(M/f, bondage, historical romance, 9183 words) Elsabeth's small island home off the coast of Scotland is attacked by raiders from a distant land. Taken as a slave by their leader, Elsabeth must reconcile her fear of submission and her growing feelings for her captor.
Excerpt:
“Girl! Wake up!”
Elsabeth sat up quickly, unsure of where she was. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She had fallen asleep next to Eimhir in the damp cellar. A short bald man stood in the doorway with a torch. He motioned for her to follow him up the stairs.
“Soren doesn’t like being made to wait.”
Eimhir was gone.
“Where is my friend?” Elsabeth asked nervously.
“Don’t worry. She’s asleep. Now hurry!”
Elsabeth wrapped her shawl closely around her shoulders and followed the small man. As she reached the deck she realized it was now late at night. The new moon overhead barely gave off enough light to see the man shuffling in front of her. The rain that fell softly on the sea chilled her to the bone.
“I’ll give you one piece of advice, girl. Do what he says.”
Elsabeth blushed in the darkness. She was glad he couldn’t see her face. They reached a small door on the opposite side of the boat. A man huddled against it, sleeping under the small awning.
“Orig get up, you daft bastard!”
The bald man kicked him as he scurried away from the door. Elsabeth followed him through the doorway. Looking around the room she noticed a small desk covered in maps and lit by a large candle. A long bed sat in the corner covered with furs and linens. Soren was gone. She turned to ask to bald man what to do, but he was already gone. Elsabeth was alone. Unsure of what to do, she nervously paced the room. Tools for navigating the sea littered the desk. She picked them up one by one, imagining how far away from home Soren would take her. She pushed the thought of home from her mind.
Elsabeth heard a sound at the door and her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. The door slowly opened and Soren entered the room alone.
“I punish women on my ship for stealing.”
Dropping the compass on the table, Elsabeth quickly stepped back stammering.
“I’m sor.. I didn’t mean to..”
“I’m only joking.” Soren laughed quietly, turning his back to her.
“Do you have any more knives under that dress?”
Elsabeth didn’t answer. Her mind raced. Was this a trick? Did he mean to punish her for cutting Balrig’s cheek?
“When I ask a question, I mean to have an answer.”
Elsabeth recovered her wits.
“No, m’lord. Balrig has it, wherever he is.”
Soren laughed.
“I could make you take that dress off and prove it to me.”
Elsabeth blushed, unsure of what to do. Soren turned to her and looked her in the eye. She met his gaze. The unfamiliar stirring rose up again making her blush a deeper red. She remembered the bald man’s warning.
Do what he says.
Soren walked to the corner of the room and pulled a sheet back, revealing a large iron tub.
“Don’t worry, girl. I don’t mean to take you against your will. I mean to take a bath. Come pour the water.”
