The Tired Finch| Ubbe Ragnarsson

Chapter Nineteen: Trust

"Yes, I know." Hvitserk nodded his head. "Tell her he will be dead, but he will die when he least expects it. He will die when he wins us land."

Ubbe shook his head. "No, I want him dead now. I won't risk him harming my wife or my daughter."

"I think I can keep him in shape until then." Ivar grinned slyly. "Leave that to me. We will have a man or two watch over your family, Ubbe. But when he dies, he will be tortured. I want to hear his screams and see the blood dripping down the walls. Promise me that!"

"Oh, I promise, Brother." Ubbe said lowly.

"Then, trust me. He won't come near your family. I'll make sure of it." Ivar grinned like a fool. "Now, go back to your wife. It's late and we have a lot to go over."

Ubbe reluctantly went back home. When he arrived upstairs, Winifred was fast asleep in bed. Ubbe climbed into bed, feeling fatigue settle into his bones. He pushed Aelflaed over into the middle, she was claiming most of the bed as her own.

Ubbe woke up during the night to find Aelflaed's fist in his face. Or once her foot on  his throat.

The next morning Winifred shot him glanced but he would only look down as if ignorant to her worried looks. He felt like he failed her.

Once they were alone in their bedroom. He shared what happened. She was understandingly upset and chewed onto her bottom lip.

Ubbe grabbed her by the arms. "I will not let him touch you. He will be dead. He will be. I promised you, didn't I? I will not turn on my word. Ivar and Hvitserk are adamant he lives long enough for us to use his men."

"B-but what if he-"

"He won't come near you. Ivar said he'd take care of it. You know he's crazy, he will do anything." He chuckled weakly. "You will also have men to protect you. If you are too nervous about that, I'll find shieldmaidens."

Winifred took a long sigh. "I trust you."

And she truly did.

Ivar sat in an intimate sitting room. The fire pit cracked and the wine kept him warm. In an armchair across from him was Commander Bjarke. He was drinking his fill and when beautiful thralls came in to serve, his mouth watered. Ivar watched as Bjarke ran his eyes over the slopes of a brunette's body. Ivar specifically picked her for the job.

"You, there. Remove your clothes." Ivar ordered the woman. Without thought, she removed her dress and gave Bjarke longing looks as she was instructed to do. "Keep Bjarke company." She sauntered into his lap and seductively fed him a strawberry. "Isn't she pretty?"

"Very," Bjarke purred, his eyes glued to her.

"Almost as beautiful as Ubbe's Saxon wife, Winifred." Ivar remarked casually as he leaned forward to the table to pick what piece of cheese or fruit he wanted to eat first. But the mention of Winifred, snapped Bjarke out of his daze.

From the alcohol, horniness and the topic of conversation, he hadn't noticed the guards behind him on the defense, slowly approaching closer, waiting.

"Yes, almost." Bjarke said, but it seemed he didn't know how to correctly reply. Ivar was dangerous, Bjarke was smart enough to know that.

"I've had so many dreams of her. Dreams that make me so stiff, I have to call for a thrall to relieve me of my suffering." He popped a grape into his mouth. "I take her in the forest, her screams fill the air as birds fly away. I liked it when she squirms, wouldn't you?" Bjarke couldn't reply to Ivar's question, he was stunned for a moment. Ivar only continued forth. "I feel the sleekness between her thighs, but it's not from arousal, it's blood. Delicious virgin blood. I fuck her so hard, I spring a baby into her womb. And make her live with my festering seed until it's a babe in her arms. A mark of my power and dominance over this young Saxon girl." Ivar's face had turned stoney as he spoke, his upper lip snarling. "Isn't that a wonderful dream, Bjarke?"

Bjarke narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at, Ivar?" At that moment the men behind him locked him to the chair with their strong grip and the girl on his lap skillfully held a blade so close to his throat, it nicked his skin.

"I know you raped Winifred, or should I say, Princess Winifred. You won't approach her. You won't look at her or fucking breathe in her direction." Ivar flung his knife, landing in the wooden panel of the chair, right between Bjarke's open thighs. "Or I'll take pleasure in torturing and killing you and your family. Do not test me, Bjarke. Because you will find your skills are unmatched to mine." Ivar lunged forward and watched as Bjarke willed himself to stay still. Ivar grabbed his blade and pointed it lazily at Bjarke. "Winifred is quite beautiful, and so is her little daughter. But they are not yours. They belong to Ubbe. You may have dominated over a woman and stroke yourself with pride, but you are nothing but muck at the bottom of my shoe. You are not a man, you are a coward." Ivar straightened his back. "Remember, the gods favor us Ragnarssons, it'd be unwise to try anything that will lead to your fatal end." With that, Ivar walked out and had no fear that Bjarke would try anything soon.

Bjarke was let go and he willed his heart to stop racing and stared into the dancing flames. He believed it wasn't over, but it was. It was over before it began.