by Ann Boelter
She nodded and followed him. Outside, two horses stood saddled and ready. One she recognized immediately as his magnificent bay and the other was a shorter stockier sorrel. “That one is for you.” He indicated the sorrel.
Nena hesitated again. Was this a trick? Would he laugh at her at any moment and return her to the pole? She found it hard to believe he would go to this trouble to torment her—for whatever he was, Jarl was not cruel. He nodded toward the horse again and raised an eyebrow. Nena approached the animal slowly, allowing it to sniff her hand before she stroked its face, then its neck and shoulder. She climbed aboard the unfamiliar leather saddle without further delay. Jarl mounted his stallion and took the reins to her horse, leading it behind him.
So—she was to have no control over where she went. But Nena couldn’t complain. Even with the hard uncomfortable Northman saddle, she could feel the power of the animal beneath her. That power made her feel more alive than she had since her capture. Free of her bonds, free of the tent, her spirits soared. She chafed at the slow pace as they made their way through the camp, drawing more than a few curious stares. When they passed the last sentry on the hill overlooking the camp, Jarl stopped and handed her the reins, his expression a mixture of speculation and uncertainty.
“Lead off. I’ll follow. Wherever you want to go, whatever speed you choose, just keep heading in this general direction,” he instructed and pointed to the southwest.
Was it true? Was he really trusting her to go wherever she wanted? Before he could change his mind, Nena kicked her horse up into a gallop, the animal’s short legs churning beneath her. She drank deep of the wind in her face, losing herself in the sound of pounding hooves in the soft grassy soil. The horse was working very hard, but Nena was surprised to note they were not covering much ground. She glanced back at Jarl. The tight rein on his stallion confirmed her suspicion. She leaned low on the sorrel’s neck and urged him faster.
The fat little horse responded gamely, spurting forward, his short legs now a blur. But the burst of speed was brief, and Nena soon felt him flagging beneath her. When his breathing began to labor, she sat up and drew in rein. As he slowed to a walk, she patted his neck, rewarding him for his effort. He had tried for her, but was physically not capable. Nena thought of Nightwing and how she would have tossed her head with impatience at having been slowed so soon. But this little horse plodded along dutifully, more than happy with their new pace.
Nena turned to Jarl who had ridden up beside her. “This horse is fat...and slow,” she accused.
Jarl laughed openly at her expression. “Yes, he is. I picked him out myself.”
Nena pursed her lips, fighting a smile of her own. He hadn’t really trusted her. He suspected her first thoughts would be to escape, even with the child in the camp. Only Nena knew that concern was unfounded. Escape beckoned her, but she would remain bound by her word. Though from what she now knew of Jarl, she doubted he would actually kill the girl. If Nena had already escaped, the child’s death would serve no purpose other than spite. And spite was not Jarl—Altene perhaps, but not Jarl. Even believing that, Nena would never leave the girl behind. She could never be sure, and she couldn’t live with the shame of knowing that she’d been able to escape by counting on a Northman’s honor to be greater than her own.
Nena squirmed in the uncomfortable saddle, hating the bind and pinch of it, but refusing to complain; she never wanted the ride to end.
“Are you alright? Would you like to go back?” Jarl asked, noticing her discomfort.
“No,” she answered quickly. “It’s just…your saddles…your saddles are very uncomfortable.” Jarl watched as she again tried to reposition herself.
“Then take it off, if you want.”
Nena looked at him sharply. “May I? Really? But how will we carry it?”
“Just lay it in the grass. We’ll get it on the way back.” The hope in her face was so sincere, Jarl would have been willing to throw the saddle and ten more just like it off a cliff. The idea of removing it had not only made her extremely happy—she seemed happy with him.
Nena was off in a flash, pulling at the unfamiliar straps but making little progress.
“Here, let me help you.” Jarl dismounted and moved to her side to demonstrate how the saddle rigging was secured. For a moment they were close, with Nena’s horse broadside in front of them and Jarl’s stallion standing right behind. The earthy smells of leather and horse mingled around them in the small area. His arm brushed hers. Even though the straps were disconnected, Jarl delayed removing the saddle. Nena felt the now familiar response of her body to his nearness.
“Gratitude,” she murmured as she moved a half a step away.
“Will you need help getting back on?” Jarl asked, hoping to have feel of her calf as he helped her to mount, but instead she frowned, indignant at the idea.
“I would not be much of a warrior if I required assistance to mount a horse, would I?” With that, Nena grabbed a handful of mane and swung aboard the sorrel’s bare back in a single fluid move. She took a deep breath and sighed as she settled into the living softness of the animal beneath her.
“Better?” Jarl asked, though the answer was obvious.
“Much better,” she replied.
They rode for hours, meandering through the plains. When they came to a stream, they stopped and dismounted to allow the horses to drink and graze. Jarl watched her pull her horse’s head up out of the deep grass. Long stems hung from both sides of the animal’s mouth as it chewed. Nena stroked the sorrel’s nose and adjusted his forelock. “You do not have to eat every blade of grass in sight,” she admonished the little horse gently. “That is why you cannot run with the wind, my friend. You could be a great warrior’s horse if you ate a little less.” The placid little horse looked at her affectionately, appreciating her soft touch, then pulled his head down to take another mouthful. Nena laughed and allowed him to pull away, though he soon returned his head to her hands for more stroking as he chewed.
Jarl couldn’t help but think of her fingers so gentle, so tender, on him. He felt his gut tighten. This was the side of her he had seen reassuring the child who was bloodsworn to her. This was the side he could only imagine being the recipient of.
“This horse is a lost cause,” Nena laughed, totally at ease. “He has no shame and doesn’t care to ever be a warrior’s horse.” She shook her head, unaware of how much the shared relaxed moment was affecting him. When she did finally look over at him, the intensity in his eyes startled her, but he recovered quickly and smiled.
“We need to get back,” he announced unwillingly.
Nena nodded and swung aboard her horse. Though there was no tension between them, they did not speak on the return ride, not even when they reached the saddle and he reattached it for her. When they arrived back at his tent and dismounted, Jarl sent one of his guards for Altene. He saw Nena frown. Would that Gunnar was right. Would that she disapproved because she was jealous, though he knew that was not the case.
“You are dirty from the ride. Altene will take you to the baths,” he explained and saw comprehension smooth her brow.
Altene arrived and took in the scene with barely concealed anger. Word had spread through the entire camp like wildfire; Jarl had taken his Dor captive for a ride, and they had been gone for hours. Altene had scarcely believed it, but here was the evidence right before her. With great effort she smiled a tight smile at Jarl and asked, “My lord?”
“Please take Nena to the baths,” he instructed.
“Yes, my lord.” She nodded, then hesitated. “Um, shall I still use the other women and the rope harness?” she asked, referring to her rival’s new freedoms, not sure how far they were to be extended.
“Yes. I’ll have her shackles replaced before you return.” He turned to Nena. “Come.”
Nena followed him inside the tent to the center pole and waited while he bent over to retrieve the cuffs from the floor and remove them from the chain. He turned ba
ck to her, and she held up her hands in silence. As he closed the second cuff around her wrist, Nena studied him while his attention was on the clasp. His wavy brown hair, the color of dark clay, fell forward as he bent his head down. There was already a dark shadow of beard on his well-defined jaw, though she had watched him shave that morning.
“Jarl,” she said.
He looked up and met her gaze, his eyes the mixed colors of contentment.
“Gratitude,” she murmured.
She seemed almost disturbed to say the word, but clearly meant it. For Jarl it was immeasurable progress. She had never thanked him before, not even for saving her life. Though he was careful not to show it, he was elated.
“You’re welcome. Perhaps we’ll do it again if you would like,” he offered.
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
Altene entered at her last words. Nena wondered how much she had overheard. The way Altene seethed in silence the entire way to the baths, she guessed quite a bit, but couldn’t be sure; she’d already been angry after their return. Once Nena was safely in the water, Altene left. It was something she had never done before.
“Where has Altene gone?” Nena finally asked one of the other women.
The woman looked around nervously, then answered in a whisper in case Altene was still within earshot.
“I do not know. She was very upset that you and Lord Jarl went riding.”
“Upset angry or upset sad?”
“Again I don’t know. I would imagine both.”
Altene returned as they were finishing and stood silently surveying them from the doorway. When they were ready, she turned on her heel and strode off without waiting to see that they followed.
“Where did you go?” Nena called to her.
“None of your concern; I was busy,” Altene snapped haughtily without slowing.
“Were you busy out riding horses with Jarl?” Nena heard several of the women behind her gasp.
Altene stiffened and stopped, then turned back the few paces to confront Nena, face to face. “Be careful, Princess,” she warned.
Nena ignored the threat and referred to her own question. “You know you were not,” she whispered so the other women could not hear. “He is losing interest in you. Help me to get free. Now, before it’s too late for you. You know where the child is kept. You have run of everything. You could arrange it. Bring her to me. We will slip away, and you can have your Northman back.”
Altene glared at her, then turned on her heel and continued toward Jarl’s tent without looking back.
The evening meal had already been delivered by the time the women returned from the baths. Jarl was in a good mood and offered for Altene to stay and eat, oblivious to the tension between the two women. Altene’s mood improved at the invitation and even more as the meal went on. Soon she was chatting with Jarl about Dor customs again. Nena remained silent.
They were almost finished when Jarl asked Altene, “How is it that you have never had a child? Are you barren?”
“No, my lord. I take an herb that keeps the seed from taking hold in me. Once I stop, I can become pregnant. Perhaps, I could quit taking it now and give you a strong son.”
Jarl almost choked. Nena watched as he struggled for words. “A crying babe is the last thing I need right now,” he finally managed to say.
“What he really means is that he wants no son from a whore. No man would want that,” Nena scoffed.
For the first time Nena’s barb hit a nerve, and the normally thick-skinned Altene winced, her eyes welling briefly before she regained her composure.
Jarl swore under his breath and slammed his fork to the table. His eyes flashed with anger at Nena, but she returned his stare coolly.
“Give her back to Tryggr, my lord.” Altene pleaded in a rush. “He is healed now, and she vexes you constantly. And she was his by first claim.”
“Enough! The two of you,” he shouted. He turned to Altene and lowered his voice. “She is mine now. Do not speak of it again.”
Sleep would not come to Nena that night. The contradicting events of the day had left her feelings jumbled in confusion. Her captor had released her from all restraints. She’d been free, though not free. Had felt a horse beneath her, though not much of a horse. And Jarl—away from camp he had been so different, so relaxed. He’d seemed much younger and more...handsome. There was nothing wrong with admitting it. It was a simple fact, no more significant than his hair was brown or that he was tall. Jarl was handsome. It didn’t change anything. And neither did his incredibly thoughtful act. Or did it? Even now the sense of pure enjoyment she had felt on the ride still filled her, and her thoughts toward him were softened.
You must not dwell on that. You must escape. You are running out of time.
She thought back to his maps. Only two villages remained after they were finished here. Not only did her aunt’s life hang in the balance, but if she were unable to escape by the time they met the ships at port, her own prospects were frightful. Jarl had given no recent indication that he intended to ransom her, and she doubted she would be sold as a slave. That only left being loaded onto a ship bound for the North, a place by all accounts, that even the gods forsake in winter.
That could not happen. Altene was the key. Nena’s previous appeals to Altene’s sympathy had fallen on deaf ears, but today she had changed tactics and had seen the first favorable results. She had pushed Altene and would keep pushing her. A desperate Altene might be willing to take a risk the complacent Altene would not. Though Nena had said the words of Jarl losing interest in her as a jab, there was much truth in them, and Altene had to know it. If she had not resumed her place with Jarl by time they reached the port, her future was also in serious jeopardy.
NENA AND JARL rode almost every day, usually in the afternoon after he had dealt with camp business, but occasionally in the morning. Nena lived for those hours. She tried to remain focused on the experience itself and not who provided it, but every day the strain between them became a little less. The time they spent together a little more comfortable, a little easier.
Between the discussions of the men in his tent and the talk of the women in the baths, Nena stayed apprised of everything that went on in the camp. Much of the talk of the men was on future attacks or meeting up with their ships and returning home, while the women’s conversations centered around their personal lives—their hopes and fears for the future. Seldom did the content of the two overlap. That was until the day the upcoming arrival of the slaver was announced. From that moment forward, he was the only subject on anyone’s lips. The men excitedly made preparations and estimated their wealth to be received. The women whose fate hung in the balance repeated every rumor ever told of the merciless trader.
The man dealt not only in slaves; he would convert all assets the Northmen didn’t want or didn’t have room for on their ships into gold and jewels. Slaves were his specialty but he traded for anything. He was expected any day now to get a preliminary assessment of their inventory so he could gather proper payment. Later he would meet them where their ships were anchored for the final exchange. Nena wondered if she would be included in the tally.
Jarl was the only one who seemed ambivalent about the slaver’s arrival. Nena did not understand his attitude until she overheard Jarl and Tryggr discussing their last encounter with the man. Apparently Jarl had insulted him on the previous trip, and Tryggr’d had to work hard to get him to come back. He was the largest slaver in the area—the only one who could afford to acquire the number of slaves they would have to offer at one time.
Tryggr was desperate to make this transaction go smoothly and counseled Jarl repeatedly on the importance of remaining civil. The incongruity of Tyrggr being the more rational one was not lost on Nena. She had never seen Jarl so disagreeable. She wondered what the slaver could have possibly done to so anger him that he would have lost control and insulted the man in the middle of bartering. Jarl was not one to be easily rattled.
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nbsp; With the slaver’s arrival imminent, Tryggr returned to Jarl’s tent to present the final preparations for Jarl’s approval. Nena listened as Tryggr outlined his plans to provide the man with some of their finest wine and food. Jarl agreed to all of Tryggr’s suggestions without much thought—until Tryggr suggested they send Altene for his pleasure for the few days he would be there. Jarl balked.
“Oh, for the sake of the gods, Jarl, what is your problem now? Altene is a whore and a good one. You’ve said yourself, the best, so why on earth not send her to help smooth things over? It’s not like I’m suggesting we send him her,” he thumbed his hand at Nena. “Has she made you soft to all women now?”
“I’ll think about it,” was the only response Jarl would give.
“What do the Teclan do with the slaves they capture?” Jarl asked Nena once Tryggr had left and they sat down to their meal. “Surely you don’t keep them all.”
“We do not take slaves. When we raid we take only things we want, or can use: horses, furs, jewels, weapons. Occasionally we will take a particularly good supply of food if it is something we cannot grow on the mountain.”
Jarl stopped chewing and looked at her to see if she was serious. “But all Dor keep slaves,” he said when he saw that she was.
“Not the Teclan.”
“Why not?”
“Having others do labors for you makes one soft. We feel that softness has been the downfall of many.”
“That may be true, but even if you didn’t keep them, surely you must recognize their value. You could trade them for something you did want.”
“We do not trade either. We will sometimes take a prisoner to ransom if they are from a particularly wealthy or powerful family, and occasionally we’ll take one if they carry some valuable knowledge we seek. But we don’t take them to trade.”