The Chieftain’s Daughter

By Becca Sinh
Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Becca Sinh

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The village was in flames.

Annie dodged into the shadows as fiery sparks flew over her head. She had to escape, she couldn’t let them catch her! She knew what those barbarians would do to a young girl, especially the Chief’s only daughter!

Coarse laughter and triumphant shouts echoed through the chaos as she dropped to her knees, and crawled through the mud toward the bushy outskirts of town. Her thin sleeping gown was already spattered with dirt and smudged with soot where a falling timber had nearly knocked her flat. Perhaps if she was entirely covered in the muck, they would not see her through the dancing torch light.

She was almost at the inner edge of the clearing. Thick thorny hedges, planted to repel wild animals, fringed the village’s western side. The long brambles would shred her tender skin, but even that was better than submitting to savage rape at the hands of these invaders!

Annie took a deep breath and braced herself for the quick dash to safety. But before she could dart forward, a rough hand snatched at her long white-blonde hair, and yanked her back. Her agonized cry was barely heard in the turmoil as her captor shouted something to his leader, the huge black-haired warlord who stood braced in the middle of town, fists balled on his lean hips.

She struggled and clawed, but the barbarian was clad in thick furs that deflected her wildest efforts. A hideous leering grin split his face as he lifted her off the ground, and easily held her at arm’s length, ignoring her thrashing legs and furious threats.

Something crashed behind her as he carried her to the warlord, and she heard screams of pain and terror. Damn them, why did they take such evil pleasure in destroying her home, her people? They were farmers, not soldiers! There was no excuse for this wanton destruction!

The warlord loomed over her, even from her precarious vantage dangling three feet off the ground. His eyes narrowed as he took in her torn sleeping gown, her muddy hands and knees--and the long, pale hair that whipped around her frightened face. Even though she knew it would mean certain death, she squealed with rage and did her best to kick at him.

A slow smile curved his lips. But it was different from the coarse soldier who was half-crushing her slender shoulders. It was a smile full of reluctant admiration, and something else she couldn’t quite understand. For one brief moment, the brutal carnage around them vanished as she was captured by the heat in his glittering eyes.

Then he snapped out an order, and turned away. Annie kept struggling as she was carried out of the flame-lit village, into the darkened field beyond, and thrust inside a rough tent. What were they going to do with her? Behead her, perhaps, and leave her body for the crows?

Her captor entered after her, and grinned down at her sprawled body. Shivers of revulsion crawled over her chilled skin as she saw the look on his face. She wouldn’t submit, she wouldn’t! Better that he should kill her quickly, cleanly!

Before she could leap at him, small fingers curled into claws, he yanked a rope from the nearby pile of furs, and bound her arms with quick efficiency. Then he shoved her back into the furs, smirked again, and left the tent.

She was alone! How could she find a way to escape? There must be some way! Maybe she could crawl out under one of the edges...but no, the tent was securely fastened to the hard, unyielding ground. And her captor was standing guard just outside, she could see his big shadow wavering across the tent wall as the village fires reached new heights.

She’d fight him when he came back to ravish her, she would! Never would she submit to that huge, hulking murderer!

Suddenly she felt incredibly weary. Dawn was only a short time away; the entire village had been taken by surprise in the darkest hours of night. Everyone had been yanked from sleep by the wild, raucous shouts and the deadly scent of fire.

She had no idea whether her parents were still alive. Or what would happen to the few pitiful survivors.

Despite her resolutions to stay awake, to fight, sleep quickly overcame her.

That was how the warlord found her, when he returned to his solitary tent, just as dawn’s first rays were lighting the sky. Wrists tightly bound, her glorious hair in disarray, her thin gown hiked up to show an indecent length of slender thigh and leg.

He considered the sleeping girl for a long moment, debating, then reached a decision and stripped off his thick cloak. She was shivering, curled up on herself. A long grateful sigh escaped her as he spread the cloak, still warm from his own body, over hers.

She would not be so grateful later, he knew, when he woke her.

Fatigue was dragging at his long, muscular body, but he could not sleep. Too much still needed doing. Resistance had been surprisingly vigorous, and there were many bodies to be buried. He would make sure they were sent to their gods with proper ceremony, despite his mens’ dire grumblings. Nor would he allow them to rob the funeral pyres. There was plenty of treasure in the village chief’s half-burned hut.

His gaze returned to the girl sleeping restlessly beside him. Despite the smoke and dirt smudging her fair skin, she was a rare beauty. And courageous. He knew of no other who would have dared fight him so boldly, in front of all his men.

If she could be tamed, she would be a prize well worth the danger.

Her fair hair felt like tangled silk beneath his callused hand. A hot surge of desire tightened his body. There was no question that he would take her. She belonged to him now, by right of conquest. Whether the taking would be easy or painful would depend on her.