Page 5 of Hot & Heavy

In conclusion, Ian told his men, "Be safe. We're entering their land. We're a small squad… only eight men, compared to their dozens."

"Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups," Omar commented.

"Besides, we're SEALs, we're at an advantage, no matter the odds," Pretty Boy boasted.

"Hoo-yah!" seven men yelled back at him.

All the SEALs left then, leaving Ian to his own thoughts.

He decided to pray.

(The Norselands, a.d. 1013)

Strong women survive…

Madrene Olgadottir, noble granddaughter of Eric Olafsson, once high jarl of Norstead, walked through her great hall, which was filled with hundreds of laughing, drinking men.

She was being led by a neck tether, her hands bound behind her back, a short rope connecting her two ankles.

She was naked.

And she was madder than a hornet caught in a spider web.

She stopped before Steinolf the Vicious, the chieftain who had invaded and captured Norstead and its surrounding estates a sennight past. All her fighting men were gone to Valhalla or scattered to the far mountains awaiting word from her to come back and fight… something she could not in good conscience command.

Her family, once huge and powerful, was gone now, and that was the crux of her problem. She'd done her best to hold Norstead intact, even fighting side by side with her soldiers. Many invaders considered Norstead fair game because all the men of the family were gone. But she was strong and stubborn and had held on since the last of her family—her brother Ragnor—died a year past. Until now.

Steinolf hoped to shame her into compliance by parading her through the hall nude. Hah! I am the daughter of many generations of Viking warriors. I cannot let them down. I cannot let my people down. Lifting her chin haughtily, she eyed the brute who was staring at her nudity with mild interest, as if she were a piece of meat offered at the high table. She had not been raped… yet… as many of her kitchen maids and village girls had been, but that was only because Steinolf hoped that she would wed with him. She had been whipped, however… repeatedly. Her back would bear scars for the rest of her life, she would warrant, as would her wrists and ankles and neck from the abrasive ropes.

If that weren't bad enough, Steinolf had tried to kill her precious pet cat, Rose, to teach Madrene a lesson. If her hands had been free, she would have throttled the miscreant gleefully for that sin alone, to say nothing of all the sword dew he had spilled amongst her people. Luckily, Rose had escaped and was in the hands of one of the village cotters.

"Kneel, wench, and kiss my boot as a sign of your surrender," Steinolf's deep voice boomed out.

Is the man barmy? She spat on his boot.

The ruffian who held her tether shoved her to her knees, but she refused to lean down to the boot.

Instead, she glared up at the monster who had overtaken her keep.

He was a huge man, at least a head taller than she and twice as wide under his fur mantle. His stringy hair was blond and hung down to his shoulders; war braids framed his scarred face.

"Kiss… my… boot," he repeated in an ominously soft voice.

"Kiss… my… arse!" Madrene surprised herself by saying. It was an expression she'd heard her brothers use on many an occasion, but one she'd never used herself.

Steinolf's eyes went wide with surprise, but then he threw his head back and laughed uproariously.

"Mayhap later," he said when he was no longer laughing.

I wish my brothers were here. They would wipe that lackwit smile right off your face. "I hope you choke."

"You are a feisty one, I give you that. Much joy will I get in breaking your wild spirit."

Madrene rolled her eyes. Men are such braggarts, always thinking they are so superior. As if the dangly part betwixt their legs gives them greater intelligence. Hah! "You are a pig, Steinolf. Look at you. Bread crumbs in your beard. Grease stains on your shert. You reek of stale mead and unwashed skin. Methinks you and all your herd of soldiers need a good bath and delousing. You should sleep in the barn at my farmstead, instead of on the clean rushes here at Norstead." Madrene couldn't believe she'd criticized the chieftain so. Ah, well, she was as good as dead anyway. Despite her dire situation, she had to smile. Her father and brothers would hoot with laughter because her nagging spirits couldn't be held back, even when kneeling afore her conqueror stark naked.

Actually, she probably reeked as well, not having been able to bathe this past sennight. The blond braid hanging down her back had been plaited before the assault and was half undone now.

"You find humor in your predicament?" Steinolf asked incredulously.