her reservations about her fate. I am not going to think doomful thoughts. Wanda reflected as she looked out over Hedeby Bay. “ I will return. I will trust that God placed me in the Viking's hands for a reason.” It was hard keeping the niggling doubts at bay, however. Wanda urged. “Tell me about Hedeby.”

 

Clint nodded with amusement. "There are more than twenty-four hectares enclosed between the ramparts and the sea. See that long, narrow strip of flat land on the open side of the ramparts, facing the water? It is here that some ships and small boats are beached.” He pointed to the harbor filled with Drakkars and other commercial ships at the docks. “And here, too, are slips for shipbuilding and repairing."

 

 "It's not as big as Jorvik. Still, it looks intriguing." Wanda smiled as she saw people coming and going in the distance.

 

Clint spoke pointing another place on the bay. "Yea, 'tis. You can find anything of value in Hedeby, whether it be human flesh or fine gold adornments. Next to Jorvik, Natasha sells most of her amber here. In fact, she maintains a house and market stall here year round, watched over by a most trusted craftswoman, an kind Omega. Maria of Frankland."

 

 "An Omega?” Wanda asked surprised. Natasha trusts her business interests to an Omega?"

 

"Yea? And why not?" Clint laughed and frowned.

 

 Wanda shook her head. Natasha ever did throw roadblocks in her condemning assessment of her. "And do you come here often?"

 

“Nay, twice a year at host these past five years or so. Natasha was not always a merchant, you know. She has much word-fame as a warrior and leader of fighting alphas. Kings of many countries still seek her services. Alas, her injury at Brunanburh harmed her more than is visible to the eye. And in the winter months, or in seasons of heavy rain, the leg wound pains her sorely, to the point where she becomes almost lame." Clint’s head jerked up. With a startled expression on his face, he remarked, "You have a knack for making a man run at the mouth, without caution or discretion. Is it a witch thing?"

 

Wanda laughed and denied. "Nay, 'tis a Omega thing." She jiggled her eyebrows at him, and the kind blond man laughed back at her. Turning more serious, she said, "It was at Brunanburh that you lost your eye, wasn't it?"

 

Clint nodded, closing his good eye, remembering that terrible day. "Holy Thor! Never have I been engaged in a battle like that one. It marked the end of Viking domination in Britain, for one thing, and amongst those who fed the vultures that day were five kings and seven earls from Ireland, not to mention the son of the king of the Scots. I was left for dead, but Natasha came back for me. To her own peril. 'Twas then a bloody Saxon struck his sword into the jarl's thigh, clear to the bone. Still, she carried me off the battlefield. The surgeons wanted to remove her leg, but fortunately her sister Pepper, a healer of much note, was able to save the limb for her."

 

"Natasha's sister is a healer?" Wanda was astounded. What else did she not know about the dolt? "So how did Natasha get involved in the amber trade?"

 

 Clint said in an affectionate tone."Well, my leader was fascinated years ago when she witnessed amber harvesting whilst visiting the Baltic lands. At first, she just engaged in the trading end. Now, Nat has her own workers there to harvest for her."

 

 "And is there a woman who handles this, too?"

 

 Clint laughed. "Nay, 'tis Alexander No-Teeth who heads that enterprise."

 

Natasha walked up then, giving Clint a light playfully fist on the shoulder. "Are you regaling Lady Wanda with another of your wondrous sagas, birdbrain?"

 

Wanda could see that Natasha was in a rare good mood. No doubt she was as relieved as she to finally set foot on soil. And be one step closer to the end of her mission. "Yea, he was," Wanda answered cheerily, "and I was helping him get the words right."

 

“Uh huh.” Clint hummed, his lips turned up with amusement at her lie as Natasha made a face of mock horror.

 

Wanda bit her lip before say. ‘Tis called 'Natasha the Troll Angel.”

 

Chapter 12: Ambátt

Chapter Text

 

 

More than two hours later, the seven ships were anchored a short distance from shore, the products to be offered in the trading town had been unloaded, and all the men and some women, except one guard per ship, had disembarked and gone off to enjoy a night of drinking and wenching before going to their winter abodes.

 

Natasha approached Wanda with a loop of rope in her hand.

 

“Nay!" Wanda protested, backing away from Natasha.

“Yea!" Natasha insisted, stern-faced and unyielding. "Do not gainsay me now, Lady Wanda. I have much to do afore nightfall, and no patience have I for your balking."

 

“But there's no need for you to tie my hands... nor my neck. I have nowhere to run here." Wanda took another step back as her eyes caught the surroundings of Hedeby Harbor.

 

“That doesn't mean you wouldn't try." Natasha grinned and moved in closer and waved the end of the rope in Wanda’s face. "I give you two choices, my lady. I tie you to t masthead till the morn, when I return to the ship. Or I tie your hand to mine."

 

“Or you could just let me walk freely at your side." Wanda cheerfully offered.

 

Natasha wagged a forefinger in her face. “I give you to the count of five. Einn, tveir, rr, fjrir, fimm."

 

"Oh, give me the bloody rope." Wanda grabbed the rope from Natasha's hands and tried to tie her own wrist.

 

With a smirk, Natasha took the rope back from her and proceeded to bind their hands tightly together at the wrist. There was no way she would be able to undo the knots without attracting her attention, unless she was drunk, or asleep, or … dead.

 

 "I suppose you are so thirsty you could drink a tun of ale," Wanda commented casually a short time later as the oaf dragged her after her down the rocky shore, toward the edges of the town.

 

 "At least a tun," Natasha called back to her. "except I have to meet with Maria, and there is much produce I need to stock up on for the winter months."

 

Bloody Hell … Hmmm. It appears drink is out of the question. Wanda offered brightly.“Well, you will have to sleep sometime.”

 

Natasha gave her a sideways glance of suspicion as she did a little skip and caught up to her side.

 

“Where will I sleep tonight, by the by? Back on the ship?" Wanda asked carelessly.

 

Natasha laughed softly and shook her head. "In my home here, behind the market stall. ‘Tis cramped quarters they will be, and you will have to share my bed furs."

 

Wanda's head came up with alertness. "You jest."

 

"I'm not letting you out of sight, my lady witch... not even in the dark." Natasha grinned, aware of Wanda’s shock. "I am loath to ask, but do you snore? I cannot abide a snoring bed partner."

 

Wanda's upper lip curled back and a most unfeminine growl emerged from deep in her throat. If Natasha hadn't held her at bay with her outstretched free hand, she would have lunged for her. "Do not think for one minute that you are poking me in the dark with that... that thing." Wanda blushed when she said that.

 

"What thing?" Natasha frowned and asked, dancing back when Wanda swung an arm to slap her laughing face.

 

Wanda stuttered and feeling her cheeks burn even more. "That … that limp wick you and all other Alphas carry around betwixt your legs. That's what."

 

"Limp? Wick?" Natasha hooted. "Oh, milady, you have obviously never seen a Viking... wick.”

 

“You... are... a... troll," Wanda seethed at her, then stomped ahead of her, jerking her along behind her by their bound hands. The most alarming thought occurred to her then. She'd already exhausted the first two possibilities for escape: her being drunk or asleep. That left only dead. Wanda wondered briefly if she would have the stomach for that. But then who would be her guardian angel?

 

She glanced over her shoulder at the redhead viking brute, who deliberately hung behind, forcing her to tug on hee. Then she glanced again, and wished she could sink into the ground with mortification.

 

That rude troll was staring at her bottom. And smiling widely.

 

Even wearing Natasha's heavy fur cloak, Wanda shivered. The air had turned blustery and the winter harsh. Suddenly gray skies portended snow or, at the very least, an early frost.

 

She and Natasha were walking toward the town of Hedeby, the fingers of their bound hands laced together like lovers. It was not really a loverlike body contact, however. First of all, Natasha had forced it on her. Secondly, Natasha was gazing ahead, stone-faced and tight-lipped. Natasha was "sore bedeviled," or so she said, at Wanda's constant hammering away at her less-than-admirable virtues:

 

“Stop picturing me naked."

 

 “Why do you walk so fast? Dost think me a giant huh?"

 

"Stop picturing me naked."

 

"Where did you get that silly earrings? And why do you touch and fix your curls every moment?Ugh. You are so vain, you... you prideful fop."

 

“Stop picturing me naked."

 

"I am hungry... but not for gammelost. I'd give anything for roast woodcock and a loaf of fresh-baked manchet bread and a... why are you smirking? Do not dare suggest what I think you are about to, you... you lecherous troll. I didn't mean anything."

 

"Stop picturing me naked."

 

"Best we find a garderobe... soon!"

 

"Hver fjandinn! Bloody Hell!" Natasha cursed and hissed finally as she rubbed her face. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" She halted abruptly and turned on her. Taking a deep breath, Natasha conceded with ill grace, "I must yield to your sharp tongue. A truce, my lady?"

 

Actually, it was rather tiresome to nag away at someone who wouldn't respond to every little jibe. Wanda nodded hesitantly.

 

"I will consent to stop ogling your... uh, tail” Natasha grinned at that last word. "if you will stop pecking away at me like a demented wood-pecking bird. Peck, peck, peck! 'Tis enough to drive a sane woman mad."

 

"And what an appropriate choice of birds! Especially since your brain is naught but a block of wood."

 

Natasha chuckled, obviously enjoying their banter.

 

“A truce," Wanda agreed then. Which was a mistake.

 

On the one hand, there was what she said next... in a low, nimbly drawl. "Ah, sweetling, I knew you and I could get on together if we tried."

 

Sweetling? …

 

On the other hand, there was what she did. Even as she spoke, Natasha swooped down to seal their bargain with a kiss. It was just a light brush of her puffy soft lips across hers, but, oh, Wanda realized they were so warm and firm and sweet and persuasive. With just that fleeting touch, Wanda felt such a fierce yearning... for things she could not even imagine, or had never considered within her grasp.

 

Natasha jerked back, as if she'd passed poison from her lips to her. But, intuitively, she knew. Natasha was experiencing the same frightening emotion that she was.

 

Who knew? Wanda thought. Who knew?

 

Wanda did her best to hide her traitorous reaction from Natasha, and Natasha did her best to blanket her demeanor of incredulity. Their hands were still joined, though, and where her palm pressed against hers, skin to skin, her delicious omega scent, she felt an odd connection.

 

Wanda sinking and drowning in those green eyes she thought. Mayhap she truly was sent to her, by her God or her gods. 'Twas an outlandish idea, of course. But it stayed in Wanda's head and nestled in her heart, giving her momentary hope.

 

Fortunately, her unwanted thoughts were interrupted by the loud barking of a dog. Beast came galloping toward them, yipping and yelping happily, much to the consternation of Bucky, who was being dragged along by his pet, clutching a length of rope. Bucky was grumbling mightily in the Norse language—foul words, no doubt.

 

 Beast flew through the air with an ambitious leap, from three arm-lengths away, and stood on his hind legs, putting his paws on Wanda's shoulders. He almost knocked over both her and Natasha, who was laughing uproariously. Then he licked her enthusiastically in greeting.

 

"Oh, aren't you the friendliest dog in the world?" Wanda cooed. "Must be you have Saxon blood in your veins. For a certainty, there is no sign of the ill-tempered Viking in you. Nay, there is not. And, praise the Lord, 'tis a comfort to know that at least one male amongst you plunderers has good taste."

 

“Come back here, Beast," Bucky demanded. 'Wow.'I mean it. Make haste, or you will be sorry.

 

Still propped against Wanda's body, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling with ecstasy at her ruffling of his head fur, Beast looked back over his shoulder at Bucky with an expression that could only be translated as, "Go away, Viking. I'll come when I'm bloody well ready."

 

“See... see... " Bucky sputtered to Natasha as he pointed his dog. "The witch put a spell on my dog. Five years I have had Beast at my side. My closest companion he has been... excepting you, of course," he added hastily. "But now the witch has taken him from me with a spell. Lop off her head, Natasha. 'Tis the only remedy."

 

Bucky stood glaring at her with misplaced outrage. A dozen magnificent animals must have given their lives for the various furs that adorned his body in layered mantles, and his head was topped by a high black bearskin hat. Gold and silver jewelry bedecked his neck and chest and arms and fingers. Truly, the man was bone-meltingly handsome, even with the woad face mark, in a vicious, overbearing sort of way. With a snort of scorn at her scrutiny, he placed a hand on each hip and tapped a booted foot impatiently, as if he seriously expected Natasha to comply with his order to behead her.

 

Natasha wouldn't, of course. Or Would she?

"Bucky, I swear, you are the world's greatest dunderhead. Didst your mother drop you on your head as a babe?" Sometimes Wanda questioned whether she might have been dropped, as well, especially when her witless tongue raced hither and yon.

 

Bucky clawed his hands and stretched them out toward her neck. The low, ferocious growl that emerged from his throat would have done Beast proud.

 

Natasha took Beast by the scruff of the neck and set him aside. Then she quickly shoved Wanda behind her and warned. “Have caution, wench. Push a angry man too far and even the greatest warrior will be unable to protect your head." Natasha raised her free arm to impede Bucky's approach. “Easy James!”

 

“But the man is deranged," she protested. Still forced to stand behind Natasha, she peered around her right shoulder as she spoke. Meanwhile, the dog thought they were playing a game and ran circles around both her and Natasha. "Beast comes to me, Bucky," Wanda explained. “because he can smell the scent of Bella on my clothing. Like an Alpha and Omega. No one can resist such scent.”

 

With a hiss of exasperation, Natasha put a palm on Wanda’s face and rudely pressed her back again so she was hidden totally by her body. Beast thought that was a wonderful trick, apparently, because he jumped up and tried to put his paws on her face, too. Between trying to peer around Natasha to reason with Bucky and trying to calm the dog, Wanda had trouble standing upright.

 

"That makes sense, Bucky. Don’t you think, huh?” Natasha smiled, her one arm still upraised to halt his progress. At the same time, she squeezed her hand tightly with her other hand in a silent message that she was not to interfere anymore.

 

Wanda peeked under Natasha's uplifted arm and saw Bucky's face soften somewhat, but he continued to insist mulishly, "I still say she is a witch. She stole my dog. 'Tis a crime for which she must pay. The wergild for stealing a man's horse is the thief's life. I demand the same for the loss of my dog."

 

"You can hardly equate a dog with a horse, Bucky," Natasha argued with an frown. "Be reasonable." A mischievous chuckle escaped her lips as some thought occurred to her. "Mayhap Wanda could wag her tail for you in recompense for the loss of your dog's devotion."

 

 “Ahha!" Bucky exclaimed. "So, you have seen her famous tail, after all, Natasha."

 

 "Well, not precisely," Natasha admitted. She was clearly enjoying his ridiculous jest.

 

 "God's teeth! I didn't steal your dog, Bucky," Wanda asserted. "Beast merely shifted his affections."

 

"Affections?" The sound of mirth was in Natasha's voice.

 

‘Affections?" Bucky shouted, not a hint of mirth in his voice. "I will give you affection. I swear, woman, I could I cleave you to your clacking teeth with a single blow and feel not a lick of remorse. With a swing of my sword, Death Stalker, you will get affection."

 

 "Yea, affection, Bucky. You should learn to be more affectionate. Mayhap then your dog would love you again.” Wanda responded with disguised amusement. “Furthermore, if you had shown a bit more affection to the Scottish witch, you might not be wearing her mark for life. And personally, I do not think that woad design is half so unattractive as the scowl you wear all the time."

 

 “I am going to kill her, Natasha. I am sorry if that offends you, but I cannot help myself." Bucky hissed, he was already releasing his sword from its scabbard.

 

"Nay, Bucky, leave off. The witch will be with us only a short time longer. Then Beast will gladly come back to you.” Natasha with a kind voice tried to make Bucky see reason.

 

“Go now, find yourself a wench. You know 'tis the best way to cool a hot temper. That and a tun of mead."

 

After Natasha soothed Bucky with more cajolery, he proceeded to leave, reluctantly. At the last moment, though, he shot daggers of icy promise at Wanda from his blue eyes. Beast stayed behind, unrepentant at his lack of loyalty.

 

Soon Wanda and Natasha and Beast were walking purposefully toward her home and place of trade in Hedeby. The wood-paved streets cut in an orderly fashion at right angles or parallel to a channeled stream, which ran through the center of Hedeby, west to east. Some of the buildings on these streets were small, less than three-by-three ells, while others were as much as six-by-fifteen ells. The neat dwellings were stave-built with vertical or horizontal planking, or frame-built with wattle-and-daub panels. All of them had reed-thatched roofs and uniformly low doorways. In general, the buildings were placed so that the gable end faced the street, and the attendant outhouses stood behind them. The structures were fenced-off neatly from their neighbors and had their own gates and pathways.

 

Large numbers of men and women passed by, but Natasha assured Wanda that this was a much-diminished number. Winter approached, and many traders had already left for their homelands. Even so, Wanda could see that a large contingent of people lived here year-round, as evidenced by the young children scampering about at some of the residences. Visible in the backyards were small vegetable patches, bare now of their autumn harvests.

 

Hedeby was a center for craftsmen who had quarters of their own, much like the Coppergate sector of Jorvik. In front of some of the structures, both homes and businesses, rude stalls had been erected—wood tables with cloth canopies overhead. Here were offered for sale the foods of many lands. Hares, pigeons, chickens, joints of venison, mutton, pork and wild boar, and every fish conceivable. There were also sticky sweets from the east, breads of many different grains, pots of honey, exotic dried fruits from the warmer climates, jugs of the much-prized Norse mead and potent wine from Frisia. There was even gammelost and lutefisk, which Natasha pointed out with a laugh.

 

"People actually pay good coin for that?" Wanda turned her nose up with disdain.

 

Many people addressed Natasha by name as they passed, and a few came up and clapped her heartily on the shoulder in welcome. They gave almost no attention to the fact that she was bound to her with rope, but they did stare at her backside. Bucky, or Clint, or the seamen from Natasha's ships must have already spread witchly tales of her tail. No doubt the passersby deemed her a personal thrall, or a slave about to be sold in Hedeby.

 

In fact, on one street, Wanda saw a group of chained men and one woman being led toward a large structure with a wide yard. The men were of dark complexion, possibly of Moorish background, but the woman's skin was pale. Her wails of anguish rose above the din of the crowds as she told her beads and sang psalms aloud in the Frankish tongue.

 

"Oh, blessed Lord!" Wanda cried loud, llamando la atención de Natasha. "That woman could very well be a nun." Wanda attempted to rush forward to offer aid but was pulled back short by her restraint.

 

“You will not interfere," Natasha said firmly, holding her tightly by her waist. " 'Tis none of your affair."

 

Wanda gritted her teeth as she squirmed, fighting Natasha's strong grip. "But... but she is clearly a Omega woman of religious conviction... a Christian."

 

Natasha arched a brow at that. "Ah, so you are saying that it is acceptable for only non-Christians to be slaves?"

 

“That is not what I am saying." Is it?” Wanda replied indignantly.

 

"Nay?" Natasha inquired mockingly, enjoying Wanda’s warm body pressed against her. "Then you must be implying that your fellow Christians do not keep slaves."

 

"Well, yea, they do, but … but … ” Wanda mumbled.

 

“Slavery is a fact of life in every land. Accept what cannot be changed," Natasha advised, whispering in her ear.

 

Wanda would have argued that point with Natasha, except that an even more outrageous event was taking place before the eyes of one and all. In the courtyard of the slave mart, where dozens of slaves were restrained in chains or tied to vertical posts in the ground, a young Omega was being offered for sale. But worse than that, her clothing had been stripped from her body and the prospective buyer, a seamen, mayhap even from one of Natasha's ships, was examining her intimately. All the while, he was being encouraged by the guffawing crowd of Alpha’s.

 

Natasha dragged her away from the scene, cursing under her breath at her kicks to her shins and her attempts to scratch her with her free hand. When they were far enough away from the slave mart, Natasha slammed her up against the side of a building and used their bound hands as a brace against her neck. Natasha with a dark expression on her face muttered right into Wanda's face. “Listen to me very well, Wanda."

 

I'm going to release my hand from your mouth now, and if you so much as let a whisper escape your lips before I am done talking to you, you will be next in line at the slave mart. This I swear on my father's grave." Natasha hissed straight into Wanda's face, noticing those eyes filling with tears. "Furthermore, whilst my men may have avoided you and your witchly aura like the bloody flux, there are many alphas who would pay highly for the unique privilege of tumbling a sorceress. Do not doubt my word on that. Are you listening to me, you stubborn witch?"

 

Wanda nodded her head, fighting back tears of pain at the constricting press of her forearm against her neck.

 

"You are not in your own land, foolish lady. Nor in mine. What you see and hear may not be to your taste, but no one—least of all me—bloody well cares. I can protect you whilst here... to a limit. If you step over that line, you are on your own." Natasha inhaled sharply, as if to control her roiling temper. Her smoldering eyes met hers. "Have I made myself clear?"

 

Wanda nodded again, and she released her arm. Her knees felt soft as butter, and she almost sank to the ground. “Sorry for that, lady Wanda.” Natasha murmured as she caught her with a hand on each side of her waist. She holds Wanda's body against her, letting the young wench lean and cry against her shoulder. Natasha feels that warm feeling again crossing through her chest. The smell of Wanda brings her a kind of calm.  

 

In the distance, Wanda could hear the continued sound of alphas laughter and a woman's scream. 

 

“Come on. Let's get out of here," Natasha said straight into her ear, more gently now. "There is an ale house over there, which I recall to be reasonably clean. We will have a cup of mead and a plateful of gammelost."

 

Wanda hid her face in Natasha's neck, hugging the redhead tightly. With tears on her eyes refused to laugh at Natasha’s rough attempt at jest. Never would she forget that scene at the slave mart, but she couldn't really blame Natasha for failing to intervene. Slaves were sold in Britain, as well, though she'd never witnessed it firsthand. At the back of her mind was the thought, it could be me.

 

 

Chapter 13: The Tears of the Gods

Chapter Text

 

Wanda thought she wouldn't be able to drink or eat, but she had been wrong. Despite her horror at what she'd witnessed, the mead tasted cool and honey-rich. And she ate three thick slices of warm manchet bread, their centers hollowed out halfway and swimming with chunks of rabbit and leeks in a thick broth.

 

 

Afterwards, Natasha led her through the craftsmen's quarters.

 

A woodworker, maneuvering a foot-treadled pole lathe, was making cups from solid pieces of wood. As the wood spun around, the woodworker held a chisel that gouged and shaped the bowl of the cup.

 

"This is Gone the Woodworker," Natasha told her. Then she addressed the craftsman. "Have you completed the items I commissioned last spring?"

 

"Yea," Gone said, nodding enthusiastically. He led them to the back of his shop, where two armchairs and a matching side table sat, all intricately carved in the Viking style with gripping dragon beasts interwoven with the more traditional motif of vining acanthus leaves.

 

Natasha paid the woodworker with coins from a pouch she carried at her belt and gave directions for the furniture to be delivered to one of her ships.

 

At another stall, a leatherworker was making boots, shoes, belts and sheaths for knives. The stench of the tanned hides being stretched and processed behind his property took any pleasure out of inspecting his products, to Wanda's mind.

 

Natasha laughed at her when she crinkled her nose with distaste. "Living as you do amongst animals on your estate, I would have thought you'd be accustomed to such earthy smells."

 

"In Coppergate, 'tis a common sight to see skins cured with chicken dung. That does not mean I have to relish the odor." Wanda murmured as she covered her nose with a hand.

 

Natasha laughed again, and it was with much alacrity that they moved on to the comb maker, where a skilled artisan carved his product out of the antlers of a red deer. Once he had the comb itself cut out, he used a fine saw to form the teeth. Finally he decorated his wares. There were also craftsmen working in other types of bone, making ice skates, knife handles, spindle whorls, dice and playing pieces. "I have a herdsman at Nóvgorod with an even finer talent for carving," Natasha told her in an undertone, and bought nothing.

 

'Nóvgorod.' Wanda thought. Natasha had previously mentioned to her the name of her estate in the Rus of Kiev.

 

Next, they stopped to watch a jewelry maker melting gold and silver and other less precious metals in small crucibles. He poured the molten metal into stone molds, and it was like magic watching the liquid cool into shiny brooches or coins, with the patterns already on them. Especially interesting to Wanda were the fine filigree pendants he was working into delicate designs, like gold or silver spiderwebs. Some jewelry makers, whose booths they visited next, displayed samples of beautiful ornaments made of amber, ivory, jet and silver. And many of the jewelers carried the colored beads that were so prized by the Viking women... not to be worn as neckrings, but as signs of affluence, strung between the utilitarian brooches that rested on either shoulder, holding needle, thread, miniature scissors and keys. The more beads, the wealthier the woman.

 

 "Oh!" Wanda sighed again and again when they came upon the gossamer-thin silks from the Orient, patterned fabrics called brocades from Byzantium, soapstone products from the Norse lands, rich furs of sable, fox and the rare white bear from the Baltic, Frankish glass of jewel-like colors and swords with ornate hilts, millstones of basalt from the Rhineland, quern stones from Koblenz and fanciful harness mounts and jingly spurs from the dark-eyed Saracen craftsmen.

 

Natasha smiled at her unrestrained appreciation for such frivolous objects. "You should see my treasure room at Nóvgorod," she boasted

 

"Will I see your treasure room at Nóvgorod?" Wanda asked with a frown and mouth open.

 

"Nay, but you should see my treasure room at Nóvgorod," Natasha corrected and added with a grin. "These baubles that impress you so here," she said, fingering a length of gold-threaded silk, "are naught compared to my collection."

 

What an arrogant, overbearing, prideful woman! I will see her home, and then she will return me to my home, Wanda decided with an emphatic uplifting of her chin. She is my guardian Viking angel, no matter what she says.

 

In the back of Wanda's mind, however, lingered the image of the naked slave girl, and Natasha doing naught to help. She will not stand back and let Aksel harm my person. He surely will not.

 

In many stalls could be seen the strong ropes made of walrus or seal skin that were popular with seamen. "Look at that," Natasha said, picking up a huge length of strangely twisted rope. She explained how it was made, by cutting the beast's hide in a single continuous strip, in a spiral, from the shoulder to the tail. Natasha bought three of the ropes—all that the craftsman had on hand—and ordered three more to be picked up next fall.

 

But there were even more wondrous sights to behold, including live birds in gilt cages and collections of bird feathers, which fascinated Wanda to no end, till finally Natasha pulled her away with a laugh. "Someday you may meet Abdul, the talksome parrot I gave to Eadyth as a wedding gift." The secretive smile on her face bespoke some mischief, but all Wanda could think of was her implication once again of life for her beyond Aksel's court.

 

"Better yet, I should show you the collection of bird feathers I purchased from a Baghdad sultan who was disbanding his harem. There are at least fifty different feathers, of all sizes and textures, in their own satin-lined chest of gold." Natasha’s mischievous smile grew more mischievous.

 

"I never could see the sense of collecting useless objects. My cousin Jack collected rocks as a youthling. Rocks, I tell you. And collected birds' eggs. One of them was rotten and it took three sennights to get the stink from his bedchamber."

 

Natasha smiled at her sudden sharing of tidbits from her personal life.

 

Wanda’s curiosity got the better of her then. "What use would there be for feathers in a harem?"

 

 Natasha laughed aloud and nudged her playfully in the side with her elbow. "Wanda, Wanda. For a thrice-widowed, worldly woman, your innocence astounds me."

 

"I never claimed to be worldly.” Wanda blustered, and elbow-jabbed her back. TheyThey moved on, comfortable with the silence between them.

 

Many different accents and languages could be heard as the customers and merchants argued over price and quality. Instead of coin or barter, most of the buyers used hack silver for their purchases—pieces of silver that could be cut and weighed on collapsible bronze scales. The merchants were often seen scratching the pieces to make sure they were pure silver before putting them on the scale.

 

Wanda could see that Natasha was amused by her amazement at the scene. She smiled as she said, "Most Viking wealth comes from trading, as you see here. Not pillaging and war."

 

In truth, the Norse traders were well-dressed and well-behaved and prosperous. Just like their Saxon counterparts in Jorvik. Oh, some of the seamen looked as if they might engage in a bit of plundering and pillaging on occasion, like the rapist back at the slave mart, but in this more peaceful setting, she could find no fault.

 

Natasha stopped abruptly, and Wanda realized that they'd arrived at her residence and place of business. She smiled and put a finger to her lips, cautioning silence, as she perused the workings of her enterprise from a short distance away. Her long house was one of the larger designs in Hedeby, framed with wattle and daub and roofed with thatch. Its roof extended forward in the front about two ells to form a permanent canopy for the trading wares.

 

Beast, the hound dog, realizing that they were not moving on, dropped to the ground under the table near Wanda's feet, with his muzzle propped on his front paws, and immediately fell asleep. She and Natasha watched the goings-on at her booth, which held a tantalizing array of amber in all its forms... from the raw stone to finely crafted jewelry.

 

A huge dark-haired Viking man wearing a full-length cloak of wolfskin pelts, drawn back off one shoulder with a silver pennanular brooch, was examining some jewelry set out on the table before him. Waiting on him, behind the table, was a young man of no more than fifteen. To the side of the building, with her back to them, sat a woman using fine cutting and abrasion tools and polishing cloths to fashion lumps of raw amber into workable sizes and shapes. A guard, arms crossed over his wide chest, stood beside the open doorway of the house, watching over the youth and the woman and the expensive wares.

 

"This would suit Drifa, my first wife," the customer said, taking a string of amber beads in his big pawlike hands.

 

"A good choice," the boy exclaimed. "See how the beads are of uniform size and color. And they are strung on the finest silk thread, with knots betwixt each bead to prevent chipping."

 

The Viking nodded. "I will take that. And Grima, my second wife, should favor the pendant over there . . . yea, that's the one... seeing as how she already has enough glass beads to prove my wealth." As an afterthought, he added, "But the beads and the pendant must be of equal value, lest I have to listen to their jealous bickerings all winter long." The pendant he chose was an oval filigree frame containing a pale yellow stone, hanging from a dainty silver chain.

 

"Your two wives will be well pleased, I assure you," the boy said, his eyes twinkling with delight at the two sales.

 

"Hah! Think you that I only have two wives? You do not know much about a Norsealpha's virility if you think one woman would satisfy. Three more wives have I besides Drifa and Grima, not to mention five wives long buried." He winked at the boy. "Hard swiving wears down some weak-sapped women."

 

The boy clearly restrained himself from smiling widely with anticipation at the prospect of additional sales.

 

“My helpers get a commission on each sale.” Natasha whispered in her ear. To Wanda's dismay, she felt the rippling effect of Natasha's breath all the way to her toes... and some disconcerting place in between. She blushed deeply and swallow nervously feeling Natasha’s hot breath." 'Tis an incentive for them to work harder."

The Alpha was continuing to talk to her, unaware of the effect she was beginning to have on her. But then the Alpha blew softly in her ear. Every tiny hair on Wanda's body, from scalp to toe, stood at attention. In truth, her freckles were paying attention, too.

 

The Viking redhead did know that she had an effect on her. Quickly, the boy spread out three other objects in front of the Viking, presumably of equal value: an exquisite three-cornered brooch of heavy gold, with an amber stone in the center the size of a raven's egg; an armlet of intertwined daisies made of gold petals with amber centers and a set of silver wire ear ornaments with dangling amber gems.

 

The Viking waved a hand in agreement to the additional purchases, and the boy’s eyes nearly popped out at the casualness with which the Norseman spent his money.

“Five wives!” she hissed then in a whisper to Natasha. She just grinned at her shrugged.

 

“Oh, and one other thing. I must needs have a special gift for Lita, my newest concubine. Only sixteen she is, but ah… the things her nubile body can do!” The Viking made a smacking noise of appreciation with his mouth.

 

Wanda would have liked to smack him, to be sure. The boy brought forth a delicate finger ring with a tiny amber stone.

 

"Perfect,” the Viking said.

 

“It’s worth more than the others,” the boy advised.

 

“Lita is worth more than the others.”

 

Wanda made a low, snarling noise as Natasha chuckled softly and squeezed her hand tightly. “Say naught, my witch,” she warned, sensing her desire to lash the brute with a piece of her mind.

 

“Ugh, Trolls… you are a nation of trolls!” Wanda grumbled indignantly.

 

"Come over here.” Natasha said with a laugh. “I will give you a quick education in amber.”

 

The boy glanced over to where they now stood at the far end of the tables, noticing them for the first time. His eyes went wide on recognizing Natasha. “Master Romanovdottir, I did not see you there,” he apologized. He made as if to come to them.

 

Natasha waved him back. “Finish your transaction, Harley.”

 

Wanda looked down at the table where Natasha had led her, which displayed unmounted pieces of amber.

 

“We call amber “The Gold of the North,’ but it comes in many colors. Most people think of amber as yellow, like this.” Natasha with a smile explained, pointing to a stone the size of a hen’s egg, “but as you can see, it comes in many colors… yellow, orange, red, white, brown, green, blue and even black, which is actually dark shades of the other colors. Those cloudy stones are raw amber, untreated and unpolished. After being heated in oil, the bubbles and fissures will disappear and the amber turns transparent.” She moved her hand over the table in a sweeping gesture to illustrate.

 

“I never realized.” Wanda murmured, picking up the egg shaped piece of amber and closing her fist over it. Immediately, she raised surprised eyes to Natasha’s. “ Tis warm, as if it has a life of its own. In fact, it seems to pulse.”

 

Natasha smiled widely, and she could tell that she was pleased by Wanda’s interest. “That is why so many cultures believe it has mystical, even medicinal, attributes. As to that, I cannot verify, but there is something otherworldly about the stone, methinks.”

 

Wanda cocked her head in question at her fancifulness. This was a side to Natasha she had not seen before. “Were you always interested in amber trading?”

 

Natasha laughed and denied. “Nay, I only dabbled in trade betwixt battles for one king or another. In those days, wines and furs held more appeal for trade. But then one day, about seven years past, I saw some horsemen in the Baltics harvesting a crop of amber from the sea waves. From then on …” the redhead said, shrugging with some embarrassment. “I have been fascinated by this gem.”

 

Amazing, Wanda smiled as she thought. Both Natasha and the stone.

 

"Didst you know that amber is naught more than tree sap from millions of years ago?” Natasha went on. A hint of fascination filled her voice.

 

"I had heard such.”.Wanda nodded moving the egg of amber between her fine fingers.

 

“Consider this: Many millions of years ago, when there were great stands of forests reaching almost to the sky, huge globs of resin seeped from the bark, catching in their path various seeds, leaves, feathers, insects, even whole animals. Over the years, the resin hardened, preserving the object. Like this butterfly here.” Natasha handed Wanda a chunk of rock, which shimmered with a rainbow of translucent yellows. Inside was a tiny butterfly… perfect in every detail.

 

"Oh my ...” she sighed, putting a hand to her mouth in awe. “Never have I seen such a wondrous object.”

 

“Yea,” Natasha agreed in a soft voice, staring down at the object with equal awe. “Once, I had a piece with a honey bee in it, but I gave it to Hrolf the Ganger, first Duke of Normandy.” She took the pendant which hung round her neck on a gold chain in her hand and showed it to her. The reddish-gold amber had been cut and polished into a star shape, and inside was what appeared to be a drop of blood. “Look closely,” Natasha said with a low voice. “What appears to be wound-dew is the petal of a flower… mayhap some ancient rose.”

 

Wanda peered close and saw that it was so. “How old do you think this stone is?” she asked, pointing once again to the remarkable amber-encased butterfly.

 

Natasha smiling, shrugged. “No one can say for sure. Mayhap back to the time when the world was created.”

 

“Before Adam and Eve?” she breathed looking straight to Natasha’s green eyes.

 

Natasha smiled at the childlike wonder in her voice. “Or the time when the Norse gods and goddesses formed the beginning of our civilization.”

 

"Oh, Holy Mary!” Wanda said then, her attention diverted to a piece of jewelry lying on a scrap of blue velvet. Wanda had never been one to covet expensive body adornments, but this neck ring was the most magnificent bit of vanity she had ever seen. Surely fit for a queen. The thick gold band would fit snugly around a woman’s neck, above the collarbone. From it were suspended a dozen tear-shaped amber stones, starting with a large one in the center and decreasingly smaller ones on either side, down to the size of tiny human tears.

 

Natasha noticed where Wanda's eyes were focused. “You like that, do you?” she said, with a laugh. “ ‘Tis the most precious item of jewelry I have, and it is not for sale. It was given to me by an Arab goldsmith, in return for a favor I rendered him. Ahab recommended that the neck ring be given to my Omega on our wedding night, as a charm ensuring marriage-luck. Since I do not intend to wed, I will give it to Clint’s daughter, Lila, on her wedding day.”

 

"Wow, it's so beautiful.” Wanda couldn’t help herself. She reached out her free hand and touched the neck ring with her fingertips, very gently. “Dost know what this reminds me of? A poem I heard once. ‘Twas written by one of the ancient Romans… Ovid, I think his name was. The poem was called Metamorphoses, and in it he described how the daughters of the sun god were overwhelmed by grief over the death of their brother and somehow they became transformed into trees. Their tears crystallized into amber, and from then on the people referred to amber as “The Tears of the Gods.’ “

 

Natasha was watching her close, a strange expression on her face. “That is exactly what I call this neck ring.” she said in a low voice. “and I have never heard that tale afore.” She laughed then, as if embarrassed. “You and Clint are cut from the same ell of fabric, I swear. Both of you are storytellers.”

 

She’d been thinking the same thing about Natasha and her whimsical affection for an enchanted stone. “You misjudge me. I am not fanciful, at all. Never have I had the inclination or the talent for weaving stories. I weave fabrics, instead. As to Clint, I must tell you, Natasha, he is a horrible skald.” Wanda murmured and laughed childishly.

 

“I know,” Natasha said unabashedly, then confessed sheepishly, “Sometimes when I see the verse-mood come upon his face, I pretend to be asleep.” The whole time, her eagle eyes watched as Wanda reluctantly removed her fingertips from the “Tears of the Gods” neck ring with a last, lingering caress.

 

Natasha shook her head, as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts. “Since you know of the amber legend in the Roman poem, does that mean you have coffers full of amber jewelry? Mayhap you have even bought one of my pieces in Jorvik.”

 

“What?” Natasha’s question jarred her. Where would he get such an idea? She had visited Graycote and seen that it was a property not given to excess. The woman had only to scan her plain attire to know she was not the kind of woman who amassed ornaments, costly or otherwise. But all Wanda said was, “Nay.”

 

“Nay?” Natasha raised her eyebrows and then persisted. “ ‘Nay,’ you have no particular liking for amber? ‘Nay,’ you have no coffers? ‘Nay,’ you prefer jewelry of another type? ‘Nay,’ you collect …“

 

“I have no jewelry. Why do you ask these questions?”

 

“All female Omegas of station have jewels, whether they be gifts from a parent, brothers or husband… in your case, husbands.”

 

Wanda sighed. “Natasha, this subject is becoming tiresome. My parents died of the bloody flux in the year of the great cattle disease when I was but eight years old. My cousins have never given me aught but trouble, and that commenced even afore my parents left this world. As to my three husbands… nay, there were no gifts. They considered themselves gift enough.” Finally, when her emotions had calmed down, she concluded, “To tell you the truth, I would rather have a sheep than a bauble.”

 

Natasha threw her head back and laughed. .. which was fine with her. She’d been studying her closely, seeing overmuch, especially the way her eyes kept returning to the special neck ring.

 

Wanda was spared further words on the uncomfortable topic just then as a sweet femenine voice called out, “Natasha!”

 

“Mia …” Natasha quickly turned to where that voice called her name. “Maria!” Natasha rushed behind the tables, dragging Wanda with her toward the jewelry maker, who had been working to the side of the building. With a whoop of delight, she lifted the woman into her embrace with her free arm so her feet dangled above the ground, and she hugged her tightly. It was an indication of Natasha’s great strength that she could do so one-armed, whilst still restraining Wanda at his other side. The woman’s unbound raven wavy brown hair swirled forward, covering both her face and Natasha’s like a frothy nimbus. “Welcome back, Nat.”

 

At first, Wanda thought the woman was sublimely beautiful, a lil tall and fine-boned, with perfectly formed, delicate facial features … until she tossed her brown hair back and turned her face in profile. Then Wanda realized that a long, thin scar spread across the left side of her beautiful face, not enough to be grotesque… just enough to make some hideous point. It was the sign of the harlot, imposed betimes by barbaric communities in the sanctimonious name of morality, often under the direction of clerics.

 

Oh, Wanda held little regard for women of no virtue, but she abhorred the practice, which punished the women but not the men who availed themselves of a harlot’s services.

 

“ Lady Wanda, I would have you meet my business partner, Maria the Jewelry Maker.” Natasha smiled happily as she had lowered the brunette woman to the ground, but still had an arm wrapped around her waist, tucking her close to her side. The woman named Maria placed a hand on Natasha's chest and smiled friendly at her.

 

Maria looked at Wanda with interest, especially at rope that bound her wrist, then up to Natasha in question “This is Wanda the Witch… my captive.” Natasha explained to her.

 

Wanda gave that brute woman a scowl of disgust and told Maria, “My name is Lady Wanda of Graycote.”

 

“My pleasure.” MariaMaria was startled at first by Wanda’s defiant words. Then she laughed gaily and extended a hand in welcome. “Come, you must crave a bath after your journey. I will fire up the stones in the bathhouse. Meanwhile, I am most anxious to hear how you came to be Natasha’s… captive. And a witch, of course.”

 

Natasha undid her ties, seeming to take way too much time touching her wrist and palm and fingers, even her forearm, in the process of untying the tight knots. Everywhere she touched seemed to grow warm and tingly. Then, seemingly unaware of her effect on her, she turned to help the boy by serving some additional customers who had come up since the big Viking had departed. Maria took her arm, about to lead her into the doorway of the longhouse, when Wanda stopped short.

 

She shouldn’t have been surprised. She really shouldn’t have.

 

Standing in the doorway, rubbing sleepily at her eyes, was a small girl of about three or four years. Apparently, she had just risen from her nap.

 

“Mommy …” the little baby girl whined, reaching her outstretched arms up to Maria.

 

"Oooh, my sweet little Seren. Did you just awaken, heartling?” She lifted the little baby girl easily so her face was tucked into her neck and her skinny legs wrapped around her waist.

 

The little girl had long red hair and beautiful green eyes.

 

A mirror-image of Natasha.

 

Wanda swung around to glare at Natasha, who was weighing a customer’s silver on a brass scale in exchange for some purchase. Natasha must have sensed her stare because she turned. At first, she tilted her head in question; then her green eyes took in the scene with Maria, Seren clinging to her mother, and Wanda’s flaming face.

 

As understanding dawned, a slow grin tugged at Natasha’s lips and spread into a wide smile. No shame or apologetic demeanor.

 

Oh that rude redhead Viking was a troll.

 

Wanda felt her heart break a little at this new fact.

 

Natasha has a little baby daughter with that woman.

 

Chapter 14: Maria

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNING! MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER.

Chapter Text

 

“Seren is not Natasha’s child,” Maria informed her all of a sudden.

 

Wanda hadn’t realized that her thoughts were so obvious. She closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Maria had been so nice to her these past three hours, and how did she thank her? By making judgments.

 

Since their arrival, Wanda had bathed, laundered her dirty clothing, which hung wetly from pegs near the central hearth, and was now helping Maria prepare the evening meal, with the assistance of Maida, a servant from Dublin.

 

Although it was barely late afternoon, dusk already enveloped the skies. Having only a few shuttered windows, the long house would have been dark and gloomy save for the dancing shadows from the raging cookfire. The warmth of the flames turned the house cozy and secure against the blustery winds. Winter was, indeed, on its way. In this warm atmosphere, Seren sat at the trestle table playing happily with a set of carved wooden animals from the eastern lands, which Natasha had brought for her. The fanciful creatures had their own gaily painted, compartmented chest.

 

Natasha had bathed hours ago, then gone out to arrange the restocking of her ships with supplies to last her and her men over the winter months. Harley, the young boy who had been serving customers on their arrival, was outside with the guard, Ottar the Strong, closing up the trading stall for the day. Ottar had been advised not to allow Wanda outside the longhouse. If she disobeyed, Natasha gave Ottar permission to bind her to a support beam.

 

Natasha had said she would be back in time for the evening meal but was unsure whether James and Clint would return with her. Just in case, Maria said she would prepare extra food. Maida was chopping leeks and carrots and turnips to add to the cauldron bubbling over the fire, which Wanda was stirring with a long-handled copper ladle. Already, the smell of simmering chunks of venison filled the air, and Wanda’s stomach rumbled with hunger.

 

“Did you hear what I said, Wanda? Seren is not Natasha’s child.” Maria was in the process of taking some wooden trenchers and spoons off a shelf near the hearth, about to set the table.

 

“Yea, I heard.” Wanda had found herself looking involuntarily at the child and noting over and over the remarkable resemblance to her father. For some reason, she didn’t want to examine the exhilaration she felt now over Maria’s words, disclaiming Natasha’s paternity. “I never thought… I mean, it’s none of my affair.”

 

“Yea, you thought,” Maria said with a chuckle. “Everyone does. And, furthermore, I suspect it is very much your affair.”

 

“I have no idea what you mean.” Wanda response with a frown.

 

Maria laughed softly. “Just do not let Natasha charm you into some ecstasy, without the benefit of the marriage vows… assuming you are not already wed…” Then her laugh disappear as she cleared her throat.“Ah, I can see by the indignation on your face that you are not.”

 

“Charm? Natasha has the charm of a bullfrog, as far as I’m concerned. And you must be jesting with me about any ecstasy to be gained from a Alpha’s attention.” Wanda replied awkwardly, hating the blush spreading over her cheeks.

 

“Nay, I am not jesting.” Maria cocked her head in puzzlement. “Do you not find Natasha exceedingly gorgeous? I mean the woman is really interesting and sexy.” Maria raised her eyebrows suggestively and winked at the younger woman.

 

Wanda was about to say nay but chose the route of honesty instead. “Well, not exceedingly gorgeous. She is not charming, though. Leastways, not to me. She tries to prick me into a temper at every turn.”

 

“Yea, she is a charmer, for a certainty.” Maria nodded her head, as if Wanda had agreed with her. “Beware when she stops the teasing and turns the tables suddenly to give you compliments or sweet caresses or soft words.” Maria stopped in the midst of her short walk between the storage shelf and table, and her blue eyes went dreamy with some remembrance. Was she calling to mind Natasha, or Seren’s father?

 

“I am not so porridge-brained as to be taken in by the slick words of a woman like Natasha Romanovdottir”

 

Maria grinned, unconvinced. “Do not be offended by my words of surrendering to the Omega-lust, Wanda. I am a perfect example of how not to handle the pretty words of a Alpha in heat.”

 

“Oh, oh… you have said so many things I do not know where to begin discrediting them. Omega-lust? Hah! There is no such thing. I should know. I have been wedded and widowed three times in the past ten years. When it comes to lust, Alpha's have the sole rights. With their overblown egos, most of them consider Omegas honored just to get a poke from their sorry danglers.”

 

“Danglers?” Maria choked out.

 

“Yea, those appendages that dangle from Alphas in a most ludicrous manner.” Wanda explained, and continued with her tirade. “I’ve yet to meet the Omega who brags that she needs five spouses to satisfy her bed needs, as that Alpha Viking lord did outside earlier.”

 

Maria laughed. “Ah, you have much to learn, my lady. Much. Methinks you are in for a sorry awakening if the right Alpha comes along. Pray God it is not Natasha, because there is no future there, I fear.”

 

“I have no need of Natasha or any other male or female Alpha.” Wanda asserted stormily. “Why are Omegas so weak that they feel the necessity for an Alpha in their lives to give them strength?”

 

Maria’s blue eyes went wide before she set the trenchers on the table. “Mayhap you are right,” she admitted shakily, putting the fingertips of one hand to her disfigured cheek, then glancing over to her daughter, who was still playing with her wooden animals. All laughter was gone now. “I stand as physical testimony to where Omega heat can lead a weak Omega.”

 

‘Oh!, Bloody Hell! now what i said.’ Wanda was embarrassed by her hurtful and reckless words.

 

The sad expression on Maria’s face shamed Wanda. Putting the ladle aside, Wanda went to Maria and laid a hand on her forearm. “Forgive me if I gave insult. It is not my place to judge anyone. In truth, I have been speaking my mind, unbridled, from an early age, living as I did with the two biggest lackwits in all Britain. It mattered not how many times they whipped me for my impertinence. I always thought I knew best.” She shrugged, with a wry grin. “I still do.”

 

Maria smiled weakly and gasped. “I am deserving of judgment, though. You see, I was married at the time. Seren is the result of an adulterous affair.”

 

With that, Wanda tried to contain her surprise. For herself, she could never understand an Omega willingly parting her legs for bedsport, but she knew there were Omegas of little virtue who did such to attain some goal, whether it be coin or status or marriage. Maria seemed to fit none of those categories.

“My husband, Arnaud, was a cruel man, subject to unreasonable bouts of temper at the least provocation. Even though he was a merchant in Frankland with much property, he made me continue to work at my jewelry craft, even after we were wed. He was so tightfisted with his coin that his household nigh starved to death for lack of food.”

 

That didn't sound so different from her Cousins. Or other Alphas of higher station who treated their Omegas or Betas as mere chattel.

 

"I was so lonely. Oh, I know that smacks of a poor excuse for breaking the Lord's commandment, but Dagny was a Northwoman of such merry temperament that she melted my foolish young heart with a single smile."

 

That sounded way too close a description of another female Viking with a roguish disposition.

 

"And where did you get the opportunity to meet this Viking? Did she come to your keep in Frankland or your husband's trading stall?"

 

Maria shook her head. "Arnaud had taken me to Rouen for the christening ceremony of the new Duke of Normandy's first son, assuming there would be numerous business opportunities there. As you know, the North Alphas have been in control of Normandy for many years now, starting with Hrolf, the first duke. Dagny was a mercenary in the employ of the visiting King Haakon from Norway."

 

"Natasha's uncle, Haakon the Good?" Wanda asked and Maria nodded.

 

"Was it a momentary... uh, lapse with this Viking? Or something more?"

 

Maria smiled sadly. "Something more... leastways, on my part. I could not have committed adultery lest I loved the Alpha... or thought I did."

 

"And Dagny?"

 

Maria rolled her shoulders with reservation. "I know not. She professed to have deep feelings for me, but that may have been the bedlust speaking. All I know is that I was happier with her those few days than ever I have been before or after."

 

 “Did your husband find the two of you together?"

 

"Nay, but he suspicioned that something was amiss. Mayhap it was a long look that passed betwixt us in the great hall. Or mayhap some talk amongst the servants. In any case, one day he announced without warning that we were leaving for home, despite riches to be gained whilst trading with all the dignitaries."

 

"And you never had a chance to speak with Dagny again?"

 

Maria shook her head sadly. “Nay.”

 

"Does she know that she has a daughter?"

 

"I am not certain. Nay, I think not." Maria exhaled wearily. "Perchance I delude myself. She may know and not care. She never searched me out. Yea, deep inside, I suspect her professions of love were mere words."

 

Hearing Maria’s experiences, brokes her heart into pieces. Wanda put a gentle hand to Maria's marked cheek. "And this?"

 

"Ah, this," Maria said with a mournful sigh, touching the same spot that Wanda had. "At first, Arnaud was jubilant over my pregnancy. He treated me almost lovingly, and I was overcome with such a soul-deep remorse that I had betrayed him so. Mayhap Arnaud's ill-treatment all those years was my fault. If I had given him a child. If I had been a better wife—" Tears of pain began to flow from those blue eyes.

 

"Maria, stop... stop this instant. Do not try to excuse your husband's brutality by taking on the burden of guilt."

 

"To make a long story not quite so long," Maria continued, drying her tear with shaking hand. "the proof of paternity was evident the moment Seren came crying from the womb. Her red hair and green eyes were giveaways, considering that Arnaud and I share the same black hair and blue eyes."

 

"Would he not forgive your... indiscretion?" Wanda whispered.

 

"Forgive?” Maria sneered bitterly. 'Twas Arnaud who dragged me by the hair from the birthing sheets, down the manor steps, to the chapel, where he pronounced my crime afore the priest and all our churls. The villagers were invited to toss the first stones, and in the end 'twas Arnaud himself who inflict this mark on my cheek."

 

"Oh, Maria," Wanda lamented, taking the weeping woman into her arms.

 

Maria soon calmed down and concluded her story. "After several weeks of care in the hut of a forest midwife, who took pity on me, I made my way with Seren to Rouen. But, of course, by then all the festivities had ended, and the guests long departed. It was there that I met Natasha, who took pity on me and brought me to Hedeby. She claimed to be in dire need of a jewelry maker to sell her products here, but I suspect I was such a pitiful sight she could not help herself."

 

Wanda gave her a disbelieving look. She did not want to contemplate what this said about Natasha. She was a troll. She had to remember that. Where was her concern for her plight?

 

 "So, now you are in reduced straits here, stranded in a Norse trading town?"

 

“Nay.” Maria laughed gaily at that. "Nay, I am a woman who has survived a horrible marriage and vicious punishment. Now I am self-sufficient. Natasha allows me a portion of her profits, and they are ample. I am a wealthy woman, dependent on no Alpha. And, best of all, I have my most beloved daughter with me."

 

Wanda thought about that for a moment. "I must confess, I envy you."

 

"Me?" Maria backed away slightly, as if Wanda had become unbalanced.

 

Wanda admitted shyly. "Yea, I do. I really do, Maria. All my life I have yearned just to be left in peace. I raise the best sheep in all Northumbria. Truly, I do. My weavers produce the finest wool under my direction ... soft as silk. I could easily support myself... I do now, without my Cousins' knowledge. But an Omega has no power in my country, or any other. Whatever wealth I gain belongs to my Cousins, or my husband when I am wed. Whatever improvements I make to my estates benefit them, not me. They can sell it all right under me. In fact, they can sell me, as well. And they do... over and over." It was Maria's turn to hug Wanda.

 

 "You will think me barmy when I tell you of the fantasy I have harbored of late," Wanda said. "I have been wondering if perchance God sent Natasha to rescue me from my Cousins."

 

Instead of laughing, Maria gave Wanda's idea serious thought. Tapping her pressed lips with a forefinger, she pondered her words. "But Natasha says she will deliver you to King Aksel and be done with you."

 

“Does that fit the character of a Woman who would rescue a stranger and her child?"

 

"Do not put too much credence in that seeming generosity. I am a trained craftswoman, and she was in need of just such a worker at the time. Also, she had a passing acquaintance with Dagny, and felt somewhat responsible for the orphaning of a Norse child... even one not of her blood."

 

“Well, actually, she might not be all that softhearted as I would like," Wanda conceded, and related the story of Natasha's refusal to intervene with the slave girl earlier that day.

 

Maria made a clucking noise of dismay, but all she said was, "It is a hard life for Omegas like us."

 

 With spirits dampened, Wanda reflected on her fate. "Dost thou really believe Natasha will abandon me to possible death in Aksel's court? All for the sake of a horse and a slave girl?"

 

"A horse and a slave girl?" Maria frowned with confusion at Wanda.

 

“Well …” Wanda explained the reasons Natasha had undertaken this quest to capture a witch for King Aksel.

 

“Ah, you do not know the real reason Natasha captured you?"

 

"The real reason?" Wanda shook her head dumbly.

 

Maria gave her a confident smile and said. "Aksel is holding as friendly hostage the healer, Peter of Norway. Peter is the adopted son of his half-sister Pepper and his brother-by-marriage, Tony... a man who fought side by side with Alexei in the battle many years past with Ivar the Terrible that eventually led to his death. The family connections are complicated, but the heart-bonds are not."

 

Oh god, she had been terrible to judge Natasha. Wanda put a hand to her forehead in puzzlement. "So, Natasha had no choice?"

 

“She had a choice. Peter is in no real peril. Aksel wouldn't risk enraging so many North Alphas in high places by harming Peter, but neither will Aksel release him till his malady is cured."

 

"Well, why didn't the troll just tell me all this?" Wanda asked confusing, searching answers in Maria.

 

 “Oh, well …” Maria waved a hand with dismissal. "Natasha is a woman with secrets. And women like she do not deign to share their plans with others."

 

 “But she told you," Wanda argued.

 

 "Only because I badgered her to justify her conduct. And, actually, 'twas Clint who filled in most of the picture."

 

 “So, dost thou think there is any chance of Natasha being my guardian Viking …"

 

 “Guardian Viking?" Maria choked out a laugh, covering her mouth with a hand. Her blue eyes blazed with amusement.

 

"—sent by God to champion my cause against my Cousins?" Even Wanda had to smile at how foolish her words sounded.

 

Maria shrugged and laughed softly. "Who can say? Who can say? I do not believe Natasha will release you and jeopardize Peter. But mayhap God has a finger in this porridge. Yea, in reflecting on it, I am beginning to suspect you will play a pivotal role in the unraveling of this mess."

 

"But there is the chance that Natasha will sacrifice me for Peter... that she will leave Trondelag with Peter, and me behind to handle my fate with my own devices, such as they are."

 

"Yea, there is that chance." Maria studied her for a moment. "Do you have... devices?"

 

Wanda laughed at that. So, even Maria was not altogether sure she was not a witch. "There are devices and there are devices," she answered enigmatically. Suddenly, a marvelous plan occurred to Wanda.

 

Stepping away from her newfound friend, she paced back and forth along the hearth. "Is it possible," she asked Maria, "that Natasha might be convinced to set me up in business?"

 

 "Hah! And what business might that be?" Bucky asked, coming through the doorway, bringing a gust of frosty wind with him. So tall was he that the roof beams of the low ceiling grazed his head. "The witch business?"

 

Wanda glared at Bucky. Then, slowly, she let a slow grin slip across her lips. Her eyes dropped deliberately to the region of his precious alpha parts and, surreptitiously, so no one else would notice, she waggled her fingers. 

 

"Did you see that? Did you see that?" Bucky raged. "The witch just put a spell on me." Maria just rolled her eyes at Bucky’s dramatic exhibition.

 

Natasha, who came in behind him, looked from Bucky with q frown, who was peering inside his braies, to her, and back again, then shrugged, seeing nothing amiss. "As to businesses, you'd best not be thinking I'd get involved with sheep, My lady Witch," Natasha remarked to her as she proceeded to the hearth fire, where she rubbed her hands briskly over the flames... and winked at a giggling Maida—the lecherous dirty woman. "I had more than enough of those smelly creatures on the journey from Graycote to Jorvik."

 

"My sheep do not smell," Wanda said indignantly and brushed her gown aside with repugnance when Natasha stepped too close to her, giving her one of those lascivious I-can-see-you-naked looks.

 

An smiling Clint was the last to come in, along with Ottar and Harley, who washed their hands in a bucket on a bench near the door. "I have a thought for a new saga," Clint announced melodiously. Everyone rolled their eyes, but not so the blond guy could see. "How Natasha the Raven Came to Be a Sheep Herder."

Chapter 15: Logi

Chapter Text


 

Hours later ...

 

Natasha prepared to slip into her bed furs, where the Lady Wanda awaited her.

 

Well, “awaited” was not precisely the correct word.

 

Natasha could practically hear the grinding of her teeth from halfway across the room.

 

Despite her softening toward Wanda in some regards, considering that she had tried to poison her with one of her potions, Natasha did not trust her any farther than she could see her. As a result, she’d informed her an hour past that she would share her bed furs or be trussed up against one of the roof support beams, where she would, no doubt, turn into an icicle once the hearth fires died down—a uniquely speckled icicle, at that.

 

She’d raged, nagged, cajoled, then raged again, to no avail.

 

Finally, Bucky and Clint had gone out. Bucky and some other fellow warriors griping mightily, to seek quieter sleep companions—well, mayhap not so quiet… most alphas, and they were no exception, relished a woman who was vocal in her bed-pleasures. And Viking alphas were known for their abilities to give Omegas bed-pleasures. In any case, Bucky and Clint had contended that they would be unable to rest in this longhouse with their ears ringing from Wanda’s screeching voice.


Of course, Bucky had no choice but to depart anyway since Maria had slapped him face, not once, but twice, for suggesting she engage in some perverse activity with him. Natasha shot him a dagger look as she murmured low and dangerously. “I'm going to murder you, whoreson.” She appreciates Maria very much and she wouldn't let anyone treat her that way, not even Bucky.

 

Then, too, when Wanda thought no one was looking, she had taken to waggling her fingers in the oddest way at Bucky’s crotch, which made Bucky turn nigh green in the face.

 

Natasha thought she might go mad before she ever reached Trondelag.

 

Now Ottar and Harley snored lustily at the far end of the long house, near the front door. Maria had long since gone to her bench bed on the other side of the raised hearth with Seren, who was exhausted by an hour of wrestling on the rush-covered floors with Natasha and Clint. Holy Thor, how the straw had flown!

 

Maria had just smiled at their rough antics. But Wanda had tsk-ed and tsk-ed, calling them all “naught but little childs” themselves… to which she and Bucky and Clint had grinned in agreement, and crossed their eyes at her… which just made Wanda tsk some more.

 

Now she banked the hearth fire and yawned, open-mouthed, as she approached her bed furs on the other side of the hearth, where Wanda lay on her back with the skins pulled up to her chin. Natasha suddenly realized how bone-weary she was. It had been a very long day. Good thing she had not succumbed to Bucky’s exhortation that she accompany them to a bawdy house. Natasha doubted she would be up to the bedsport tonight.

 

With another robust yawn, she began to remove her clothing. First, she hopped about on one foot, then another, as she unlaced her cross-gartered ankle boots. Natasha thought she heard Wanda make a teeth-sucking noise of disgust at the ruckus she was making. No one else seemed to notice, though, apparently being fast asleep.

 

Wanda’s disapproval annoyed her, along with her constant complaints all the evening long… in fact, these past two sennights. What kind of captive was she that she felt free to berate her captors? What did that say about her as the captor?

 

Natasha would turn the tables on her, she decided. She would undress in front of her, slowly, and imprint an image on her brain of her, naked, just as she had of her. That would show her. Natasha hoped as a shity smile appeared on her lips.

 

But the witch defeated her by keeping her eyes scrunched tight. Natasha was fairly certain she did not see her naked form—which was magnificent, if she did say so herself—because she watched her closely. She did not once blink or peek.

 

That annoyed Natasha, too.

 

With a muttered curse, she slipped into the furs beside Wanda. She squealed with outrage, unable to maintain her cool composure. Mayhap she had seen her after all, and was now swoony with concern over the size of her … form. Some Omegas were missish in that regard, not realizing that the Omega body was made to accommodate any… form.

 

“Your toes are cold, you brute. Don’t touch me. Move your feet.” Wanda hissed and tensed at the contact. 

 

Well, mayhap not so swoony… or missish.

 

Wanda waggled her bare toes against her bare toes, and she experienced the shock of it all the way to the top of her scalp, the ends of her fingers and the very tip of her bulge. The last time she’d felt such an immediate jolt was when Clint, who weighed as much as a midsize horse, had stepped on her big toe. Blessed Freyja! Natasha had seen stars then. But that had been different. This shock was painful, too, but in a most delicious way. Who would have thought toes could be such an erotic body part?

 

“Stop squirming,” Natasha grumbled, trying to make  herself comfortable, “lest you arouse me.” That last disclosure was an impulsive inspiration, for which she congratulated herself.

 

She stilled immediately. “You lecherous woman! Are you naked?”

 

“Of course I’m naked. ‘Tis how most mortal viking women, and men, sleep. Aren’t you?” Natasha grinned and reached out a hand to check, and encountered her underchemise. Helvtis, she thought, though why she should care, she could not say. Damn, damn, damn.

 

“No, I’m not naked,” Wanda with wide eyes open snapped, slapping Natasha’s hand away. She rolled over to her side and turned to face the wall, taking most of the bed furs with her.

 

Natasha couldn’t help but grinned and pulled her half of the bed furs back. Then, risking bodily damage, she nestled against her, spoon-fashion. Lady Wanda had no place to go. Thank the gods!

 

“Stop pressing your knee into my backside.” Wanda ordered in an icy voice, which, no doubt, had a chilling effect on her sheep. But none whatsoever on her.


Natasha chuckled. “My knee is nowhere near your rump,” she told her. And it wasn’t.

 

When understanding dawned, she bolted up into a sitting position and tried to flee the bed furs. “You loathsome wretch!”

 

“Shhhh,” Natasha cautioned, pushing her down so she lay on her back. “You’ll wake everyone.” With that, Natasha rolled over onto her side and threw one leg over her thighs and an arm across her chest, thus imprisoning her.

 

But what she accomplished, instead, was a soul-searing blow to her senses. With her legs, through her night rail, Natasha perceived the shapeliness of her thighs, causing the very hairs to stand up on her legs, and everywhere else. Under her forearm, Wanda’s nipple breast budded, begging for her touch. Oh sweet Freyja! The witch felt so damn good in her arms that the very breath seemed to stop in her lungs, and her heart skipped a beat.

 

Wanda gasped, as if equally affected, and stopped struggling. She could feel Natasha's firm, bulging breasts pressed against her arm. Oh, merciful lord!! This can't be happening to her.

 

With a groan, Natasha nuzzled her rose-scented hair, then her ear and whispered, “You should stop using Betty’s hair ointment.” The faint scent pheromones mixed with the scent of roses sent delicious shivers down her spine. 

 

“Why?” Wanda whispered back.heer voice shook a little when she spoke. Her nervousness grew and grew as she felt Natasha's body heat brush against her.

 

Natasha felt Wanda’s breath against her cheek as she turned to speak to her. It was warm and fresh and dangerously enticing. “Mmm, because I like it too much,” she answered with a low hum. She bit her lip to avoid purring loudly.

 

That gave her pause. The lady would not like her liking anything about her… not her naked body, not the smell of her hair, not her sweet pheromones, not her sweet breath and definitely not the imprint of her nipple on her flesh.

 

I am doomed, Natasha thought. The witch has ensorcelled me with her spells. And I do not care. All I care about is— “All you care about is your lustful impulses,” Wanda charged, trying to shift out of Natasha’s embrace. This is bad. She cannot succumb to the charms of this lustful woman. “You are just like every other alpha, thinking only of yourself.”

 

“Oh my lady.” Natasha let out a soft laugh  “I am like no other alpha.” she assured her, tightening her arm and leg across her.

 

Wanda response with firm voice.  “If I lie still, will you leave me alone?” Smart girl! Knows when to fight and when to negotiate. “Mayhap.” Natasha nodded and grinned.

 

“I would like to offer you a bargain… one that could be very lucrative for you.” Suddenly Natasha's closeness became too overwhelming for her.

 

Natasha’s mind went suddenly alert. What was she up to now? “Lucrative in what way? I have more than enough wealth.” She frowned, wondering what this girl planned to do next.

 

Wanda scoffed.  “Nobody has too much wealth.”

 

“I do.” Natasha smiled in amusement.

 

“Nay, you do not,” Wanda argued and Natasha argued. “Make your damn offer and be done with this foolishness. But know that if it involves your release and an exchange of money, I am not interested.” 

 


"Loosen your hold on me first. I’m suffocating.” Wanda made a nasty choking sound.

 


This time it was Natasha's turn to scoff. "I'm not on top of you. You do not bear my weight. And my arm and leg are only resting lightly on you. How can you be suffocating?"

 

The red blush on Wanda's cheeks only intensified.  "Your nearness suffocates me." Ah, so she was aware of this strange connection betwixt them. She couldn't quite explain it. It was more than a spark, but less than a flame. Was her body making ready for the bedsport, even as her stubborn mind resisted? Natasha did have that effect on Omega women betimes. She smiled widely with satisfaction.

 

"Stop smiling," Wanda chastised.

 

Natasha asked innocently. "How can you tell I'm smiling?" The room was dark, but not totally black due to the brightness cast by the banked fire.

 

 "I sensed it."

 

"You sensed a smile?"

 

 

Wanda exclaimed, tensed even more.  "Aaarrgh! Let us get back to the subject at hand. I will not ask that you release me now ..."

 

“Good thing," Natasha interrupted. “because I would not."

 

Wanda ignored Natasha’s comments and added.  "… not this instant, I mean. I know that you are honor bound to deliver me to King Aksel's court. Your nephew Peter's safety is important to you, and …”

 

Natasha tensed and demanded.  “Peter?! Who told you about Peter? That god Loki must be stirring trouble again in the form of a certain someone who has a loose tongue in my company."

 

Wanda just denied and continued. "It does not matter how I found out. The important thing is that you deliver me to King Aksel's court, and that you offer me your protection there. Most significant, you will promise to return me to my home at Graycote... let us say, by Christmas."

 

“Ha!” Natasha grinned as snorted loudly  "Let us say... not in my bloody lifetime."

 

"Now, do not be hasty. Do you not want to know my terms?"

 

"Nay."

 

Natasha thought she said something foul in an undertone before speaking aloud. "I can give you three hundred marks of silver, if you will agree to my safe return to Northumbria." Wanda declared in a strong and determined voice.

 

 Natasha wondered how she was able to lay her hands on that considerable sum, but  she'd been truthful in telling her she had wealth enough. "You would ransom yourself?"

 

 

"No one else will."

 

Any other girl would moan and bewail her misfortune in making that statement, but not Wanda. She just brushed it off as a fact of her life. Natasha did not want to admire the shrew, but sometimes she could not help herself.

 

"Well?" 

 

Natasha laughed at her persistence. 'Twould not be worth the aggravation."

 

"Aggra-aggravation," Wanda sputtered.

 

Natasha  rather enjoyed making her sputter.

 

 “Five hundred marks, then."

 

Now that surprised her. "Wanda, how in the name of your holy saints would you obtain five hundred marks to give me?" Natasha asked, trying to reason with this young girl.

 

"You do not need to know the how of it. But if you must know, sheep." Wanda murmured.

 

"Sheep!” Natasha repeated drolly. "Your familiars would bring the coin here?"

 

"Familiars? Blessed Lord! You can't be that lackwitted. I have many folds of sheep... just animals. Nothing magical about them, except the fine fabrics to be gleaned from their fur."

 

"There is that much to be gained from those smelly beasts?"

 

 "My sheep do not smell, I tell you." If she'd been standing up, she would have stamped her foot, Natasha would warrant.

 

"I don't want money from you," Natasha said.

 

"Well, what do you want from me?" Wanda asked, willing to pay whatever was necessary for her safety and freedom, except ... Oh no! The lustful smile on Natasha's face made her regret saying that.

 

Oh, she should not have asked that. She really should not have. "Let's make love.” Natasha blurted out in a voice that sounded husky, even to her own ears.

 

This red-haired woman is crazy.  Wanda inhaled sharply with shock, then scoffed, "That is lust speaking."

 

“Uh huh.” Natasha murmured, inhaling deeply more sweet pheromones.  "Yea."

 

Wanda spoke in disgust.  "Really, what is it about lecherous Alphas and sex? Three minutes of bouncing atop an Omega—one minute of which is spent in trying to get the wick to stand up properly—and they're hi a swoon."

 

"Three... three minutes?" Natasha sputtered. "Oh, Wanda, you have been cheated." Natasha now understands a lot about Wanda. It must be really difficult for someone like this girl not to have experienced the pleasures of the flesh.

 

Wanda rolled her eyes.  "Humph! That's another thing about alphas. They always deem themselves better than all others in the bedsport. Well, let me tell you, if they think to impress Omegas with such boasts, they are sorely mistaken. All Omegas do not care one whit about the size of the wick, or how long it can burn."

 

“Do not cast me in the same mold as all other male or female Alphas, my lady. As to wicks, I am more like a whole candle.” Natasha grinned and lick her lips before add. “ And I assure you, I can burn for a looong time. I can show you if you want.”

 

"Talk, talk, talk." Wanda repeated humorlessly.

 

"You know what they say, don't you? It's not the size of the stick, but the magic in the wand. Luckily, we Vikings have the size and the magic. We were blessed for Freyja itself.” Natasha replied, feeling very flattered by the gifts the goddess mother gave her.

 

“Oh, really! Wicks, sticks, wands, it matters not to me. I am not impressed, or moved to any great rapture." 

 

“Well, you keep on talking like that and you may find more than you wagered for."

 

 “You wouldst take me without my free consent?"

 

"Nay, I would arouse you till you begged for my... wick."

 

 “If you are so desperate for a Omega, why didn't you go with Bucky and the others?"

 

"Desperate would be too strong a word. It's been more than a sennight since I have lain betwixt an Omega's thighs, and … "

 

Wanda’s body went rigid with alertness. "A sennight? How could that be? You have been nigh plastered to my side every minute of every blessed day for two sennights now. The only time you were out of my sight was the afternoon I went to Angie’s's house in Jorvik to bathe... " Her tirade dwindled off as realization struck. Then she punched Natasha in the arm. "The afternoon? You rutted with a woman in daylight? You are a dirty soul."

 

Natasha had to laugh at that bit of ignorance on her part about the mating habits of Alphas and Omegas. "So, do you want to make love or not?"

 

The only answer she got was a grinding sound, like the gnashing of teeth, which she took to be a refusal. " 'Tis just that my body is tense and restless. I doubt me I will be able to fall asleep. So, I thought ..."

 

“ … you thought to poke at me, to relieve your boredom." Wanda contemptuous tone didn't bode well for her prospects. "What am I? A receptacle for your seed? I... think... not!"

 

"You would enjoy the poking, this I guarantee. All Omegas enjoy the feeling of hot seed."

 

"Ew!! ... Oh, I swear, you have conceit enough for a multitude!"

 

'Tis not conceit. 'Tis a fact. I know... secrets." Natasha would have waggled her eyebrows at her, but she misdoubted she would be able to see them.

 

“Secrets?" Wanda burst out with a light, ripply laugh. "Is it just you who has these secrets, or all Northmen?"

 

"Well, I cannot speak for every Viking. But, yea, 'tis said all have the knack. I merely polished it to perfection." Natasha murmured.

 

This time Wanda didn't even try to hold back her laughter. "Have a caution, Viking woman. Keep your knack on your side of the furs, or you may find your knack taking a right turn... but not from any witchly spell. 'Twill be from a knock with my fist."

 

This Witch has a wild side, huh? Natasha likes that. "A knack-knock? I like it when you talk fierce to me. My knack does, too."

 

Suddenly Wanda exclaimed. “Oh, this is the most ridiculous conversation I've ever had in all my life." 

 

"You started it, my lady." Natasha response immediately.

 

"I did not.” Wanda declared indignantly. Then, "Did I?"


"You did."  Natasha misremembered whether she had or hadn't, but that mattered neither here nor there. It was always good policy to make a girl feel guilty. They did all kinds of delicious things to make amends.

 

"Are you seriously saying that you would agree to my terms if I would agree to rut with you?"

 

Rut? Natasha cringed at her vulgar word. She did not expect to hear vulgar words in the mouth of this woman. "Nay, I am agreeing to nothing. I merely answered your question."

 

"What question?"

 

 "You asked what I wanted from you, and I said the first thing that popped into my head."

 

"Well, pop this into your head, my Lady Lech. I will not, now or ever, make love with you. Not for coin. Not for lust. Not for any reason whatsoever." Wanda hissed, keeping the furs like a shield against her body.

 

Natasha grinned. "Is that your final word?"

 

"Nay, these are my final words... " Wanda denied, feeling very angry. Natasha waited expectantly staring straight at Wanda's poorly lit face.

 

 “... you are a troll."

 

Natasha agreed with that while she giggling. “Yea, I am. Else why would I be considering what I am considering? 'Tis foolhardy. 'Tis a mistake in the making. 'Tis like jumping off a cliff into a stormy sea.

 

Tis bloody damn tempting.

 

Wanda’s lips were a hairsbreadth away from her close enough for a kiss. Her wick knack took particular note of that fact, too, and she had to clench her fists to keep from grabbing for her. Best she change the subject, with all haste. Natasha  forced herself to yawn widely. "Well, best we get some sleep. I would like for us to be on our way afore midday."

 

"Can't we stay at least another day?" Wanda asked, hope seeping into her voice. She doesn't want to leave Hedeby and face her uncertain fate.

 

Natasha shook her head. "Nay. The rowing will be hard as it is for my seamen, especially if there is ice on the oars. Winter is truly on the horizon. I can tell by the ache in my leg tonight. When my battle scar throbs, that usually portends cold weather. Methinks there may even be frost on the bracken come morn."

 

 "Would that be the leg that has moved into forbidden territory?" Wanda asked waspishly.

 

 Natasha groaned inwardly. She hadn't realized that her knee had moved instinctively upwards. But what a feckless maid she was to call her attention to the fact. Now, if she moved it, she would appear guilty. But if she did not move it, she would not be able to stop thinking about the heat that seemed to emanate from her there. Controlling her lustful thoughts, Natasha chose the latter course. "That would be the leg," Natasha admitted. "And best you watch your tart tongue, my lady, or you may provoke other of my body parts to move into other of your forbidden territories."


"Your crudity knows no bounds." Wanda tried, unsuccessfully, to squirm out of her grasp. "Only you would find a way to bring a discussion of the weather back to... to... "

 

Natasha smiled widely as completed that sentence. “Sex?" Oh, that was very intelligent of me. Bring back the unwanted subject.

 

Wanda responded quickly. “Yea, sex, you bloody fool. Sex, sex, sex, that's everything you think about uh? …. Mention plowing, you think of sex. Mention weaving, you think of sex. Mention horse riding, you think of sex. Mention sheep, you think of sex …”


Natasha couldn't resist and laughed so hard then that she began to choke. "Sheep? Sheep?" She sputtered. "Oh, Wanda, you are unbelievable."

 

Wanda frowned.  "Don't think that I don't know what you're thinking!"

 

“Oh, there are a goodly number of thinks in there," she quipped. "I'd best think about that for a while."

 

Wanda slapped at Natasha’s chest in remonstrance. "You are thinking that I may be mud ugly omega in the daylight with my wild hair and freckles and other uncomely attributes, but in the dark, one omega is the same as any other."

 

"You have me all figured out, do you?"

 

“Yea, I do. 'Tis just as Jack and Brock used to say when they came home late, after a night of wenching. It matters not the beauty of the sky when you are plowing a field." Wanda's stomach turned when she remembered the unpleasant night talks between Jack and Brock.

 

“We Vikings have a similar saying," Natasha said as she nodded. "mo er all katterd." Then she paused for only a moment before translating with a laugh, "All cats are gray in the dark."

 

Wanda punched her. Which was a mistake, because Natasha laughed even harder.

 

Then she made the biggest mistake of all. She shifted abruptly to confront Natasha, thus causing her breasts and upper legs to abrade redhead’s forearm and thighs, but, most alarming, putting her lips within kissing distance of her. And if there was one thing she relished in the lovesport more than any other, it was kissing. Long and deep, short and soft, demanding and persuasive, wet and dry. Good kissing was almost equal to good sex. Not quite, but almost.


So, without considering the consequences, Natasha put a hand to Wanda’s nape and drew her to her. Wanda’s lips parted with surprise, and Natasha took advantage by slanting her mouth over hers in a perfect fit, with her lips forced to remain open. Holy Goddess Freya!

 

With the heart pounding furiously inside her chest, Natasha proceeded to show this young lady, well and true, that all Alpha were not alike.

Chapter 16: Kyssa

Notes:

the journey continues!

Chapter Text

 

 

So ...

This is a kiss.

 

  Hmmm ...

 

  Ummmmm ...

 

Natasha had caught Wanda's unawares, lips parted, about to protest, when first she pulled her to her. Now the gentle pressure of her puffy lips forced hers to remain open for her plundering. Shifting and shaping, she plied an age-old expertise till she won her pliancy.

 

Then Natasha started over again.

 

To Wanda 

 

It should have been embarrassing, but it was not.

 

It should have been an assault, but it was not.

 

It should have been repulsive, but—oh, sweet Virgin Mary! it was not.

 

By the time Wanda realized that she lay quiescent, surrendering to the seduction of Natasha's kiss, it was too late. Her curiosity was aroused, her senses enflamed. She wanted to taste more.

 

A kiss is like an exploration, she marveled. Two passionate woman. Alpha and Omega. And of oneself.

 

And it is a dance. Wanda smiled inwardly at such uncharacteristic whimsy on her part. But truly it was a dance, a lyrical movement of the body set to the music of the senses. An erotic play of slow rhythms and subtle nuances.

 

Wanda wanted to know more.

 

There was a clean, musky fragrance on Natasha' skin, Alpha's pheromones emanating and contrasting with the lingering scent of the animal furs and the wood fire. For her, Natasha's breath tasted of honeyed mead.

 

But, nay, it was madness to continue on this path. Wanda should push Natasha away now. Stop this insanity before the lout deemed her smitten with her ... which she was not. It was the kiss that held her in thrall, of course, not the redhead. Instead of resisting, Wanda dug her fingers into hee shoulders and lay back to give Natasha easier access.

 

Natasha' body stilled. Then she murmured one word and one word only against her lips: "Wanda." There was wonder in her voice, and surprise, and raw, frightening promise.

 

Wanda feel a nice tingling betwixt her tights. Oh! Blessed St. Jude, patron of hopeless cases, come to my aid. I fear I am becoming the most hopeless case of all.

 

Leaning over Wanda, Natasha placed one hand to her throat to hold her in place, with her thumb resting on the pulse spot on her neck. Could she feel the thundering of her heart? The roaring of her blood?

 

Natasha's kiss changed then, reclaiming hers with a shocking hunger. Before Wanda had a chance to register the significcontinueance of this switch and realize that now might be the time to call a halt to this risky game, Natasha forced Wanda's lips wider with her own, and her tongue pushed slowly and deeply into her mouth. Stunned, Wanda allowed her this invasion. Natasha's tongue withdrew, then plunged again. Then she noticed that loves the way Natasha's naked body pressed against her. Oh! Holy Trinity!

 

Tongue kissing, of which Wanda had heard but never quite believed, was deliciously revolting, she decided. The slickness in her mouth, whether hers or her, she could not tell, to her horror, should be distasteful. The rhythmic thrust and parry of Natasha's tongue should have caused her outrage. The command of her puffy lips that Wanda respond should have caused her consternation. But, oh, what a traitor her body proved to be! Her breasts peaked into hard points and ached with the need for... something, a caress, a squeez. Wanda hummed when the heat curled into a strange knot at the pit of her stomach. In that secret place between her legs the tingling become a throb, clenching in slow, progressively stronger counterpoint to the cadence of Natasha tongue's sheathing and unsheathing.

 

Just when Wanda was starting to discover the intricate steps of the tongue sport, Natasha broke the kiss and whispered against her ear, "Did you like that kind of kiss, witchling? Uh? Now imagine my mouth kissing that hot sweet part between your thighs ..."

 

Wanda tensed, she couldn't have answered if her life depended on it, so mortified was she at Natasha guessing her appreciation; so she did something even worse. She moaned. "Mmmfff."

 

To her amazement, Natasha didn't laugh, or make some biting remark about lustful widows. What Natasha did was moan back at her—a low, sexy rumble of pure arousal. Wanda ducked her head against redhead's shoulder to hide her shame.

 

"Do not hide from me, beautiful creature." Natasha tipped her face back up with a forefinger under her chin. The she leave a soft smooch at the corner of Wanda's mouth. " Your eagerness excites me."

 

Before Wanda could deny Natasha's ludicrous claim, she saw those wild red curls descending. This time redhead's kiss was a gentle act of controlled aggression. Natasha nipped her bottom lip with her front teeth and tugged lightly. Natasha showed her with soft, sexual words of encouragement how to glide Wanda own tongue into her mouth, and how to draw on hee tongue when Natasha entered hers. Natasha angled Wanda's head and settled her mouth over hers again, murmuring, "'Tis time to get down to the serious business of kissing."

 

God's teeth! What had they been doing thus far, if not the serious business of kissing?" Wanda blushed, feeling a rush of excitement wash her body.

 

Natasha was rapacious then. Her mouth closed on hers again and again, entreating, claiming, playing, persuading. Her molding, unending kiss changed patterns like rain in a summer storm, alternately rough and tender, harsh and wonderful.

 

Wanda feels her breath caught in her throat, then came out in a thready exhalation. Natasha's breath was a hot, ragged reminder that she was dominant and dangerous. Wanda never knew a kiss could be so many things.

 

 Natasha tore her mouth from hers and pressed her forehead against Wanda's, panting . "I want to make love with you," he said in a thickened voice. "Feel your body pressed against mine. Make your moans mine. I want to be inside you. Give you all the pleasure that you deserve." At that moment Wanda's feel like her heat are taking over. Natasha's pheromones flows straight into her lungs.

 

 Who knew what she might have replied if St. Jude hadn't come to her aid then in the form of the most unlikely angel: James "Bucky" Barnesson.

 

Water was dripping down on Wanda's face.

 

At first Wanda thought it was a leak in the roof where rainfall might have started while her attention had been diverted elsewhere. But, nay, the droplets were coming off Natasha's red curls because of the holy water Bucky was drizzling from above.

 

"Have you lost your bloody mind?!!!" Natasha shouted as she reared up, off of her and out of the furs. "You bloody whoreson! How dare you!!!"

 

The loudness of Natasha's voice awakened Maria, Ottar and Harley. Maria lit a soapstone lamp and Ottar rushed forth with raised sword, not knowing if there was an intruder.

 

Bucky was raising a fist, as well as his voice, as he berated his friend. "But I saw you kissing the witch and knew you must be under her spell. Did she give you another potion?"

 

"Nay, lackbrain, she gave me nothing... no thanks to you." Natasha hissed, clenching her fists ready to fight. She is so upset now that for a moment she forgot her nakedness.

 

"What's going on? ..." Maria sleepy, raised her lamp high, took one look at Wanda's kiss-swollen lips and whisker-grazed face and laughed so hard and long that everyone turned to stare at her in question. 

 

No one except Wanda seemed to be aware, or care, that Natasha were nude. Totally. In fact, Wanda (mouth open and blushed) couldn't keep her eyes from stealing glance after glance at the hard evidence between Natasha's thighs that bespoke just how much she had wanted to make love with her. Now, that is a magic wand if I ever saw one... which I haven't, of course.

 

Wanda was glad now that they had been interrupted, but glancing down one last time, she felt the tiniest twinge of regret, and curiosity as she remembers Natasha's lustful words. 'I want to be inside you. Give you all the pleasure that you deserve.'

 

Wanda had to squeeze her thighs together and hold back a moan. ' What would it be like to make love with this Alpha woman?'

 

That thought and many others in a similar vein were keeping Natasha awake. At least an hour had passed since she'd called out as she cover her shame with s fur, "Ga ntt!" to everyone, and they had returned, "Good night!" and gone to their rest, again. From the sounds of snoring and even breathing, she assumed they were all asleep. 

 

Except she and Wanda.

 

What was she thinking that kept her awake? Probably ways to cut off certain of her body parts in retribution for the embarrassment she'd dealt her a short time ago. Who knew she would be so missish over a little exposed female flesh? Or teasing about swollen lips? With the distance Wanda put between them now, Natasha assumed she was not entertaining the same erotic thoughts as she. Nay, she practically hugged the wall so that not a hair on her body could touch a hair on hers.

 

 

 "Holy Thor!" Natasha rubbed her face and contained to touch herself. Just that "hair" image caused her length to throb a tiny bit more... as if any more was possible! She could feel her knot forming. Natasha was rock hard and more than eager. Much more of this and she would have to go dip her problematic length in the water bucket, after first cracking the ice that formed on top. Now there was a thought to dampen a hard Alpha's "enthusiasm."

 

Sitting on the bed. "Wanda... " Natasha said tentatively, putting her hand on Wanda's hip.

 

"Nay." Wanda muttered and walked away from Natasha's touch.

 

Natasha smiled softly and give her a little squeeze. "Nay? I didn't even ask the question yet."

 

Wanda closed her eyes, trying to ignore her desires to go there and kiss Natasha again. "The answer is still nay. Nay, nay, nay."

 

Natasha chuckled. This young girl is really sweet. 

 

"Smirk all you want, lady of Lech." Wanda cover her face with the furs, feeling the heat on her decrease

 

"Lady of Lech?" Natasha gasped out. 

 

"We are not going to resume those kissing games. Listen to me very well. You are not going to touch me. I am not going to touch you. I may have lost my senses there for a moment, but I have them back now. And this Witch is not making love with yon troll."

 

"Would yon troll be referring to me?" Natasha said, choking with laughter.

 

"If the name fits, Viking."

 

"The witch and the troll. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

 

"Aaarrgh!" 

 

"You wanted me." Natasha pointed out. Wanda kissed her with such desire and hunger. "Do not try to deny it."

 

Wanda defended herself. "'Twas just curiosity."

Natasha thought about that for a moment and grinned. "Wouldst there be any chance you are curious about how my length would feel in your pu ..."

 

Wanda cut her off before complete that sentence. "Do not even think of suggesting such! I was curious, but now my curiosity has been satisfied. That is the end of it."

 

"Really ..." Natasha inquired incredulously. "You are satisfied?"

 

"I'm not talking to you anymore. So do not bother flapping your tongue at me." Wanda made much ado over the process of turning her back on her.

 

Wanda wants me, too, Natasha decided with a grin. She was a woman well versed in female Omegas ways. Natasha sensed when they were attracted to her. And when a woman like Wanda protested this much, 'twas a sure sign she was weakening. Yea, 'twas only a matter of time till Wanda crept closer to her tempting form. She'd best make ready.

 

Natasha arranged one arm under her head, striking a casual pose. With the other hand, she flipped the bed furs on her side down to her waist, exposing her shoulders and breasts. Some Omegas had told her, on more than one occasion, that she had an impressive upper body. Well, actually, many more of them had commented on her lower half, but she didn't want to shock Wanda with that much Alpha flesh too soon. Not that she hadn't seen it all already, but not from this close vantage point.

 

 

Natasha should be thinking about the consequences of what she was about to do, but she couldn't care right now. All reason was being directed by the organ between her thighs, not the organ between her ears. Which was not a bad thing, in her opinion. Still, she assured herself, making love with Wanda did not mean she was committed to her, or that she was responsible for Wanda's care beyond delivery to Aksel. She would understand that before she dipped hee sword in her sheath, that she would.

 

Odin's breath! It's cold in here. With her body half exposed to the night air, Natasha was beginning to shiver... and not from the bedlust. And speaking of breath, I can see my own breath. There will surely be frost on the oars come morn.

 

Then the most amazing thing happened. Well, amazing for Natasha, who prided herself on her allure to women. She heard a sound. A soft sound. Wanda was snoring. She had bloody well fallen asleep on her.

 

"Wanda ... Hey ..." Natasha whispered but nothing happens. Lightly, she touched her brown hair, which was the only thing showing above the furs. Natasha glared at her.

 

With a grumble of disgust, Natasha pulled the bed furs back up to her chin and turned her back on her, as well.

 

'Mayhap she didn't want me quite as much as I thought.'

 

From the other side of the bed furs, Wanda stopped her fake snoring for a moment. And what she thought was, Whew!

 

Chapter 17: ørgrandr

Chapter Text

 

Eight days later ...

 

They finally entered the wide fjord leading to King Aksel's royal palace in Trondelag. The blowing of a horn pierced the air, announcing the arrival of new ships.

 

The crew was nigh frozen to the bone. All of them were bundled up in huge furs or heavy woolen cloaks, even when rowing. Their hands were cracked, and bloody at times, from the harsh elements and the harsher task of maneuvering the ship on winter seas with ice-crusted oars and ropes.

 

Wanda had lain, practically the entire eight days, curled up under Natasha's fur bear cloak, shivering. She would have been bored to the point of insanity if she hadn't been so cold... and frightened, for her fate would soon be decided.

 

 

In this last leg of their ship's journey, they had been hit with frigid weather—rain, snow, sleet and gusting winds— all of which the sailors managed to blame on Wanda's witchly curses. In truth, she had been doing a fair amount of "cursing," both inwardly and outwardly, but mostly in the form of complaints, not some impossible black magic. To make matters worse, the farther they traveled north into the region known as The Land of the Midnight Sun, the shorter days became. In just a few sennights, Natasha had told her, it would be dark all the day long, and this would last for several of the winter months. What a dismal prospect!

 

Assuming she would be there that long. Bucky had taken to checking his parts a dozen times a day because he contended that Wanda had been looking at him there with evil intent. She'd smiled at that idiocy, and waggled her fingers in a fey manner, which only made him madder.

 

One of the sailors had complained that his loose bowels started the night the witch wished him "Good eventide" in passing. Wanda had told him it was probably the gammelost.

 

Another had developed a fiercesome itch in the hair under his arms, on his chest, in his eyebrows and beard, but mostly between his legs, where he discovered crab lice with claw-like legs. Wanda must have caused the tiny creatures to suddenly inhabit his skin, the superstitious man had wailed. Never would he believe that the poxy wench he'd bedded back in Jorvik could be at fault. Soon the lice spread like wildfire—no doubt lured by all that Viking hair—but this, too, was blamed on Wanda.

 

Two days out of Hedeby, some of the men had adopted the practice Natasha and Bucky and Clint had engaged in at Graycote. They were wearing their braies backwards as a charm against her potential spells. This was a particularly lackwitted exercise, not to mention laughable in appearance, in Wanda's opinion, and she told them so every opportunity she got. For the seaman with the loose bowels, this new fashion custom was more than demented.

 

Naturally, they all kept checking her backside on the odd chance that her tail would emerge. And they wore wooden crosses, and splashed themselves with holy water repeatedly, which immediately froze into icicles on their beards and noses. Wants suspected that Bucky had run out of his cache of holy water long ago, and was filling his vials with sea water, which he sold to his ignorants fellow shipmates.

 

Clint had come up with so many sagas involving a witch and her evil doings that he constantly bemoaned the fact that his head was becoming fuzzy and the stories getting mixed up. Although he wasn't much nicer to her than any of the other men, Wanda was developing a fondness for the blond birdbrain.

 

Worst of all in Wanda's ongoing travail was the redhead Troll-Kisser.

 

Despite Natasha's warning to desist, Bucky relished the retelling of how he'd come upon Natasha kissing her in the bed furs. Each time he retold the tale, the details got more exaggerated, to the point where now he claimed to have seen them both naked, down to the freckles on her buttocks and Natasha's mighty "prow," which had been just about to dip into her "waves." The very fact that Natasha would kiss a witch was proof that she'd put a love spell on their leader, according to Bucky's ill-logic.

 

Wanda didn't need any reminders of Natasha's kisses.

 

They were firmly imbedded in her memory. Just the thought of them, and there were far too many thoughts turned her hot and strangely restless. Never in her wildest imagination, even as a young girl with dreams still intact, did Wanda suspect Natasha's kiss could be so... well, exciting and sweet. And the last thing Wanda needed in her life was more excitement, she told herself over and over again.

 

To make matters even worst, Natasha's leg was bothering her. With the cold dampness that pervaded the air, she could scarce put her full weight on the limb without wincing in pain. She'd taken to limping slightly and often rubbed the scarred thigh through her thick braies. Wanda might have been able to help her, to prescribe some herbal plaster or exercise regimen or—oh, sweet heaven!—massage it herself. 

 

On second thought, Wanda misdoubted she could bear exposure to her bare flesh... again... without some dire consequence. Wanda trembled involuntarily at imagining what form that dire consequence might take... and whether it would affect her, or Natasha, or both of them.

 

  She'd been avoiding Natasha as much as she avoided her since the unfortunate kissing incident. But there had been times when she glanced up suddenly to find Natasha watching her, and she knew she was remembering, too. Once Natasha even licked her puffy lips while studying her.

 

She'd felt like leaping across the ship to slap the wretch. Or kiss her.

 

"Well, have you decided how you will handle the situation?" Natasha asked, limping up beside her now. Wanda stood at the rail, watching the sailors steer the long-ships into berths along the banks of the wide river fronting the palace grounds. Hundreds of other longboats, along with smaller vessels and the larger knarrs used for transporting massive cargoes, were anchored midriver or turned upside down along the shore, beached for the winter.

 

"What situation?" Wanda asked, playing the naive girl

 

"You know. The curse. How will you remove the curse from Aksel's root?" Idly, Natasha reached a hand out and flicked a big snowflake off Wanda's eyelashes. Then, to both of their amazements, she put the same forefinger to her mouth and licked.

 

Wanda felt that lick like an erotic arrow to the pit of her stomach. Luckily, she was able to stifle a groan. Suddenly, Natasha's words echoed in her head. "Imagine my mouth kissing that hot sweet part between your thighs ..."

 

 

Natasha blinked those fine red, disgustingly lashes of her at her, equally affected, she would wager. Or else she played a game with her... a game for which she was sorely ill-equipped and woefully mismatched. Forget about her being a witch. This redhead woman had beguiled her, good and proper, with a few measly kisses. Well, not measly.

 

"Concentrate, Wanda. Forget Natasha's steamy kisses. Forget her nude body. Start remembering that she's your enemy. This woman kidnapped you and make you suffer.'

 

"Oh! You're imagining me naked." Natasha teased with a little playful tap to her chin. 

 

 Wanda feels her face on flames, sputtered as she sputtered. "What?! Me?? Me??"

 

Natasha hummed and winked. "Do not worry, though. I like it."

 

"You are the expert on naked looks, not me." Wanda asserted.

 

Natasha just grinned, and gave her a quick once-over assessment that clearly did not involve any clothing. 

 

Wanda coughed uncomfortably and said. "To answer your question—" 

 

"Which question?" Natasha was fingering the edges of her brown strands and sniffing. The woman did have a fondness for the rose-scented hair cream Betty had given her.

 

Wanda slapped her hand away. "The question of how to handle 'the situation.' "

 

"Oh, that question."

 

"I have decided to do nothing."

 

"What?" Natasha looked magnificent in a rust-colored wool cloak lined with red fox fur, despite a sennight's worth of whiskers shadowing her face. None of them had been able to bathe or change their salt-crusted clothing these past eight days, but Natasha had managed to keep her wild curls underneath the hood, just don the thunderbolt earring and amber pendant in preparation for being received in the king's court.

 

 

Wanda, on the other hand, suspected that she looked like a dirty-faced, speckled hen, even in the luxurious fur bear mantle of Natasha''s that she still wore.

 

"I will do nothing." Wanda repeated. "I am not a witch. 'Tis no fault of mine that Aksel suffers... an affliction. 'Tis no fault of mine that I have been subjected to kidnapping and tortures, and forced to endure indignities befitting a mere thrall. 'Tis no ...'

 

"Tortures?" Natasha raised her right brow and crossed her arms over the chest. "Name one."

 

"Ha! I could name more than one." Wanda crossed her arms over the chest ton. "Kissing. Having two hundred men and women staring at my posterior all the time. Eating gammelost."

 

Natasha just grinned at her, and, Blessed Lord, dhe was nigh irresistible when her puffy lips crooked and grinned. "Torture by kissing?" She scoffed. "Really, Wanda?"

 

"Yea!" Wanda insisted, raising her chin defiantly in the face of her laughter. "Therefore, it is your fault that I am here, Natasha. So I leave it to you to solve the problem."

 

"Me? Me?" Natasha thought a moment, then narrowed her eyes at her. "So ... We are back to the guardian angel theory, aren't we?"

 

Wanda just shrugged. "It makes no less sense that you have a set of hidden wings than me having a hidden tail."

 

"I refuse to be your guardian angel." Natasha said, then realized how ridiculous that sounded. "I mean, I refuse to be responsible for your well-being after today. I will present you to King Aksel. I will make him promise to treat you with the respect due your high station. I will ask him to return you to your home once you have straightened his staff. But I will not be your protector after today."

 

Wanda clenched her jaw before yell "Aaarrgh! Have you heard one word I've said the past few sennights? I... can't... straighten... a... a... a... cock. There! I've said the word. Are you happy now?"

 

Natasha smilled. "Just a lil."

 

"Yea, she was happy. That bloody troll! Wanda rolled her eyes.

 

"Never fear, witchling. You will think of something."

 

  The woman had a moat between her ears.

 

Natasha scoffed. "If all else fails, you could try kissing Aksel. Believe me, you have a talent in that arena. Yea, that might be the perfect solution. Kisses to cure a curse. I know your kisses straightened me out."

 

Feeling very insulted. Wanda gave her a look of utter disbelief at her callousness and swung her arm in a wide circle before clouting her in her grinning mouth.

 

 

Natasha barely winced at her blow. But she did concede, "Then again, mayhap not."

 


 

Aksel's castle stood on a high motte, or earth mound, overlooking the joining of two rivers. At the base of the flat-topped hillock was the usual water-filled moat. There were hutlike homes and small longhouses down by the piers, but most of the people lived within the royal ramparts and the vast surrounding stockade. It appeared as if it could accommodate hundreds, even as many as a thousand inhabitants.

 

"Are there always so many people here?" Wanda asked Natasha.

 

 Natasha see the bay. People coming and going. "Nay, it must be a feast of one sort or another."

 

"'Tis the marriage celebration for Aksel's oldest daughter, no doubt." Clint said in passing, with a huge wooden chest on his shoulder. "Yea, methinks I heard that Astrid was to wed this season." He grinned a Natasha. "She finally gave up on you."

 

Natasha grumbled something in the Norse language... probably a foul expletive. But then Wanda considered Clint's news. Wonderful. I get to have my head lopped off during a wedding feast.

 

'Stop it, Wanda. Naught will happen. You are under the protection of a fierce warrior... an important merchant princess.'

 

  A troll.

 

  Oh, God!

 

Having already passed through the gatehouse, Natasha led Wanda with a hand under her elbow. With the onset of the cold weather, her leg wound had started to bother her, and Wanda could see that she fought against limping, or letting anyone see her limp. Prideful woman! Most of her men had gone on ahead, or scattered in various directions. For many of them, this was home for the winter. Others would be traveling on to Natasha's homestead, or to their own homes in this immense northern wilderness. The huge double doors were opened by a guard who in turn signaled to another guard who blew a horn announcing their arrival.

 

The earth and timber castle was enormous, like a palatial fort. It had no clear architectural style, having been added to indiscriminately over the years. But the doors and lintels and various crenallations, even those of stone, were highly carved in the Norse style. Everywhere, there were fierce-looking sentries of tremendous size, carrying swords and shields and battle-axes.

 

 

They entered the vast great hall, which at present surely seated more than five hundred men and women, though the latter were in much shorter supply. A dozen enormous free-standing, raised hearths were arranged down the long center of the rectangular room. Mostly, they were intended for warmth during the interminable winter months, since cooking was done in a separate kitchen wing, but with all the body heat being generated by the eating and drinking crowd on this festive occasion, the fiery blazes were hardly needed. 

On either side of the hearths were arranged three very long rows of trestle tables, starting at the dais, where the high table stood, and leading to the far end of the room, where the lesser guests were seated.

 

"Come." Natasha said, taking Wanda's cold hand in her and leading her along the right wall toward the dais. James and Clint followed behind them, having tied Beast to a post outside. Many friends and acquaintances nodded and greeted the three vikings along the way, giving Wanda only a passing glance of curiosity. She had the hood of Natasha''s cloak pulled up over her head, so there was naught about her appearance to spark any interest.

 

"Natasha! When did you get back? Did you bring that case of Frisian wine I ordered?"

 

"Come tell us the news of that weasel, Edred! Is he still nipping at King Ivar's heels?"

 

"How was the amber harvest this year? My third wife has a yearning for one of your baubles."

 

"Come share a cup with us when you have finished with your king's business, Natasha. We would hear again about the time a sultan's harem was opened to the Varangian Guard."

 

"Clint, is that you? Have you any new sagas to regale us with? I still chuckle betimes over that 'Natasha the Raven and the Spitting Contest' tale that you related last year at Gudrik the Glutton's funeral feast."

 

"Stay here." Natasha told her when they finally reached the head of the first table. She didn't even frown at the reminder of one of Clint's sagas, which invariably poked fun at her. The solemnity on her usually open face scared Wanda. Why wasn't she jesting and teasing her in her usual manner? Why wasn't she smiling at all her laughing fellow viking warriors who greeted her? Why did she act as if her head was already on the chopping block?

 

James stepped to the side, about to speak to a group of half-drunk Norsemen dressed in the rich cloth of Norse nobility.

 

 

"Keep your teeth shut for a change, James." Natasha warned Bucky, who was no doubt about to spread his stories about Wandsy the Witch.

 

 

Bucky seemed about to argue with Natasha's command, but then came back to stand next to Wajsay. Glowering at her, he pulled his wooden cross from inside his tunic and waved it in her face.

 

Wanda crossed her eyes at him. Bucky's face turned bright red under the woad design and he looked as if he might be choking on his tongue.

 

 Good.

 

"Would you two stop?" Natasha frowned and hissed, then proceeded to walk up the steps to the dais.

 

 "Natasha!" The enthusiastic greeting came from a regally dressed Viking man with an ornate gold circlet sitting on his forehead holding back his long red hair. His luxurious beard was braided with precious stones and his mustache was full and drooping practically to his jaw. King Aksel, Wanda presumed from his appearance and his position I at the head table. "Welcome! Welcome, my dear cousin! You have come to help celebrate Astrid's wedding, eh?" the king roared jovially, giving Natasha a bone-crushing clap on the back.

 

" The two were of the same age, Aksel more taller than Natasha, though Natasha was by far the more impressive, more gorgeous and more ..." Wanda kicked herself. "Aaarrgh! I do not care about such things. Leastways, I never did afore hooking up with the beauteous troll. Somehow, Wanda had thought Aksel would be much older, especially with a daughter of marriageable age, but then she reminded herself that an alpha of five and thirty was certainly capable of siring a daughter of seventeen or so winters.

 

But Wanda was woolgathering whilst events were taking place which could affect her destiny. Natasha was kissing the new bride now... a petite, flaxen-haired girl with even features and a dimpled smile. She was not beautiful, but comely nonetheless in a wholesome sort of way. Natasha was also speaking her good wishes to her groom, an attractive young man of about eighteen winters. No elderly husband for this precious daughter.

 

"'Tis Torgunn... a younger son of King Sven Fork-beard of Denmark." Clint told her. He had to bend over at the waist in order to place his mouth near her ear.

 

"Natasha!" a brown- haired young man shouted from across the room. He stood abruptly, knocking over the ivory pieces of the Viking game knefatafl that he had been playing with several other men. The skinny young man, no more than twenty, rushed across the room and up the steps. He wore the oddest garment, a sort of long white robe, highly embroidered along the edges with an ornate foreign design that Wanda could not identify. It was belted at the waist, with a burnoose hanging at the back of his neck. The attire was much like Wanda had seen on the Arab traders in Jorvik. He did not at all resemble the Vikings in this great hall, though they apparently accepted him as one.

 

 

"Peter!" Natasha said with a wide smile, taking the young man into a tight embrace. "Peter. Oh boy."

 

 So, this was the infamous Peter the Healer... the nephew for whom Natasha went to so much trouble.

 

After much back thumping, Natasha said to the young man, "You don't seem much the worse for wear, despite having been a hostage these many months." Wanda was fortunately able to hear their conversation, standing as they were at the bottom of the dais.

 

  "A hostage?" Peter inquired, clearly puzzled.

 

Natasha quickly scanned the hall, her eyes latching on to the messenger, Ward, who was slinking toward one of the exterior doors. With an expression of growing suspicion, Natashy turned on the king. "Did you not send a messenger to me several months past, urging me to deliver a witch to you?"

 

"Well, yea, but ..." the king blustered, taking a gulp of mead.

 

"And did you not offer me your finest stallion, Fierce One?" Natasha growled, trying to control herself.

 

 "Well, yea, but—" Aksel shifted from foot to foot, obviously embarrassed about something.

 

This time Natasha hissed. "And did you not promise me the slave girl of the bells?"

 

 "I did?" King Aksel looked surprised.

 

"Yea. You did." natashay narrowed her greei eyes at the wily king. "Most important, did you not say that you would hold Peter hostage here till I delivered the witch?"

 

 

"Aksel!" Peter accused the king. "Did you say such? 'Tis a lie, of course, Natasha. What kind of boy dost think I am that I could not escape such 'captivity' ?"

 

A low growling sound began deep in Natasha's chest and was rising upward, like an angry bear.

 

"The malady went away of its own accord. Is that not a miracle?" a beaming Aksel informed Natasha. "But there is no harm done. Come share the feast with us." He waved a hand magnanimously. "Mayhap I can even find the jingling bell maiden for you. Ha, ha, ha. C'mon Natasha. Don't look at me like that "

 

"No harm done?" Natasha sputtered.

 

"Yea, no harm done." Aksel brow furrowed with bafflement over Natasha' anger. "Dost thou disbelieve me? Wouldst thou like to see my newly straightened staff?" He turned his back on the great hall and dropped the front of his braies for Natasha perusal.

 

 

 

"Very nice." Natasha observed with droll humor as her face flushed purple with fury. Meanwhile, Peter was laughing so hard tears streamed down his face.

 

These Vikings are the crudest people in the world.

 

"Aksel, you have to be the bloodiest fool in all the world." Natasha raged, not at all amused. "You did some lackbrain things to me when we were youthlings, but this time you have pushed the bounds of kinship. Have you no idea what you have done?"

 

"Me?" Aksel asked innocently, putting a palm to his chest in affront. "By the by, why do some of your men wear their braies backwards? Is it the new fashion in the Saxon lands? I always thought they were assbackwards. Now I know for a certainty. Ha, ha, ha."

 

Natasha crossed her eyes with frustration. "You asked me to deliver to you the Saxon witch." She pointed out, as if speaking to a dimwitted child.

 

"And?" Aksel shrugged.

 

"You have her." Natasha pointed in her direction. Then all eyes turned then toward Wanda."Uh-oh!' Wanda shrugged inwardly under the gazes.

 

James, the mean-spirited oaf, flipped Wanda's hood back so that her bright wild brown hair sprung forth. By the light of about a hundred candles and an equal number of wall torches, her numerous freckles were no doubt evident, too.

 

"There is your witch, King Aksel." Natasha announced, her voice dripping with exasperation. "Lady Wanda of Graycote."

 

Throughout the hall, like a ripple in a fast-moving stream, the word passed. "A witch. A witch. A witch. A witch... "

 

Wanda cast pleading eyes on Narasy then, her only hope in this sea of Vikings. But Natasha remained stern-faced and unmoved.

 

"Please God." Wanda prayed silently, feeling her entire body shake.

 

 

Just then, the flames of a vast wall-hearth behind the dais roared brighter as some knotholes sizzled. The radiant light cast an aura behind Natasha's head... almost like a... ! well, a halo. Her red curls were adorned with this celestial light.

 

"Oh Sweet Lord! I knew it, I knew it."

 

Wanda feels this sensation of calm spreading on her heart. God blessed her. That was was a sign.

 

Chapter 18: Devil's Spittle

Notes:

I am sorry for the delay, I have not forgotten this story. Actually, I have planned upload a brand new chapters the next few days

Chapter Text

 

 

 

'There's your witch.'

 

Narasha's callous words echoed in her own brain, like a hammer of guilt. She had not intended to blurt out Wanda's identity for all to hear... leastways, not in such a premature manner.

 

She knew better than most that tuning was critical in all matters, whether it be battle, cajoling a girl into the bed furs or arguing before a thick-headed king. But she'd been caught off guard on learning from Peter that all her troubles of the past two months had been for naught.

 

Cured! Aksel had been cured, and never bothered to inform her.

 

And Wanda … Oh, Odin! Look at her. Standing near the foot of the steps leading up to the dais, she resembled a little child, enveloped as she was in her huge sable cloak, which pooled in the rushes at her feet. Even from here, atop the dais, Natasha could see that her hands trembled, though her stubborn chin was held high.

 

God's blood! The foolish woman still harbored the notion that she was some sort of guardian angel, personally sent by her one-god to protect her. Why else would she stand, stricken, staring at hee with wide, tear-brimmed eyes at her seeming betrayal?

 

Natasha decided to put aside her guilt. 'Betrayal? Hah! She is not my charge any longer. I have delivered her to King Aksel. I have done my duty.' then she frowned as she wonders to herself. 'Why then do I feel as low as a snake's belly?'

 

She stares at the crowd as she thought. 'Nay, I feel no guilt. Nay, nay, nay! I will not be sucked into that mire of responsibility." She shook her head. " Keep a distance... that has been my philosophy since I was a mere child of seven years, and a wise course it has been. Never stay in one place too long, and never, ever, let the people-bond become too important... whether it be with family, friends, soldiers and seamen or beautiful girls like Wanda."

 

 

I do not care. That is the key. Caring overmuch about anyone or anything is a dangerous tightrope for any human being to walk. Too much and her most vulnerable soft areas are exposed. Too little and her soul ices over and dies from lack of warmth.

 

Natasha did care about Bruce, of course. And Betty. And their children. Well, 'twas true, there was Tony and Pepper and their children, too, including Peter. And she held just a tiny bit of affection for Angie and his uncle, King Ivan, and Peter's younger sister, Gwen, and Laura and his son Coop. Even Maria and her little baby daughter. But that was all. Nay, she must include Clint and James, to some extent.

 

Natasha swallows nervously. 'Good Odin! When did I start caring about so many people? It has to stop. 'Twas time to draw the line with this woman. I will not care for her. At all. There, it was decided. She felt better now.

 

That did not mean she was hard-hearted. On the contrary, she would ensure the witch's safety afore she left... or leastways the opportunity to get fair trial. Not that she was obligated to do such, but it was the noble thing to do.' Natasha wanted to to slap herself at the mere thought. 'Noble? Since when have I become noble? Nay, I am spending too much time worrying over the wench. 'Tis a sign of weakness. Mayhap 'tis best just to leave. Aksel will treat her impartially.

 

Impartially? How impartial can any man be when his most precious part has been curved by a curse ? Yea, Aksel must blame the witch for his manly woes these many months... even if he is cured now. Will he not feel the need for punishment? And what form will that retribution take?' Natasha feels worried imagining the worst punishes. 'A flogging? Thralldom? Torture? Rape? Burning at the stake? Beheading?'

 

 

'Aarrgh! I am not going to think about this anymore.'

 

 'I do not care.'

 

 'Truly, I do not care.'

 

  'Hell, where's the mead?'

 

All this she thought in the seconds following her blunt announcement.

 

"You brought a witch here?" asked Peter incredulously. Still standing at hid side on the dais, Peter looped an arm around his shoulder in comradely fashion and chuckled. "Good Lord, Bucky! What is that blue mark on your face? Is it a beauty mark? You always were too vain. You should take humility lessons from me."

 

 Bucky said something rude about male body parts. Peter grinned and called his attention back to Natasha and the subject at hand. "Do you and Bucky have a particular taste for witches as bedmates?"

 

"She ... She's not my bedmate," Natasha snarled. She tried very hard not to blush in front of the King and his whoresons guards.

 

"Well, that's too bad," Peter said.

 

Natasha narrowed her eyes at Peter, who still held her shoulder in a tight embrace, patting it in exaggerated sympathy. "Too bad? Why is that? Has the desert sun burned out your eyesight? Obviously, you have not looked closely at the wench."

 

"Are those freckles I see?" Peter slitted his eyes, as if to see better. "I knew a sultan once who claimed every freckle on a woman's body was an erotic spot."

 

"What?" Natasha fixed her gaze on Wanda, whose head was tilted in puzzlement at their scrutiny. By rough estimate, she figured the young omega must have about a thousand of those marks on her body, if she could recall her naked body properly. Hah! That image was imprinted on her lustful brain for all time.

 

But, as to Pete's correlation betwixt freckles and sex, could it be possible? Natasha turned to question Peter further and was met with a wide, white-toothed grin. Realizing she'd been taken in by the rogue's foolery, she shoved Peter's arm off her shoulder. The lackwit bent over at the waist, laughing his fool head off.

 

"What the hell are you wearing anyway?" Natasha grumbled, flicking the fingertips of one hand at the loose white, hooded robe Peter wore, with all the flair of a royal courtier.

 

Peter look at his caftan. "What? You do not like my caftan?"

 

Natasha just shrugged. "Like has naught to do with it. It appears to me you have borrowed some bed linens."

 

"Methinks you are jealous, Auntie Nat. Tell me true, do you not think I resemble a desert prince? Can you not picture me riding the sand dunes atop my camel?" The boy waggled his eyebrows at Natasha.

 

Natasha jabbed him with an elbow to behave. "I certainly hope you are wearing braies beneath. 'Twould be unseemly otherwise."

 

"Hah! When have I aimed to be seemly?" Peter grinned at her. "Actually, there's a certain freedom in letting your nether parts breathe."

 

Natasha had to laugh aloud at the rascal then. "If you do too much breathing in this part of the country, you will end up with frost on your arse."

 

An annoying feminine scream rent the air then. At first, Natasha thought it was Wanda but she stood silent, staring at her as if he were St. Michael the Archangel, about to slay her dragons.

 

"Uh ... Why does the witch gaze at you as if you are the raisins in her porridge?" Peter asked.

 

"She thinks I'm her guardian angel," Natasha replied dryly.

 

"You?" Pete hooted and doubled over again, resuming laughter.

 

Another loud scream ripped through the din of the great hall.

 

This time, Natasha jerked around to see Astrid, her fingers clawing at her own hair. "A witch! A witch! And she is covered with the Devil's Spittle... All over her face," she wailed. " 'Tis a bad omen to have a witch attend one's wedding. Do not let her look upon me, Father, lest I have a clove-footed babe nine months hence." With one last scream, she fell into a faint in her new husband's arms.

 

"Oh, for the love of Mary!" Wanda muttered with disgust at Astrid's spectacle.

 

 King Aksel could not be concerned about his daughter, however. "Guards, take the witch away. Make haste afore she renews the curse on my manroot."

 

Natasha drew her sword instinctively, not about to let Aksel's guards mishandle the wench... rather, witch... till she had a chance to defend herself. Not that she'd heard a single word from her mouth these many sennights that would weigh in her favor.

 

Fortunately, Aksel personal guard was nowhere to be seen, having the good sense, or the non-sense, to leave the range of Wanda's witchly powers. None of them wanted a crooked staff. With a cry of distress, Aksel pulled his battle shield off the wall and held it in front of his midsection. Many soldiers throughout the hall did likewise.

 

"Oh, for the love of Mary!" Wanda reiterated. 

 

"Mary? Who is this Mary the witch keeps calling upon?" Aksel inquired. "Is it perchance the high-witch?"

 

"King Aksel! For shame!" the priest who'd been sitting with Peter exclaimed. Natasha had met him before. Father Caedmon was his name. "Did you not take your baptismal vows seriously when I christened you last year? Mary is the mother of God."

 

"Oh, that Mary." Aksel face turned red under his red-blond beard. Leastways, what could be seen of his face behind his shield, which he still held in front of his body.

 

"Enough of this prattle!" Natasha roared, waving her sword in the air. "Assure me of Lady's Wanda's safe passage home, and I will be on my way to Novgorod."

 

"Sheath your sword, Natasha," Aksel ordered, his eyes peering above his massive shield. "Is the witch worth losing your life?"

 

"What makes you think I will be the one spilling wound dew?" Natasha said icily.

 

"That is why the butter would not come this morn," one slovenly maid servant called out from the doorway leading to the scullery. "I knew there was a bad aura in the air. 'Twas a sign of the witch's approach." As she talked, she was scratching her head, which was no doubt lice-ridden. In Natasha's opinion, the butter probably had not come because the lazy wench had not churned hard enough.

 

"Beware of her familiar," one fat man cautioned. "Where is it?" He and others at his table were pivoting their heads this way and that, trying to discern the familiar.

 

"Her familiars are back in Britain," Clint informed them. "They are sheep."

 

"Do you say she has more than one familiar, and that they are sheep?" asked a powerfully built woman sitting at the high table. 'Twas Aksel's older sister, Gudny. "She must be a very powerful witch."

 

"A spell she has put on my dog, Beast," Bucky noted, despite Natasha's warning that he hold his tongue. "Methinks she may have made Beast one of her familiars, too."

 

Gudny seemed impressed, and was assessing Wanda through narrowed, speculative eyes. Everyone knew that Gudny, who was as tall as a man and as strong as a horse, had been searching for a love potion these many years in hopes of luring her wayward husband Alfrigg back to the bed furs. 'Twas said she had an insatiable appetite for swiving—though Natasha could hardly credit that, more like an insatiable appetite for eating—and Alfrigg had chosen instead to live amongst the monks on a leper island.

 

Throughout the great hall, a murmur of fear and outrage was passing in waves, emanating from the spot where Wanda still stood with Clint and Bucky. People who had been sitting closest stood and moved away, putting hands or arms over their faces so the witch could not give them the evil eye... and over their private parts, as well.

 

"Is she the witch who put the mark on your face?" one Norse maiden asked Bucky in an awestruck voice. Natasha couldn't tell if the awe was for Bucky's winsome face or the power of the witch.

 

Nay," Bucky answered, his interest caught by the maiden's fair face and even fairer bosom. " 'Twas another witch."

 

"Another witch!" Aksel roared. "Didst thou dare to bring two witches to my daughter's wedding feast? Oh, holy Thor! Do we perchance have a coven in our midst?"

 

A number of the wedding guests could be seen ducking under the trestle tables at that alarming prospect.

 

Wanda had the nerve to snicker.

 

"Nay, I did not bring two witches," Natasha said wearily. In truth, she wasn't sure she'd even brought one. But that was not the issue. Nor one for her to decide. "Aksel, you had a... problem," Natasha began to explain in a deliberately patient voice, though she was losing hwe patience by the minute. "You sent a messenger asking for my help, and I agreed... to gain the release of Peter." 

 

"But I was never a hostage," Peter interrupted. "I came to Trondelag several months past, planning to go home to Britain for a brief visit. Come spring, I will be returning to the Arab lands, where the study of medicine is more advanced than in any other part of the world. In the meantime, I decided to stay in Aksel's court for a few months in order to study with his healer, the good priest, Caedmon." Peter's eyes shifted involuntarily as he spoke to the far side of the hall, where Natasha saw Father Caedmon nod his head in agreement. But wait. Narasha thought she heard the slight tinkling of bells at that table. Instantly, she connected that sound with the dark-haired maid shifting restlessly there, next to the priest.

 

 

Natasha stifled a laugh. So, Peter was delayed by the slave girl of the infamous bells, not coercion by King Aksel, and not his scholarly endeavors, either.

 

It was not surprising to see a Roman priest in a Viking assembly. Many Vikings practiced both Christian and Norse religions, and the bishops willingly sent priest healers into their heathen midst in hopes of gaining souls at the same time they salved wounds and splinted broken bones.

 

Peter, on the other hand, ever did latch onto any person who could teach him something new in the healing arts. And female omegas ever did latch onto the fair Peter, who claimed to have learned things, other than medicine, from the Arabs.

 

Natasha clicked her teeth with disgust at Peter. "You are lucky your father and Bruce did not come with their troops to storm Aksel's castle for your return."

 

 "I ... I ..." Peter face went pale. "I did not think," he murmured.

 

 That was an understatement.

 

Natasha turned back to Aksel. "Whether Peter stayed here of his own accord is not important. You led me to believe he was a 'friendly hostage' and that you would release him if I delivered the witch. Well, I have fulfilled my part of the bargain."

 

Aksel thought a moment, then smiled widely. "You are free to go, Peter," the king said magnanimously. "See, Natasha. Now we are even."

 

Natasha hissed, clenching her fists. "Not bloody likely."

 

"Ndr enden er god er allting godt," the king said, urging peace. "All's well that ends well."

 

 Natasha balked. "I see no satisfactory end here." "How so?"

 

 

"You know not for certain that the lady is a witch, Aksel. If she is not, 'twas unfair of you to have brought her here."

 

"Well, take her back then."

 

Natasha gritted her jaw. She really did not want to fight with Aksel. She was tired. She was angry. She was itching to knock out a tooth or two. "I am not going back to Britain till next autumn," she said, pacing her words slowly. "You demanded. I delivered. End of story."

 

"Story? Story?" Clint jumped into the conversation. Natasha hadn't realized that he and Bucky had drawn swords as well and just waited for her word to defend her, if attacked. "Dost want a saga about this? How about.

 

'Natasha the Raven and the Uncrooking of the King's Crook'?"

 

"Once crooked was the king's wick

 

  After a witch caught him playing

 

  With fire in a nunnery.

 

  Now the candle dost burn again.

 

  But for how long?

 

  If the witch remains,

 

  Will Trondelag become

 

  The land of the crooked tapers?"

 

 

Clint gave them a bright smile as Natasha and Aksel both made growling sounds at the same time.

 

Natasha hissed at the King. "You played me for the fool, Aksel. No person does that without consequence, not even a king."

 

 

"I did not," Aksel protested. "I did have a crooked cock. I have witnesses to that, and the dire pain I suffered, not to mention the lack of bedsport for three whole months. But now it is hale and hearty. Dost thou want to look at it again?"

 

Natasha grimaced at the words. "Nay! I do not want to look at your hairy root."

 

"Hairy? Didst see hairs there? Oh, this is too much!" He turned to glare at Wanda. "Didst put a hair curse on me now, witch?"

 

Natasha had to smile at that idiocy. Wanda was shaking her head from side to side, murmuring, "Vikings! Dimwits, one and all!"

 

"At least mine is not hairy," Natasha informed her with a grin.

 

"How do you know? Have you checked lately? Mayhap I put a hair curse on you, too."

 

"Sarcasm ill-suits you, my lady." Bile rose in her throat, even though she knew the wench was just teasing. Leastways, Natasha hoped she was. She barely stifled the impulse to rush to the privy and check for certain.

 

Peter was laughing so hard that tears rolled down his face.

 

"I'm in a generous mood today, Natasha. I might have played a small part in this misunderstanding, that I concede. I'll gift you Fierce One and Nadia, after all, for your trouble," Aksel conceded. "A horse and a wench. What more could you want?"

 

Natasha growled icily. "I'll tell you what else I want. I want an apology. I want recompense for my trouble. I want to leave this castle today. I want you to provide safe conduct for the Lady Wanda back to her home in Northumbria."

 

"You want much for a mere misunderstanding," Aksel sputtered. "None of my ships leave for Britain for another three or four months. I cannot harbor a witch in my castle all that time. My troops would rebel. My wives and concubines would avoid my bed furs. Who knows what calamities would befall my household. You take her."

 

Natasha said with indignation. "Me? Oh, nay, do not try that trick with me. She stays with you till you return her to her homeland."

 

The abject horror on Aksel face was almost comical when it was considered that the king had faced down legions of fierce soldiers in battle with less fear than he exhibited now. Apparently the loss of one's manpart was more fear-inspiring than the loss of one's life. Aksel protests echoed throughout the great hall, where others insisted that the witch could not stay.

 

"Stone the witch," one man suggested.

 

"Burn her at the stake," another urged. "Kill her before she kill us."

 

"Let us torture her secrets out of her first," Gudny exhorted.

 

"Does she dance naked in the forest? Mayhap we could watch her dance naked first," one young soldier proposed. " 'Twould be good entertainment for a wedding feast." Others nodded enthusiastically. Natasha wanted punched him in the face. What a perverted whoreson.

 

"Or trial by water. That would be worth watching," another person offered. More vigorous nodding.

 

" 'Trial by water? What's that?" Natasha heard Wanda inquire of Clint.

 

"They hold you under water for ten minutes or so. If you survive, you must be a witch. If you drown, then your good name is clear."

 

Wanda thought for a second, her face was pale. "And that is Viking justice?"

 

"We learned it from the Saxons," Clint told her. Meanwhile, the Norse revelers were continuing to throw out suggestions to the king regarding the witch's fate.

 

"Has anyone checked for a tail yet?" one man cautioned.

 

The murmuring throughout the hall was ominous, to her as well as Wanda, whose face had gone bone white under her horrible freckles. Natasha saw that Bucky's fingers were wrapped around her wrist in a vicelike grip.

 

Natasha growls as she stomped down the dais steps, stormed over to Wanda's side, smacked Bucky's hand aside with a hissing sound of rage at the blue finger marks already marring the delicate skin and dragged her forward with her, an arm protectively draped around her shoulder.

 

Though they stood at the bottom of the short stairway, everyone at the high table rose from their seats and took two steps backward. The bride, who had regained consciousness, was whimpering. The bridegroom was comforting her with a sweeping hand across her back that kept returning to the rump region. Natasha didn't think she was searching for a tail.

 

"Enough!" Aksel dropped his shield to the floor and shouted in a roaring voice, which carried across the great hall like thunder, causing waves of silence to follow in its wake. When all was quiet, Aksel announced, "I have come up with a solution. Tomorrow we will hold a Thing to decide the witch's fate."

Chapter 19: Primitive Alphas

Chapter Text

 

The THING was about to start by midmorning the next day.

 

If Wanda had expected a disorganized governing body run by an unruly bunch of primitive Vikings, green-faced from overdrinking the night before, she was woefully mistaken. The Norse warriors, alphas all of them apparently held their laws in great respect, for they were groomed and dressed accordingly. 

 

Many of them had bathed and donned clean clothing, shaved or trimmed mustaches and beards and combed or braided their long hair, the female alphas choose her clean clothes too. They must have risen at dawn to prepare for this event. Either that or they'd stayed up all night, though none the worse for wear, except for a few bloodshot eyes and breath odor that could wipe out a troop of soldiers with one mighty exhalation.

 

There were spaces for twenty-one alphas to sit in a half-circle at the head of the room, facing toward the empty dais... three each, including the chieftains, from the seven "tribes" or geographical regions in attendance at the gathering. Natasha, James and Clint would sit there, as well, once the Thing began. The rest of the free alphas were seated on benches behind their chosen representatives. King Aksel, dressed in his full royal regalia topped by a narrow golden circlet banding his forehead, was to act as the Thing-Leader. He sat in an armed chair in the center of the half-circle.

 

There were few omegas present in the assembly itself, though they could be seen in the background, moving about their chores, or eavesdropping on what must be mostly an alphas event.

 

She and Natasha were sitting on a bench off to the side, along with other parties who had disputes to be settled by the Thing. Clint, James and Peter sat on either side of them on the bench.

 

Primitive wooden crosses abounded on the chests of many. Wanda suspected that James was doing a prosperous business in crucifixes and holy water. She wished him a bad case of splinters.

 

An ancient, gray-bearded man rose from the assembly and was making his way slowly toward the front, his progress impeded by those who stopped him along the way in warm greeting. He wore a full-length coat of marten skins. His neatly combed white hair hung about his shoulders like a silken mantle. In his right hand, he carried a long, wooden staff intricately carved with runic symbols. It resembled a bishop's crazier.

 

"Who is that?" Wanda whispered to Natasha.

 

The redhead just stared ahead, stone-faced. This was the first she'd seen her since last night, having been taken forcibly to a storage room, where she'd been locked in alone till this morning. It was clear that Natasha blamed her for the whole predicament.

 

 Was it her fault she found herself in the middle of Viking lands? Was it her fault they'd declined to allow Natasha to dump her there whilst she went on her merry way? Was it her fault a storm was brewing outside, turning the skies black and it not yet noon? Was it her fault a threat loomed of their being snowbound at Aksel's court for the winter?

 

 

 

 Peter leaned forward from his seat on the other side of Natasha and informed her, "That's Styrr the Wise, the Law-speaker. The Norse people have many law codes, but they are seldom written down. It's the responsibility of the lawspeakers to commit those laws to memory and recite them before the Thing begins."

 

Natasha gave Peter a piercing glare, labeling him traitor for speaking to Wanda when she would not.

 

 Of course Peter ignored Natasha and graced Wanda with a roguish smile that had probably melted more than one maiden's heart. "I am Peter of Godwinshire, by the by. We've not been properly introduced."

 

 Natasha made a snorting sound of disgust as Wanda smiled back at Peter, more to annoy Natasha than to respond to the younger man's seductive grin. "I am Lady Wanda of Graycote... victim of this brute's ridiculous mission," she said, rolling her eyes toward the grumpy redhead. "She wants to blame me for this turn of events, but deep down she knows she is at fault."

 

"It must be real deep," Natasha snorted.

 

"What did you say?" Wanda asked.

 

Natasha shrugged. "Nothing. I am not speaking to you."

 

"Don't you think that's a trifle immature?"

 

"Peter, will you be coming with me to Rus Lands for the winter... assuming we get out of here afore the fjords freeze?" Natasha inquired, speaking over her. "Or will you stay with Father Caedmon at Aksel's court?"

 

"I know not for certain. It depends on whether it comes to combat here at the Thing. If we have to fight our way out of this mess... " The young boy shrugged, "... then there will be no choice."

 

"Combat?" she protested. "I thought this was a law court."

 

Before anyone could answer—not that anyone was rushing to attend to her concerns—Bucky leaned forward from the other side of Peter and addressed Natasha. "Methinks you should let me take the wench outside and lop off her head. That would solve everyone's problem. What say you? Shall I unsheath my trusty sword?"

 

Wanda told Bucky what he could do with his trusty sword; it was that selfsame vulgar expression she'd used on rare occasions afore. All four alphas, including Clint, on her other side, gaped at her as if she'd sprung three heads.

 

Hell's teeth! Had they never heard a coarse word from a lady's tongue afore?

 

Apparently not.

 

"That is not the first time she has used that expression with us. Is that not so, Natasha?" Bucky curled his upper lip with distaste. "It must be a trait of Saxon omegas to speak with the roughness of alphas. Mayhap 'tis just Saxon omegas who live with sheep. Ones little inclined toward meekness."

 

 Wanda said nothing, but she waggled her fingers in the direction of Bucky private parts and muttered some nonsensical words. "Mimje hwan zibaziba."

 

Bucky stood at once and sputtered, "See... did you all see her put a curse on me?" With a gasp, he rushed from the hall.

 

"Where is he going?" an amazed Peter asked.

 

"To the privy to check for curves," Clint replied with a dry humor she hadn't known he had. "He does it at least thrice a day." He seemed to catch himself then. "Begging your pardon, my lady, for my crudeness."

 

Then Clint launched into one of his sagas. "Hear one and all, this is the saga of Bucky the Beautiful:

 

"Bucky was a Viking."

 

 "Who had a grand passion."

 

 "But he chose a witch."

 

"To dip his wick."

 

"And now he regrets

 

 "The ill-fated lesson."

 

Natasha and Peter's slack jaws clicked shut with a resounding snap. Truly, Clinte was not the world's best skald.

 

"What were the words of that curse you put on Bucky's root?" Peter wanted to know, turning his attention back to her.

 

"God spare me from blue-faced lackwits," Wanda answered.

 

It took only a moment for Peter to realize that Lady Wanda was not serious. He threw his head back and laughed heartily, uncaring of the Vikings who turned to stare at him. "I like you, Lady Wanda. Mayhap we could... ah, talk later, if things work out with the Thing."

 

"Talk? Hah!" Natasha observed, feeling a little jealousy growing in her chest. "She's too old for you, Pete. Why don't you go jingle some bells or something."

 

"Too old? Tsk-tsk, Natasha. Where are your manners? A good alpha does not comment on a Omegas girls age. You must forgive Natasha's testiness, m'lady. She is not herself today."

 

Wanda chuckles. "Really? She is always testy, as far as I can tell."

 

"Uh, just to satisfy my curiosity, how old are you, Lady Wanda?" Pete posed the question with studied casualness.

 

She replied with a soft smile. "Now where did that come from? Oh, I see. The rascal probably thinks I'm a centuries' old witch. "Twenty-two."

 

"Hah! That is only five years' difference. Besides, I have always liked older women." Peter jiggled her eyebrows at Wanda.

 

She couldn't help but smile at the outrageous rogue.

 

"She nags incessantly," Natasha said of a sudden, startling them all. "And her voice! Blessed Freyja! Betimes it is so shrill it makes your ears ache. In truth, I would wager she nags even in the midst of bedsport."

 

Wanda gave her a sharp jab with her elbow, which did not even budge the immovable brute woman. "What makes you think I would participate in the bedsport with him, or any other alpha?"

 

"What? Did you think Pete was interested in conversing with you? About sheep? Or the black arts?" The redhead pondered a moment. "Or freckle cures?"

 

Freckle cures? Ooooh, that was a low blow. There are black arts I would like to employ with this brute. Wanda clenched her jaw.

 

"I like to talk with beautiful Omegas," Pete countered defensively. "Sometimes."

 

Natasha and Clint exhaled with a communal, "Hah!"

 

"And disasters follow her everywhere," Natasha divulged. "Whether it be her witchly arts or just coincidence, I cannot say for certain, but it gets tiresome after a while, I can attest." Clint just nodded in agreement.

 

"Disasters? Like what?" Peter scoffed.

 

Natasha enumerated all the catastrophic moments "Manparts curving, seagulls dying, stupid twins a-birthing wine souring, bowels fluxing, storms brewing, even geese shitting on hapless travelers—"

 

"What hapless travelers?" Peter asked, clearly confused by Natasha's recitation of her supposed ill-doings.

 

Natasha and Clint looked at each other, turned red-faced, and refused to respond.

 

Peter hooted with laughter. "God's blood! 'Twould seem I have much to catch up on. Mayhap I will go to Rus Lands with you, after all, Natasha. Have you committed all these happenstances to sagas, Clint?"

 

Clint beamed at Peter. "Yea, I have. Most of them, leastways. I intend to recite all winter long at Novgorod."

 

"I cannot wait." Peter beamed innocently as he spoke.

 

Everyone else groaned under their breaths.

 

"Now let me see, Natasha." A mischievous grin crept over Pete's lips. "You have told me the wench—I mean, witch—is not for me because she is too old, too talksome and too magical. Is there aught else I should fear afore taking her off your hands?"

 

"Who said I wanted you to take Lady Wanda off my hands?" Natasha snapped.

 

"You did," Wanda declared, baffled by her change of mood.

 

Natasha defended herself. "I did not. I said that Aksel must take responsibility for you now. I never said Pete should take on that irksome duty."

 

Wanda asked her. "What's the difference?"

 

"You wouldn't understand," Natasha answered enigmatically. "Being a weak omega, 'twould be hard for you to fathom the deeper workings of a alpha's mind."

 

Wanda frowned. "Did it take you a long time to think up that nonsense?"

 

 Natasha cast her a sheepish sideways glance. "Nay. It just came to me. An inspiration."

 

She rolled her eyes heavenward.

 

"Well, if you do not want her... " Peter began, studying the two of them with lips twitching with mirth. The thick-headed Natasha obviously failed to see the teasing that underlay Peter's words. "I guess I could be her alpha, her protector... for a while."

 

"Please, Peter! Spare us your whims. You would be her protector only till the next winsome maid strolls by... not that Lady Wanda is winsome. I mean... I did not mean... " Natasha slanted an apologetic look at Wanda, as if she did not already know how little appeal she held for her. Natasha let out a whoosh of exasperation. "Face the truth, Peter. You would not like the freckles that cover her from head to toe," Natasha blurted out, and seemed surprised at his own words.

 

Wanda gasped. The dolt! But wasn't it odd how Natasha was trying to deflect Peter's interest away from her? Here was a perfect opportunity for her to be rid of her, and what did he do? Sabotage her own plan to relinquish responsibility for her.

 

Wanda reached over for her hand and had to pry the fingers apart before lacing it with hers. And, oh, how good it felt to press her flesh against her! The redhead was her anchor in this sea of danger. She would save her. She knew she would. "Do not mind the lout," she told Peter. "She is my own personal guardian angel, but she fights her fates mightily."

 

 

"Natasha ... an angel?" Peter shook his head with disbelief. But then he homed in on Natasha's words. "How do you know she is covered with freckles from head to toe?" Peter asked, chuckling.

 

"Because she saw her naked, back in Jorvik," Bucky explained. He'd just returned from the privy, apparently satisfied with the shape of his beloved staff if his swagger was any indication. He dropped down into his seat next to Peter. "And she has not been the same since. Smitten she is with whatever it was she saw."

 

"I am not smitten," Natasha said with consternation, as if that would be the most horrible thing in the world. Well, it would be, of course. She did not want her smitten. Still, she was a brute for saying so with such vehemence.

 

"As I recall, 'twas the raspberry belly button that got her attention when first she saw her naked. And she cannot get that image from her mind now," Clint interjected, tapping his chin with a forefinger thoughtfully. "Nay, 'twas a raspberry birthmark on her belly."

 

"Raspberry nipples," Natasha corrected him with a low growl. Oh, the humiliation of such talk! Wanda pulled her hand out of its clasp with the lout and buried her face in her hands.

 

"This is the story of 'Natasha the Raven and the Raspberry Feast,' " Clint began.

 

"Natasha the Raven?" Peter questioned.

 

"Shut up," Natasha retorted. And Clint shared his latest creation:

 

"Viking alphas have many a yearning

 

"Some cravings liken to a burning.

 

"A-viking, a-plundering, a-swiving

 

Are but a few that be tormenting.

 

But Lord spare the maid when

 

"The redheaded alpha gets a yen"

 

"For raspberries in her bed."

 

A long silence ensued. Finally curiosity gave way, and Wanda peered up between her fingertips. Peter and Bucky were grinning and staring at her chest. As Natasha growled at them wanting to lop off their heads.

 

 

Chapter 20: THING

Chapter Text

 

 

Natasha felt as if her feet were planted in quicksand and her upper body were being assailed by buffeting winds. She was being pulled in a dozen directions at once, but somewhere along the way she’d lost her inner life-compass.

 

How could she have thought this mission for Aksel would be a simple matter? She must be as lackwitted as Wanda always said.

 

  She wanted to be rid of her.

 

And she did not.

 

She wanted to trust her fate to the fairness of a Norse Thing.

 

She feared what that fate might be.

 

She swore the whole misadventure was the witch fault for hurling a curse in the first place.

 

Yet guilt nagged at her like an aching tooth.

 

The most alarming revelation had come to her moments ago when Peter had offered to take responsibility for the witch. Oh, she knew the scamp had been half-jesting, but she was the one who’d reacted like a young teenager. For the first time in her life, she’d tasted the bile of jealousy, and that scared her mightily.

 

At what point had Natasha stopped noticing the mess color of her hair or the overabundance of skin splotches? In truth, the witch was starting to look good to her. Yea, to Natasha's horror, she was developing a taste for the witch's hyperverbosity and her cute freckles. Other women, even some comely ones at Aksel court, appeared pale in comparison.

Natasha was going mad. Her life was unraveling, thread by thread. In the midst of this royal assembly, she fought the compulsion to pull at her curls and roar like a wild bull. That is it, she concluded, I have gone berserk.

 

 She needed to get away and think. Alone. Once she was home at Novgorod, her mind would become clear once again. She would remember why it was essential that she shield her emotions because, for the life of her, she couldn’t stop the ice around her heart from melting now. Much more of this and she would be as vulnerable as a wingless bird.

 

Besides that, her thigh wound was throbbing with more pain than she’d experienced since the Battle of Brunanburh, when it had been inflicted. Natasha feared she was doing irreparable harm to her leg, hobbling around on it when the limb needed to be elevated and the scarred skin packed with hot poultices. Her sister Pepper would flail her alive with angry words if she saw how she’d abused her good work in saving her leg fifteen years earlier.

 

 “Natasha,” Wanda said softly with a little sigh of sympathy.

 

Sympathy now? Aaarrgh Odin! Natasha glanced up to see the witch staring at her thigh, where she was unconsciously kneading it. Before she had a chance to rebuff her, she swatted her hand aside, laid her cloak over her lap and began to massage the sore muscles underneath herself.

 

At first Natasha was too shocked at the boldness of the wench. But then she could only melt as her expert ministrations brought blessed relief. It was as if Lady Wanda’s flexing fingers imparted heat to her tortured flesh.

 

“You must, indeed, be a witch,” Natasha murmured, but there was admiration, not condemnation, in her voice. Her breath stopped for a brief moment melt staring at Wanda shrugging and smiling shyly at her.

Shyness? From the boldest wench in all England? Natasha’s heart lurched and expanded with a most disarming fullness.

 

Fortunately, their attention was diverted by the banging of the lawspeaker’s staff on the floor at the head of the room.

 

“Hear one, hear all,” Styrr the Wise called out in a surprisingly strong voice for one of his age. “Peace be to you, honorable alphas of Trondelag. Come ye to judge your fellows according to the ancient laws laid down by good Norsemen through the ages.”

 

"Hear! Hear!” the crowd roared.

 

“Remember our gods and their great esteem for wisdom. Remember how Odin sacrificed one eye to drink from the well of knowledge.”

 

Many nodded at that reminder of their High-God’s reverence for law and order.

 

“But I am remiss. Many of you follow the Christian religion, as well. Dost your God-book not say, ‘The tongue of the just is as choice silver’?”

 

“Amen!” some of the men responded loudly.

 

“It is the custom that all men differ in opinions. But the goal of all is justice, and in this Thing, justice will prevail.”

 

A loud clamor of assent rang through the assembly.

 

“All alphas will have a vote. No army will there be enforcing the decisions of the Thing… not Aksel’s, nor any other’s. Order depends entirely on the willing acceptance of those in judgment, which will be shown by the vapnatak, or weapon clatter.”

 

Hundreds of women and men rattled their swords against shields to demonstrate the method by which votes would be cast.

 

“This, too, I pronounce. The decisions of the Thing shall be final and accepted by one and all, in peace… “

 

Again, the assembly voiced their agreement with shouts of “Yea!” or yipping yells.

 

"… unless the need arise for verdict by combat.”

 

The assent this time was a wild cheer.

 

Wanda stopped massaging Natasha’s thigh and snickered. “As if a bloody nose proves anything.”

 

“Or a dead body,” Natasha added with a grin.

 

“I hope they don’t expect me to wrestle Aksel to prove my innocence.” ‘Twas her feeble attempt at humor, Natasha supposed, she smiled at that.

 

Damn, but she was developing a fondness for her sharp tongue… and her brave front in the face of what had to be the most frightening ordeal of her life. “Nay, they would expect you to have a champion fighting in your stead.”

 

Natasha immediately wished she could snatch the words back. Too late! She braced herself for trouble. Wanda’s trembling lips stilled, then spread into a wide smile, just before she slipped her hand in her. Natasha feels a intense warm wave spreading on her chest and ... “Oh sweet Freyja! Trouble… I am in big trouble.’

 

Wanda listened carefully as the lawspeaker enumerated all the various crimes and their respective punishments, as dictated by Thing ritual. Peter sat at her side. Natasha, Bucky and Clint had taken their seats in the half-circle of chieftains. Those of her hird who remained at Aksel court—about seventy men and female Alphas—sat behind them, awaiting the Thing.

 

Apparently, Things handled a wide variety of disputes: murder, robbery, land ownership, divorce, rape, grazing and hunting rights, even such mundane conflicts as the wooing of bees or collection of firewood.

 

The lawspeaker would enumerate the punishment for whatever the crime. In some cases, the punishment was death or banishment. Sometimes the punishment involved the “eye for an eye” mentality. For example, the rape of one alpha’s mate could result in the rape of the rapist’s omega or daughter, or both. Most often, though, elaborate wer-gilds were levied, involving the payment of silver, wool, cows or other items of equivalent value.

 

“The wergild in the case of Omega-theft demands the payment of omega-money,” the lawspeaker was explaining. “For a farmer’s daughter or son in prime with a maidenhead, fresh and strong and without blemish, the wergild would be thirty marten skins… and they must be winter pelts with no arrow holes. If the daughter or son be of a chieftain, however, there would be treble Omega money paid, equal to up to ten quarter marks of silver.”

 

“And what would the wergild be for a Saxon lady?” Wanda asked Peter in an undertone. “A widow, thrice over, who is past her prime and with blemish, but still fresh and strong.”

 

“Thrice?” Peter exclaimed, then immediately ducked his head when he saw Natasha frown at them for conversing while the lawspeaker was still speaking. In a lower voice, he informed her, “A widow, even of high station, would bring less than the virgin farmer’s daughter. Unless she carries vast estates, that is.”

Wanda made a snorting sound of disgust. Actually, she had expected no less. Even her cousins did not place all that much value on her when bartering her in the marriage mart.

 

“Shhh,” Peter cautioned then.

 

The lawspeaker was detailing the various punishments that could be levied for witchcraft, and they were gruesome, indeed. Flaying the skin off the back. Death by sword drink. (She assumed that meant a sword through the heart or lungs, which caused blood to gurgle up through the throat.) Skewering the head on a pole. Nice image, that! Burning at the stake. Splitting the witch in half at the buttocks to search for the hidden tail. And something called the Spear Death, whereby twenty spears were planted in the ground and the witch was thrown onto the points of the lances, where she would lay till death overcame her, or she succumbed to the pecking of vultures.

 

"A bloodthirsty bunch, these savages are,.” Wanda murmured the words in a jesting way, but inside, she quivered with fright.

 

Peter patted her hand, and she could have kissed him with thanks.

 

Finally, it was time for the Thing to hear Wanda’s case.

 

“What crime has been committed here?” the law-speaker asked.

 

“Witchcraft,” Aksel answered, “by Lady Wanda of Graycote.”

 

“Deception. Failure to honor a commission. Betrayal. Theft,” Natasha answered at the same time, “by King Aksel.”

 

Aksel glared at her, and Natasha glared back.

 

Wanda was not about to sit back and let them do all the accusing. She stood, to the shock of those surrounding her, especially Peter, who was tugging on her gunna, trying to force her back to her seat. She dodged his grasp and announced her complaints. “Kidnapping. Torture. Starvation. Seasickness. Assault by constant sexual looks. Improper touching.”

 

Her complaints were met with hoots of laughter and congratulatory shouts directed at Natasha. Natasha, on the other hand, appeared as if she’d swallowed a barrel of gammelost. Her face turned reddish.

 

“Improper touching? That is the best type,” one bearded alpha pronounced, clapping his knee with glee.

 

"Can you show us how to give a sexual look?” This time a female alpha made mock of Natasha, the whole time contorting her face into a ridiculous moon-eyed expression.

 

Peter managed to pull her back to the bench and told her with a short laugh, “Omegas aren’t supposed to address the Thing, unless given specific permission to do so.”

 

Wanda gritted her teeth. “Oh, and now you tell me! I suppose my outburst will count against me in the voting.”

 

"I don’t know about that. Laughter is always a good sign.”

 

“Proceed,” the lawspeaker said, pointing his staff at Aksel to go first. Easing himself tiredly into a nearby chair, the lawspeaker shook his head slowly from side to side, as if he knew this was going to be an impossible case.

 

Aksel took a pose of arrogance, with wide shoulders thrown back and thumbs looped in his ornate belt, then commenced giving his distorted version of the events at St. Beatrice’s Abbey last year. He claimed that he and his men had merely stopped for food and drink and to rest their horses when the witch had placed her infamous curse on his root.

 

Wanda started to rise again to give the correct version of the encounter, but Peter placed a cautioning hand on her forearm. “I but wish to tell the truth. The king is lying.”

 

“You will get your chance later.” Peter assured her calmly.

 

"Why would the wench curse you if you were doing no harm?” asked one burly Viking with gray-streaked black hair and piercing blue eyes.

 

Aksel shrugged. “Mayhap she is a alpha-hater. Or an enemy of all Vikings, as many Saxons tend to be. Why else would they recite that foolish prayer to their One-God? ‘Oh, Lord, from the fury of the Northmen please protect us.’ “

 

Several alphas preened, as if engendering fury were a good thing.

 

"King Aksel!” Father Caedmon spoke up. “You have taken baptismal vows yourself.”

 

“That I own,” Aksel said, waving a hand dismissively. It was obvious his conversion to Christianity was in name only.

 

Next, Aksel detailed the affliction he’d sustained as a result of her supposed curse—the notorious crooked root. By the time he was done describing the curvature, the horrific pain, the inability to bury his bent sword into the straight sheaths of his wives and mistresses and the blow to his pride, the majority of the alphas in the great hall were cringing and tutting with commiseration. Wanda, on the other hand, felt like throwing up the meager contents of her breakfast—gruel with a side of gruel.

 

Then, the alphas all oohed and aahed on viewing the new—better than ever, to hear Aksel tell it—root. Wanda tried not to look, except for a quick peek through her fingers, which she held to her eyes. Her stomach roiled again. “As far as I can see, it’s just an ugly old thing. And purplish, for the love of heaven! Certainly nothing to make such a fuss about.”

 

Peter was bent over, quaking with silent laughter.

 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Natasha said and stood abruptly, interrupting Aksel’s discourse on his remarkable organ, which didn’t please Aksel very much because he was right in the middle of expounding on something called “staying power,” or was it “staying up power”?

 

Alphas took their roots entirely too seriously, in Wanda’s opinion, and she told Peter so in no uncertain terms, which caused him to sputter with continuing laughter. “Oh, oh, oh… I do not believe this.”

 

That was just before Natasha stomped—or as close to a stomp as she could manage with her limp—over to their bench, where she snarled in her ear. “Shut your teeth, you foolish wench, or I may not be able to save your head.” To Peter, he just shook his head and muttered, “Fool!” Before she could ask if, indeed, Natasha intended to save her head, she was stomping/limping back to her judgment seat.

 

Next Aksel brought forth his witnesses. His healer, Father Caedmon, a witch expert (though how the old hag gained that expertise was never explained) and finally, three wives and two mistresses, who attested to the severity of his affliction and the pain and deprivation he had suffered, not to mention their own unsatisfied state for many months. That latter was almost laughable to Wanda, but she did not dare show her amusement in the face of the unending glower Natasha sent her way.

 

Next, Aksel called on some of Natasha’s men, who reported, reluctantly, on the dead seagulls, the shower of goose dung, the bowel fluxes, crab lice, soured wine, sheep familiars and, worst of all, the potion that almost killed Natasha.

 

The mouths of some of the hardened Vikings were hanging open with amazement. More than a few looked as if they were barely holding back belly-quaking mirth, at Natasha’s expense.

 

It was the strangest experience of her life… a wildly preposterous trial in a wild land of wild, wild Alphas. Clint was mouthing some words to himself, no doubt composing a new saga, “Natasha the Raven and the Wild Thing.”

 

To Wanda's amazement, when King Aksel called on James to give testimony against her, the rude man refused to say anything. Instead, he sat with his elbows braced on his widespread knees, staring glumly downward ... submissively. The only explanation Wanda could come up with was that Natasha had threatened him with some dire consequence.

 

Now it was Natasha’s turn to present her complaint. She told how King Aksel’s messenger, Ward, approached her in the market town of Birka. The young man was sitting behind King Aksel, ready to be called to testify, if necessary.

 

“First, Ward offered me the Saracen stallion, Fierce One, if I would complete a mission for King Aksel.”

 

There were many ooohs from the Viking alphas, who were clearly impressed with Aksel’s generosity. If Aksel had any thought of rescinding that offer, it was now locked in place by the approval of his peers. He chose the higher road and nodded graciously at the compliments being showered on him.

 

The toad!

 

“My mission was to search out the witch, Lady Wanda, in Northumbria,” Natasha continued, “and bring her back to King Aksel’s court so she could remove the curse on his root.”

 

“But I’m not—“ Wanda started to say.

 

"The lawspeaker ignored Wanda’s outburst and waved for Natasha to proceed.

 

"When I declined to take on Aksel’s mission, even for such a fine horse, Ward added to the pot another morsel.” A slight grin tugged at her lips—the lecherous woman!—as she pointed to a far corner where the slave girl, Nadia, of the silver bells, huddled in conversation with several other Omegas. The girl, no more than eighteen and beauteous of form and face, smiled coyly at Natasha. And Wanda felt tears brim her eyes Natasha is hers. God entrusted to Natasha to be her guardian angel. Her protector.

 

Peter noticed. “Besotted, are you?”

 

"I… am… not!” Wanda asserted, giving him a look that would have withered one of her house carls back at Graycote but merely drew a smirk to Peter’s lips. But, oh, despite her protests, she feared she was starting to care about the redhead rogue. Untenable as it was, she was jealous of a mere girl with bells on her breasts.

 

Natasha stood silent for a moment before commencing afresh. “I declined both offers that Ward brought on Aksel’s behalf because I had important work to do afore winter. But then he made me an offer I could not in good conscience refuse. He told me that Peter was being held hostage at his court and would not be released until I delivered the witch. He called it a ‘friendly hostage,’ but a hostage just the same.”

 

“Is that true?” the lawspeaker demanded of King Aksel. “Did you deceive Natasha thus?”

 

“You say me wrong,” Aksel whined to Natasha in a wounded voice. When he saw that Natasha was unmoved, he spoke to the lawspeaker. “Nay, he misunderstood. I merely told Ward to inform Natasha, as a last resort, that Peter was visiting at my court, and Natasha might want to join him here afore retiring to Novgorod for the winter.”

 

"You lie!” Natasha yelled.

 

“You overstep yourself, Natasha” Aksel yelled back. “Remember to whom you speak.

Natasha hissed at him. “King you may be, Aksel, but that does not give you leave to lie, or deceive.”

 

“It was a misunderstanding, I tell you. We are not enemies, Natasha. Blood kin we be, and comrades. Do not test those bonds with ill-chosen words.”

 

“It is no small matter to deceive blood kin or comrade, be you king or cotter.”

 

The lawspeaker held both hands high to halt their argument.

 

Ward was called forth then, and he supported the king in a shifty-eyed, stuttering way.

 

Natasha and Aksel started hurling accusations back and forth again, while Ward scurried away. Vikings within the half-circle of twenty-one, as well as free alphas throughout the hall, were muttering amongst themselves.

 

Finally, the lawspeaker stood and banged his staff against a nearby shield, calling for attention. Quickly, with a rippling effect, quiet descended over the crowd.

 

“Let the witch come forth,” the lawspeaker said.

 

Natasha flinched.

 

Not a good sign, Wanda thought as a moan escaped her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 21: Sailing To Kievan Rus

Chapter Text

 

 

 

Peter helped her to her feet and whispered in her ear, "Do not go fainthearted now, my lady. Hang firm with the mettle you have shown thus far."

 

Wanda's legs felt wobbly as she walked to the center of the room, where she was directed to stand, facing the assembly. She glanced toward Natasha for encouragement, but she just stared at her, her face angry and unsmiling. Whether she was angry at her, King Aksel or the whole proceeding, she could not tell.

 

"You have been accused of witchcraft, Lady Wanda," the lawspeaker said. "What say you?"

 

Wanda shook her head. "I'm not a witch."

 

"How do you explain the hair Devil's spittle?"

 

She shrugged. "God's choice, not Satan's."

 

Father Caedmon stiffened, unsure if she were uttering a profanity or not.

 

"Did you put a curse on King Aksel's root?"

 

"Yea," she answered truthfully, and there was a loud murmur of "Aha!" that resounded through the assembly. "But it was not the curse of a witch. Merely that of an outraged omega upon seeing a alpha about to rape a nun."

 

"I... I... I... never... " Aksel sputtered.

 

"Yea, you did, King Aksel. You and your fellow Vikings entered the abbey of St. Beatrice in Northumbria, where you raped and pillaged the good nuns. When I saw you spread the thighs of Sister Mary Esme, I became outraged. When my efforts to dislodge you proved fruitless, I shouted, 'By the Virgin's Veil, may your root fall off if you do this evil thing.' That does not mean I am a witch."

 

"She cursed me, and my cock took a turn, halfway down," Aksel argued. "I am confirmed a thousand times she is a witch."

 

"If I were a witch, why would I not place a curse on this whole bloody assembly and be done with it?" she scoffed. "Then I would not need a Thing to gain my freedom. I would just fly off with the aid of magic arts."

 

A number of the men shifted uncomfortably at her reminder that she could conceivably curse their dangly parts, as well. Some of them crossed their legs in protection, and a few reached for nearby shields.

 

"And is the headrail you wear now the Virgin's Veil"" the lawspeaker asked.

 

Wanda response. "Aaarrgh! Are you people listening to me? I am not a witch. There is no curse that could curve a staff, as far as I know. 'Tis said a certain malady can cause such I symptoms, which go away of their own accord, in time. But Father Caedmon, or Peter the Healer, would know more of that than I."

 

"That is of no significance," Aksel contended, examining his fingernails with unconcern.

 

"Yea, it is. I believe you had a physical ailment, not a magical one."

 

"That will be for the Thing to decide," the lawspeaker said sternly. "Now continue, Lady Wanda."

 

Wanda nods before continue her defense. "I have no knowledge of a relic known as the Virgin's Veil. This is one of five blue headrails I own, all cut from the same English cloth. 'By the Virgin's Veil' is an expression, that's all."

 

"What explanation have you for all the frightful events that occur in your vicinity?" Aksel asked belligerently.

 

Wanda just muttered. "Coincidence."

 

"Hah!" Aksel responded. And under his breath he muttered, "Bloody witch!" She could see equally dubious grimaces on the faces of many of the alphas.

 

The lawspeaker stared at her for a long moment, then sighed loudly. "This is a dilemma. We have three versions of a dispute, all different. Let us think on this problem and come up with a just solution."

 

About five minutes of contemplation followed then, as the alphas presumably thought through all aspects of the case. Some of them spoke to neighbors. There was much nodding and shaking of heads.

 

Those five minutes felt like five hours to Wanda, whose fate weighed in the balance. Surely, in the end, Natasha would come to her rescue... if rescuing became necessary. Her instincts about the redhead as her God-sent champion—her guardian Viking angel, ludicrous as that sounded—could not be so far off the mark.

 

Finally, the lawspeaker's crinkled face brightened, as if inspired. He banged his staff on the floor for attention.

 

"All good alphas know when to compromise," Styrr the Wise began. "It occurs to me that we have been told how a witch attempts to seduce mortal man so she may lose her tail. And I remind you that Natasha has told us she does not believe the Lady Wanda is a witch. Therefore, I suggest that Natasha prove her claim by marrying the witch." He smiled broadly through his toothless mouth at what he obviously considered a brilliant settlement.

 

'Oh Bloody Hell!!' Natasha's face first went pale with shock, then purple with rage. She sputtered with disbelief. 

 

"Those are wise words Styrr has delivered... and well worth pondering," King Aksel offered quickly. After only a moment of contemplation, he shouted, "Yea! A perfect solution!"

 

And the entire body of free alphas and chieftains voted their favor with whooping cheers and the raucous clatter of their weapons against shields, the vapnatak. "Prove she is not a witch, Natasha Romanovdottir. Marry the wench," many of them hollered.

 

"Nay! I refuse," Natasha bellowed.

 

"You refuse a decision of the Thing?" the lawspeaker inquired stonily. "Do you choose decision by combat instead?"

 

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," Wanda said before the something very bad could happen. "Let me talk to Natasha in private for a brief moment."

 

"I have naught to say to you," Natasha said in an ice-laden voice when she pulled her off to the side. "This is all your fault."

 

"My fault?" Wanda snapped, but then softened her voice. She needed to have her on her side, not alienate her further. "Listen, Natasha, marrying me is a perfect solution."

 

Natasha made a snorting noise that was most offensive. Wanda would have whacked hee on the head if she did not need her help in this matter. "Really. Marry me to end this absurd problem with Aksel. You take me away to Novgorod for the winter, and I will return to Graycote come spring. It's a perfect solution for me. We will be wed, but not really wed. My cousins will be forced to end their marriage machinations. And I will not have to worry over having a bothersome husband about... ." Her words trailed off as she realized how insulting her plan sounded.

 

The redhead viking was shaking her head at her, as if she'd lost her mind. "And what would I gain from this so-called marriage?"

 

"Well... well... " Wanda faltered. "It would be the noble thing to do."

 

Natasha chuckled "Hah! More like the angel thing to do."

 

"Yay, That, too," Wanda said brightly.

 

"I am not a saint." Natasha crossed her arms over the chest.

 

Wanda chuckled this time. "I know."

 

Natasha denied with a frown on her face. "Nay, Wanda. You do not know."

 

"Well ... I ... I could... you know... " Wanda mumbles as her face burned hotly.

 

"Nay, I do not know. Tell me." Natasha encouraged the wench. She was not making this easy for her at all.

 

 

Wanda swallowed and murmured "Well, I could be your... um, bedmate for the winter."

 

What!'

 

This can not be possible. Natasha can't believe what her ears are hearing.

 

At first her mouth dropped open with surprise. Then she laughed. The lecherous redhead laughed. "What have you to offer that Nadia, or some other wench, could not provide... without all the bother?"

 

Wanda argued. "You wanted me before... in Hedeby."

 

Natasha snorted. "A moment of madness."

 

"Mayhap I have hidden talents." Wanda blushed more deeply. By the rood! Did she say that? The only talent she have in bedsport is gritting her teeth.

 

Natasha laughed mirthlessly and walked away from her, shaking her head and muttering something about having "gone berserk." She then addressed the lawspeaker, Aksel and the other alphas. "This I will agree to. King Aksel will give me the stallion, five hundred marks of silver—"

 

"Five hundred marks of silver!" King Aksel exclaimed. "—and I, in turn, will take the Lady Wanda with me to Novgorod for the winter, to prove I do not fear her witchly powers. I will not marry her, though. That is asking too much. Even Aksel must admit that." Natasha hesitated, then added, "You can keep the jingling girl."

 

Wanda cringed inwardly at Natasha's vehement refusal to wed her. She understood. She really did. Still, it hurt.

 

"Methinks it a reasonable compromise," the law-speaker opined.

 

King Aksel tapped his bearded chin thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded, and the weapon clatter of the assembly gave the final stamp of approval to Natasha's solution.

 

"At least I walk away with my head, if not my dignity," Wanda said to Natasha as shee took her by the upper arm, nigh dragging her from the great hall. She was trying to lighten her dark mood.

 

Clint followed behind, along with the seventy or so of his warriors who still remained. The alphas, armed with swords but no casting weapons, formed a tight phalanx as they withdrew from Aksel's court, wary of any treachery. Farther behind, Peter sprinted along after them, his robe raised to his knees to facilitate flight. Bucky came last, weighted down by cloth sacks of the coin he'd amassed from his cross and holy water transactions.

 

When they got to the doorway of the great hall, Natasha turned on her and said, nose pressed to nose. Wanda could feel Natasha's hot breath against her lips, "Attend me well, lady. You are going to pay dearly for this trick you have played on me, in ways you cannot possibly imagine."

 

Wanda mumbles, shivering at the threat. " 'Tis nigh impossible I could even think up such a trick."

 

Natasha gritted her teeth and growled. "Shut... your... teeth."

 

Wanda would have liked to express her opinion of Natasha's nasty manner, but she was free, thanks to this rude woman, and she decided to show her gratitude by remaining silent. Not that she had a choice.

 

As they all walked toward her longship in the falling snow, Wanda pondered Natasha's words. You are going to pay dearly for this trick you have played on me, in ways you cannot possibly imagine. In that moment, she discovered that she had a really good imagination.

 

And she thought, Hmmm. 

 

An hour later, two of Natasha's longships prepared to set sail on the winding fjords East to Novgorod.

 

The weather had turned bitter cold, and sleet was coming down in a steady fall of wet, biting pellets. Natasha could tell by the nervous efficiency that the seamen expended in their tasks that they were worried by the coming storm, and about whether they would be able to make the two-day trip home before the streams froze over.

 

Wanda sat huddled under several layers of fur rugs. The horse—a beautiful beast of sleek-as-satin black—was firmly ensconced on the other vessel, despite Aksel's offer to buy the animal back from Natasha.

 

Natasha wasn't talking to anyone, most especially her. She went about her duties stoically, overseeing her ship's departure. Natasha's usually full lips were thinned and bluish, and not just from the cold. Wanda could tell that Natasha was in tremendous pain from hee old leg wound but would not stop and rest, or she might not be able to go on. They were ready to set sail now. 

 

"Hey!" Natasha walked up to her and shoved a pile of five flat boxes into her hands. They were finely carved in some foreign style and gilded along the raised edges.

 

"For me?" Wanda was puzzled by the contradiction of gifts and her icy demeanor.

 

Natasha just said. "For you."

 

Wanda looked at her apprehensively. "But... but why?"

 

Natasha gave her a icily smile. ' "These, my lady witch, will mark the first stage of your payment to me of the huge debt you now owe me."

 

Wanda was mouth-open before she says. "I... I don't understand. You give me gifts so I can pay you?"

 

"Yea," the redhead viking said. The smile that stretched her lips never met her eyes, which regarded her coolly. "And your debt is huge."

 

The fine hairs stood out at the back of her neck. "You are talking about punishment, not payment, are you not?"

 

"Yea, but you have a few days to ponder your future, my lady. I will not begin to collect till we are settled in at Novgorod for the winter... the whole bloody winter."

 

"I'm not afraid of you, Natasha." Wanda said, even though she was beginning to be just that.

 

"Then you are a bigger fool than I thought." With those words, Natasha walked off and signaled her sailors to begin rowing.

 

A short time later, Peter walked up and sat down beside Wanda. "Why are you frowning so?" He asked. "I would think you would be jubilant. You won."

 

Wanda laughed humorlessly. "I did no such thing. This wasn't a contest. And no matter what Natasha says, it wasn't my fault, either."

 

Peter laughed. "She is a mite perturbed with you."

 

"That's an understatement. It's why I was frowning. I don't understand these gifts she gave me. Oh, she spouted some nonsense about their being my first installment in paying her back a huge debt. But I've examined them and... " She handed them to Peter, and he opened the largest one first. It was a silk-lined shallow box containing dozens of feathers of all sizes, colors and textures. "Aren't they magnificent?" she commented.

 

Peter nodded, deep in thought, and opened the next flat chest. This one contained ten flagons of various scented oils. "Nat has commented on the rose-scented hair cream that her sister-by-marriage, Lady Betty, gave to me, but I am deeply touched that she would grace me with these."

 

Peter was beginning to grin enigmatically.

 

Wanda frowns. "Why are you smirking?"

 

"I am beginning to understand the method of payment Natasha plans to exact from you." Peter opened the next box, which held the oddest objects, short lengths of velvet ropes... four of them. "Yea, I am beginning to understand."

 

A very small box held a magnificent amber cabochon, about the size of a bird's egg. "This is beautiful but has no backing to be used as a brooch, and no metal loop through which a neck chain could be run." Wanda shrugged.

 

"It's a belly button stone," Peter said with a chuckle.

 

Wanda asked him clearly confused "A what?"

 

Peter explain to her. "It's a special gem, favored by many of the houris in sultans' harems. Mostly female Omegas wears naught but this stone in the navel."

 

It took a moment for comprehension to dawn. When it did, Wanda gasped. "She's mad if she thinks I would... well, suffice it to say, she's mad." She turned the gem this way and that, trying to picture it in place. Finally, she put it away, making a tsk-ing sound of disapproval. "Is the woman perverted?"

 

"Probably." Peter winked at her and reached for the last box.

 

"Oh, that one's a mistake," she said, trying to pull it back. "Natasha must have meant it for Nadia."

 

Peter opened it, and out spilled the most scandalous garment, made of near transparent red silk scarves, edged with tiny jingling bells. "Nay, you are mistaken, Lady Wanda. She intends it for you. I am certain of that."

 

Wanda stared at him, aghast.

 

Peter announced cheerfully. "Oh, Lady Wanda, I predict this is going to be the most interesting winter of your life."

Chapter 22: NOVGOROD

Chapter Text

They arrived at Novgorod a week later a snow began to fall in a steady blanketing of puffy flakes.

 

Wanda and all the other seafarers were exhausted, frozen to the bone and barely able to find their land legs as they disembarked from the ice-crusted longships. The trip had been harrowing, to say the least. Hard rowing through one fjord after another... some narrow, and so shallow the vessels risked being landlocked, and others as wide as a river.

 

The weather had varied from rain to bitter winds, but was always intensely cold. They did not even camp for the night; it was dark a large portion of the day anyhow. Instead, they stopped for breaks at six-hour intervals whereby cold food was served—including the horrid gammelost—and bodily functions could be relieved in nearby bushes. All the time they were attempting to outrun the onslaught of full winter, which was apparently a disaster to be avoided when on the open waterways of the region known as the Land of the Midnight Sun.

 

 

 What a harsh land, this northern section of the Rus Lands! Of course, she was seeing it for the first time under the worst of circumstances, but it was a mountainous, primitive terrain, more suited to wild beasts than humans beings.

 

Wanda hadn't spoken with Natasha since she'd handed her the "gifts." She'd kept to the other longship most of the time, but she could see even from a distance that she was nigh crippled with pain. And Natasha wasn't the only one suffering. Many of the seamen were afflicted with the usual wintertime ailment of sneezing and running noses and eyes. Of course, they blamed it all on her witchly presence. Few had been convinced by Natasha's defense of her at Aksel's court.

 

 She intended to make them all a good, rich chicken broth once they reached Novgorod... a guaranteed cure for the winter chills. And she would force it down their stubborn throats if they resisted it as witch's brew... yea, she would. She was sick to death of stubborn, superstitious men.

 

But now they'd come home for the winter. The timing was fortunate in that they'd arrived during one of the few hours of daylight. Many of the seamen were met by family members waiting for them on the wharves of Novgorod. One by one, and in small groups, those alphas who did not reside in the main keep made for their homes in the nearby village.

 

Finally, the chaos of unloading the goods was completed, and Wanda stepped onto the wooden planks of the dock, getting her first good view of Novgorod.

 

Then she gasped.

 

Novgorod was situated in a bowl-shaped valley known as the Kievan Rus. Peter had told her earlier that the name came from an old legend that millions of years ago in this same valley Odin fight against the dark elves when they invaded Midgard. Now, there was a small lake forming the base of the bowl and dense, tree-lined mountains surrounding it. The lake was formed from melted snow and rain run-off from the mountains, which flowed into the fjord by which they'd entered. A small timber and stone "castle," in the Frankish rather than the Norse style, sat perched on the lip of one side, overlooking the lake. Viking longhouses making up the Novgorod village were scattered in clusters around the bowl.

 

It was a land ill-suited to farming, but goats and sheep would do well here. Wanda smiled to herself at that last. "Natasha the Raven" as a sheepherder? She thought not.

 

With fat snowflakes billowing down on the scene, Novgorod, with its valley and lake backdrop, presented an exquisite picture. Magical, even. A land where fairies and elves and other woodland creatures might very well reside, if one believed in such fanciful notions.

 

She was seeing it through winter's filter, of course. How much more beautiful would it be when spring burst on the valley with its greenery and wildflowers and native animals abirthing, like reindeer and beaver and great bears? Or summer, when ducks and other feathered fowl came to nest here?

 

Natasha came up to her then and took her by the forearm. "Come with me," She said tersely. "Don't stand about dawdling."

 

Wanda would have reacted to her rudeness, but she was too engrossed in the scene before her. "Your home is wonderful Natasha."

 

"Huh?" Natasha's head came up alertly, and her green eyes widened with surprise.

 

"If this was my home, I don't think I would ever leave." Wanda smiled at her. She could tell her words pleased the viking woman, though she tried to hide her emotions from her. "Is this another trick of yours?"

 

"To what purpose?" Wanda scoffed. "I give you a compliment so that I can gain... what?"

 

Natasha shrugged. "To avoid your punishment."

 

"Oh, that! I thought you were serious." Wanda seems to remember.

 

"I am serious. You are going to be punished for your many crimes, in ways you cannot imagine." Natasha start to laugh.

 

"Ha, ha, ha!" Wanda said humorlessly.

"Did you open my gifts?" Natasha smiled even more.

 

Wanda nodded her head.  "Yea, I did. That was some grand jest you played on me."

 

"Twas no jest." Natasha frowned.

 

"Peter is laughing." Wanda pointed at the young man behind them.

 

A look of disgust passed over her face. "You showed Peter?"

 

"Yea. He says you are perverted." Wanda shrugged. "I agree with him"

 

Natasha threw back her head and laughed. "That's truly a case of the pot calling the kettle black. I will have a talk with that guttersnipe if he is calling me names. Perverted! Indeed!"

 

'Well, actually, I'm the one who called you perverted, and he just agreed."

 

Natasha was shifting from foot to foot, gazing about her homestead with an expression that could only be described as unbridled love. Unbidden, a thought occurred to her. What would it be like to be favored with such devotion from a woman? Nay, not any woman. What would it be like to be so loved by Natasha? Alarmed, Wanda reined in her untenable mind-spinnings and turned her attention back to Natasha.

 

Without thinking, the redhead woman stuck her tongue out and was letting snowflakes melt on her tongue.

 

"You are such a child," Wanda said, but her heart turned over at the innocent gesture. "I can just picture you as a mischievous wild girl, throwing snowballs with your friends. Chasing the girls with icicles in a game of catch-me-if-you-can."

 

Natasha cocked her head in surprise. "I had no friends as a child. We moved about too much, and had no real home, as such. Except later for a short while, mayhap, when I lived with my grandparents at Ravenshire. Nay, there was just me and my brother Bruce, and he was older, and much too somber in his ways for such trivial pursuits as snow-play."

 

Natasha seemed to make a conscious effort to pull herself out of her wistful musings then, and added with a deliberate twinkle in his eye, "But, yea, I recall now that I did give more than one girling hot pursuit with many a cold icicle. "Till one day the goatherder's daughter, Gertrud, upset with my harmless taunting, stuffed a handful of snow down the front of my braies. God's bones! 'Twas an experience I would not want to repeat."

 

Wanda smiled at that image. "And did it teach you a lesson?"

 

 Natasha shrugged. "For a short while. But I got back at Gertrud, to be sure. I flipped up the back hem of her robe during a Michaelmas feast. Turns out she wore no undergarments. And everyone got to see her bare backside... as wide as a fat bishop's, I might add." She grinned at her, unabashedly.

 

"For shame!" Wanda scolded, but only halfheartedly.

 

"Well, Wallace the Privy Builder proposed marriage to her the following sennight," Natasha informed her with a continuing grin. "Must be he had a taste for overlarge backsides. Perchance it had something to do with his trade."

 

God above! The woman is adorable. Wanda thought as her heart melt with adoration. Aaarrgh! Where did that thought come from? Natasha is not adorable. Not, not, not!

 

"So, you like your first view of Novgorod?" Natasha asked, changing the subject.

 

"Yea," Wanda said with much enthusiasm. "It must be so beautiful here in the summer."

 

Natasha shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm always gone by then."

 

Her heart went out to the wild woman—way too many times this day, actually. She could see how much Novgorod meant to her, and yet each spring she tore herself away to wander on her various travels. There was something significant to be learned here.

 

But Wanda had no time for that. She had just noticed something more important. Natasha's face was flushed, and not from the cold.

 

"Are you sick?" She demanded with concern, reaching up to place a hand on her sweaty forehead.

 

"No. I'm fine." Natasha was burning up with fever. She tried to step back from her but swayed from side to side. The rigors of the trip, on top of her already sorry condition, were finally catching up with her.

 

"Clint!" Wanda cried, and the blond man came immediately to her side, taking in the situation at a glance. Just in time, he caught Natasha and picked up her lifeless form in his strong arms.

 

Natasha the Raven was deathly ill.  It was a most auspicious beginning to Wanda's winter stay at Novgorod.

 

Chapter 23: The Lady Witch and the Deadly Chicken Potion

Chapter Text

 

  It was a most auspicious beginning to Wanda’s winter stay at Novgorod.

 

Three days later, Wanda sat at the kitchen table chopping a plump raw chicken, along with leeks and various dried herbs for yet another kettle of rich chicken broth. Later she would drop tiny dough balls into the soup pot, once the dish had been bubbling for three or four hours, when the meat began to fall off the bones in shreds. The dough balls were a secret touch she’d learned from Leah, a Jewish merchant’s wife who’d passed through Graycote a year past. Laura had also suggested keeping the chicken feet, gizzard and heart in the brew for extra flavor, even though some cooks tossed them in the midden.

 

 "Chicken again?” Clint asked, rolling his eyes heavenward. ‘”Tis past time to put a haunch of wild boar on the spit. Or a few rabbits. Alphas need red blood, lest their virility suffers.”

 

"Alphas need red blood? For virility? Strength? Where did that bit of alpha non-wisdom come from? “Chicken broth is good for the winter ailment,” Wanda said defensively. “I know some of the alphas… well, most of the alphas… are stall-fed on my chicken soup, but—“

 

"You’ve been serving it three times a day since our arrival at Novgorod,” the blonde man pointed out dryly.

 

Wanda knew many at Novgorod were still leery of her as a possible witch, but fortunately, they’d allowed her to minister to their leader’s illness. They watched her closely, though.

 

 "I care not a fig for the finicky palates of you if the liquid strengthens your sniffling systems, especially Natasha, whose fever broke only yestereve, praise be to God!”

 

“Finicky appetites! You are killing our appetites,” Clint grumbled. “But, yea, ‘tis good news that Natasha is finally on the mend.”

 

Clint had paused to speak with her as he was passing through the scullery with a huge armload of firewood. It took a massive amount of wood to heat the three hearths in the great hall, the cook fire in the kitchen and the fireplaces in two of the upper bedchambers, from late autumn till spring. Luckily, the woodhad worked nonstop since last winter to set by a goodly supply.

 

As Clint left the kitchen, she heard him muttering something about a new saga, “Wanda the Witch and the Deadly Chicken Potion.”

 

"Pay no mind to Clint,” Laura the cook said smiling. Wanda had forgotten brunette omega was behind her in the kitchen, rolling out circles of unleavened dough made of rye, barley and peas, to be baked on flat wheels with a central hole. Later the bread would be stored by threading on a pole near the hearth. “don’t know what’s good for them. Take Jostein the Smith, who has been smitten for years with Bodil the Ripe, our head dairymaid."

 

"Huh? Wanda didn’t even know half the people Laura spoke of. Wanda’s gaze followed Laura's flour-covered finger to the open door of the buttery, where the voluptuous Bodil was making the Viking soft-curded cheese known as skyr.

 

"Jostein took her to bed, on more than one occasion, I might add, and never offered her the wedding vows,” Laura rambled on. “Now Bodil is about to wed with Rapp of the Big Wind, and Jostein is heartsick. Moons about the keep like a wounded cow, and for the life of me, I cannot fathom… “

 

As Laura gossiped on, Wanda smiled at the jolly, talkative woman, with her distinctive brown-braided crown. Laura supervised the affairs of Novgorod with an iron hand, along with Clint (obviously when he was around). Novgorod was a small estate, but it ran with remarkable efficiency due to this couple’s combined efforts, both indoors and out, with their leader in residence or not.

 

Wanda was impressed.

  When Natasha was gone on her trading ventures, there were at least two dozen house carls—free and women, not to mention a handful of children—living at Novgorod, not including the village folks. When Natasha returned, that number often increased by a hundred or more. Not an overlarge populace, even for a small keep.

 

 But Laura was still talking about the Novgorod household whilst Wanda’s mind had been awandering. Wanda interrupted her. “Why do they call him Rapp of the Big Wind?”

 

 “Oh! You might very well ask that,” Laura tutted. “Because he can break wind at will, and does so overmuch. think it is a great talent, foolish dolts that they are. In truth, Rapp can clear a room in a heartbeat, if you get my meaning.”

Wanda had to laugh, despite her revulsion.

 

"Poor Bodil! Methinks she should whack that Jostein on the head with a butter paddle. Mayhap it would knock some sense into his dull brain. ‘Tis not too late… not till the vows are exchanged. What say you?”

 

“I have no idea,” Wanda said honestly. But then she brought up a subject that was bothering her more. “How soon do you think it will be afore Natasha is up and about?” she asked.

 

Laura shrugged and divided a new batch of dough into a series of balls, which she plopped onto a floured board. Before she answered Wanda’s question, she began to roll the dough into a number of wide circles, the top and bottom crusts for the first of a series of eel pies that would be baked and served for the evening meal, along with Wanda’s chicken broth. The were going to be pleasantly surprised by the tasty menu addition.

 

 “I would not expect too much too soon,” Laura said sadly. “The warm bricks you’ve been applying to her thigh have helped… not to mention the chicken broth you’ve been force-feeding her.” She chuckled at that last. Even in her delirium, Natasha had taken to making grunting sounds of “Yeech!” through gritted teeth when Wanda fed her her chicken broth. She’d resorted to pinching her nose till her mouth opened for her spooning.

 

"I’ve been so frightened,” Wanda confessed. “Never I have I encountered a fever so fierce, nor long-lasting.”

 

 “Well, our leader Natasha has had many a year to master her war wounds. She knows well enough not to be abusing the leg when it starts to ache. And, for a certainty, in the past she has always been back here at Novgorod afore the cold weather set in. I don’t know what the foolish woman could have been thinking.”

 

Wanda admitted. “She blame me for all the delays.”

“And are you at fault? Is it guilt that prompts your vigil by her bedside?” Laura raised her eyebrows. 

 

“Nay! The stubborn woman kidnapped me. ‘Twas not my fault it took her so long to find me, nor that delays happened along the way. But she did stay at Aksel's court to defend me, and she did bring me here against her wishes. For that, I owe her plenty.”

 

“Don’t be beating your breast over this, dearie. You’ve spent way too many hours hovering over the woman as it is. When did you sleep last? If you’re not careful, Lady Wanda, you’ll be getting sick yourself." Laura tried to hide a smirk as she said. "And don’t be thinking our leader will be thanking you for your ministrations, or your lack of rest on her behalf. The way I hear it, our leader is planning some grand punishment for you.”

 

Wanda felt her face flame and blurted out. “Peter has been talking.”

 

“You could say that.” Laura put a floury hand to her mouth and giggled. “But Peter would not give us any details. All he does is waggle his eyebrows and make suggestive remarks to tease everyone. That little rascal!”

 

Wanda put all her broth ingredients into the large cauldron over the fire and added a goodly amount of water. Stirring it with a large copper ladle, she then covered the pot and moved the spider hook to the back of the hearth for slow simmering.

 

 Having finished rolling the first of her crusts, Laura clapped her hand to remove the flour, then wiped her hand on the open-sided Norse apron that covered her from shoulder to ankle. Next Laura took the lid off the eel barrel on the side of the fireplace and reached into the murky water to retrieve a particular long, slimy creature—about the size of a battle pike. With nary a grimace, Laura pressed the squirming eel onto a cutting block and whacked its head off with a cleaver. Wanda flinched at the sight of the headless, still flailing eel, spurting blood.

 

With an economy of effort, Laura made a slit the length of the snakelike animal and peeled its skin back, all in one clean piece. As she chopped the eel meat into pieces, and dropped it into a bowl of thick cream and wild onions garnished with peas, Wanda was staring at the eel skin on the floor. An outrageous thought had occurred to her.

 

Do not be ridiculous, Wanda. Stop it right now. You are becoming as wild and unrestrained as these heathen Vikings.

 

Still, the mischievous thought persisted.

 

 “Do you know where James is?” Wanda asked tentatively.

 

 “In the guard room, sharpening weapons, methinks,” Laura answered distractedly as she worked to crimp together the crusts of the first eel pie.

 

 The blue-faced Viking had been blathering high and low since they’d arrived at Novgorod. Natasha may have defended her before Aksel's court, but James still proclaimed her a witch. At the same time, he was profiting mightily on her magic wordfame, selling wood crosses and holy water. Truly, James was the biggest, most irksome thorn in her side.

 

Mayhap ‘twas time to shake that thorn loose.

 

Oh, I couldn’t.

 

Yea, I could.

 

'Twould be childish.

 

Yea.

 

Wanda leaned down to pick up the eel skin gingerly, between a thumb and forefinger. It resembles a… well, tail, she thought and smiled with wicked anticipation.

 

Before she had a chance to surrender to her more rational misgivings, Wanda hiked up the back hem of her gown and tucked the end of the eel skin into the waistband of her underdrawers. Then she dropped the gown back in place. Peering over her shoulder, she saw the eel skin emerging along the floor, like a tail.

 

“For the love of Freyja!” Wanda looked up to see a startled Laura watching her, mouth gaping open. Then the cook smiled widely as comprehension dawned.

 

Wanda sauntered off to the guard room, hips swaying, tail swishing. “Oh, James,” she called out.

 

“What in bloody hell do you want now?” the surly knight answered her.

 

Well, I certainly feel no guilt now.

 

At first he paid her no nevermind, just murmured something about omega wenches having no business in a alpha's workroom. So, she wandered around the room, examining the armor and shields and deadly weapons that lay about.

 

The rasp of a sword edge along the whetstone slowed, then stopped.

 

A bare instant later, James emitted a loud masculine shriek, then a shout of “Aaaaack! Run, everyone! Run!” that reverberated throughout the castle. As Wanda scurried through the kitchen, tossing the eel skin under the table paying no nevermind to a clucking Laura, she heard on of the young armor boys back in the guard room say, “The master James ‘pears to be having a fit. His mouth is sucking in and out like a fjord flounder.”

 

Wanda hid in the buttery for more than an hour, laughing till tears rolled down her cheeks. What had possessed her? It was the most foolish, impetuous, uncharacteristic thing she had ever done in her entire life. And the most satisfying.

 


 

The scent of roses drew Natasha from her deep sleep.

 

The redhead tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but she was weak as dragon piss. Her body weighed her down to the mattress, heavy and aching. Most of the ache was centered in her injured thigh, which throbbed painfully. But, in truth, she felt better than she had in days.

 

The roses pulled at Natasha’s senses… a memory tugging at her that she couldn’t quite grasp. Was she in an English flower garden? Or an eastern harem, where floral oils were often used by the houris? Natasha opened her leaden eyelids slowly and realized she was in the huge bedstead in her upper chamber at Novgorod.

 

The air was chill in the room, though she was warm as a babe in the womb undo the layers of bed furs covering her body. And there was some heat generated by the roaring fire she heard crackling in the fireplace, though the hearth heat did not fill the entire chamber. Sometimes the walls were covered with ice in winter, even as the fire blazed.

 

Natasha turned her head slowly on the pillow toward the hearth. Ahhhh! Now she recognized the source of the rose scent.

 

Lady Wanda, of the rose-scented hair.

 

The redhead licked her dry lips and tried to focus. She was not really surprised to see the witch standing there. Every time she’d awakened during the past three days of fever, she’d been in her bedchamber, leaning over her, pressing cool cloths to her forehead, forcing spoonfuls of chicken broth into her mouth. It wasn’t that the broth tasted vile; there was just so much of it. In her sweet dreams, she’d taken to crowing like a rooster. At least she wasn’t laying eggs. Yet.

 

Had she really pinched her nose to force her mouth open? Lady Witch would pay for that.

 

She’d been barely conscious… seeing everything through a filmy haze… sometimes flailing and muttering senselessly… but she’d recognized her as a continuing presence during her illness. And been strangely comforted.

 

Chapter 24: The Spell & The Raven in Love

Chapter Text

 

 

Natasha knew it

 

It was probably a spell.

 

Wanda was combing her wet brown hair in front of the fire... thus the roses. Damn Betty, her sister-by-marriage for giving Wanda the hair cream. Just how much had she given her? Hopefully, Wanda would run out soon. Then again, mayhap she did not really want her to stop enticing her thus.

 

'Aaarrgh! I'm being driven mad by rose hair cream. Could Betty perchance be a witch, too?' Natasha thought as she bit her lips.

 

Wanda must have just taken a bath because she wore a loose chemise, the type nordic women usually donned after rising from their baths. Over and over, the omega raised the ivory comb—her comb, the redhead realized by the by, with an odd tug in her chest—then pulled it through the waist-length strands. Each time the witchlifted her arm, the outline of her breast under the white linen raised, as well. Every time she followed through on the comb stroke, the breast relaxed into its natural, delicious shape.

 

Someday Natasha would like to watch the witch perform this sensuous exercise nude. And she had no trouble imagining how she would look. She knew exactly how to picture the witch naked. It was an exercise at which she'd become adept.

 

Natasha stared, mesmerized, at the rhythmic motion of her hand, and her body in profile. And another part of her body reacted to the rhythm with a hardening rhythm of its own. Leastways the fever had not caused any permanent damage to vital organs.

 

The redhead alpha tried to smile, but her dry lips cracked. She barely noticed, though, because her eyes were already fluttering closed. There must be some sleeping herb in that bloody chicken brew.

 

As she drifted off to sleep again, she began to dream. And they were very interesting dreams. Not just erotic, which were her favorite kind, but accompanied by their very own smell.

 

Roses, of course.

 

It was an odor that drew Natasha out of sleep once again. But not roses.

 

Chicken broth, she realized sluggishly and gagged. "Yeech." Which gave the witch an opportunity to shove a wooden spoon sloshing chicken broth into her mouth, practically to her throat. She knew it was the witch because her green eyes shot wide open.

 

It must have been some time since her last awakening because Wanda's hair was dry now and hanging in a single braid down her back. Her chemise was covered with a dark green, thick wool gunna, covered with an open-sided Viking apron.

 

Too bad! Natasha much preferred her earlier attire. Or non-attire.

 

Oh, well, she can always imagine her naked.

 

"You're awake," Wanda said cheerily. Natasha isn't in the mood for cheerily. She shoved another spoonful of the broth into her mouth. She is not in the mood for more chicken broth. This one had a glob of dough floating on top. She is not in the mood for globs of dough.

 

"Glpugglup," Natasha sputtered as she attempted to choke and speak and chew at the same time. Then she grabbed the wrist of the hand dipping the empty spoon into a bowl on the bedside table and growled, "Yea, I'm awake. I'm awake now. How can I not be awake with all that slop you are feeding me?" Wanda winced, but not from the redhead's tight fingerhold on her wrist, which she immediately released. Nay, she'd winced because she'd hurt her feelings.

 

Bloody hell! Why should she feel guilty for voicing a fact that should be apparent? She has been overdoing the chicken broth. But mayhap she shouldn't have referred to her good efforts as slop. Natasha wasn't in the mood for apologizing, though.

 

"I want some real food," the grumpy redhead said, sitting up suddenly, then immediately dropping back to the pillow when an invisible broadaxe cleaved her skull. She pressed the heels of both palms to her brow to stop her brains from spilling out. She growled. "Did you poison me again? Did you give me a potion to explode my head this time, instead of my bowels?"

 

Wanda ignored her accusations and immediately reached forward with concern, placing a cool palm on her forehead. Natasha is not in the mood to be placated, but her hand does feel good. Mayhap she will let it rest there for a moment. "What is amiss? Is it your head?"

 

"Nay, it's my arse." The grumpy redhead replied again. Hell and Valhalla! She is in a vile mood.

 

Wanda made a tsk-ing sound as she adjusted the furs around her, tucking them in tightly at the sides till she felt like a corpse being dressed for the coffin.

 

Natasha slapped her hands away. "Stop fussing over me."

 

"I'm only trying to help." Wanda replied with a frown.

 

"Help me by fetching some bloody damn food." Natasha laughed humorlessly.

 

"I don't like your tone." Wanda's frown deepened.

 

"I don't give a damn what you like." Natasha hissed.

 

Wanda exclaimed indignantly. "My, my, you are testy today. Must be you are getting better when you begin to sound like James. Grumble, grumble, grumble all the time."

 

Natasha narrowed her eyes at her. "Was that James I heard shouting earlier today?"

 

Wanda examined her fingernails with blatant guilt. "I wouldn't know. I don't keep track of James' doings."

 

"What did you do to him now?" The redhead demanded to know.

 

"Me?" The brunette omega asked, fluttering her eyelashes. "I have no idea what you mean." Natasha rubbed her jaw and licked her dry lips. "God, my mouth tastes like a midden on a hot summer day."

 

"Your breath smells the same." Wanda teased her. A small giggled fell from her curved lips.

 

"Thank you for pointing that out. Chicken breath, that's what I must have. Now get me some food." Natasha demanded. "Anything, as long as it doesn't have feathers. Mutton would be good. Or lamb chops. Baby lamp chops."

 

All that talking had worn her out, and she yawned widely, feeling her body closing down for sleep once again.

 

Natasha thought she heard the wench giggle again then as she eased herself off the high bed and asked, "How about some eel pie?"

 

"What's so funny about eel pie?" She grumbled.

 

"If you're lucky, Viking, I might just show you." Wanda winked at her before Natasha fell asleep.

 


 

A smell drew Natasha out of her sleep once again.

 

It was a strong, pungent smell this time... not unpleasant, but different. Soap. That's what it was. Laura's homemade soft soap, used in the bathhouse.

 

Natasha opened her eyes a mere slit and saw that Wanda was bathing her. The nerve of the wench! Bathing her like a newborn babe. But, nay, there were other possibilities. Immediately, the redhead closed her eyes, hoping for "other possibilities." She was too weak to engage in any vigorous activity with an omega, but she wasn't so far gone that she couldn't enjoy laying back for a few lustful... possibilities.

 

She tried to regulate her breathing to emulate sleep, a hard task when she was lathering up her neck and shoulders and—Oh, sweet Freya!— the edge of her breasts. Natasha did have a fondness for touching... both being touched and doing the touching herself. There was an art to good touching. Wanda was an artist, if she did say so herself... or she would be once she'd given her the advanced tutelage of a touch mistress like her.

 

Lady Wanda used a damp, soapy cloth to wash her neck and shoulders, wiping the area off with the same cloth, which had been rinsed and wrung out. But she worked the soap on the edge of her breasts with her fingertips, her nipples stiffened under the thin band that covered them, then her fingers touched her skin, skimming her hard abdomen and waist, over and into her navel.

 

Oh, sweet Freya!" The redhead alpha thought as she bit her bottom lip to hold back a moan. 'Twas a good thing her private parts were covered with a breech-clout. Else she would, no doubt, scare her with the size of her appreciation.

 

Wanda finished with the palate of skin from collarbone to groin, much too soon. But then she entered a different territory. Carefully raising her arms overhead, she began to lather the pale skin in her surprisingly sensitive armpits. Natasha almost shot up off the bed at the intense pleasure her fingertips brought there. To be sure, she was going to make her play in that newly discovered erotic spot once they made love.

 

And there was no doubt in her mind that they would be making love sometime soon. Lady Wanda owed her.

 

Yea, Natasha could picture the scene. She would be lying on the bed, naked, with her arms folded behind her curly head. Lady Wanda would be straddling her waist, naked. Or should she be lying on her side, naked? Regardless, she would have her arms upraised, and the brunette wench would lower her head to kiss and suckle first one nipple, then another.

 

Natasha would have her eyes closed the whole time because she'd want to prolong the anticipation. That was another thing her previous female omegas loved about her... how she prolonged the anticipation.

 

 In any case, after she'd nigh melted her bones by suckling on her nipples, she, still naked, would trail soft kisses up to her sensitive armpits where she would.

 

Nay, nay, nay, Natasha had a better idea. Lady Wanda could be wearing that little harem outfit she'd gifted her, and every time she moved, there would be a tiny jingling of bells.

 

"Natasha. Are you awake?" Lady Wanda whispered. Uh-oh. Had her heart lurched against her chest walls with all these imaginings? Or had she inadvertently grinned? Natasha didn't think she'd noticed the tentpole in her breechclout.

 

Otherwise, lady Wanda would have no doubt slapped her with her damp washcloth. But wait till she got her naked. Then her goose was cooked... so to speak. Or was it her chicken that would be cooked? In all humility, the alpha wouldn't be able to resist her, naked... the omega naked, not her... well, actually, both of them.

 

"Are you awake?" Lady Wanda repeated softly. Natasha said nothing to her question, just moaned softly, as if in deep sleep. She planned to do a great deal more moaning sometime later, and she would be moaning, too. That was one of her greatest talents, making a gorgeous female omega moan.

 

And prolonging anticipation. And... well, she misremembered all her bedsport talents now, but there were plenty of them. Natasha could scarce wait to hear how a witch moaned. Or would a witch howl? She shrugged mentally. Moan, howl... either one would suffice. She planned to roar, herself. And moan and howl. And those other things she couldn't remember.

 

But wait, there were interesting events taking place whilst her dirty mind had been wandering. Wanda had flipped the bed furs up to cover her breasts and stomach, exposing her legs. She was using the cloth to wash the smooth pale skin from loins to toes. Natasha called on every bit of self-control her battered body still held in store as she skimmed the tense muscles of her inner thighs. A good warrior, forced to ride unruly destriers into battle, soon honed those inner thigh muscles, and with honing came heightened sensitivity.

 

The unbelievably intense pleasure the wench's soapy caresses engendered caused her to clench her fists and grit her teeth, but the redhead could not stop a certain part of her body from rising to the occasion. Never had her veiny flesh felt so hard and long. Never had it throbbed with such wonderful pain. Even her nipples were hard and sensitive.

 

But then the omega's gentle fingers worked in the lather, rather than the cloth, and that was her undoing. Much more, and Natasha would humiliate herself.

 

With a roar of protest, oblivious to the pain in her head, she sat upright and shoved her hands aside. "Are you trying to kill me, reckless Omega?"

 

"Holy Virgin Mary!" Wanda blinked at her with surprise. "Natasha!! ... You're awake."

 

Natasha inhaled sharply. "Yea, I'm awake. I would have to be a cadaver not to revive after all that prodding and poking."

 

"Prodding and poking?" Lady Wanda exclaimed indignantly.

 

Natasha was burning inside. She replied. "For Odin's sake, Wanda, were you using a washup as an excuse for finding every blessed erotic spot on my body?"

 

"Erotic spot? What's an erotic spot?" Wanda had a look of genuine shock on her pretty face.

 

Natasha couldn't help herself. She began to laugh. When she finally calmed down, she informed her, "Everyone—omegas and alphas alike—has erotic spots on their bodies. Places that are especially susceptible to excitement. Some have more than others. Some have them in very... uh, different spots. The inner thighs are among my particular favorites, as you very well discovered." Then the redhead winked at the shocked wench. "I thank you not to torture me so... leastways, not till I am well enough to follow through on your invitation." She smiled at her to soften the blow of her criticism.

 

Lady Wanda frowned, and she could tell that she did not really understand her words. A widow three times over, and she was naive as a virgin farm girl.

 

"Why, you ungrateful bitch!" Wanda exclaimed, feeling so offended by the rude redhead. "Where is your appreciation for all my ministrations these past three days? Where is your thanks for my taking on the odious task of bathing your body? Where is... "

 

Her words trailed off as her eyes latched onto her mid-section. Natasha cupped the wench's hands over herself, but it was too late. She'd seen enough. Lady narrowed her eyes at her, then began whacking her all over with her wet washcloth... her shoulders, her arms, her legs, her messy curly head, her "tentpole." The whole time, she was berating her, "As if I would deliberately tempt you... or any other horrible alpha! You lecherous woman! You rude woman! You perverted scumbag! You—"

 

Lady Wanda drew herself up suddenly, as if realizing the impropriety of beating a sick woman.

 

Natasha pushed her luck just a mite too far when she inquired with a grin, "Does that mean you're not going to finish bathing me, Lady Wanda?" She looked pointedly down at a part of her body that would really, really like to be bathed by her soft hands.

 

Wanda with red cheeks answered by storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Instantly, the door opened again, and she was the one grinning now, except the grin never reached her flashing green, evil eyes."I showed James my tail today."

 

"Really?" Natasha grinned, never having believed that tail nonsense.

 

"If you're not careful, Viking, I'm going to show you my tail—and a whole lot more." Then Lady Wanda slammed the door again.

 

Natasha grinned and said to herself. "I'm counting on it, cute witchling. With all my being, I am counting on it."

Chapter 25: A Kiss?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

It was a cozy, familiar scene that met Natasha's eyes as she made her way carefully to the great hall the next afternoon, to the warm greetings of her pack.

 

The burly warriors and seamen, dressed in leather tunics and braies, huddled close to the three roaring hearths for warmth as wind whistled through the closed shutters of narrow, arrow-slit windows. Other heartier souls, covered with cloaks of bear, sealskin and fox, sat about the hall in small groups. Some of them were drinking mead and playing dice, while others polished swords and armor. Two alphas in the corner squinted and cursed as they painstakingly sewed a tear in one of the longship sails spread over a trestle table.

 

From the kitchen came the chattering voices of house carls and maids at gossip and the delicious scent of meat roasting on a spit. Natasha sniffed several times. Not chicken, thank the gods! Probably reindeer.

 

She sauntered over to Bucky, who was whittling shards of wood off a chunk of oak and forming them into crosses on leather neck thongs. Natasha shook his head in amusement at her friend, who appeared to be amassing a fortune off the back of Lady Wanda... or rather her tail.

 

Natasha was still chuckling over the tale Bucky had regaled her with the night before in her bedchamber, something about a grand jest the witch had played on him involving an eel skin. She had to give the lady her due. She had not thought she had a bit of humor in her bones.

 

Clint, who'd accompanied Bucky to Natasha's room, had then burst into a new saga:

 

"Slippery and slimy

 

 The rascal was...

 

The eel,

 

Not the blue-faced warrior.

 

But the witch was

 

Smarter than both of them.

 

For she got the last laugh."

 

"I swear, Clint, someone is going to slice off your tongue one of these days," Bucky had raged. "Your sagas get worse and worse. And I'd better not hear that particular one being recited below stairs. I'll not be the jest of any more of your stories."

 

"Why should you be any different than the rest of us?" Natasha had remarked with a chuckle.

 

 But now Natasha was making her first trip downstairs since her illness began. Her fever was gone, and her leg felt better than it had in years . . . flexible and pain-free. She supposed she had the witch to thank for that.

 

"Where is she?" Natasha asked Bucky as she dropped down to the bench beside him.

 

"Well and good you should ask!" Bucky growled and continued with his whittling.

 

A maid handed Natasha a cup of mulled ale, along with a trencher piled high with several slices of flat bread and some skyr. At least it was not gammelost, she thought, though she would not tell the Saxon wench that she, too, was sick of the smelly fare. Then she berated herself for always thinking about the wench. She was ever on her mind these many days, and she did not know why, nor care at all for the obsession.

 

"Where is she?" Natasha repeated to Bucky.

 

"Walking."

 

 "Walking? Where? The parapets?" Natasha frowned

 

"Nay, not the parapets. That would be the choice of a normal woman."

 

A long silence followed. "Well, speak up, idiot. Where is she walking?"

 

"Around the lake."

 

"The lake! 'Tis colder than a witch's tit out there." She immediately realized the fitting nature of her choice of words when Bucky slanted her a look of approval and said, "Indeed!"

 

"Really, James! Lady Wanda could get lost, or freeze to death in these strange surroundings." Natasha hissed.

 

"Oh, that we would be so lucky!" The blue-faced alpha continued his infernal whittling and added, "Beast is with her. Of course, Beast is always with her. The animal is no longer my pet. In truth, he gives me the same condescending, I-am-better-than-thou looks as the witch when he passes by. Furthermore, Beast laid a pile of dung in my bedchamber yestereve after I yelled at the witch for her eel prank. Me-thinks it was deliberate."

 

Natasha put a hand over her mouth to hide an unbidden smile. But, actually, James' continual criticism of Wanda was starting to annoy her. Not that Wanda didn't annoy her, too. But it was not James' place to... well, never mind. She cut those wayward thoughts short and took a long drink of mead. Once she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she commented, "I have been thinking... I am not so sure the Lady Wanda really is a witch."

 

"Easy for you to say! You have been lying abed these many days whilst she conjured up trouble hither and yon."

 

"Like what?" She scoffed.

 

"The chicken soup, for one."

 

Natasha laughed. "Mayhap she was overzealous in her cooking, but her intentions were pure. And Laura tells me it cured the sniffles amongst the alphas, and helped bring my fever down."

 

"Laura is under the witch's spell, too." James' mulish expression reminded Natasha of a little boy's stubborn whining. Next he would be sticking out his lower lip and pouting.

 

Bucky stuck out his lower lip and pouted. "'Tis true."

 

Natasha grinned. Then, more sober, she lectured, "Bucky! 'Tis unlike you to accuse someone without just cause."

 

"Well, mayhap Laura is not really ensorcelled, but there have been strange happenings. Inga, down in the village, gave birth to triplets. Three omegas! Explain that."

 

Natasha nodded, giving serious consideration to James' charge. "Dropping three babes at once is a rare occurrence, but not unheard of. And 'tis true, many a alphas would be disappointed in having not one omega child, but three. I suppose it could be within a witch's power to influence the birthing, but I cannot be certain 'twas Wanda's doing."

 

"That wicked omega is e'er interfering in alphas work and play."

 

"Like?"

 

"Like this morn, we alphas were engaged in a mere contest. The witch raised such a to-do amongst the omegas, we had to disband for all the shrieking."

 

"A mere contest?" Really, 'twas like pulling a plow-horse out of a bog to get a clear answer from James.

 

"Oh, if you insist! 'Twas a pissing contest... who could spell the foulest word in the shortest time in the new fallen snow. Now, is that such a bad thing that the Lady Wanda would fly into a rage? Is that any reason for Laura to call me a crude oaf? It could have been called a learning situation... those who can read and write teaching those who cannot."

 

Natasha choked on her ale and spit out a shower onto the table as she attempted to swallow and laugh at the same time. When she finally wiped her mouth and the table with a linen cloth, she gave James a level look. "Methinks you need to find a life-purpose. Methinks you dwell too much on a witch who is not a witch because you are idle too much. Methinks Laura is correct.. . you are a crude oaf. Methinks there is no proof of witchcraft, James. Face that fact and get on with it."

 

James huffed. "Nay, little Natasha. You are the one not facing facts. Those are only a few of the witch's crimes."

 

Natasha exhaled loudly, then waved James on. "Proceed."

 

"Three of the maids have refused to service us alphas, even though they always did in the past. Those that will are barley-faced and stiff as sticks in the bed straw. 'Tis like swiving a loaf of bread."

 

"Come now, James. 'Tis a maid's prerogative whether she wants to sate a alpha's lust or not. Leastways, that has always been the rule at Novgorod. You cannot blame that on a witch." Natasha rolled her eyes.

 

"Yea, I can." The man crossed her arms over the chest.

 

Natasha scratched her nape. "If Wanda interfered in that regard, it was no doubt as a high-born lady, not a witch. We have become accustomed to living the rough life here for overlong. My sister by-marriage, Lady Betty, would have advised her female servants much the same, and you know it."

 

"Why do you defend the witch, Natasha?" James hissed glaring at her.

 

Natasha chuckled. "I do not defend her. I am trying to be fair."

 

"Well, you cannot say that the witch is not responsible for interfering in the planned wedding of Bodil the Ripe and her intended, Rapp."

 

Natasha put her face into both hands, atop elbows propped on the table. If she had not been muddle-headed when she came down to the hall, she was fast becoming so.

 

"Bodil is rescinding her agreement to wed with Rapp because the witch told her it is every woman's right to change her mind. Can you imagine! As if omegas even have minds! And now Rapp suffers constantly from the gut rumbles. And that is not all. Jostein the Smith has been mooning about like a lovesick cow, and Bodil will not feel sorry for him."

 

"Jostein? What has Jostein to do with this?" Natasha peeked out betwixt her fingers, thoroughly confused.

 

"Jostein is the one Bodil really favors, but Jostein spread her thighs and enjoyed her charms aplenty without the offer of matrimony. Then Bodil decided to show him what-for and agreed to marry Rapp in retaliation. Now, Jostein moons and Rapp's stomach rumbles."

 

"Rapp? Are you speaking of Rapp of the Big Wind? His stomach always rumbles. Is he not the one who farted and belched to the tune of 'Three Maids and a Viking' at the Yule feast last year?"

 

James ducked his head sheepishly, but only for a second "She does not act as a captive should, Natasha." He thought a moment, then asked, "She is a captive, isn't she?"

 

Natasha cocked her head. "Well, yea. I mean, nay. 'Tis hard to classify her as captive, nor is she a guest."

 

"The pack ask when you intend to mete out her punishment. You have yet to discipline her for poisoning you back in Northumbria, not to mention her many crimes since."

 

Natasha drew herself up with affront. "The wench will be punished, but I will be the one making the decision how and when, and no one else. I'm the Alpha and ruler of this pack! You understand that? Don't force me to punish you!""

 

Having lost that argument, James tried again, "The lady pushes the bounds of impudence. Why, she whomped Clint over the head with a salmon just this midday when he was passing by the scullery. All he did was mention something about a saga involving trolls, witches and raspberry body parts."

 

Natasha threw back her head and laughed heartily.

 

"I can see you remain unconvinced Natasha," James said with disgust. He sighed deeply, then informed her, "If the rest of what I've related does not weigh heavily against the witch, then hear this: The wolf packs have come down from the mountains. You must admit 'tis too early in the season for that. Some of the village folk claim the beasts howl all night long. I say they are the witch's familiars come to do the beckoning of their sorceress mistress."

 

It took several moments for James' words to sink into her red curly head. When they did, Natasha stood abruptly. "You fool! Are you saying that you let Wanda walk the lake, lone, when there are wolves about?" Natasha hissed glared at him. "Best you say a prayer, or twelve, on those bloody crosses you keep carving. I swear, if she is harmed in any way, I will hold you responsible."

 

With that, she grabbed a heavy fur-lined cloak and her broadsword, buckling it on as she stomped toward the double doors leading to the bailey and down to the lake. Natasha could scarce breathe under the intense fear that overcame her.

 

It was she who prayed then. Not James. Please, Holy Odin, Wise Allfather. Let her be safe.

 

No sooner did Natasha pass through the outer bailey than she saw Wanda approaching around the bend of the closer bank of the lake. Thanks to Odin, she was not far away. Though she was feeling much better and her leg hardly pained her, she probably would have been incapable of a long jaunt around the lake.

 

A quick glance back over her shoulder showed that Clint, James and a dozen soldiers had donned light armor and weapons, about to follow after her. No doubt James had told them of her concern about the wolves. By the wisdom of Odin! There should have been patrols guarding the area anyhow, if not for Wanda, then for the villagers who might be at risk.

 

 Natasha waved them back for now.

 

Wanda did not notice her yet, nor did Beast, who was racing up and down a slippery wooded path after a large rabbit. Wanda had stopped, her attention caught by the beautiful scene before her. Earlier that day it had snowed heavily. Now the lake and the snow-capped trees presented a vision of pure white under a bright blue sky. The air was chill and windy, but bearable. In truth, she could not blame Wanda for wanting this bit of fresh air whilst the light lasted. Although it was only early afternoon, it would be dark soon.

 

All that Natasha could see of Wanda was her face, in profile, covered as she was by her own heavy, hooded, fur-lined cloak, which dragged on the ground behind her. For some reason, her heart constricted, watching her admire that which she held in such high regard, in her hidden heart of hearts.

 

Natasha was thirty-five years old—an alpha of middle age—and still the old hurts stayed with her. It was foolish, really, how she could not let them go. The first eight winters of her life she'd struggled like a scrappy pup, seeking affection from anyone who came within sight of her. Yipping, yapping, "Love me, love me." How many times had her hopes and heart been battered?

 

Oh, her father Alexei had never intended to wound her so. Staying away from her and Bruce had probably saved their lives, as intended. And her mother, who'd abandoned her as a babe... she would have been a poor mother if she'd stayed. And her stepmother had had no choice in leaving her. And Bruce had had every right to go off afostering in the Saxon court, leaving her at Ravenshire with two grandparents,, who'd died soon after.

 

 What a poor Viking she was with all these weak-sapped needs! Sniveling and yearning over emotions best left to omegas and pups... and small dogs. Actually, Natasha had learned good lessons from all that heartache. Never care enough to be hurt. Never let any other know that you are vulnerable.

 

But there was one small weakness she allowed herself: Novgorod. If she could not trust her feelings to another person, she could at least harbor secret affection for a place. And, sweet Odin, she did love Novgorod... every stone and timber of the keep, every drop of water in its lake, every tree and animal that marked the forests, and from a deliberately kept distance, even its people.

 

"Well, the troll has come a-walking." A sweet voice came to her 

 

Natasha jolted to attention. Apparently, the lady had finally noticed her. She took the several more wide strides needed to reach her side. "Good day to you, as well, witch."

 

"What brings you out of your cave?" Wanda asked with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

 

Natasha was honest "You."

 

"Me? Oh, God's tears!" Wanda exclaimed offended. "You're not going to start captive nonsense again, are you? There's nowhere for me to escape here if I tried, lest you suggest I try swimming."

 

 Natasha fought a grin. "Can you swim?"

 

"Of course I can swim. Otherwise, my abusive cousins would have drowned me on more than one occasion as a child." Wanda replied. " They put the same worth on me as kittens and other small animals, subject to their cruelties."

 

'Damn! I am going to have to wring the necks of the two Saxons one of these days.' Natasha thought feeling a protective feeling towards the witch. 'Mayhap when I return Lady Wanda to Graycote, I will teach Brock and Jack a few lessons, Viking-style.'

 

"Don't you be looking at me with pity, you troll." Wanda said. " Any alpha who owns paradise and punishes itself for some lackwit reason by staying away a good part of the year is the one to be pitied. All for the sake of a-Viking or a-wandering or a-trading or—"

 

"—a-raping and a-plundering?" Natasha suggested, not even bothering to deny her assertion that she was a fool to stay away from a home she loved. Lady Wanda saw too much. Or mayhap she allowed her to see too much. Now that was a dangerous possibility.

 

"At least you have not neglected your home. I will give you that," Wanda declared, sniffing haughtily. "The estate is run efficiently, inside and out, even in your absence."

 

When had she asked for her approval? The bold wench! "And how would you know about the workings of Novgorod? Its fields are covered with snow. Its stores are locked up in outbuildings. Its animals are snug in their winter stalls."

 

 They'd begun to walk side by side back toward the keep. Somehow Natasha's warm hand had linked with hers as they ambled along. Or had her fingers laced with hers? Either way, Natasha acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And, sweet Odin, it was. She could not remember any time in her life when she'd gotten joy from such a simple thing as holding a maid's hand... and Wanda was well past the stage of being a maid.

 

  Mayhap Wanda did have witchly powers.

 

  Mayhap Natasha was besotted.

 

  Mayhap she did not give a bloody damn, either way.

 

  "I spoke with some of the villagers whilst I was walking," Lady Wanda said in answer to her question as to how she knew of Novgorod's good care. "They have high praise for you. And Laura thinks you walk on water."

 

Natasha shrugged. "And that brings us to the reason for my clomping through the snow after you. A lady omega like you should not be out walking alone, unprotected. There are wolves about."

 

"Wolves?" Wanda shuddered, then waved the redhead's concern aside with her free hand.

 

Natasha was holding on to her other hand like a lifeline. Even realizing that sad reality, she did not let go. It felt too good, and Natasha had been feeling so bad lately. Hell, not lately, she corrected. Forever.

 

 "But not to fear," Wanda babbled on, "I have brought my protection with me. Beast."

 

They both turned as one to see the dog rolling playfully, side over side, in the fluffy snow.

 

 "Some knight in armor your Lord Beast would prove!" Natasha scoffed.

 

  As if sensing that she was the subject of their discussion, Beast stood and shook his fur, then came loping toward them, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Without preamble, Beast stood on his hind legs, forelegs propped on her shoulder, and gave Wanda several sloppy dog kisses. Before she knew what the beast was about, the animal did the same to her, except that Natasha could swear he added row slobber.

 

 Wanda laughed gaily.

 

 Natasha said, "Yeech," but she was oddly touched by the dog's demonstration. Beast dropped to all four legs and gave them each a long, considering look, waiting like a good dog to be told what to do next.

 

"Wouldn't it be nice if people could love us unconditionally as a dog does?" Wanda giggled looking at the lovely creature. 

 

 Natasha raised a brow at her.

 

 "A dog does not say I will love you if you are beautiful. Or if you do what I want you to. Or if you have me. Or if you produce babes. Or—" Wanda explain to her.

 

  "—if you are good-mannered. Or more quiet. Or less troublesome. Or a strong fighter. Or a diligent student. Or generous with gifts. Or especially lusty in lovemaking." Natasha waggled her perfect eyebrows at her with that last remark.

 

 Wanda clicked her tongue in a familiar tutting sound Natasha was coming to love. Nay, she was not coming to love anything about her. 'Twas just a sound she was coming to associate with her. There. Natasha felt better having made that correction in her mind.

 

  "Natasha?" she said softly.

 

 The redhead alpha braced herself. The wench had a habit of boring her way into her personal life with her intrusive questions, and they most always started with a soft-spoken, "Natasha?'

 

  "Why have you never settled here with an omega and pups?"

 

 Intrusive did not begin to describe the depth of her probe this time. It speared the heart of her. Natasha was about to say that it was none of her affair. Instead, some demon in her head said, "Why don't you tell me... since you seem to have an opinion on every blessed thing in the world?"

 

"Mayhap you never found the right omega with whom you wanted to share Novgorod," she said faintly. The expression that passed over Wanda's face could only be described as glorious.

 

 Natasha swallowed thickly, her heart swelling inside her chest. Why should Lady Wanda look glorious?

 

  She did not want to know.

 

 

 Some omegas always think it is a omega who will make an alpha's life complete. A fierce fight, strong ale and a warm bed... that is all an alpha really needs... and mayhap an occasional wench, but for rutting only.

 

Could lady Wanda possibly think she is that omega?

 

"Where do you get these fey ideas?" Natasha snapped, dropping her hand from her clasp as if it were suddenly leprous.

 

 "Testy today, are you? Perchance you should have stayed abed another day. I know," Wanda pronounced brightly, "you need another bowl of my chicken soup."

 

Natasha put a forearm to her forehead in mock horror. Well, not really mock. She would be truly horrified if she had to slurp another drop of that soup.

 

"By the by, why has a lock been put on the chicken coop? Can you open it for me?"

 

Natasha started to laugh then and began to walk toward the outer bailey.

 

"Answer me, troll" Wanda demanded to her back.

 

She didn't stop walking away, just kept on laughing.

 

"I'll show her," Natasha thought she heard her mutter, just before something hit her on the back of the head with a wet splat.

 

The redhead turned with disbelief. The wench was dancing from foot to foot, taunting her with a fat lump of snow in each extended hand. Lady Witch had dared to strike her with a snowball?

 

Natasha took two steps toward her, exiting the castle grounds again.

 

Wanda backed up two steps. "Now, Natasha, I was just doing you a favor."

 

"A favor?" She hooted. "What kind of stupid illogic is that?"

 

"You said just several days past that you never had any playmates as a little pup... no one to have snowball fights with."

 

Her green eyes grew wide at that. Then Natasha chuckled. "You wish to play with me?" She took two more long steps closer.

 

Wanda dropped her snowballs and ducked behind a wide tree. Peering around, she replied, "Nay. 'Twas just a joke... because you were ignoring me."

 

"So, now you want my attentions?" Natasha skirted around the tree and smiled.

 

"Not those kinds of attentions, you lewd troll." Wanda skipped to the other side.

 

Natasha stalked her, feinting one way, then the other.

 

She turned tail and ran for the open gates of the castle ramparts.

 

Natasha meant to grab her by the waist from behind but her foot slipped in the snow and she ended up tackling her to the ground, falling on top of her.

 

"I can't breathe, you horrible troll," Wanda said in a suffocated whisper. "Woah you're so heavy!"

 

Natasha lifted herself slightly, allowing her to turn onto her back, then immediately pressed her body over hers, holding her fast to the ground. She took both her wrists in one hand and held her arms above her head. "Now you have my attention, lady Wanda," she said, also in a suffocated whisper.

 

And Wanda did have her attention.Her hood had come off in the struggle and her bight brown hair lay in cascades over the white snow. Her face was wind-flushed under her creamy, freckled skin. Her lips parted and she breathed heavily from their exertions. Wanda stared at her through clear green eyes, framed with brown-dark lashes and brows.

 

Wanda was the same near-homely omega she'd first seen on the Northumbrian moors tending her sheep. And she was different. Now she was beautiful to her. How could that be?

 

"So, the Saxon wench wants to play with this rude Viking troll, hmm?" Natasha teased, taking a handful of downy snow in her free hand and rubbing it into her face.

 

Wanda struggled and sputtered, to no avail. "You have me at a disadvantage, Viking... being as heavy as a war horse. Release me."

 

Natasha chuckled."Nay, not till you pay forfeit for your misdeed."

 

"Hah! And what might that be?" Wanda said, sweeping her tongue over her top and bottom lips to remove the lingering flakes.

 

Natasha felt that sweep over every nerve ending in her body, and one in particular.

 

"You have already refused my coin. And I am not going to gift you my prize ram, even though your land is well suited to raising sheep."

 

The redhead laughed. "Never once did it occur to me to ask for a bloody lump of mutton as forfeit."

 

"What then?" Wanda asked, still struggling against her hold.

 

Natasha had not intended to say, "A kiss." But the words just slipped out.

 

"A kiss?" Wanda repeated with wide eyes. "That's all?"

 

All? That was everything, as Natasha soon discovered.

 

Wanda moaned before she even touched her. Oh, if omegas only knew the power of a moan, released at just the right moment, alphas would be slaves to their every whim. Natasha was a weak alpha hearing an omega's moan.

 

First, she settled her warm lips over Wanda's icy ones, still cool from the snow bath. Gently, she pressed, testing for a perfect fit. It was a perfect fit.

 

"Do you like that kind of kiss?" Natasha murmured against her mouth.

 

Wanda's eyes widened as she contained a groan.

Notes:

Will Wanda be able to break down Natasha's defenses?

Chapter Text

Wanda was feeling a lot of emotions running through her body, her lips were tingling. Excitement and shame were the main ones. She was finding the alpha above her very attractive.

 

“I don’t know." she murmured back, her breath sweet and her lips no longer cold. “I have naught to compare it with.”

 

“Bold little witch!” the redhead chided, nipping at her bottom lip with her perfect teeth. Now that she had her lips parted, she kissed her more forcefully, shaping from side to side, giving and demanding, pressing and sucking. When Natasha pulled back this time, her puffy lips were moist and her green eyes glazed over. “And that kiss?”

 

Wanda stuttered. “T ... ‘Twas .. sa ... sa ... satisfactory, I ... I suppose.” 

 

The redhead smirked. "Satisfactory, uh? That is what one says about a batch of manchet bread. Or a business transaction.”

 

"Well, I was hoping for another kiss, like that other.”

 

 "What other?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

 

"The one back at Hedeby.” Wanda felt her cheeks turn crimson.

 

Ah, now Natasha understood. As she recalled, there were tongues involved. She smiled. “So, you remember my kisses from that night in the bed furs, do you?” she asked with a devilish grin, twining a strand of her rose-scented hair around a forefinger, loving the softness as it touched her finger.

 

"Don’t you remember those kisses?” Wanda asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

 

“Som man roper I skogen far en svar,” Natasha said with a laugh.

 

“What does that mean?” Wanda frowned.

 

"As you shout in the forest, so will the echo sound.”

 

“Well, that’s as clear as moat mud.”

 

 “It means, ask a stupid question and you get a stupid answer.”

 

“Oh.”

 

"Are we done jabbering?”

 

"I hope so.”

 

Lord, the omega had no sense at all, tempting an alpha with such wanton insinuations. This time Natasha burrowed her fingers into her hair, holding her face in place. She kissed her voraciously then, letting loose with all the pent-up longings of the past few sennights… or mayhap the past few years… or, God above, mayhap a lifetime.

 

Natasha tongued her open mouth.

 

Wanda gave her her tongue in return.

 

Natasha whispered wicked words when she came up for air. And she whispered equally wicked things back—things she could not possibly comprehend from her own experience.

 

"Do you think I’m scandalous?” she asked, ducking her head shyly.

 

Natasha put a finger under her chin, forcing the gorgeous witch to look at her. When she did, the alpha grinned and answered her, in a hopeful voice, “Not yet.”

 

Neither one of them spoke after that as they came at each other with equally matched appetites. Who would have known she could be so eager? Who would have known Natasha wanted her so much? On and on the kiss went, till she heard above her the ominous words, “Hear, one and all, this is the saga of Natasha the Crow.”

 

 Natasha raised her head to see at least two dozen alphas arranged in a wide circle watching them with amusement, whilst Wanda hid her face in her hands and Clint recited the verse words:

 

"Kiss, kiss, kiss.

 

It started with a snowball fight.

 

  It moved on to a kiss.

 

  Did the witch lure the Viking?

 

  Or the Viking lure the witch?”

 

  The alpha kept watching her.

 

It was most disconcerting. Every time Wanda entered the great hall that evening, helping Laura and the other Omega's serve dinner, she couldn’t help but notice Natasha leaning back lazily in her chair at the head table, picking at her meal (and it wasn’t even chicken), sipping at her cup of mead and watching her.

 

Natasha's smoldering, green eyes followed her every move. And, sweet Mary, they were smoldering! Like a dangerous mountain cat, she was, waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey. There was no doubt which body in this room she had marked as quarry.

 

 What does it mean?

 

It was probably the kiss. Just because she’d succumbed to a wave of sentimentality…just because she’d waxed under the beauty of Novgorod and imagined how her life at Graycote could be without her Cousins’ interference… just because she’d allowed the troll one kiss… or two… or five… that melted her bones and caused her eyeballs to go up into her head like a mad woman… well, now she must think she’d developed round heels and was anxious to leap into the bed furs with her.

 

 Hah!

 

 Well, Natasha may think herself the mighty hunter and me just small game in the sights of her bow, but I do not intend to be any alpha's victim. Not anymore.

 

Wanda slammed her tray of stuffed pigeons on a table, causing one soldier to jump and spill his ale. Then, walking to the side of the hall, she made direct eye contact with the watching troll, jerked her head to the right repeatedly, indicating she wanted her to follow her into the corridor leading to the storerooms.

 

Natasha put her cup down and frowned as if she did not understand. Well, mayhap Wanda did appear as if she had developed a neck tic. So she tried crooking her forefinger at him.

 

Natasha grinned.

 

 Lord, spare me from a alpha with an overblown conceit. Natasha must think I am inviting her for some lascivious play. If she thought she was going to let her kiss her again, she would clear her head in that regard, quickly. Wanda continued to crook her finger.

 

  Natasha stood so abruptly she knocked her chair over. Which caused Peter and Bucky, sitting on either side of her, to notice the target of Natasha’s attention. Understanding—or rather, misunderstanding—immediately, Peter smiled and gave her a little salute, while Bucky looked as if he’d swallowed a pigeon whole.

 

Red-faced, Wanda scooted down the hallway toward the food storage rooms, Natasha following. When she glanced over her shoulder, Wanda saw that the troll was staring at her backside.

 

Oh, Lord! This is not going to be easy.

 

Wanda clucked her tongue in disgust, a sound that usually annoyed the redhead. Now Natasha just grinned.

 

 Oh, Lord! This is not going to be easy.

 

 Wanda was just about to set her straight on a few important facts when Natasha stepped up close to her, forcing her back against the wall. The smells of smoked meats, honey, fresh ground flour and spices surrounded them. Without warning, the alpha asked, “Wouldst thou like to visit the bathing house with me?”

 

  “Huh?”

 

 Natasha stepped even closer, so that her breasts, under her heavy woolen tunic, touched the wench's breasts, under her heavy woolen gown. But it was as if they wore nothing at all, the way her breasts swelled and her nipples peaked. She’d never felt that way before, except maybe in the days just before her heat. Never in the presence of an alpha.

 

 “Wouldst thou like to visit the bathing house with me?” Natasha repeated.

 

 “Why?” 

 

“To bathe.” Natasha's green eyes danced mischievously at some secret she was not sharing with her.

 

“Together?” Wanda asked in shock.

 

 Natasha laughed aloud then.

 

Wanda was not so naive that she did not understand the lecherous troll. Scooting under an outstretched arm that was aimed, unbelievably, for one of her breasts, she folded her arms across her chest, tapped a foot impatiently and said in the sternest voice she could muster, which was really difficult when her breasts were throbbing under her forearms, “I did not beckon you here to satisfy your lewd inclinations.”

 

“You didn’t?” Natasha folded her arms across her chest, too, and leaned against the wall. Lazily. Like a beast stalking her mark, biding her time to ambush her unsuspecting victim. Well, Lady Wanda was not unsuspecting.

 

“Nay, I called you here because I could see by your manner that you suffer from a misunderstanding.”

 

  “Me?” Natasha said with exaggerated horror, her eyebrows lifted dramatically.

 

 "I let you kiss me this afternoon because—“ Wanda almost hissed.

 

 "Forgive the interruption, my lady. A small clarification is called for here. Methought you were kissing me back.” Natasha winked at her. 

 

 “Well, be that as it may, what I am trying to say is that you should not put too much meaning into a mere kiss.” Wanda said trying to ignore the wetness between her legs 

 

"Mere? There was nothing mere about the enthusiasm of your lips pressing on mine" Natasha said in a teasing tone. "There was nothing mere about the feel of your tongue in my mouth. There was nothing mere about—“

 

 “Enough!” Wanda stamped her foot on the stone floor. “You are deliberately teasing me when I am trying to be serious.”

 

 “ ‘Tis hard to be serious when I am thinking of you naked,” the redhead said ruefully.

 

Wanda followed the direction of Natasha's stare and saw that even under the heavy fabric of her bodice the outline of her distended nipples was evident. She moaned softly, then caught herself.

 

 Natasha hummed in delight. “God, I love it when you moan. Wouldst thou do it again?”

 

  “Uhh ... You’re impossible.” Wanda almost groaned 

 

  “Please.”

 

"Listen to me, and listen well, you horrible troll. The kiss." Wanda saw that Natasha was going to correct her— “the kisses were nice, but that is the end of it.”

 

“Nice? You call my kisses nice?” Natasha raised her chin with consternation, causing the light from the kitchen fire in the next room to glitter on her long red curls, which was braided off to one side. “I am deeply offended. Come here, my lady, and let me try again. I promise you, this time I will do better than nice.”

 

Wanda put her hands out, barring the redhead's approach. “Stop harping on irrelevant details, Viking.”

“I do not consider nice kissing irrelevant. A milksop gives nice kisses. A mother gives nice kisses. A lover does not give nice kisses, that I know for a certainty.”

 

“You are not my lover,” Wanda declared hotly.

 

"Nay, I am not,” Natasha said and then winked at her. “Yet.”

 

 

"Wake up, witchling,” a voice said cheerily the next morning.

 

Wanda burrowed deeper into her bed furs. Laura probably wanted her to help with the soap making she’d planned for today. Apparently, it took a massive amount of soap to keep these alpha Vikings clean.

 

 “ ‘Tis time for all slug-a-beds to be up and about,” the voice continued with maddening brightness. The feminine voice.

 

  ‘Tis Natasha the Troll.

 

The alpha must be up to some mischief to address her in such a syrupy tone. Either that, or she wants some favor of her. Well, she can’t have it… no matter what it may be.

 

 Then another alarming fact crept into her sleepy head. Good Lord! Is it possible the red haired troll is actually blowing in my ear?

 

Wanda’s eyes shot wide open to see a gorgeous pale face, freshly bathed Natasha leaning over her. Her red shiny curls, almost dry, stood out in a halo of blood about her head, down to her strong and we'll formed shoulders, which were covered in a newly laundered tunic. Sweet lord, what a sight to awaken to! Her protector archangel couldn’t look any better! Or the devil on a mission of devilment.

 

  “Go away!” Wanda said, and pulled the warm bed furs up to her chin, wondering how long the alpha had been watching her. The room was chill, the fire in the small hearth having burned down to embers. Thank the Lord she had decided to wear a linen chemise to bed, or the troll would have gotten more of a view of her endowments—or lack of endowments—than she’d wagered for.

 

  Or was that what she’d intended?

Notes:

• Sandra's Hill - The Bewitched Viking (alligatorfuckhose afterdark reconstruction)

 

• If you are interested in Miss Sandra Hill's book, get your copy right here. https://m.barnesandnoble.com/w/bewitched-viking-sandra-hill/1102006720