Stubbornly, the first rays of the morning sun tried to fight their way through the dense canopy of the forest, but most of them failed. Tyra would have preferred to pause in her work for a moment to admire the beauty of the forest. But she had to gather these herbs and take them to the healer of her village as quickly as possible.
Hours ago, the healer had roused her from her sleep because one of Tyra's friends, Lykke, had gone into labour and her supply of herbs might not be able to cover the birth. Unlike all her friends, Tyra was still unmarried, so she was the only daughter of the tribe the healer could turn to in her distress. Tyra had immediately jumped up from her bed of straw, quickly thrown on a cloak and hurried out into the night. Her concern for her friend held her captive.
With trembling fingers, Tyra cut through the stems of the herbs and stuffed the cut plant parts into her basket. Although the animals had plenty of food sources due to the season, they preferred these herbs of all things, which Lykke so desperately needed, and so Tyra had moved further away from the village than she would have liked. Only the knife in her hand calmed her nerves.
"Who do we have here?" a voice suddenly sounded behind her and Tyra froze. Slowly she turned to face the speaker and with growing horror she found that she was surrounded by strange men. She had been so absorbed in her work and her worries that she had not noticed this threat to herself. Now it was too late. Her heart was beating up to her throat. Gunnar, the second eldest son of the tribal lord of the Saxons, stood before her. In the past months, his tribe had tried to form an alliance with her father, the chieftain of the Suever, against the Semnonese, whose territory bordered his tribe in the north and hers in the south. Father had refused. Gunnar and his men had left days ago. At least, that was what they had assumed.
Gunnar gave her a sardonic grin as she raised her knife threateningly. Compared to the sword that dangled casually from his hip, her weapon looked like a ridiculous toy. But she wasn't carrying anything else. His eyes sparkled with joy at his small triumph. Silently, she cursed Loki for leading her entire tribe so astray.
"Be a good girl, Tyra," Gunnar teased her, taking a step towards her. "Put that thing away and come with me willingly and I won't have to hurt you either".
Calculatingly, Tyra eyed the grim expressions of the men who surrounded her. She could find only one weakness in their wall. A chance to escape, that was all she had. Silently, Tyra sent a shouted prayer to Donar, then hurled her knife at Gunnar. The dagger bored so deeply into his muscular upper arm that it stuck. Surprised, he sank to his knees and stared in disbelief at the knife in his arm. Ruby red blood immediately gushed from the wound. Tyra did not hesitate for a moment and began to run.
How she got through the narrow gap of Saxon warriors she did not know. But she had made it. Too soon Gunnar caught himself at her back from his fright and shouted to his men to follow her. Automatically, Tyra accelerated. Her heart raced, but her thoughts were clear. She had to make it. If she fell into Gunnar's hands, the future of her tribe was sealed, and she had to protect the people who trusted her father's judgement so unquestioningly from Gunnar's ambition.
The heavy bodies of her pursuers broke branches and she felt that each crack was closer than the last. Panting and with her heart pounding, she ran through the forest.
Suddenly someone bumped into her from behind. With a scream, she lost her balance and fell to the ground, but it was no use. She was still too far from her village. Her tribe could not hear her. Completely alone, she was at the mercy of this stranger whose body pinned her belly down in the soft grass. She could not trust him. Instinctively, she began to writhe under him. She was the daughter of the Suever chieftain. Never would she go down without a fight or surrender to her enemy.
The hand that came down on her mouth the next moment, stifling her cry, was bloody. Gunnar had caught up with her. A rough cloth settled over her nose and lips. Steam rose from the rough cloth and Tyra tried desperately to keep control of her body. But she felt the effects of the herbs taking hold and the world around her began to blur.
"You will be mine, Tyra. This and nothing else is your destiny," he murmured into her ear, panting. Then she fell into bottomless nothingness.
Even before Tyra opened her eyes, she knew something was wrong. Her body was constantly being shaken up and down. But her mind worked strangely sluggishly and so she could make no sense of this movement. The sounds of her surroundings only reached her ears in a muffled way, and she just couldn't really manage to wake up.

After a while, the stupor fell away, and she became aware for the first time of the arm that was wrapped around her waist. Automatically she tried to push it off her, but the grip around her waist only tightened.
Furious, she mustered all her strength and opened her eyes. The sight made her heart skip a beat. Her hands were bound together with rope and the rough fibre chafed her delicate skin. There was a horse under her and only the arm around her waist kept her from falling down to the forest floor. Immediately she stopped her attempts to free herself and before she could calm down, the memories burst upon her. Panicked, Tyra turned her head and looked directly into Gunnar's eyes. The complacency in them disgusted her.
"Slept in, little wildcat?" he whispered in her ear and immediately she averted her eyes. That nickname was reserved for her father and Gunnar had not earned the right to call her that. Longingly, Tyra thought of her home and wondered if her family was already looking for her. I wonder if Lykke was all right. Immediately she felt guilty for not being able to bring her friend the herbs in time.
Defiantly, Tyra stared straight ahead, ignoring every attempt the Saxon made to get a conversation going. She had nothing to say to him. Anyone who kidnapped a woman against her will was not a man. Quickly Tyra listened within herself, but she only felt sluggish. Probably an after-effect of the sleeping pill. It must have been very strong, because it was already deepest night again and Tyra no longer knew the area. She had never been so far from home. But apart from her sluggishness, she felt perfectly normal. Her back and arms were certainly covered in bruises, but otherwise she felt unscathed.

For three days Tyra hovered between dreams and waking, not saying a single word. Not a sound passed her lips. She had also decided to ignore her growling stomach and not accept any food from the men. Actually, she had intended not to drink anything either, but Gunnar always managed to stuff the drinking tube into her mouth and keep her strong with his disgusting beer. She didn't care about his concern. If he hadn't kidnapped her, he wouldn't have to worry about her, and she intended to make it as hard as possible for him.

On the fourth night, after she had woken up on the back of his horse, Gunnar sat down next to her. Since her hands were still tied and he usually tied her to a tree like a horse, her range of movement was very limited. Still, she sat as far away from the men as possible, ignoring the evening chill. Her coat was warm enough. At least that's what she persisted in telling herself.
"I want us to be friends, Tyra," Gunnar said so quietly that his men could not hear him. Amused, Tyra snorted and shook her head.
"As long as you don't act like a friend, I will always consider you my enemy," she countered, raising her bound hands meaningfully. Surprisingly gently, Gunnar grasped her wrists and surveyed the damage the ropes left on her skin. With a sigh, he took a small tin from his trouser pocket and gently stroked the sore spots. Instantly Tyra felt better.
"What do I have to do to make you trust me?" he wanted to know casually, and she stared at him in disbelief. After a while he withdrew his fingers and pocketed his can.
"It's quite simple, Tyra," the Saxon explained matter-of-factly. "Because my eldest brother is already married, my father expects me to secure the alliance with your father. It is my destiny to marry you and unlike you, I resigned myself to that weeks ago. The Norns have power over us, please accept that."
Thoughtfully she raised her head and looked up at the stars. How she would like to beg Heimdal to spare her this fate. But what did the gods care about her fate? Did Loki have a hand in it again? Or was it really the Norns? If the latter, she had no choice. For a heartbeat she tried to imagine a life alongside Gunnar, but she just couldn't.
"There is only one thing I need to know," Tyra brought out with difficulty, startling herself at how hoarse her voice sounded. Immediately Gunnar thrust a mug of his vile ale into her hand, but this time she offered no resistance. Her chapped lips wrapped around the rim of the cup, and she gingerly drank it empty. When their eyes crossed, his eyes sparkled, and her expression did not please her at all.
"Did you... am I... did we... so when I..." she began to stammer, and the question made her so uncomfortable that she had to avert her eyes in shame. By Freya, she just couldn't say it. Suddenly a breeze came up and began to play teasingly with her hair.
The Saxon remained silent for a long time and her unease grew. Surely he had not understood her stammering. Just as she was about to make another attempt and already turned to him, he bent closer to her. He was suddenly so close to her. Too close.
"You are very beautiful, Tyra," he whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But I want us to get along well in the future. That's why I won't touch you until all the rites are done and you are irrevocably mine, skin and hair."
His fingers moved from her ear to her cheek and began to touch her there. Determined, she turned her face away from him so that he could not continue to caress her cheek. She just didn't like the feel of his rough fingers on her soft skin. Maybe it was her destiny to become his wife. She didn't know. But even if he owned her body, he would never own her mind.
"But I expect something in return," he continued, and her insides froze into ice. "I will promise to wait, but in return I need assurance that you will no longer run from your fate. Promise me that you will not make another attempt to escape. Then I will also respect your... situation"
For a long time, they looked into each other's eyes and Tyra tried to weigh whether she could trust him. His eyes were so dark with desire that she wondered why he was still sitting so calmly beside her, talking to her. But did she have any other choice? Sooner or later, he would break his promise. She just had to make sure she broke hers sooner. Then she could return home and once she was back in her tribe's territory, he would never be able to get too close to her again. Father would make sure of that.
"I promise," she replied, and a smug grin spread across his lips. He patted her head appreciatively like a dog's and she had to hold on strongly to keep from throwing her disgust in his face. She needed his trust and if Loki was kind to her, she would beat him at his own game. Demandingly, she held out her hand to him, and he lunged. This was his first mistake. If he had wanted her to stay with him, he would have taken an oath from her. Presumably Tyra should have known even at that moment that he was only playing with her. For how she could have known that Gunnar was a passionate hunter and the more a prey resisted him, the more urgently he had to hunt it down.

The next few weeks were unbearable. True, Gunnar had taken off her handcuffs a few days after their conversation. But he did not give her a horse of her own. Unfortunately, he was not stupid. She would have to manage without a horse.
With each additional day's ride, they moved further away from her home. Still, she never gave up hope of returning home soon.
The only good thing about her situation was that Gunnar kept his word and respected her boundaries. His men also stayed away from her. A plan began to form in her mind.
Gunnar only felt really safe when they had almost reached the border to his country. His behaviour became even more self-confident and arrogant that Tyra would have liked to jump off his horse. Instead, she listened to him patiently, trying to gather as much information as possible. If his claims were true, they would reach his people's territory the next day and then their chance to escape would be over for good.

Around noon the next day, they took a rest as usual. The babbling revealed that there was a river nearby. It had to be the border.
"I'm going to relieve myself for a moment," Tyra declared, rising as she ignored the insinuating and now familiar jokes from Gunnar's men. Gunnar nodded to a spot far enough away for her to be undisturbed. A week ago, he had already stopped giving her a guard. Apparently he felt safe. Good.
Without haste, Tyra moved away from the men and walked towards the spot Gunnar had directed her to. It was a hollow.
Heart pounding, she waited at the edge of the hollow for a short while, then pulled her cloak over her head and crept deeper into the forest. Straining, she listened behind her, but the alarming calls were absent. Silently she scurried through the forest and followed the signs of the trees to the south.
Just when she thought she was far enough away, she heard it. The patter of hooves. Cursing softly, she turned west and stepped into a clearing. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. Why should she waste her precious life running? It would not save her. No one would save her. This was a good place to lose herself. The clearing was a sea of wildflowers and enchanted, Tyra breathed in their scent. Slowly she flipped back her hood so the light of the sun could kiss her skin. Like a sleepwalker, she danced among the flowers and a naïve part of her hoped that she could disguise her dance as a cult act, thus escaping his punishment.
Shortly afterwards, his horse burst from between the trees and paused at the edge of the clearing. Unmoved, Tyra continued her dance, ignoring the fear rising in her. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him, and he did not look angry. On the contrary. He seemed very pleased with himself. Without haste he slid off the back of his horse and came closer and closer. Playfully irritated, Tyra froze in mid-motion and turned to him questioningly. Amused, he shook his head and the strange gleam in his eyes increased her panic. Once again she had fallen into his trap. But maybe it wasn't too late. They were not yet in his territory. Full of desperation, she screamed for help and anger flashed in his grey eyes. In one leap he was on her and punched her so hard in the face that she went down. The next moment he was on top of her, and his stench brought tears to her eyes. The weight of his body pressed her unyieldingly to the ground, crushing the beautiful flowers.
"Tell me, Tyra," he purred in her ear. "Why are you fighting so desperately against your destiny? Do you really think that one day you will find a better man than me? I am the son of a powerful chieftain and together we will unite the land of our fathers. But I will no longer tolerate your defiance and in order for you to understand that you belong to me, I will not wait any longer. If you had not broken your word, I would have no reason not to keep mine. But you leave me no choice but to take you here and now so that you can never run from me again."
Roughly he tugged at her clothes, but she ignored the cold air hitting her unprotected skin and tried to fight him with all her might. But she had no chance. He was simply too strong. Completely naked, she lay beneath him, and she felt completely defenceless against him. Frustrated, she screamed at him, but he only laughed in her face. Defiantly, she pressed her legs together, whereupon he only moved his hand between her thighs with agonising slowness, surely pushing her legs apart piece by piece. Suddenly Gunnar froze in mid-motion and turned his head very slowly. The blade of a sword gleamed at his throat.
"You will rise very slowly and take a step back," a calm voice explained politely, its warm sound hitting Tyra right in the heart. His words sounded strange. More melodic somehow and as Gunnar slowly rose, Tyra's heart leapt at the sight of her saviour. Completely calm, he looked down at Gunnar. He was huge and at first Tyra was sure that the mighty Donar had saved her. His long hair shone like freshly polished gold in the glow of the sun. His face was kind and open and perfectly good. The tip of his sword still hovered only a few millimetres from Gunnar's throat. The stranger eyed the Saxon closely and his gaze lingered on his crotch for a moment too long. As he let his scrutinising gaze wander further, his body slowly relaxed.
With his left hand he undid the clasp and the fabric of his cloak slid to the floor beside her. Her fingers trembled as they grasped the fabric and wrapped it around her body. His scent clung to the warm fabric and a comforting shiver ran through her body. She couldn't place his scent. She had never smelled this mixture in her life. Besides the foreign nuances, she detected a hint of horse and forest.
"This is a misunderstanding," Gunnar began to explain himself. "She is my fiancée and I have every right..."
"Silence!" the stranger drove at Gunnar in an imperceptibly raised voice, and Tyra shuddered again at the tremendous authority that resonated in his voice. Perhaps he was no god, but he was a born leader. Instantly Gunnar fell silent. The power this stranger radiated did not leave him cold either. When she slowly tried to stand up, the stranger just made an imperceptible movement with his hand and immediately she sat back in the sea of flowers.
"I don't care that she is your fiancée," the stranger replied kindly. "She is a woman and if she refuses you, it is her right. It is her body, not yours, and only she can make that decision"
Surprised, Gunnar laughed. The stranger still radiated such calm that Tyra involuntarily began to relax. Slowly Gunnar took a step back. Then another and another. The stranger's body tensed imperceptibly. He too saw through Gunnar's tactics to get his sword unobtrusively.
Suddenly Gunnar stopped, thunderstruck, and looked over the stranger's shoulder in disbelief. Almost without a sound, two men slipped out of the forest and came inexorably closer, swords drawn.
"Don't even think about it!" the stranger said, tilting his head. Frustration flitted across Gunnar's face. "Face it, your men are too far away and before they get here you'll be dead. But because my mother taught me manners, I'll give you a choice. Either you go and leave the girl to me, or I'll give you five seconds to get to your weapons and we'll fight over her"
"You have no idea who you are talking to," Gunnar hurled at the stranger. By now his companions had built up protectively in front of her.

"No, you have no idea who you are talking to," the stranger replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. For a while the stranger waited, then slowly began to count. Wide-eyed, Gunnar understood when the stranger had reached two and hurried to his horse. At four, he had unsheathed his sword and was swinging it in his hands in victory.
"Five," the stranger breathed and made a leap towards Gunnar. At the last moment Gunnar managed to raise his sword and with a clang the metal clashed. Only now did Tyra realise that this stranger was really fighting with him for her. The trembling of her body intensified.
For a small eternity she crouched there in the beautiful sea of flowers, watching the two combatants through the legs of the stranger's friends. The stranger was far superior to Gunnar and went against him without mercy.
When he asked Gunnar something she could not understand over the clashing of swords, Gunnar spat at the stranger's feet. One of his companions automatically took a step forward. The second companion reached out and held him back. Now the stranger was really enjoying himself, mercilessly exploiting his superiority.
Gunnar had to gasp as he watched the stranger knock the sword out of his hand. He had no other weapon with him. But when his left hand slipped inconspicuously into the waistband of his trousers, Tyra cried out in amazement.
Metal glinted in the late summer sun but thank Donar the stranger reacted quickly enough. In the next instant, Tyra's knife slipped from the Saxon's hand. The stranger whispered something in Gunnar's ear, then rammed his sword right into his heart. Full of fear, Gunnar returned the stranger's gaze, who pulled his sword out of his chest and took a step backwards. Instantly, Gunnar's body toppled forward. His eyes found Tyra one last time, then lost their lustre. All she could think was that he would never come too close to her again.
Expertly, the stranger cleaned his sword on Gunnar's jacket, then put it back in its scabbard. Perfectly calm, he turned to her. When their eyes crossed for the first time, her breath caught. His eyes were like pure liquid gold. Wild, hot, dangerous, penetrating and beautiful at the same time. Wolf eyes, it flashed through her mind. At that moment, she knew that he was her destiny. Whatever that meant for them both.