Naked by Eliza Redgold

sensed it before my lashes flew open. Hooves kicked inside my brain. Bursts of red light. Pain shot like forge sparks from where I’d been struck by Thurkill’s fist on the side of my forehead. How long I’d been unconscious, I didn’t know. Minutes. Hours. My body stiff. Chilled. Damp. From under the door a draught curled around my legs.
    The wind howled.
    Coughing, I choked. The rag stuffed in my mouth. Tied firmer this time. Instinctively I reached to pull out the foul-tasting piece of linen but my hands were still roped. So too were my legs, now tight-fastened at my ankles.
    Bound and gagged. Slay-ready.
    Twisting my neck brought another blast of pain as I scanned my new location. I lay on a pile of rags on a dirt floor inside the hut. The single-room dwelling appeared disused. No furniture, not even a stool. Parts of the thatched roof were missing, jagged teeth, the straw singed and black. At the center of the floor, a circle of pebbles, a small fire burned.
    A hovel.
    Abandoned.
    Get away!
    Like a worm I lifted my body, ready to move any way I could.
    And froze.
    Men’s voices filtered in from outside.
    Every nerve of my body strained as I tried to hear.
    Only two, as far as I could make out. Not a gang of warriors. One was Thurkill—I recognized that guttural tone. The other was slightly muffled, as though wrapped in a cloak.
    They were arguing. They spoke in Danish—that much I could discern. I spoke but a little of the language, but some of it was similar to my own. Only a few words were distinct, the rest lost to the shriek of the wind.
    Soon the argument stopped.
    A set of footsteps sounded, as though a man was walking away. A horse neighed.
    Hooves clattered away.
    Dread gagged me as much as the rag in my mouth as the other steps came back toward the hut.
    Thurkill kicked open the door.
    Before I slammed my lids shut I saw his arms full of wood, his boots coated with mud and grass. His massive Dane-axe strapped to his belt, his dagger on the other hip. I slammed my lids shut to pretend I remained unconscious as his boots clumped across the floor. My heart pounded as through my lashes I watched him load the fire with fuel, the flames licking high.
    From inside his cloak he brought a hare, hanging limp. With a gluttonous thrust of his knife he skinned it and tossed it on the flames.
    Minutes passed. Long, painful minutes. He sat sideways to me, sucking his teeth, watching the animal burn.
    Don’t breathe in. Don’t breathe out.
    But the smell of smoldering flesh made me want to retch.
    My stifled choke betrayed me.
    His massive back stiffened.
    Brute slow. He hauled to his feet.
    A piece of wood scorched from the fire.
    Holding the flaming torch aloft he thudded over to where I lay.
    Firelight buffed his bald dome as he leaned in.
    My eyelids widened in revulsion. Even gagged, my lips drew back.
    “Welcome, Saxon lady,” he jeered.
    Gross-tongued, he licked a drop of saliva from the scar at the edge of his mouth.
    “About time you woke up. It’s not the same if I can’t see your face. Such a pretty face.”
    I flinched.
    Smirking, he fingered the sparrow-hawk brooch pinned to my tunic. “I’ve seen this before.”
    With one hand he ripped it down my front.
    “I’m going to make you struggle.”
    Another claw. Another rip. My shift. Woven so fine.
    “I want it to last.”
    Spittle on my skin. Dripped between my breasts.
    “I’ll make you beg like a bitch, just as I did your mother.”
    My mother. I choked. The last sight she’d seen had been this killer’s leer. But she would never have begged.
    “I’m going to do to you what I did to her. I made your father watch.”
    Moder. Fader.
    Help me.
    The flaming piece of wood jerked higher. Fire-lit him. A swamp-thing from hell.
    Thick fingers became talons. Stroked my hair.
    Reached for my bared breast. Caught the nipple. Dug.
    No fear. No fear. I would show no fear .
    But to my shame I heard my muffled sob. Fear forced out by repulsion, grief, and