Bound by His Oath

By Jess Mahler

Reimund Swiđhun has it made. With the king's blessing, he will capture Lady Mildthryth, marry her, and finally have land to call his own. Lady Mildthryth Rúna has been fighting off would-be 'suitors' for months. She will marry on her terms or not at all. On their world, a noblewoman is expected to marry and accept her subordinate place.

Unfortunately for Reimund, Milthryth's people have other traditions. She refuses give up and be a broodmare for any of the knights and lordlings the king sends after her. And before long, she has Reimund right where she wants him.

For Reimund, the only thing more shameful than being captured by a woman is bending knee to one, but he will do what he must to keep his friends and followers safe.

Even if it means spending the rest of his life Bound by His Oath.

Content notes: culture clash, misogyny, too stoic for his own good, noncon marriage, dubcon sex, not too much sex, explicit sex, Lady/knight, lost colony sci-fi, the Ancestors would be disappointed in you, assumptions screw everyone (in a bad way), mother-in-law saves the day, violence, Sir John calls it like he sees it (damn it, John!), all you need is friends, shame is toxic, the king is an asshole.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jess Mahler
• Release date: Jun 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005169473

Jess Mahler

Jess’ weird fish-out-of-water life has left them with an enduring love/hate affair with common tropes. The relationship counselor recommended they break it off, but they just keeps coming back to play with tropes (and fuck them up) some more.In between their tropic indulgences, they write queer fantasy with aromantic, neurodivergent, and generally ‘weird’ characters, take care of their family, argue halakha, and try to do a bit of educational activism on the side.Their website ‘digital garden’ updates semi regularly, and they're active on Tumblr, Mastodon, and a few other spots around the web.

Book preview

Bound by His Oath

by Jess Mahler

Dedication

To LJ, with thanks for Thursday mornings

Chapter 1

Reimund Swiđhun watched with mixed feelings as his men put the fields to torch. The field belonged to the lands of the Lord of Rúna, but for six years there had been no lord. The last lord had died, leaving only a daughter who refused all suitors and insisted, against all right and nature, to hold the land in her own right.

One of the men at arms left off burning the fields to chase after a serf, slower to flee than his fellows. Reimund whistled and called him off. The thick smoke rising from the stands of wheat meant empty bellies and lost livestock over the winter to come. That would be bad enough, but to kill the peasants as well? No. The king had promised the lordship of Runa to any man who could force Mildthryth into marriage. Reimund planned to be that man. He had no desire to rule over a land gone barren because there was no one to work the fields.

He looked up at the castle high on the hill above. It wasn’t really a castle, just a rough attempt at making a proper fortress out of one of the old Anglish burgs. Mixed wood and stone, with an earthen wall set with stakes surrounding it. Even with his small force, he thought he could overwhelm it. Probably.

But others had thought so before. Reimund knew of at least three other knights Lady Mildthryth had managed to overcome or repel. So he would be wiser.

Your fields burn, lady, he thought to himself, Soon you will have nothing to feed yourself or your people. Then we will see how stubborn you are.

Even as Reimund thought this, the gate set into the earth wall opened and warriors lightly armed in the Anglish fashion poured through. They moved faster than Reimund had planned for, but he judged his men had enough time for an orderly retreat.

Reimund blew his horn twice, summoning his men back. They had done what they came to do. Now it was time to leave and disappear into the surrounding forests.

***

Lady Mildthryth Rúna was in the weaving room. Again. Short, pale, fingers flashing as they sent the shuttle of undyed wool thread back and force across the loom. By the end of the day she would have another bandage to add to the ever-shrinking pile in the still room.

Her mother, the lady dowager, worked beside her. The rest of the room was filled with every woman who wasn’t sleeping or too fumble-fingered to work a loom.

Once the room had been full of laughter. The weavers teased each other as they turned out fine linen and plush, took turns working on tapestry. No longer.

They wove in shifts now, running through a month’s worth of wool in a week. In the surrounding villages, old maids and young girls were spinning their fingers bloody to supply the ladies of the burg with thread for their weaving.

Marcel the Conqueror would not abide the ‘blasphemy’ of a woman holding lands in her own right, but by the terms of his own conquest he could not deny her her inheritance. Six months ago he had withdrawn his protection, promising a boon to the lord who could force her into marriage and ‘win’ her lands.

As far as Mildthryth was concerned, the Nornish idea of courtship had left much to be desired. So far, she had been able to send her erstwhile suitors packing.

So far.

From the walls, a horn rang out, calling her warriors once more to battle.

***

An hour later, Mildthryth stood on the tower walk, staring into the darkening forest where the invaders had hidden. This wasn’t the first Nornish lordling to attack her, but so far he was the most cunning. The others had assumed a ‘mere female’ wouldn’t be able to stand against even a token show of force.

All had crept home like whipped curs after learning that the daughter of an Anglish lord and a Dragma warmaid had forgot none of the lessons of her forebearers. Most had fled, but a few she had been able to capture and ransom.

If she and her people could survive long enough, they would at least have no problem buying new supplies.

Footsteps on the stairs behind her announced the arrival of her Armsmaster, Wigmar. He still wore his armor, leather over brigantine, but had taken off his helmet. Sweat soaked through the old bandage on his head.

You shouldn’t have gone out yourself, Wigmar.

He came to stand by her and scratched at the old wound. Too many injured and unable to ride, milady. I’m hale enough, as long as I don’t take another blow to the head.

You weren’t planning on taking the first one, she ground out.

Wigmar ignored her comment and started his report, As I warned you milady, they had too much of a head start, and we couldn’t catch them before the trees.

No sign of their camp?

Wigmar shook his head. They’ve crossed over that rocky strip to the south. Don’t know how they didn’t lose a dozen horses to broken legs, but it’s big enough to break their trail. Woodsmen are trying to work their way, but it’s a big strip. And we can’t be sure they didn’t leave an ambush, so our people need to move slow. With dark falling, it will take a miracle from the Ancestors to find them. He made the sign for the Ancestor’s ancient ships. He’s a smart one milady.

She snorted. Let’s be honest Wigmar, it doesn’t take much smarts to figure out what any rabbit running from the fox knows. He’s just the first of our… uninvited guests who thinks I have the brains to put my own shoes on.

Ay...

Mildthryth started pacing. How likely are they to try this again?

If it works for them... Wigmar shrugged. Against your father, likely they’d move and hit somewhere else, but...

Aye. Mildthryth said. "So we use that.

Pull our people back, don’t wait for full dark. Let them think we’ve given up.

He eyed her speculatively.

Tomorrow, before first light, get as many of our warriors as you can ready to ambush them as they cross the stone river.

The old Anglish warrior grinned. Your mother’s daughter, my lady. I’ll start planning.

***

The next morning, Reimund dismounted to lead his horse over the rocks. It would be all to easy here for a horse to break a leg, and an unlucky rider might get thrown and break their own leg – or their head. It was early, and still dark under the trees. Reimund waited and listened, patting his horse when it whickered at him.

After a few minutes, his scouts signaled all was clear—there was no sign of the Anglish nearby.

Which was exactly what he expected, but Reimund knew if they were to be ambushed, this would be the spot. It was part of the reason he was moving so early in the day. He wasn’t happy about the risk, but the alternative to crossing the stone river was to risk being tracked and ambushed in camp.

The ambush you knew to expect was always best.

Reimund frowned in thought as he led his men out of the scrub and over the rocks. True, the castle was held by a mere woman, who would know nothing of warfare. But she had proven herself no fool driving off those who came before him. If he continued coming from the same direction, she would start setting ambushes. His sister Eveline certainly would have, and