Unchained

The Brida Chronicles Book I: Unchained By Chris Taylor

The Brida Chronicles: Unchained The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is a violation of the Copyright Law. Ocean’s Mist Press will aggressively pursue those who chose to violate the intellectual property rights of our authors. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Brida Chronicles: Unchained Copyright (c) 2005 by Chris Taylor ISBN: 0-9773043-039-030 Cover art and design (c) 2005 by Jinger Heaston All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Look for us on the Web www.oceansmistpress.com

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Chris Taylor

Chapter 1 “Moon and Stars! Where is that stupid bitch?” Earl Answar yelled as he thumped his gilded silver and bronze mug against the oak table, spilling ale over its sides. The ale mixed with the remnants of his lordship’s meal, mutton and boiled leeks, as it spread across the roughhewn wood. “Brida! Brida, where are you?” he yelled again viciously, then adding with a harsh laugh, “I am in need of your services.” The other men seated with Earl Answar laughed with their lord, knowing the services he required. It was a service Brida hated performing, but one all too commonly required of an English slave girl living in a Danish lord’s household. Brida did not answer at first. She had finished serving the Earl and his men their meal and their ale, and knew now what the lord of the house called for. She stood silently behind the door of the kitchen leading to the lord’s hall, a huge, oak beamed room roofed with thatch, where Earl Answar and his men gathered nightly to drink and feast. She began to tremble. While there were other slaves whom the Earl forced himself upon, they were all either asleep or performing other tasks for the Earl’s wife. Besides that Brida, was his favorite, and he would often arrange to have her serve him and his men alone, a fact which she despised almost as much as she despised the Earl himself. From the sound of his voice the Earl was more drunk than usual, and although Earl Answar was frequently drunk, that meant he was in the mood for cruelty. As if his attentions were not cruel enough. The Earl yelled her named again and Brida left her hiding place in the kitchen, and taking in a deep breath, walked quickly into the hall. She had learned from hard experience over the two years she had been held captive by the Danes that reluctance towards the inevitable only earned a beating besides the humiliation she was subjected to. It was a harsh fact of life, one that had caused her to weep silently many nights as she lay on her straw mattress in the slave quarters, but it was one from which she could not escape. She was a slave, and a slave was required to do her master’s bidding, no matter how distasteful that bidding may be.

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained Brida entered the hall through the kitchen door and quickly rushed to the table where the Earl and four of his followers were seated. The kitchens were situated near the end of the hall, near the slave quarters, so that when she entered she was forced to walk nearly forty feet to where the table sat. Her bare feet shuffled quickly across the packed earth floor, and although she kept her eyes lowered, she could feel the Earl’s harsh gaze upon her as she approached. The Earl, as with all the Danes, demanded submission from his English slaves, and he especially liked to remind Brida of that. She had been defiant of him at first, that horrible day the Earl and his men came to her village, but the Earl soon beat the defiance from her. Most of the people of her village were put to death that day, and she was forced to watch as her husband was murdered by the bloodthirsty Danes. They came as they had done for centuries; for plunder, for rape and for blood lust, but they also came for slaves, and it was for that reason Brida was spared the sword and dragged, bound and gagged, to the Dane’s dragon-prowed ship. Over the two years she had been held captive by the Danes she often wished she had died instead of being spared. Brida approached her lord and fell to her knees in front of the table. She could see the men seated on either side of the Earl grinning in cruel anticipation, their eyes hungrily taking in the curves of her body, barely covered by the scant rags that were all the clothing she had. Loathing and hate churned Brida’s stomach, and for a moment she thought she might vomit, but she resisted the temptation and sat back on her heels, raising her eyes to master seated at the table. “Yes, Lord?” Brida said trying to summon a smile in the vain hope of earning a reprieve from what she knew was coming. The Earl glared down at her from where he was seated in the center of the big oak table, flanked by two of his men on either side. The table had room for many more men, but it was now very late and most of the Earl’s warriors had left for their own homes and wives or slave girls. The four that remained were the Earl’s chief warriors, and they were routinely invited to stay and enjoy the spectacle of their lord’s cruelty with his slaves. They also stayed because more often than not they were invited to participate in that cruelty as well. Brida eyed the Earl’s malevolent gaze warily as she waited for him to respond. The dying light of the torches hung on the oak beams of the hall served to make his face even more frightening. She watched as an evil

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Chris Taylor grin danced across his face. “You will dance for us, Brida,” he said in a lustful voice, accompanied by nods and grunts of approval from his retainers. “You will dance for us, and then you will give your mouth to me.” Brida’s heart dropped. She knew what the Earl required of her on these occasions, but always there was the false hope of escaping her fate. There had been times, of course, when she’d been lucky, times when the earl and his men drank to the point of oblivion, unable to summon her to use her mouth for their pleasure, but tonight was not one of those times. She slowly rose from her knees and began fumbling with the cord around her waist that held her clothes in place. Not that there was much she wore to take off. The Earl liked to keep his women slaves in revealing clothing, mere rags that covered only enough to keep the Earl’s wife, Tania, from complaining too loudly about the children in the household seeing too much. All Brida was given to wear was a sleeveless, rough woolen shirt, just long enough to cover her from exposure as long as she was careful when she bent over. She undid the cord and, letting it fall to the ground, pulled the woolen shirt over her head and dropped it from her hands. The men seated behind the table grunted as they viewed Brida’s naked body, their eyes betraying their lustful intentions. Their gaze was like a swarm of ravenous insects moving over her body, their eyes crawling hungrily over her nakedness as she stood in awkward silence. As they watched she reached to her head and untied the small ribbon that kept her long blond hair in place. It fell around her shoulders and down across her breasts. She was desirable and beautiful, and Brida cursed her beauty, for though she had always aspired to it in the past, all her beauty brought her now were the attentions of men she hated, the men who killed her husband. Brida remembered how Arthur had looked upon her nakedness the night of her marriage, how he marveled at her soft curves and ample round breasts, her soft white skin and perfectly formed hands and feet, and how when he entered her that first time he promised to love her forever. But now Arthur was dead, spitted by a Danish spear, and these men had lust of a different sort than Arthur’s in their eyes. Brida had enjoyed the acts of love with her husband, the feel of his manliness inside her cunt or in her mouth, but now found no pleasure in them, and doubted she ever would again. “Dance!” the Earl commanded harshly.

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained “But Lord, there is no music...” “Dance, whore, or you will not live to see the dawn.” Such was the power of life and death, the power of Danish master over English slave. Lord Answar could kill Brida at any time, could kill any slave of his he wished, whenever and however he wished. He was the law in his lands, and he was restrained only by whim or fury. Not two weeks before he had beheaded a man, a slave working in the smithy, for scarring the blade of his favorite sword on the grindstone. The Earl enjoyed killing, and Brida knew his admonition wasn’t an idle threat. So Brida danced. She began slowly, moving awkwardly across the dirt floor in exaggerated motions, feeling the humiliation of her exposed nakedness. Though some of Earl Answar’s other slave girls became accustomed to his abuse, some even growing to like his attentions, Brida’s pain and humiliation never diminished no matter how many times she was subjected to the ritual. In a world where women lived and died at the whim of their master or husband’s grace, Brida’s pride and independence was out of place. Most women in her position accepted their lot; they were happy enough for the warmth of shelter and a full belly, thankful even for the chance of life as a slave for themselves and their children. Such was the way of the world. But Brida yearned for more, yearned to be free from her bonds and from the stink and filth of Danish warriors groping at her as she was forced to pleasure them. She yearned to enjoy the acts of love again, to feel the way she had with Arthur. But most of all she yearned to be free of Lord Answar, and wished him death. Brida continued to dance, her delicate toes tracing circles on the floor as she moved. She did her best to make the dance appealing, not to do so would ensure a beating or worse, so she thought of a tune she had danced to as a child and swayed to the imaginary notes. She would later dance to the same tune for Arthur; always naked, a sensual offering of herself, and always afterward they made love. Her mind drifted to happier times as she danced, and for a moment she almost forgot her pain, until the Earl interrupted her thoughts. “Brida,” he growled, his voice husky with lust from watching her dance, “come here.” Brida stopped dancing, her arms slowly returning to her sides, and turned to her master. Earl Answar rose from the table and strode towards her, his malevolent grin stark against his gray and black beard. As he approached she could make out tiny scraps of his meal caught in the

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Chris Taylor beard. He was a tall and powerful man, well over six feet in height, with a muscled chest and bulging arms bearing the silver and gold rings that marked him as a great warrior. He came to within two feet of her and she could smell the reeking ale of his drunkenness on his breath. The mere sight of him repulsed her; she hated him with all of her being. She pushed away the thoughts of what he would require of her and lowered her eyes. As she did she saw he was undoing the clasp of his leather belt. “You dance well, Brida,” he said in a mocking tone. The other men were also rising from the table as the Earl approached. “You dance very well. Now I think it is time for you to show us what else you do well.” “Lord, I…” Brida tried to protest before the Earl slapped her. “Get on your knees, bitch,” he commanded. There was no choice but to obey, no choice but to acquiesce and endure what she must, but Brida promised herself she would live another life again someday, live somewhere free and away from all this pain and misery. And she promised herself something else. One day she would avenge herself and her husband on Earl Answar. One day she would avenge her people on the murderous Danes that came from the north to ravage her home. Brida fell to her knees.

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Chapter 2 After the Earl finished, Brida was allowed to return to the slave quarters. She fought against the urge to be thankful; only the Earl had partaken of her this night, the others leaving disappointed because they only watched Brida service their lord and did not participate themselves. To be thankful was to admit one was a slave, and Brida refused that, for in her heart she knew one day she would be free again. Besides, she knew the only reason the Earl had refused the others her mouth was because he was too drunk to stand and thought only of sleep. It had been mercifully short. Her nakedness and dancing served to excite Answar to a point where it took only a few thrusts of his cock in her mouth before he released himself, after which he nearly fell on the floor from his drunkenness. “Now get out of my sight, you sour-faced bitch,” he snarled. “Go back to your hole before I let these others tickle your throat.” Brida ran from the hall with bitter tears in her eyes and the Earl’s foul taste on her tongue. But in truth Brida was thankful. There had been other nights, nights when she tasted the flesh of many of the Earl’s warriors before being released to her room. The sting of the humiliation of those nights burned in her every waking hour. The gloating looks of the men she was forced to pleasure, the assumption that she was only good for serving, either food or her mouth, filled her with anger. It had never been like that with Arthur. Arthur never forced himself upon her like many husbands did, and so Brida had repaid that kindness by learning all the skills she could to please him. And Arthur loved her attentions, especially the skill Brida developed in sucking his cock. She had spent many hours on her knees for her husband, perfecting her technique through trial and error, learning what pleased him the most. There were times now she could almost taste him again, taste and feel his cock as she moved her mouth over him. She sucked him so frequently she grew to love the feel of him in her mouth more than inside her, and sometimes when she dreamed she could see him looking down at her, his eyes filled with love and pleasure as she slid her mouth up and down his

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Chris Taylor manliness. And then she would wake from dream to the nightmare of her life, and to the reality that she was forced to suck the cocks of the men who killed her beloved husband. And she often blamed herself for that. In the first few months of her captivity Brida was so terrified of the Earl and of Danes that she offered the skill she had perfected with her husband as a token of submission. The first months as a slave were the most dangerous; if slaves didn’t prove themselves useful they were killed, and so Brida had done what she must to survive. She sucked cock. She became so well known for her skills amongst the Earl and his men that she was known by the Danish phrase for “Little Cock Sucker”, that is until Tania complained that the Earl’s children had asked what the words meant and the Earl forced an end to the practice. And so she went back to being called Brida, but continued to be used for her mouth whenever it struck the Earl’s fancy. On her way back to her quarters Brida stopped in the kitchens. She went to the wine barrel scooped some into her mouth and then spit it out, washing the taste of the Earl’s cum away. When Arthur was alive she relished the taste of his cum, relished the way the taste lingered in her mouth sometimes for an hour or more. Now the taste of man’s seed only sickened her and reminded her of the bondage she endured. She took another sip of wine, this time swallowing it, and went back through the hallway that led to her room. Brida shared her small room with a young Irish slave named Gytha. Gytha was captured by the Earl on a raid to that island some four years before, and had grown no more used to the life of a slave than Brida. Gytha had not yet been married when the Danes took her, and in the weeks and months that followed she’d learned all she knew of men by force. Earl Answar kept her as his own for a time, but when he tired of her she experienced the horrors of pleasuring warriors as Brida was now forced to do. Now though no man touched Gytha. While she was attractive, with short red hair and a pretty face and firm breasts, she was skilled in the art of weaving, and that being a valuable skill, was spared Brida’s torments by working most hours with the Earl’s wife weaving sails for the Danish ships. Gytha made life as a slave with the Danes bearable for Brida. They were very close, sharing together a bond more than friendship, more akin to that of lovers, and both relied on the other for the strength to endure their harsh lives.

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained When Brida entered the room Gytha was sitting on the straw mattress they shared with her knees to her chin. She watched Brida intently as she entered, and seeing the red mark left by the Earl’s hand on Brida’s face, quickly rose to meet her. Brida would not look her in the eye as Gytha approached her, and without a word, they embraced. “Are you all right?” Gytha asked as she pulled back from Brida to get a better look at the mark left by the Earl. “Did he hurt you?” “No more than usual,” Brida responded. “He was quick tonight, and not in the mood to share, so I can be thankful for that.” “So he made you…” Gytha blushed. “Yes, he did,” Brida answered without elaborating. “I’m very sorry, Brida.” Gytha tried to console her. “I wish there was something I could do.” “There isn’t, so forget it,” Brida said, and then added harshly “Gytha, it’s very late and I’m very tired. We should sleep while we can. It will be dawn in a few hours, and we’ll have chores.” “You’re right,” Gytha said, looking hurt by Brida’s tone. “I only stayed awake to be sure you were all right, I was worried….” Brida immediately regretted her tone. “I know,” she said with a sad smile. She then reached her fingers to caress Gytha’s face and looked into her eyes, “I know you were worried. Thank you for staying awake, it means a great deal to me.” Gytha smiled and kissed Brida’s hand as it touched her face. “Come, let us get to bed. I’ll rub your back for you until you fall asleep.” Both Gytha and Brida took off the rags they were clothed in and climbed onto the straw mattress. Because Gytha spent so many hours weaving she was able to scrape together enough scraps of linen to make a pair of blankets the two shared. They slept with one underneath them to shield their bodies from the roughness of the straw and one on top to protect them from the course sheep skins used for warmth. They slid between the linen blankets and Brida turned to lay facedown so that Gytha could rub her back. Gytha began to gently run her fingers over Brida’s back, tracing small circles on the pale skin. “Brida,” she whispered. “Do you ever think we’ll get our freedom from this place?” Brida hesitated for a moment, but then said, “I don’t know. I want to, more than anything I want to, but where would we go? How could we escape? We don’t even know where we are.”

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Chris Taylor “We’re in England,” Gytha whispered in reply. “Surely if we ran away someone would help us.” Gytha continued to trace small circles with her fingertips on Brida’s skin, slowly moving down her back until she reached the two firm, fleshy orbs of Brida’s ass. She ran her fingers gently over each side. “Surely someone can help us.” Brida could feel the tension caused by the Earl’s rough treatment slipping away as Gytha caressed her skin. There were times when Brida wished death rather than to live in her current circumstances, but Gytha was always there to push the pain away, to keep it from consuming her. No one could take Brida’s pain, only avenging herself and her husband on the Earl and his men would do that, but Gytha could take her mind from it, if only for a short time. “Yes, Gytha, we’re in England. I know that. I even know we’re somewhere in North Umbria. But so what?” Brida mumbled sadly, depressed by the hopelessness of their situation. “Beyond that, we have no idea where we are. Where are we to go? Into the forest? There are thieves and brigands in those woods, even more now that the Danes have invaded England and driven so many men to be outlaws. We could probably expect no better treatment from the likes of them than from the accursed Danes, be they English or not.” “I know, I know,” Gytha replied. “I just wish we could make things different. One day the Earl will kill one of us, or one of his men will, of that I’m sure. They will get drunk as they always do, and perhaps become too drunk, and one of us will die. Just think of poor Harold,” referring to the man the Earl killed for scratching his sword, “Harold didn’t do anything, the Earl was just drunk is all! I swear I hate men so.” “I know,” Brida said, “he was such a nice boy.” Brida felt sorry for Gytha at times. Not having married, Gytha never had a chance to learn how wonderful and exciting loving a man was. All Gytha knew of men was pain and subjugation, of being forced to do things with her body she did not wish to. To Gytha the acts of love to be enjoyed came not from men, but from the soft embrace of other women. Gytha ran her fingertips down the middle of Brida’s ass, gently parting the sides as she delved deeper between the fleshy mounds. “Let us forget such things,” Gytha whispered into Brida’s ear. “Let us forget such things while we can.” She then nibbled Brida’s ear and added, “Does this…please you?”

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained Brida smiled and moaned softly, indicating that it did. She felt a new tension replacing the one Gytha had previously massaged away, but where the tension caused by the Earl was cold and hateful, this new feeling was warm and pleasurable. Brida could feel Gytha’s fingers softly caressing the cleavage of her ass, massaging and probing until she felt fingertips brush her hole. A shiver of pleasure ran through her spine, and Brida became aware of the wetness of her cunt. She sighed as she felt a single finger trace the outline of her ass’s hole, and then felt Gytha slide slowly down her body. Replacing the finger was something warm and wet, and Brida arched her back to give the searching appendage more access to her quivering ass. Waves of warmth shot through Brida’s body, and she moaned and writhed as the sensations rippled and radiated through out her entire being. Brida felt Gytha move in between her legs and push her so that she rose to her knees, the warm silkiness of Gytha’s tongue never leaving her trembling hole. Delicate fingers moved inside her cunt, massaging her, concentrating on the button of flesh between her wet and swollen lips. The length of Gytha’s tongue pressed against her hole, and Brida moaned and pushed herself back against the pressure, allowing the wet tip to enter. As it did Brida felt the beginnings of an orgasm building in her, spreading like fire as mouth and fingers worked her ass and clit. Gytha sensed her friend was close to the end and pushed her tongue even farther into her ass. As she did Brida felt her cunt and sphincter spasm. The waves of orgasm, beginning at the tips of her toes, began to flow through her with the force of an ocean’s tides. She wanted to cry out in her ecstasy, but instead bit down on her clenched fist to keep from waking the slaves in the next rooms. The intensity of the feeling continued to build itself to a crescendo, and for a moment Brida was lost in pleasure and thought she might pass out, but as quickly as it rose it began to recede, leaving in its wake a sensation of warmth and contentment. Neither moved for long moments, both of them savoring the experience of their loving embrace. Finally Brida collapsed and Gytha lay again beside her. “You tasted wonderful, Brida,” Gytha whispered, running her fingers through her friend’s hair. “I could do that to you forever.” “And I would let you,” Brida whispered back with a chuckle. Gytha always knew when she was close to breaking, close to allowing the life of a slave to drown her will to live in the black waters of depression,

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Chris Taylor and Gytha was always able to bring her back again, to show her there were pleasures and reasons for living still. Brida moved to embrace her friend and kissed her softly on her lips. “You are my dearest friend, Gytha,” she said as tears flowed to her eyes. “You are my dearest friend, and together we shall escape this place. I promise you that.”

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Chapter 3 A cool night wind stirred the leaves on the trees and Brida felt a chill on her naked body as she walked along the path, her bare feet crushing fallen leaves as she went. She didn’t know where she was, but the place was strangely familiar, as if she been here before. The full moon lit her way, but on either side of the slim track the wood turned black beyond the first trees. She wasn’t afraid, somehow she knew she was safe, knew somehow that there were friends in this wood. She walked on, something powerful drawing her down the path, though she knew not where. As she walked she saw the dim glow of firelight in a clearing up ahead. She entered the clearing, a small island of green grass surrounded by the dark wood, and in its center there rose a huge oak tree, by the looks of it hundreds of years old, its branches and limbs thick and strong and raising to the heavens. Torches hanging in the ancient oak lit the clearing, but as Brida looked more closely it appeared that the tree itself had sprung the torches from its limbs as if they’d grown there. There were thousands of fireflies in the clearing circling the tree as if caught in a vortex, thousands on tiny lights traveling in unison around the tree from its base to its great heights in the shy. It was the most beautiful sight Brida had ever witnessed, and as she gazed in amazement, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen walked from behind the tree and approached her. “Hello, Brida”, the man said, his thin lips turning to smile as he spoke. He had long and smooth blonde hair, with features so fine that he appeared almost feminine. A dark cloak covered his body, but underneath the cloak the man wore nothing and Brida could see his lithe figure and well-defined chest in the dim firelight. “Who…who are you?” Brida managed to stammer after several seconds, still shocked by the man’s sudden appearance and striking beauty. She wasn’t frightened, somehow she knew she was safe, even as she saw so many things she didn’t understand, and when she looked into the beautiful stranger’s eyes she saw there was no malice. “My name is Arthur, Brida. Arthur, like your husband.” He wore a sad smile as he spoke. Brida looked into his eyes and saw they were a blue darker than anything she’d ever seen, and it seemed as though the whole world could fit in those eyes. There was a sadness and understanding in those eyes, and that made

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Chris Taylor her weep as she thought of her husband. “He was killed,” she said, choking back the tears long enough to speak. “He was killed by the Danes. He was such a good man.” “I know he was killed by the Danes, Brida. And I also know they held you captive, as they do most of my Island.” The man spoke in anger now, his face becoming terrible and foreboding, and as Brida watched his eyes turned from blue to fiery red, as though flames would jump forth from them, and she became frightened. But as quickly they had changed to fire the eyes returned to the coolness of blue, and he smiled and there was compassion again. “They hold my Island Brida, your Island, our countrymen’s Island, and only one kingdom now resists them. And that is why I need your help.” “Who are you?” Brida asked again. She was so confused. Need my help? I’m only a stupid slave girl with talents to please those I hate, she thought, who would need my help? “I told you who I am Brida, I am Arthur. You know me, or know of me, perhaps. Just as your father knew of me, and your father’s father.” The man seemed to grow taller as he spoke, and some of the fireflies that circled the tree left their swarm and came to circle the man’s head as though it were a crown, and now Brida could see they were not fireflies at all, but pixies that glowed softly as they flew. “For I am King Arthur, Brida, and I need you to help me rid my land of the Danes before all is lost.” “You’re…you’re King Arthur, from the legends?” Brida asked with amazement. “But I thought you weren’t real…or, at least were dead?” Arthur laughed. “Oh, I’m real enough Brida. And though my story has grown some in the telling over the generations, I was a real king, the greatest of kings, and ruled over a fair time in the history of our Island. And like the lore masters say, when there is threat to my Island, I shall rise again to defend her. And so I have risen” “So…you are not dead?” Brida asked again, fearing that she herself may have died for it to be possible that she was here and talking to Arthur. “I am not dead, Brida, but not alive either. I now live in the world of dreams, and it is here that I may choose those I feel are able to help me in this quest. And I have chosen you, Brida.” Brida was incredulous. “Me? I’m only a slave girl. I only know the ways of women and of pleasing men, not the ways of war, or of the quest. How could I be of service to you?” “You do yourself no justice, Brida,” Arthur said, his eyes betraying a hint of amusement and sadness at the same time. “You have endured much that would have broken the greatest warriors, and still you live, still you wish revenge on the

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained Danes. You have as much reason to hate them as any English man or woman alive. I see strength in you, strength I have not seen in man or woman for many years, and so I have chosen you to lead this quest for me.” “But how…what must I do?” She didn’t know what to say. It was as if she were standing outside herself, watching it happen, but without any control. She had so many questions; she didn’t know where to even begin. Arthur closed the gap between them, stopping only as her breasts touched his muscled chest. Her nipples were hard from the chill in the air, and as they touched Arthur’s skin she felt them press against his muscled flesh. Arthur spoke softly into her ear, “I will give you two gifts tonight, Brida. The first is this amulet, which you will find around your neck when you wake. It is magic, blessed by the druids and the forest gods. It will lead you back to here, to the tree of life, where all that lives in England is bound. Here the tree will give you the power to defeat the Danes and take your revenge.” Arthur held the magic amulet in his hand. It looked like a simple charm, a piece of quartz tied to a thin strap of rawhide, but it had extraordinary powers. It led its wearer to the mystical tree of life, Arthur explained, and it was there that the weapons to defeat the Danes would be given to her. The amulet also gave its bearer the power to charm both person and beast to do their bidding, although, Arthur went on to warn, she should be careful with that power. “Those charmed with aid of the amulet will serve you until death if need be, but its power only works when the bearer’s intentions are pure and their need is great.” Arthur tied the amulet around Brida’s neck, letting it fall to her breasts. Brida could feel a strange sense of power come over her as the amulet touched her skin; she felt alive and strong. Perhaps this was all real, she thought to herself. Perhaps I am not merely dreaming? The thought of escaping the Danes and having her vengeance quickened her blood, and she fervently hoped that this was more than a mere dream, and that when she woke the amulet would still be around her neck. “My other gift to you, Brida, is to return to you the gift of love. You have labored long under the yoke of the Danes’ captivity, and your slavery has left you with a void where your desire for man once was.” Arthur pulled Brida close, and as she did she felt the King’s stiffening cock press against her flesh. His body was warm and inviting, and she felt the long forgotten fires of desire. She felt desire for Gytha, but her abuse at the hands of the Danes drove the love of man and of cock from her. Now she felt the old pang of lust deep inside, felt her wetness of her cunt as Arthur’s cock grew against her belly. She longed for Arthur to take her, the way her husband had when he was still alive, to fill her void with cock and lust and smother her in loving embrace.

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Chris Taylor Arthur took Brida into his arms and carried her to the tree of life. There he laid her at the foot of the tree, gently placing her on his robe. “You freely give yourself to me?” Arthur asked as he knelt before her, spreading her legs with his strong yet delicate fingers. She saw in the firelight that he was fully erect now, and she wanted him inside her so badly she felt the ache in her toes. Arthur moved himself to her, and Brida felt the pressure of his cock against her cunt. She could feel her wetness coat the tip of his cock and she moaned as she imagined it inside her. “Yes,” she answered. Oh gods, put it in me, she thought. “And you freely accept the quest to which I have offered you?” “Yes, yes...yes,” Brida cried. “Than you shall have your gifts, Brida, and together we shall earn your freedom and defeat the Danes.” “Brida.” “Oh, Yes, Arthur, I’m here.” “Brida!” Brida awoke to find Gytha already dressed and standing in the doorway of their small room. Brida blinked her eyes and shifted to her elbows, tossing her head to shake away the cobwebs of sleep. She looked about the room in confusion for a moment and realized something was different. She felt odd, as though a weight had been lifted off her, and for the first time in many months Brida smiled as she woke to a new day. The sunlight shone through the parchment paper windows of the room, and at that moment Brida realized that Gytha had let her sleep through the morning chores. “Oh gods, the water!” Brida screeched. If the cooks did not get the two buckets of water she was charged with fetching every morning the Earl would hear of it, and there would be a beating or worse. Brida jumped up from the straw mattress and began looking frantically for her clothes. “I already fetched it,” Gytha said smiling, “and emptied the chamber pots, and served the lord his breakfast, so you can relax.” Brida felt a wave of relief sweep over her. “How…why did you let me sleep in?” “You were dreaming last night, moaning and calling Arthur’s name, and so I thought you may need the rest,” and then added coyly, “although from all the noise you were making I should have been able to sleep in! I hardly could sleep at all!”

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained The dream. Oh, gods, the dream. Brida froze. Had it been real? Everything that happened in the dream came flooding back to her in an instant, and she found herself unable to look down to her chest, unwilling to see the amulet gone and her night with King Arthur only a creation of her mind. The joys he had shown her. She closed her eyes and saw every moment of the experience flash through her mind. She felt guilty in a way, she thought she’d never again enjoy the love of a man after her husband died and the Danes raped her, but King Arthur had taken her to plateaus she never thought possible. She remembered the strength of his body holding her in a vice grip as the deep thrusts of his cock penetrated her, reaching to her very soul. She could still feel his powerful grip on her hips as he drove into her from behind, thrusting over and over, until the orgasms made her weep with joy. And for the briefest of seconds she thought she could still taste the King’s cum after he released himself to her mouth. It had been so real; the king, the tree of life, the smell of the torches burning and caress of the grass between her toes, and the gnawing fear that it was nothing but her imagination left her feeling sick. “Brida,” Gytha said, looking at Brida’s chest in curiosity, “What is that you have around your neck?”

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Chapter 4 Lord Answar slid from his horse and handed the reins to a servant with a grunt. The five retainers that accompanied him stayed on their mounts. There were several armed men standing by the stables across from where he stood eyeing him warily. “The Lord Guthrie is here?” Answar spoke to the warriors. “Yes, Lord.” One of them replied, a huge man with silver and gold arms rings and a bearskin cloak. “He awaits you in the hall, Lord, with the others.” “Then show me to him,” Answar said, “and find some food and drink for my men.” Lord Answar left his soldiers with the warriors and followed the man who had spoke up a winding path, past the stables and what Answar guessed must have been slave quarters. The path led up a gently sloping hill to a huge oak hall nestled in the tree line of a thick wood. The hall was much bigger than Answar’s, and also much better built, but Lord Guthrie was Answar’s liege lord and protector, and that was to be expected. The man led him to the entrance of the hall and opened the heavy iron banded door. “I shall see to your men, Lord Answar.” The man said, and without another word turned and walked back towards the stables. Answar entered the hall and saw a group of men standing around a large table in the center of the room. There were ten men in all, nine of the men Earls, like Answar, in the service of Lord Guthrie, and each with his lands and men sworn to support their lord when he called for their service. Answar walked to the table. “Ah, my Lord Answar,” a man in a gold colored robe said as Answar approached. “It is good of you to come so quickly. I trust your journey was well?” The man smiled as he spoke, but it was obvious to all in the room that there was no sincerity in his words or his smile. “Well enough, my Lord, though winter comes and there is much to be done in preparation,” Answar replied, showing his disapproval at being summoned to Guthrie on such short notice and so close to winter’s

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained arrival. “A day’s ride is a long journey. I hope your Lordship has reason enough to warrant such a summons.” The other earls around the table looked uncomfortably at each other. It was no secret that Guthrie and Answar hated each other, but they served each others purposes and each needed the other since the invasion of England had started. “My will to summon you is reason enough, Answar.” The man snapped in answer. “Remember that.” He then laughed, and in a softer tone continued, “But as it happens there is a good reason for your summons and our meeting. It seems that the English have revolted in Mercia. A monk was killed by one of our men, and it set off riots.” Guthrie was pointing to Mercia on the map of England that lay on the table as he described the news. “The riots grew out of control and a Danish stronghold was taken. The English slaughtered all who were there, including the women and children.” There were angry grunts from the men surrounding the table. Mercia was the Danish ruled kingdom to the south of North Umbria, and many of the men surrounding the table had kinsmen who lived there. “What has been done about this outrage?” One of the earls spoke. “Have the rebels been caught?” “Oh, yes,” Lord Guthrie said and waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, they’ve all been dealt with. I understand several English villages were destroyed in reprisal for the attacks.” Guthrie paused and glanced at the faces around the table. “And that is exactly why I have called you all here.” Lord Guthrie walked around his men and sat in an ornate and high backed chair at the head of the table. He was a tall man, with graying hair and beard, and a long scar running down his cheek where an English sword had struck him in battle. “You see, gentlemen,” he continued,”while it is good that the English were made to pay for their insolent attack on our brothers in the south, the destruction of whole English villages, especially this close to winter, has meant there will be a shortage of food and labor in the coming months.” Lord Guthrie paused again to look at the faces of the men around the table. One of them, a young lord with a thick red beard, spoke. “Why do we care if the south has no food? There is food enough for the Danes there, so let the English dogs starve for their crimes.”

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Chris Taylor “We care,” Lord Answar answered for his Lord. “Because our English dogs might get ideas about revolting from those in the south, and destroying villages in response to revolts costs us all money, that’s why.” Lord Guthrie nodded in agreement as Answar spoke, although his look betrayed his distaste at doing so. “Yes, precisely. If there is a revolt from our English subjects it will cost us money to be sure, but a revolt this close to winter would also mean less food, labor and taxes for all our households.” “So what do you propose, my Lord?” Answar asked. “We make an example of some English to rid them of a notion of revolt,” Guthrie said, a wicked smile crossing his lips. “I suggest we destroy one of our less profitable villages, one that pays few taxes and doesn’t contribute much to the food supply. In that way we show our strength and terrify the English into obedience before tales of their southern brethrens success give them any ideas.” There were grins and nods of agreement from the lords around the table. A raid on a village would certainly crush any rebellious thoughts in the English, but it would also offer the men of the combined Earl’s armies a last bloody distraction before the boredom and privation of winter set in. Men would rape and murder and pillage, and they would be content in their bloodlust until the spring came and the raiding of unconquered English territory could begin again. “Do you have a village in mind for this expedition, my Lord?” Answar asked, already suspecting it would be one of his own villages Guthrie would choose. “Why yes I do, actually,” Lord Guthrie replied. “As my chamberlain has informed me, your village of Umbranburg is of no consequence to our livelihoods here, Answar. No real tax income, no significant crops or industry, basically a hovel of English dogs scrapping to survive, is that not so?” Lord Answar glared at his liege lord. Of course he would pick a village of mine, he thought. But Answar was forced to agree that Umbranburg was a rather useless place. What taxes he collected from there were always in the form of animal carcasses, never any money. It would be worth the loss of such paltry taxes to lay waste to the village and set an example to all the English slaves on his lands. And perhaps he would find some new young things to warm his bed as well. Answar

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained smiled devilishly. “When would his lordship like to arrange this demonstration?” he asked. “King Arthur?” Gytha asked skeptically. “You’re saying the real king Arthur came to you in a dream and has sent you on a quest to save England from the Danes?” “Yes.” “And he gave you a magic amulet once owned by a great Druid priest, and said you must find some tree of life where you’ll be given a weapon to defeat all the Danes, is that right?” “Yes.” Gytha sat across the servants table from Brida in the kitchen and tried to hide her growing smile. “Brida,” she asked sheepishly, “How much of that wine did you drink last night?” Gytha looked away and began to laugh. Brida got angry and almost lashed out at her friend, but the absurdity what she was saying struck her as well, and was soon laughing along with Gytha. “Look,” Brida said, when the two had finished, “I know it sounds crazy, I know it. But it happened, Gytha. It really happened. I was there with him. He gave me this amulet.” She held up the insignificant quartz and rawhide necklace as if it proved her point. “How do you explain this if it didn’t happen?” “I don’t know how to explain it, Brida,” Gytha said as she looked into her friend’s eyes. “But I do know that it sounds crazy. I’m all for getting out of here, all for running away, but not to go on some quest from a long dead king who might have spoken to you in a dream.” Gytha rose from the table and headed for the door that led to the main house. “Look, I’m late. I’ll have extra hours of weaving to do today because you slept in with King Arthur. We can talk about this later.” Brida watched as Gytha left the kitchen and shook her head. It did sound crazy, she thought, and for a moment she wondered if the pain she endured these last years had driven her to madness. It was so real! The memory of her dream was as real as any she possessed. And there was the amulet as well. No, she concluded, I’m not mad. King Arthur was real, the amulet was real, and so I must do what I promised. Brida rose from the table and fetched a bucket to draw more water for the kitchen. As she walked to the stream that flowed behind the hall her thoughts replayed the dream and what the king had told her. Umbranburg, the priestess Gwendolyn, escaping the Danes, all of it

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Chris Taylor threatened to overwhelm her. How would she escape? How far is Umbranburg? How will I find this Gwendolyn? All questions that needed answering, but Brida didn’t even know where to begin to find them. As she approached the stream she saw a man standing against a tree next to the flowing water. He was watching a horse drink from the stream and whittling a stick with a small knife. When she was close enough Brida recognized him as Thomas, a young slave who worked in Lord Answar’s stables. Thomas looked up from his whittling and smiled. “Hello, Brida.” Thomas was a good looking man, young and strongly built with long brown hair and a clean shaven face. He was from a local village, and had only recently come into Answar’s service. The Danes required that all villages provide a yearly levy of men to work their homesteads, and though it was an unpleasant task, the men chosen could look forward to their freedom after their years service was complete. Thomas was well known for his skill in the training and care of horses, so Answar and his men gave him more freedom than they afforded to the other slaves of the household. “Hello,” Brida said shyly as she walked to the stream and dipped the bucket into the flowing water. She could feel his eyes on her as she knelt, and felt strangely excited by his gaze. She glanced up to see him smiling at her, his eyes betraying his approval at what he saw. “Do you know who I am, Brida?” Thomas asked with a smile.

“Yes,” Brida answered nodding her head quickly. Why am I nervous to speak with him, she thought. ”You’re Thomas, the Lord’s new horse master.” “Yes, I am,” he replied, his smile broadening. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, Brida. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” “Yes, I’m sure you have,” Brida said defensively. “I’m a popular subject amongst the Earl’s men.” “Yes you are, but I wouldn’t worry about that. We all do what we’re required to here. I wouldn’t care for the Dane’s horses if I wasn’t forced to, and you wouldn’t…” Thomas paused uncomfortably, and then said, “You wouldn’t serve them if you weren’t forced to either, I’m sure. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, but then Thomas spoke. “You know, Brida, it’s getting much to cold now for you to

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained be wearing only that shirt. And you really should put something on your feet; you’ll catch a cold.” He seemed amused by his observation, but there was also a touch of concern in his voice. “You know the Lord likes us dressed this way,” Brida said testily as she dragged the bucket from the stream. “He thinks it keeps us from trying to escape.” Thomas continued to eye Brida as she knelt by the stream and Brida could see his gaze drift to where her shirt revealed a portion of her round buttocks. “Oh, I know,” Thomas said with a wry grin. “Although I suspect that’s not the only reason he keeps you dressed that way.” Brida stood with the heavy pail of water. “Yes, I’m sure you suspect a great many things, Thomas. Now, if you can stop teasing me and help me carry this bucket back to the kitchen perhaps I’ll find something to feed you.” She spoke harshly, but inwardly she liked this Thomas. He was good looking and, even though he was a slave, he had a cheerful way about him. And he had been kind when the subject of what he’d heard about her from the Danes was raised. “Why of course, my lady,” Thomas said with an exaggerated bow and smile. “It would be my pleasure to help you.” He grabbed the bucket from Brida’s hands and walked towards the kitchen whistling. Brida watched him go for a moment, and in spite of herself, began to laugh. “Are you coming?” Thomas called to Brida cheerfully over his shoulder. Brida warmed some sausage over the fire and served it to Thomas with bread and a slice of cheese. She watched as Thomas ate and smiled because it reminded her of how she had served her husband in what now seemed like another life. “Was it good?” Brida asked when Thomas had finished. She was resting her chin in her hands and was vaguely aware that she was showing her attraction to Thomas, but strangely she didn’t care. “Yes, it was!” Thomas said as he wiped his mouth with a rag. “I’ll have to come help you fetch water more often if you’ll reward me like this each time.” He smiled at her warmly, and she smiled back. It had been along time since she’d felt warmth towards a man. Brida thought of King Arthur,how he said he’d give her back the gift of love and desire for men. Even more than before now she was sure the dream had been real, and to Brida, her feelings towards Thomas proved it even more than the amulet did.

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“Thomas, you come from a village close to here, don’t you?” Thomas nodded. “Yes, not a day’s ride south.” He seemed to consider what he said for a moment, and then added, “It’s hard to be so close to home and be away from my family, but soon I’ll be with them again.” Thomas realized what he’d said when he saw Brida look away quickly. “I’m sorry Brida, I didn’t think. I know you lost your family and I’m very sorry. I wish there was something I could do.” “No, it’s all right. What is done is done,” Brida replied, wiping a tear from her eye. “Tell me,” she said, changing the subject, “Have you ever heard of a priestess called Gwendolyn?” Thomas gave her a strange look and seemed to withdraw, although he didn’t move. “Gwendolyn? Where did you hear of her?” “Oh, I heard some of the old women telling stories one day when I took food to the weaving room,” Brida lied. “Why, you have heard of her?” “Everyone who lives in these parts knows of Gwendolyn, only she’s no priestess, but a witch.” Thomas spat on the floor. “She is evil, that one. There are those who say she is wise, but that her counsel comes with a heavy price. She is said to live in a haunted wood two days ride north of here.” “Near Umbranburg?” Brida asked. “Yes, north…” Thomas began to answer, but quickly checked himself. “How do you know Umbranburg is near to here Brida? You know slaves are forbidden to speak of such things. If Lord Answar knew we spoke of this we’d both be dead.” Answar had made it a capital crime for slaves to speak of where or how far local villages were to his homestead to ensure the slaves didn’t know where to go if they tried to escape. “I told you, I’ve heard the old women speaking of such things,” Brida said in another lie. She looked into Thomas’ eyes and saw he didn’t believe her. He shook his head. “Brida, you’re not thinking of escaping, are you?” Brida looked at Thomas for a long moment, searching his face and trying to decide if she could trust him. He was kind, and she knew he had no love for the Danes, but he could easily betray her to curry favor with

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained Lord Answar. He was looking back at her, and something in his eyes told Brida that he would not betray her, so she spoke. “Yes,” she said, the feeling of defiance rising in her. “Yes, I’m leaving, and I’m leaving soon. I must go to Umbranburg, as soon as possible.” Thomas looked into her face, his eyes filled with sadness. “They’ll catch you, Brida. They’ll catch you and they’ll kill you. I know this life is hard, but it is life, and perhaps one day the Danes will leave. But if you try to escape you’ll die, it’s as simple as that. “I know you don’t understand, Thomas,” Brida spoke softly, “But I must leave. There are…things. Things I must do, and I can’t do them here.” “You know I can’t help you,” Thomas said. “I have a family, and I need to return to them one day. If they find out I helped you, or even knew you considered this, I’d be killed.” Brida rose from her seat and knelt beside Thomas. She took his hands in hers and looked up at him. “I know you can’t help me Thomas,” she said with a sad smile, “I’m not asking you to. All I ask is that you not tell anyone. This is something I have to do, and I must do it alone.” Thomas didn’t reply, only shaking his head in agreement to her request. As they looked into each other’s eyes, their faces only a hand’s breadth apart, Brida felt an intense desire for him. She felt his warmth and kindness flowing through his hands, and she sensed he wanted her too. They kissed, both moving to come together at the same instant; a kiss filled with longing and passion, their tongues enmeshed as though they were one. Brida felt surges of excitement flow through her as she explored Thomas’s mouth with her tongue. She rose from her knees and straddled Thomas on his chair, feeling the hardness of his cock press against her mound as she rotated her hips in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his head, forcing her tongue even more deeply into Thomas’ mouth. Thomas placed his arms around Brida’s body, pulling her tightly to him. He moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking the soft skin. Brida pulled back only for an instant, lifting her woolen shirt over her head and exposing herself to him. Thomas eyed her body with desire filled eyes, lustfully gazing at her firm breasts and tight stomach. He moved his mouth to her tits, sucking them furiously as he ran his hands down her back.

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Brida arched her back and threw back her head, gasping as Thomas roughly sucked her nipples. “Oh, Thomas, Oh I want you to take me,” she said, her voice almost cracking from the intensity of the pleasure she felt. Thomas rose form the chair, lifting her in his strong arms and placing her on the table. He pushed her down to her back and immediately went to his knees before her. Brida felt Thomas’ tongue penetrate her cunt as he buried his face in her mound. He pushed his tongue deeply inside her, exploring her wetness with fury. He rubbed his face over her lips, and his tongue found the button of flesh engorged between them. Brida moaned with pleasure as Thomas nibbled her clit, taking it into his mouth and gently sucking it. Brida rose to her elbows and watched as Thomas lapped at her cunt. His head lolled between her legs as he buried his face in her wetness, his long hair falling across her thighs. Brida placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust her hips upwards, allowing him to force his tongue and face even more deeply into her cunt. “Thomas, take me,” Brida said forcefully, “Fuck me, Thomas. Fuck me now.” Thomas rose to his feet and undid his belt, letting his trousers fall to his ankles. Brida looked at his hard cock with immense satisfaction; his manliness was long and thick, and she desperately wanted it inside her. Thomas placed the tip against her wet hole and gasped as it slid home. Brida felt him fill her and fell back against the table, savoring the sensation as it probed within her. “Brida, you feel wonderful,” Thomas said as he moved his cock back and forth within her cunt, fascinated by the sight of his shaft as it slid in and out of the wetness. He settled into a slow but forceful rhythm as he drove himself into her, grasping her hips so that she moved in unison with his thrusts. Brida moaned as Thomas delved deeply within her. She thought of her husband, and of King Arthur, and of the feel of their cocks within her. It had been so long since she’d given herself freely to a man, she’d almost forgotten the pleasure of it. Her husband was dead, and Arthur, no matter how real he seemed, lived in the world of dreams, but here with Thomas she felt alive again, felt the sensuous pleasure of a man that she wanted, one who hadn’t forced himself upon her. Arthur had given her the desire

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained again, the desire to live again, to be free, and to enjoy her womanhood as it was meant to be. Thomas pulled Brida’s legs to his chest, placing her feet on his shoulders as he continued to thrust within her. “You have beautiful feet, Brida.” He gazed lustfully at her toes. He grabbed her right foot and brought it to his lips and began to kiss her delicate toes. Brida jumped at the sensation. Her husband had always loved her feet, and sucked her toes often when they made love.

Brida loved the feel of warmth and wetness on her toes and soles of her feet, and as Thomas slid her toes into his mouth she moaned in ecstasy. The exquisite combination of Thomas’ cock filling her and her toes being sucked pushed her to the point where she felt she would burst with joy. The beginnings of an orgasm stirred deeply within her, the sight of Thomas rolling his tongue between her toes and the feel of his cock pressing within her sending her to the edge. “Oh, Thomas, I’m going to cum.” She closed her eyes tightly, concentrating all her awareness on the sensations coming from her cunt and toes. The orgasm within her built steadily, a relentless onslaught of ever increasing sensation, until it burst forth within her like a river breaking through a dam, flooding her body with intense pleasure to her very soul. She shuddered as the feeling passed through her, leaving her drained and weak. Thomas continued to thrust within her, his pace quickening and Brida knew he was close to the end. She opened her eyes, could see by his face that Thomas was on the verge of cumming. “Brida, I’m going to cum,” he managed to say as he forced his cock into her at an ever faster pace. “Not inside me,” Brida said, pushing Thomas back with her feet. She quickly rose from the table and dropped to her knees before him. “I want to taste you when you cum,” she said, taking his thick cock within her mouth, allowing it to enter her as far as she could take him. Thomas moaned with pleasure, and as she worked her mouth along the shaft of his cock she took his hands and placed them on her head. Thomas took her meaning and grabbed handfuls of her long blond hair, holding her head tightly as he thrust his cock into her warm mouth, fucking it like he had fucked her cunt.

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Chris Taylor Brida relished the feel and taste of Thomas as he drove within her mouth. She could taste herself on him, taste the combination of their wetness as pre-cum oozed from Thomas, and she felt another orgasm building inside her as she felt Thomas stiffen in orgasm. Thomas gave a final thrust and went rigid as spurts of his salty cum spilled into Brida’s mouth. As the liquid washed across her tongue Brida came again, an orgasm spurred from the ecstasy of the moment. Brida continued to suck Thomas as he came, his hips bucking as more cum burst forth from his cock, until finally it was over. Brida gently worked her lips over him, ensuring she cleaned every drop of Thomas’s cum before she stopped. She leaned back, allowing his cock to fall from her mouth, and looked into his face. Thomas was smiling; a look of supreme satisfaction gracing his face, but there was something more. He reached his hand to her face and caressed her cheek. “I’ve never felt anything like that before, Brida,” he said as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t do this,” he continued, pausing as if he was considering his choice a final time. He straightened in decision. “I’m going to help you, Brida. I’m going to help you escape.”

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Chapter 5 Gytha worked the loom much quicker than the other women in the room, deftly pulling strands of homespun wool through the stringer and weaving into whole cloth. She was working especially fast today; Tania had been most displeased by her late arrival at the loom and told Gytha she expected a full bolt of cloth before she was finished. As Gytha wove she thought back to what Brida had told her that morning. King Arthur? A quest to find something called the tree of life, a weapon to rid England of the Danes? It was madness. Brida had even mentioned some made-up town called Umbranburg, and of a witch called Gwendolyn. She wondered if Lord Answar had finally pushed Brida over the edge, and it made her worry for her friend. Gytha had always loved Brida. From the moment she first saw Brida dragged from the Danes’ ship, she’d felt a special kinship with her. Brida was strong-willed and defiant, a quality Gytha found attractive, but there was also tenderness in her, a kindness that shone through her sometimes rough exterior. And there was also vulnerability, a vulnerability which Brida tried to hide, but one which Gytha saw all the same. It was that vulnerability that endeared Brida so much to Gytha, and it was the reason they had become so close. At first Brida had cried in Gytha’s arms and Gytha was there to console her. Later, when they became lovers, Brida had opened herself completely to Gytha, and together they relied on each other to survive the hell of Danish captivity. And now she’s going mad, Gytha thought as she continued to weave. The hours passed and she found that Brida was all she could think about. What would happen to Brida if she tried to escape? She knew the answer; Answar would kill her without question. If only she could convince Brida it had only been a dream. As she wove the other women finished their daily quota of cloth and began to leave. Gytha looked at her own progress and saw she still had hours to go before she’d be done. Damn Brida’s dream, she thought bitterly. She was already tired from doing Brida’s chores and now she faced more hours of tedious weaving before she could go to bed.

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Chris Taylor She heard the outside door to the house slam open and the sound of heavily booted feet enter the foyer outside the weaving room. “Tania!” Gytha heard Lord Answar’s voice yell gruffly. “Tania, I’m back. Fetch me something to eat.” Gytha stopped weaving and listened. “I’m here, husband,” Tania replied, Gytha presumed from the common room outside the foyer and across from the weaving room. “Was Lord Guthrie there?” Tania continued. “Of course he was bloody there,” Answar replied, the sound of his voice betraying a hint of anger. “And he’s bloody well torn it this time, too.” Gytha heard footsteps come into the foyer and Tania’s voice. “Why, what does he want?” she said fearfully. Tania had confided in Gytha, during times when the banter in the weaving room blurred the distinction between slave and master, that Lord Guthrie scared her. Tania knew her husband and the man hated each other, and also knew that feudal authority gave Guthrie the power to destroy Answar if he wished. But Answar was a useful man; a terrible warrior the English feared and a good sense for the tactics of battle. As long as the Earl Answar maintained those abilities, Tania and her children were safe. “There’s been a revolt of the English in Mercia,” Lord Answar said, “And my Lord Guthrie” – he spoke the name with derision – “wants a village put to the torch to set an example for the English here.” “Which village?” Tania said. Her voice betrayed relief that it did not concern her family; though her voice also betrayed that the rape and destruction of an entire village meant nothing to her. “Umbranburg,” the Earl stated simply. Gytha gasped as she heard the Earl speak the word. Umbranburg. Gods and stars, Gytha thought, Brida didn’t make up the name of a village after all, there actually was a village named Umbranburg. “What the hell was that?” Gytha heard Answar growl. Gytha quickly resumed weaving as she heard steps towards the weaving room door. Gytha also heard Tania gasp as she realized Gytha was still there. Lord Answar threw open the door as stood glaring at Gytha as she worked the loom. “What the hell are you doing here, Bitch?” he said menacingly as he reached for his sword hilt. Gytha quickly dropped to her knees on the hard floor.

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained “Lord,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Brida was sick, so I completed her work before coming to do mine. The lady Tania commanded I stay to finish a bolt of cloth before I should leave.” Answar regarded Gytha suspiciously. “What did you hear?” “I heard nothing, Lord,” Gytha lied, hoping the lie would fool Answar. Gytha realized she was very close to death at the moment. Answar was fanatically paranoid about secrecy around English slaves. He thought them all spies, or potential spies, and forbade any talk around them that might betray future Danish plans. He also forbade any of his permanent slaves from knowing exactly where they were, for fear they would run if given the knowledge, so no talk of the names or whereabouts of local villages was allowed either. Earl Answar considered Gytha’s answer for a moment. “I don’t believe you,” he said simply as he reached for his sword. Gytha knew she had to speak quickly, for in a few seconds she would be dead. She threw herself onto the floor, prostrating herself before Answar. “Please, Lord,” she begged in a pitiful plea. “Please. I have heard nothing. I am only here on Lady Tania’s orders, I swear it!” Answar stood near the doorway with his sword drawn, its blade gleaming brightly in the candlelight. “Why should I trust the oath of an English whore like you?” the earl said, a wicked grin washing over his lips. “Better to kill you now than risk you did hear something.” Gytha screamed as Lord Answar walked forward, raising his sword for the blow. Lady Tania quickly ran from where she was standing in the doorway and leapt in front of her husband. She raised her arms as if to ward of a blow from his sword, a sad testimony that not even the Earl’s wife was safe from his rage when he was prepared to kill. “No, my Lord Husband,” Tania said quickly, “please, the girl speaks the truth, she is only here because I bid it so.” The Earl glared at his wife, and when Gytha looked up at his face she became afraid that Answar would kill them both; such was the murder in his eyes. But the Earl slowly lowered his sword. “Besides, my Lord,” Tania continued, her voice thick with relief, “she is our best weaver, and to kill her would be of no use.” Answar seemed to consider his wife’s words for a moment, and then looked down to Gytha laying flat on the floor. His words were full of menace. “You will live,” the Lord said as he placed his sword back its scabbard, his eyes never straying from Gytha’s. “You will live, but if I ever

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Chris Taylor find out you heard what was said here, I will cut you from cunt to gullet, and feed the pigs the offal from your foul body. Do you understand?” “Yes, Lord,” Gytha said, pushing herself to her knees. “I understand.” “Good. Now get your stinking English cunt out of my sight.” the Earl said venomously, and turned and left the room. Tania remained standing motionless where she had placed herself between her husband and Gytha. Gytha rose and walked to Tania. “Thank you, my Lady, Thank you for saving my life,” she said as she looked in Tania’s tightly drawn face, the fear and tension of the last moment still lingering there like an echo. Tania slapped Gytha hard across the face, striking her with such force Gytha almost fell to the floor. “Thank you?” Tania said, her voice filled with anger. “Thank you? You stupid whore, we were both almost killed. If you are ever late to work again, if you ever cause my husband to be angry with me again, I will kill you myself.” Tania walked to the door, shouldering Gytha out of the way as she passed her. “And besides,” Tania said, turning to Gytha in the doorway, contempt and anger stark on her face, “the only reason I saved your life is because I need you here to weave. If you were not so skilled, you’d be dead.” Tania turned again and left. Gytha stared at the doorway a long time before falling to her knees and crying. The reality of what had just transpired slapped her as hard as Tania had; she had almost been killed, and for what? For overhearing a conversation? It became clear to Gytha that no matter how hard she worked, no matter how hard she tried to please her masters and follow their rules, someday she would be killed, just as Lord Answar had promised. If not now, then a year from now, or perhaps five, but as surely as the sun rose, Gytha realized, someday she would be murdered by these people. Gytha dried her tears with the hem of her dress and rose to her feet. As she walked through the hallway that led to the slave quarters, she made the decision she had long considered and dreamt of. She was going to be happy and free someday, and she was now determined now to leave this awful place. Tonight she would escape. Thomas returned later that evening to the kitchens. He walked the horse he’d been watering at the stream in circles outside the door to the kitchen for several minutes until Brida had noticed he was there. He brought the horse so that if a Dane should happen by and ask him his

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained purpose, he could say he was exercising the animal. Thomas had many privileges among the Danes other slaves did not, but he was still a slave, and therefore needed to tread lightly if he were to help Brida. Brida came out the door and began beating the woven rug that lay in the kitchen with a stick; as Thomas had, she wanted a reason to show why she was out of doors at this hour. Thomas looked around briefly to ensure no one else was about, then quickly withdrew a flat sack from underneath the blanket the horse wore on its back. He handed it to Brida and motioned with a fling of the hand to quickly take it inside. Brida took the sack, and without looking at its contents, ran to her room and placed it under the straw she and Gytha shared as a mattress. She then raced back through the kitchen and outside to again flail at her rug. “There are two sets of clothes in that sack,” Thomas whispered as he led the horse in circles, avoiding eye contact with Brida to ensure anyone out of earshot of their conversation would not become suspicious they were talking. “There are two heavy woolen shirts and two sets of trousers, as well as some old shoes, though they’re in need of repair.” He hazarded a brief glance and a smile towards Brida as he led the horse around again. “There’ll be a sack of food waiting for you about a mile up the stream, in the crook of a gnarled old oak tree that you won’t be able to miss. Just follow it north,” he said, unconsciously nodding in the direction, “and you’ll find Umbranburg before morning.” “Where did you get the clothes?” Brida asked as she went through the motions of beating the dust from the rug. Thomas and Brida had agreed to meet that evening after their afternoon tryst, but the purpose was to discuss her plans for escape; now Thomas seemed to have arranged the plan and gathered what she needed, all in the several hours since they had been together in the kitchen. “Don’t concern yourself with were I got them,” he said as he gave her a wry grin. “You could say they were hard to come by, though.” Then his face turned hard, and he said, “All you need do now is wait until all are asleep and follow that stream north until you reach Umbranburg. And I suggest you do it tonight. Don’t stop to rest, don’t dally. Move as fast as you can to Umbranburg and try to find someone to take you in.” He was shaking his head now. “They have no love for the Danes there, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble finding some to help, but I still think it’s a fool’s errand.”

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“You think I should leave tonight?” Brida said, surprised that he recommend she leave in such haste. “Yes. The Lord and five of his men just returned from a long day of riding. They’ll be tired, and so will the horses. With any luck no one will know you’re gone. That is if you go.” He looked at Brida sadly. “You are still determined to go through with this?” Brida nodded. “Yes. Yes, I must go.” “Then may the gods watch over you,” Thomas said with a sad frown and walked the horse back towards the stream. “Thomas?” Brida said as she watched him go. Thomas slowly turned around as he walked. Brida could see he was worried about her, that he disapproved of her risking her life this way. But Brida also knew Thomas understood why she had to go, and that his understanding was the reason he had helped her. Thomas had come to know what all slaves knew; that sometimes it was better to risk the death of a free man than live the life of a slave. “Thank you,” Brida said with a warm smile. Thomas looked at her a moment and then laughed, and his warm smiled returned. “You’re a corker, Brida,” he said as he laughed, turning from Brida and continuing on to the stream. “Gods love you, but you’re a corker.”

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained

Chapter 6 The Lord Guthrie grinned broadly as he watched the naked peasant girl kneeling before him work her mouth over his cock. She took him deeply into her mouth with each successive stroke, her red hair tied in a tight bun so that he could watch her ministrations without obstruction. This one had taken longer than some of the others to train properly; at first she gagged when his cock entered her throat, like a child seeing an animal slaughtered for the first time, but now she was accomplished in her art and had become by far the best cock-sucker in his considerable collection of slaves. He watched her lips, colored with wax mixed with red pigments, as they drifted over the skin of his shaft, seeming to glide on the thin sheet of saliva that coated his cock from head to base. He took his eyes from the girl’s lips and looked at the two girls on the table in front where he was seated in his high- backed and ornate chair. One girl, laying flat on her back atop the table, was busy licking and sucking the cunt of the other who straddled her face. The girl on top was grinding her hips and buttocks into the mouth of the other, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Except for the three girls, Guthrie was alone. Unlike some of the other Danish Lords, Earl Guthrie preferred to take his ‘entertainment’ by himself, without the accompaniment of his fellow Danes. For one reason, Guthrie thought it weak to display his passions before men he ruled. Another, and probably the main reason, was that Guthrie didn’t like to share the objects of his lust. He also didn’t like to share power, either. He continued to watch the girls on the table, the whore on top now having buried her face in other’s cunt. Both girls were moaning as they sucked and tongued the other, but most of it was for show, Guthrie was sure. Not that he cared if they enjoyed their performances or not; what mattered was that he enjoyed them. He let his eyes drift back down the girl on her knees when he heard someone clear their throat to announce themselves from behind. “Yes?” he said, his voice cracking just slightly. The girl between his legs had developed the skill of swallowing while the Earl’s cock was deep

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Chris Taylor within her throat, and the sensuous sensation of the soft skin of her gullet massaging the head of his cock always made him jump. “It is I, my Lord,” replied the voice of Tarrenton, Lord Guthrie’s chamberlain. “What is it?” Lord Guthrie asked, annoyed at being troubled during his entertainment. “My Lord, the Englishman you requested is here. Shall I tell him to wait?” the chamberlain asked hesitantly. He knew Guthrie hated being disturbed from his pleasures, but Tarrenton had gone to much trouble to find this Englishman, and hoped his lord would forgo his carnal pleasures until the business with the man had been addressed. Having the Englishman here was dangerous, more so than his Lord was willing to admit. “No,” Guthrie said, the irritation showing in his voice. “Send the rouge in.” “My Lord…” Tarrenton began to protest. “Just SEND HIM IN,” Lord Guthrie repeated, shouting with such force that the girl on her knees before him withdrew her mouth and shrunk from him, only to have Guthrie roughly grab her by the hair and shove his cock back between her red lips. Guthrie heard hurried footsteps as the chamberlain went to fetch the Englishman. As he waited he turned his attention back to the girl kneeling in front of him. She was proceeding at a steady pace, her red lips cresting the head of his cock before plunging to the curly hair around the thick base, her every attention focused on the act of pleasing her master as though her life depended on it, which it did. Guthrie heard the thud of heavily booted footsteps approaching him, and a thin smile appeared on his lips. He usually didn’t allow other men in his presence when he took his pleasure, but he wanted to meet this Englishman now to see how he reacted to the scene before him. If his reaction was one of anger or outrage at English girls being made to service a Danish lord, Guthrie would learn much about his new henchman. If the reaction was something else, he’d learn even more. Guthrie grabbed hold of the girl’s head in his lap, roughly entwining his fingers in the girl’s tightly drawn-up hair. The girl gulped at the pain of her hair being torn from the neat bun on top of her head, but betrayed no other sign of her discomfort; to do so would invite something worse. Earl Guthrie then forced his cock even farther into the girl’s throat,

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained forcefully plunging her head downward until her face was fully buried into his lap. As the Englishman came into view Guthrie was pushing and pulling the girl’s head up and down his cock with such strength that the girl’s eyes already ran hard with tears and long strands of saliva dripped from her mouth. A little spice for the pudding, the Earl thought. The chamberlain, who had accompanied the Englishman to his lord’s side, looked away from the gruesome scene, but, as Earl Guthrie noted with pleasure, the rough looking Englishman did not, instead a large vicious smile crossed his scarred face. “My Lord,” the chamberlain said quickly, embarrassed by the crude display before him, “this is Agnar, the man you wished to see.” Lord Guthrie regarded the huge man that stood before him. The man was well over six feet tall, with a broad muscled chest and huge arms covered with scars that could have only come from battle. His face was also scarred by small nicks and cuts that grew from the skin in leech-like mounds of discolored tissue. There was cruelness in his face, and animosity and arrogance as well, but Lord Guthrie was most struck by the man’s eyes. The man had evil eyes, dark and small, glaring with malevolent intelligence. “You know who I am?” Guthrie said coolly even as he repeatedly raped the young girl’s mouth before him. Tears were flowing down her cheeks and she gagged with each thrust, but Guthrie could feel himself approaching orgasm and kept the girl’s head moving at furious pace. “I do,” Agnar replied with indifference. “And you know why you are here?” Guthrie asked. “You have an offer for me, or so this fop of yours has implied,” Agnar said; nodding his head disdainfully at Tarrenton, who was looking meekly away in discomfort as the girl gagged loudly. “I do…” Lord Guthrie said, and shuddered in orgasm as his cum shot into the girl’s throat. Even as he came he continued to fuck her mouth until the intensely pleasurable waves had passed. The girl was on the verge of choking as Guthrie pulled her mouth from his cock and pushed her away with his boot, forcing her to the floor. The girl curled into a ball on the cold stone, coughing and wheezing as she fought for breath. Guthrie regarded her without compassion, instead reaching for a rag of cloth to clean the copious amount of cum and spittle that had dripped

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Chris Taylor down his cock and accumulated on the chair. He looked at the girl as she lay on the floor. “Swine…” Lord Guthrie looked at Agnar as he cleaned himself. If the Agnar was disgusted by the display, he didn’t show. Indeed, he almost seemed as though he had enjoyed it, a sardonic grin cast upon his lips. “I do have an offer for you, Agnar.” Guthrie rose to his feet and pulled his trousers from his knees, fastening the silver buttons of his belt. “What I’d like you to do,” Guthrie said as he toyed with his belt, “is kill a Dane for me. A Danish lord, to be precise.” Guthrie walked to the table where the two girls continued to lap at the other’s wetness and poured himself a cup of wine from a pitcher there. Both moaned in feigned pleasure as they listened to the third girl’s racking cough as she tried to crawl towards the kitchens on the side of the hall, both praying that they would avoid a similar fate this night. Guthrie poured a second cup of wine and walked back to Agnar, offering the cup to him. “You wish me to kill a Danish Lord?” Agnar said incredulously as he sniffed the wine before draining half of it in one gulp. “Why?” “You needn’t know the particulars,” Guthrie said. “Only know that this lord has displeased me, and I wish him dead. You are a leader among the outlaws, we know this.” Guthrie eyed Agnar closely as he spoke, and when Agnar made no attempt to deny the assertion, he continued. “You have many men under your command, more than enough to kill the lord of whom I speak.” Agnar drained the rest of his wine and looked into the empty cup as if he were searching for his words at the bottom. Finally he said simply, “Why should I kill a Danish lord for you? You’re my enemy as much as he or any other Dane is.” Guthrie laughed. “Of course I’m your enemy,” he said as he took Agnar’s cup to refill it. “I am your enemy as you are mine. After this…transaction, shall we say, is complete, we will be enemies again. But for now I suggest you take my offer, because along with killing the lord of whom I speak will come gold enough for you to leave your outlawry in the hills and go wherever you wish.” Agnar eyed the Earl with suspicion. “How much gold?” “Enough for you to become a lord yourself, if you wished it,” Guthrie said. “And besides, I will arrange the entire plan. This lord will march with his eighty or so warriors to sack a village. You will ambush him on the road he will use, killing him and his men. I will then march

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained with my army to the village and destroy it in punishment for murdering a Danish lord and his men. By then, of course, you and your men will be long gone and all knowledge of the true events will die in the fires of the burning villager’s homes.” “You make it sound easy,” Agnar said after considering the Earl’s words. “How will I know when he will come, or which road he will take, or the thousand other details required for such a plan?” Guthrie laughed again and clapped Agnar on the back. “We will discuss all of this more thoroughly, of course. I am merely laying out my plan. Come, my dear Agnar, you are a warrior. This can be done quite easily, really. What do you say? We can discuss the details later, but will you do it?” Agnar thought over the Earl’s proposal for only the briefest of moments. Real gold, gold enough to make one’s self a lord was quite an inducement. Much better than the mere silver pennies and scraps of food he and his outlaws fought to steal now. The chance of being rich and having a home instead of scraping a life in the wild as a thief didn’t often confront a man, but then Agnar was never one to shirk a confrontation. “Yeah, I’ll do it,” Agnar said, a fierce smile coming over his face, “Only I want to know now who the lord is I must kill and what village it will be.” “Splendid,” Guthrie said happily, delighted his plan was coming together so easily. Lord Guthrie had made the same offer to an English Thegn, a member of the minor nobility, earlier in the day. That man had refused, and now his head was buried in a hole five feet from where his body lay interred. Agnar, none the wiser by having accepted, would never know how closely he had come to death that night. “The Lord is Answar, from the south. The village is called Umbranburg. Do you know it?” Agnar smiled. “Yes, I know it. Thick forest along those roads: good ambush country.” “Good. We have some time, perhaps a week, maybe more, before this happens. I will send you word when the time is right and we shall meet to make preparations,” Lord Guthrie said. He turned to look for his chamberlain so he might lead Agnar out, but noticed Agnar eyeing the two women on the table hungrily. Guthrie smiled, saying, “They are yours if you wish. I’m afraid I must retire, but stay as long as you like. The one on top is especially good with her mouth.”

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Chris Taylor “I’m sure I’ll find out,” Agnar growled as he began to strip his skin and coarse fabric clothes from his chest. “I’m sure I will,” he said again as the girls both eyed his appearance as he approached them with horror. As Lord Guthrie walked to the door of the hall with his chamberlain he brushed at several stains of spittle or cum that splashed his sleeve. “I want you to punish that little bitch for this, Tarrenton,” he said angrily as he scraped at the bright blue velvet. “Have her flogged, perhaps. Or maybe just beaten some. Try not to damage her too badly, she is one of the better ones.” “Yes, my Lord,” Tarrenton answered dutifully. “Oh, yes, and those two,” he said as they reached the door and turned look back. Agnar was now naked and had both girls on their knees taking turns sucking him. One of the girls was crying, and Agnar viciously slapped her across the face. Lord Guthrie shook his head sadly. “I suppose those two will have to die,” he said, ignoring Tarrenton’s look of surprise at yet another order to murder someone in the same day. “They’ve heard too much this night,” he said, still shaking his head, “And besides, I would never have use for them again after servicing that English scum.”

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Chapter 7 Gytha found Brida in the kitchens, washing herself in a large bowl of water heated over the fire. Brida was naked from the waist up, and as she scrubbed the wet rag across her arms the wetness of her skin glistened in the light of the cooking hearth’s fire that was the only light in the room. The cooks were gone; they rarely stayed in the kitchens after they prepared meals for the Lord Answar and his family. The cooks, just like every other slave in the lord’s service, had other duties to keep them busy when they weren’t fulfilling their primary jobs. Brida and Gytha were alone in the room. Brida saw Gytha enter the room and smiled; a sad smile, one that portrayed the sadness in her soul. She would have to say goodbye to Gytha, her lover and confidant, the one person who had made life bearable for her that past two years of her captivity. Gytha was the closest thing Brida had left to family, and it broke her heart to leave her. She knew Gytha would come with her if she asked, but the journey she was about to undertake would very likely end in her death, and she couldn’t bring Gytha into that; she loved her much too deeply for that. King Arthur had given the task of finding the Tree of Life to her, and to her alone. She would not risk Gytha’s life in the process. “How are you, Gytha?” Brida said, not sure how to begin a conversation that would end in goodbye. Brida noticed Gytha was flushed and shaking. “Are you all right?” “No, I’m not.” Gytha spoke quickly in hushed tones. “Brida, I’ve found something out that’s important, very important. And I know now you were right about your dream. I believe you now, it was real.” Gytha looked very scared as she spoke; continually eyeing the door ways into the kitchens to ensure no one was about. “I heard Answar speaking to Tania tonight, Brida.” She continued hurriedly. “The Earl said he was going to destroy a village sometime soon. A village called Umbranburg.” Brida looked at Gytha in surprise. “Umbranburg? You’re sure he said Umbranburg?” Although she was shocked by what Gytha had just told her, there was also a part of her that was pleased. Even as she

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Chris Taylor prepared to escape Lord Answar’s homestead, even with the proof of her vivid memories and the amulet, even with the confirmation from Thomas that there was a village called Umbranburg, and that there was a witch/priestess named Gwendolyn, she still found herself doubting whether her dream had been true and whether she was risking her life for nothing. With the news that Answar was going to raid Umbranburg, Brida was surer than ever that she was following the right path by going on Arthur’s quest. “Did he say when he would destroy Umbranburg?” Brida asked Gytha as she pulled her woolen shirt back over her head. She now wore the trousers Thomas had brought her, and the shoes she had on her feet were the first in the two years since she’d been captured. “No he didn’t, but I know it’s sometime soon,” Gytha said, noticing Brida’s new clothes and shoes for the first time. Gytha instantly understood their meaning. “You’re planning to leave tonight, aren’t you?” “Yes,” Brida said, averting her eyes from her friend. She felt like she wanted to cry. “Then I’m coming with you,” Gytha said. “We need to find me some of those clothes…” Brida was shaking her head. “No, Gytha, You can’t come with me. It will be much too dangerous. I love you too much to risk you being hurt.” Gytha stared at her only friend in the world as she spoke. “How could you ever think of leaving me behind, Brida?” Gytha said, tears forming in her eyes. “The Earl almost killed me a few moments ago because he knew I heard what he spoke to Tania. And what do you think they will do to me when you are gone? They know we are so close; they would never believe I didn’t know of your plan.” “You could lie…tell them I deceived you…” Brida began to say, and then realized even she would not believe such a story. It broke Brida’s heart to risk Gytha’s life, but she was right. If she stayed behind Gytha would almost certainly be killed. At least if she went with Brida there would be a chance. “Alright,” Brida said, reaching to embrace her friend. She pulled Gytha close and drew strength from her warmth and her softness. “I would have rather died than leave you here, Gytha.” She continued as she kissed Gytha’s lips gently, “I just didn’t want you to be hurt. But you are

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained right, if I go than so must you. And if we are going to go, we should go tonight.” Brida and Gytha crept softly along the banks of the stream, using the light of the full moon to guide their way. On both sides of the stream there rose thickly wooded forest, and the branches and leaves of the trees obscured the moon’s light from long stretches of their path, causing them to stumble and trip. The shoes Thomas had gave them proved a gift from the gods; the banks of the stream were littered with sharp stones and sticks that would have made travel along it at night with bare feet almost impossible. There were strange sounds in the forest; the cracking of branches as unseen animals moved through the wood, the calls of owls and other birds that echoed hauntingly from the trees, and the sounds invented by the frightened girl’s imaginations. Both Brida and Gytha, as young girls, had never spent much time in the woods, especially at night. Hunting and traveling through dark forests was the province of men, and while neither would admit it to the other, they were both terrified. Adding to the terror was the prospect that they might have already been discovered gone, and that already there were men searching the countryside for them. Though Brida doubted that anyone would have sought either of them in their quarters this late at night, there was always the possibility, and the thought of the Danes following their trail in the dead of night sent shivers down her spine. Her fears were compounded by the fact that Lord Answar would suspect their destination was Umbranburg; the fact that Gytha overheard him speaking of the place would almost certainly lead him to send men to search there. But as she walked along the rough bank of the stream, she drew strength from the fact that King Arthur had chosen her, and that she possessed the amulet, and that somehow she was meant for something more than an ignominious death along a stream in the dark of night. Brida and Gytha walked for several hours before they decided to stop to rest and eat. They had found the sack of food Thomas had left for them in the crook of the oak tree, and as they ate Brida turned her thoughts to what they should do next. Brida looked up at the moon and judged by its position in the sky that dawn was only a few hours away. Her father had taught her to judge time by the position of the sun or moon, and as she thought of him she felt tears in her eyes. All the fond memories she had of her father were darkened by sight of him being

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Chris Taylor beheaded by a Dane as he was forced to kneel, a sight burned indelibly into her mind, as was the memory of Arthur gasping his last breath as a spear skewered him like a boar. Brida felt her hate for the Danes well up inside her, and with her hate came anger. She despised her feelings; Brida hoped to one day be happy and free of the anger that darkened her soul, but her emotions gave her strength, and she knew she would need that strength in the coming days. “How far do you think we are from the village?” Gytha asked, interrupting Brida’s dark thoughts. Brida smiled; Gytha always knew when she was upset or troubled, and she always found a way to bring her away from the darker places in her mind. “I’m not sure,” Brida replied as she gazed at the moon, “A few hours, perhaps. Thomas said we’d be there by morning.” “And what do we do when we get there?” Gytha asked as she toyed with a rock smoothed by the rushing water of the stream. “Will we just enter and proclaim, ‘We’re here! Now feed and clothe and hide us from the Danes who are coming to burn your village’?” They both laughed, and their laughter helped to ease the tension of their situation. “No, I think it will be a bit more difficult than that,” Brida said. “But we’ll find a way. I suspect the first thing we should do is go to the village Thegn and tell him what you heard Answar say. That will be a start, anyway.” They finished eating and resumed their march along the stream bed. They walked several more hours before Brida began to notice the forest thinning to one side as they passed along the flowing water. Soon they saw stone fenced pastures and fields through the picket of trees, and several times they saw a hut or cottage in the distance, and Brida knew that it would not be long until they came upon the village. Dawn came shortly after. The light of the rising sun felt warm on their faces, and their spirits rose as walked in the crisp morning air. Brida and Gytha had known only the small confines of the Earl’s homestead in the last years, and the new sights and sounds they took in gave made them feel alive in a way neither had known for too long. As they continued walking along the bank of the stream, Brida suddenly heard someone shouting behind her. She turned to look and saw several men in Danish armor running towards them along the sides of the stream, their swords drawn and their voices screaming in their native tongue. Her worst fears were realized. Somehow, someone had realized

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained they were gone in the night, and the Danes had set out immediately to find them. The men were only a few hundred feet away, and Brida frantically searched for a way to escape. Gytha screamed in panic as the men approached. Brida saw, through the thin line of trees, a road running parallel to the stream. If they could make it across that road and into the woods beyond, there might be somewhere to hide. She saw no other way to escape, no other place for them to run. “Come on, this way!” Brida screamed, grabbing Gytha by the hand and dragging her through the underbrush towards the road. Gytha was terrified beyond all reason, but she followed Brida as she strained to keep up. They sprinted the short distance to the road, and as they were about to cross, they heard the sound of horses galloping towards them. Brida saw at least twenty horsemen riding hard towards where they stood, and her heart sank. Riding far in front of the other men, mounted on a huge black stallion, rode Lord Answar. And as the Earl rode closer, Brida could see he wore a terrible smile. Brida felt tears running down her face as she fought against the ropes that held her hands behind her back, her eyes fixed on Gytha kneeling in front of her. Answar ordered that they both be bound hand and foot and gagged, and then made to kneel facing each other. As they knelt Answar looked down at them from his horse and laughed. “You stupid bitch,” he said to Gytha and then spit on her, the glob of saliva running down her cheek. “Did you think I wouldn’t check on you last night after what you heard?” The Earl was shaking his head in disgust. “Stupid Bitch,” he said, and then turned his attention to Brida. “And you? What were you thinking ‘Little Cock-sucker’?” he asked, calling her Danish nickname. “Now you shall both die. And for your impudence, and because I know how much you cunt-lickers care for each other, you can both watch as each other is killed.”

Brida looked at Gytha and wanted to scream in fury. Poor Gytha, always her loyal friend, and now she would have to die for that friendship. Brida cursed King Arthur and his quest, cursed the Danes, and most of all cursed herself. Gytha was going to die because of a stupid dream, because a silly slave girl believed she could be more in life than a

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Chris Taylor Dane’s whore. The bitterness surged within Brida and she could only wish for Gytha’s forgiveness. She tried to speak, to tell her friend and lover of two years that she was sorry, but the gag kept her from any words. She could see Gytha was crying as well, and their eyes met and the anguish in those eyes made Brida cry even harder. No, she wanted to scream, no! Lord Answar nodded to the two men standing near the kneeling girls. “Use your knives, and make it slow. Make sure they both get to enjoy seeing the other die.” The men drew their knives from their belts and walked several paces to where the girls knelt. Brida looked into Gytha’s eyes, and although they couldn’t speak, she tried to tell her friend that she loved her one last time. Brida and Gytha stared at each other as the men took position on either side of them. The men looked to their lord, and Answar, with a smile even the devil himself would have found disturbing, gave the men a nod of his head. “Send the whores to hell…” Earl Answar stopped in mid-sentence, his expression changing from one of fiendish glee to one of pain and confusion. The Earl felt a blow to his shoulder that almost knocked him from his horse, and when he recovered he sat up in his saddle and stared dumbly at a feathered shaft buried deep within his flesh. He looked at the shaft for long seconds, barely aware of the screams of pain as similar shafts found their mark among the men around him, or the howls of rage that came from the men surging out of the woods towards the Danish warriors. Brida watched in shock as arrows flew around her, one taking the man standing next to her in the neck so that streams of his blood spurted onto her face. She heard terrible screams coming from all around her; screams of pain, but also screams of fear as the Danes realized they were outnumbered by the surging forces that came from the forest. Danes were falling all along the road, hit by arrows that flew from unseen bowmen, arrows that struck both man and beast, so that many of the horses the Danes tried to use for escape were now lame and could not run. Brida looked up to see Lord Answar wounded by an arrow in the shoulder, but still on his horse. The Earl had recovered his senses and was screaming from his men to retreat. The warriors flooding out of the woods were now among those Danes that were either too injured or too slow to escape. As the other Danish warriors fled down the road, the men left behind were slaughtered where they stood. Brida heard terrible screams as the mysterious warriors

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained worked among the fallen Danes, killing even the wounded. Several of the Danish soldiers tried to surrender, but were cut down even as they screamed for mercy. Several moments passed as the warriors went about their work looting the Danish dead and killing the wounded men and horses. None of the men seemed to take notice of the girls as they knelt in the carnage that surrounded them, but soon several men came and cut their bonds and removed their gags. Brida wanted to thank them but was too terrified to speak. The men who killed the Danes spoke English, and they had saved their lives, but Brida still feared they would be raped or worse. The men were obviously outlaws, men who made their living preying on anyone they could catch unawares, and therefore could not be trusted. Brida looked at Gytha and saw she was terrified as well. “You will come with us,” one of the men said; a boy really, no older than fifteen or sixteen, but already bearing the scars of battle and the eyes of a killer. They followed the men across the road and into the wood on the other side; opposite the stretch of wood where Brida and Gytha had been spotted by the Danes. As they walked they passed at least thirty archers kneeling in the woods, eyes watchful in case the Danes regrouped or brought reinforcements for a counter attack. Brida was extremely bitter that Lord Answar had survived the attack and managed to escape, but her thankfulness of being alive soothed her bitterness and she promised herself his time would come. The man that led them motioned for the girls to stop by a large oak tree at the edge of a clearing, and went to the clearing’s center to talk with a hugely built man standing there conferring with several other men. The large man nodded when the men who led them spoke, and he motioned for Brida and Gytha to come to him. As Brida and Gytha walked into the clearing she could see the large man, obviously the leader of the band of warriors, was broadly muscled and scarred from many battle wounds. His face was covered by thick scars that looked as if he’d been tortured. The man was smiling as the girls approached, and although these men had saved their lives, Brida felt something was very wrong here. They walked to within a few feet of the large man and his companions. “So I’m told we saved your lives, eh?” the man said in a strangely pleasant voice, as if he were not used to speaking that way. “I’m glad. It’s

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Chris Taylor always our pleasure to save our English brothers and sisters from these Danes when we can, although sadly it not often enough.” “Umm…Well, thank you for helping us, my lords,” Brida said, trying to feel the men out. They were all smiling, and they seemed kind enough, but still something inside told her all was not right. “We owe you our lives…Sir?” Brida said, inquiring the large man’s name. “Agnar, my dear.” The large man said as his smiled widened, “You may call me Agnar.” Brida didn’t understand why, but somehow she felt they’d just jumped from the cook pot into the fire. The End of The Brida Chronicles Book I: Unchained To be continued in Book II: The Witch’s Price

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The Brida Chronicles: Unchained

AUTHOR BIO Chris Taylor began writing erotic fiction as a hobby in college and during his years in the military. After leaving the military, Chris began to write as a part-time professional in several different genres. The Chronicles of Brida: Unchained is his first book in the erotic fiction arena. Chris Lives in Seattle, Washington with his wife and four Children.

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