by Ann Boelter
“Can’t we deal with someone else?” one of them asked.
“No one but the Worick can handle the volume we offer,” Tryggr rejected the option.
“Then why not split it up and deal with several? It would be more time-consuming, but we have the time; Jarl said we are ahead of schedule. Even if we made deals at three-quarters of expected value, it would be half again more than what we will get from the Worick. Surely, at that price we could find someone who would take them. I request permission to take several men and proceed to port to try to secure other buyers.”
“I feel no obligation to stick to the deal offered by the Worick,” Jarl considered out loud. “What say the rest of you?”
The tent was filled with murmurs of agreement from the other men.
“And you, Tryggr?” Jarl asked him specifically. “You have the most effort into this last deal.”
“I think it’s a good idea, but I don’t think we should count on it. The Worick wields a lot of power in this area, which is another reason we’ve been forced to deal with him in the past. If he gets wind of what we are up to, I think considerable pressure will be brought to bear on any who would barter with us—and we might not find them nearly so accommodating.”
“That’s a good point.” Jarl turned back to the man who had made the request. “Permission granted to take some men ahead to port and seek replacements for the Worick’s purse, but do it under the guise of checking on the ships. Keep your true purpose concealed. The Worick thinks we have a deal, so he should not be looking to intercept our negotiating with others. Let’s keep it that way.
“In the meantime, the rest of us will take the last villages as planned. Depending on what the men are able to come up with at the port, and our final tally, we will make a decision then on whether or not to make additional raids.”
That afternoon, Nena sat in the baths while the two women lathered her hair and scrubbed her skin. She tried to relax, but the excitement and drama of the past few days had left her knotted with tension. She longed for a horseback ride, but Jarl had been too busy to take her. One of the women who was in the water with her, chatted away while the other said not a word. It would not have been unusual except their roles were reversed. The normally talkative one was silent.
“Sven has told me I will not be sold,” Gineesh reported excitedly. “He will use part of his share of the bounty to buy me, and we shall settle on the northeast coast of the Great Sea together. There are quite a few Northmen who are taking wives and will remain behind there.”
Nena understood her excitement. Gineesh had long feared and expected her Northman to dispose of her with the other slaves in the end. He had never treated her badly, but was not prone to any displays of affection, and had never made any suggestion toward keeping her. Unlike the other woman, Lenta, who was always sharing glowing reports of her Northman’s generosity and kindness. Today she remained quiet. Nena turned to her, but her downcast eyes remained fixed on her duty.
“And what of you, Lenta?” Nena asked. “Do you have news from your Northman?”
The woman looked up and nodded. “Yes. Though I have shared the furs with Ralgon for months now, he has made no such offer toward my purchase.” She tried to hide it, but Nena could see the fear and disappointment in her eyes.
Realizing the talk of her own good news had caused the other woman sorrow, Gineesh tried to comfort her friend. “Perhaps he has just not yet done so. Perhaps he waits to tell you until after the deal is secure. Ralgon has always been so good to you.”
“Gratitude for your kind words, Gineesh, but it is not so. Ralgon already has a wife in the North. I will be traded with the others to the slaver and then sold.”
Nena seared Lenta’s expression to memory. She had fallen for a Northman, had shared his furs and expected an impossible future. Nena thought back over Lenta’s previous conversations in the baths. How happy she was with Ralgon. How well he treated her. All had assumed she would definitely be one who was taken as a wife, if any were. Yet here she was, to be cast aside with no more consideration than a trinket.
The Northmen could not be trusted. Even if they had not planned it all along, as Ralgon clearly had with a wife at home, Jarl, with Altene was no better. His affections had simply faded and moved to another. The end result for Altene was the same. Nena had to keep the plights of these two women fresh in her mind. When Jarl plied her with kind gestures and things she enjoyed—like riding, she had to remember it would only last until another woman caught his eye.
Nena had just stepped from the water when Altene arrived, returning to her duties as if nothing had happened. Nena’s acutely trained eyes searched the other woman’s body for marks of what she had endured, but found none, only a subtle stiffness in her movements that Altene tried to hide. Nena had assumed by the slaver’s comments that he had been cruel and Altene would be covered with the evidence. But only in Altene’s eyes did she occasionally see a fleeting pain—though whether it was physical or emotional, Nena could not be sure.
Do not pity her. Altene is as heartless as these men, and would have been ecstatic to hear you’d been sent to the slaver to satisfy his…unusual appetites. Do not become soft. You must push her again. Now while she is vulnerable.
Nena considered what she would say. She assumed she would have to wait until they were on their way back to Jarl’s tent to be able to speak to Altene without the others overhearing, but after the women had finished rubbing Nena’s skin with the scented oil and dressed her, Altene dismissed them. “Leave us and wait outside,” she said. “I would have words with Nena alone.”
The women holding the two long ropes hesitated.
“Go.” Altene waved them off. When they were safely out of earshot, she turned to Nena. “I have a plan for you to escape,” she whispered.
“You will bring the girl and let me go?” Nena was incredulous.
Altene frowned and shook her head. “Don’t be an idiot. I’ll not risk my neck for you.”
“Then what is your plan?” Nena asked, exasperated. “Shall I turn into some great bird and take the whole tent with me? If another way to escape with the girl was available, I would have taken it by now. But your loose tongue with Jarl has thwarted any opportunity I would have otherwise had.”
Altene nodded in agreement. “I regret many of my words now. Would that I could take them back. But that is in the past. Do you want to hear my plan or not?”
“Yes.” Nena nodded.
“You must lay with him. You must choose Jarl for your first union. It is the only way he will trust you to let you go. Once you have run of the camp, you’ll be able to find a way to escape and take the girl with you. You’ll need to leave the mother; you’re not bloodsworn to her and Jarl will not punish her. The child will be enough of a dead weight slowing you anyway. And I’m sure the woman will happily give up her daughter if it means saving her life.” Altene eyed her speculatively. “Then you will be rid of him, and I will be rid of you.”
“I can’t,” Nena whispered, and shook her head, imagining for one brief moment what Altene proposed—her beneath Jarl, instead of Altene.
“Then stay here forever,” Altene hissed. “You said you wanted to escape and I gave you a way to do it. I knew it was a lie.”
Altene’s words burned in Nena’s mind. “Choose him for your first union or stay here forever.” It seemed like forever already. Could she do it? How could she not, if it meant being free? She had no doubt of her ability to escape if she could move about the camp as freely as Altene did. And Jarl had told her he would free her. So what was stopping her? If Altene had offered for her to be branded or whipped or some other normal form of torture in exchange for freedom, she wouldn’t have hesitated before accepting. So why was this even a choice—much less a difficult one?
The vision of his lovemaking to Altene crept unbidden to her mind. One of the times she had sworn not to look but had stolen glances anyway. She knew the answer. Because it might not be torture. Nena
, who was afraid of almost nothing, was afraid of this—afraid of her body’s independent response to him—afraid of losing control and being humiliated—afraid of it not being painful at all, but enjoyable. Nena knew she could withstand torture—maybe even in silence for awhile, though to scream in pain would not dishonor her. To whimper and roll beneath him as Altene did, would do nothing less.
Yet she was a warrior! How could she stay here now when an escape had offered itself so plainly? She had waited months for Jarl to be negligent to no avail. She did not have more months to wait. She must not be weak.
“He will never trust me to do it. He’ll know I’m plotting something.” Nena shook her head as she expressed her doubt with the plan.
“Perhaps. But he has a fire for you—a heat deep within that he fights. He will take you if you offer. I have no doubt.” Altene seemed both sad and bitter at the admission. “I will even make sure your dress is more suitable for the task.” She reached out and fingered the baggy hide Nena now wore. “Though nothing too nice, so as not to arouse his suspicion—your original doeskin should do nicely.”
“What if I can’t escape and I take your place in his furs?” Nena voiced one of her many concerns.
Altene laughed. “I have considered that, too. Briefly. But I’m not worried. Once he has you and realizes you are no different than any other Dor woman with a wet spot between her thighs, you will be no competition for me. Even with my skills, I cannot compete with you now—not with the virgin pedestal he has placed you on. But once the playing field is equal...Jarl will soon tire of you. And if you do not escape quickly enough, he may yet give you to Tryggr or one of the other men.”
“What if I got with child?” Nena whispered forlorn.
“We can’t have that, now can we? Not some other reason for him to keep you. I will give you the herb. It will keep his seed from growing.”
“This plan will never work. He does not ask me.”
“His eyes still ask you all the time. And if you’re worried about being refused, wait until the next battle. It will come soon, and his lust will be strong. He will not refuse you then. Though he will not be as gentle as he would on another night.”
“I don’t care about that. Even better,” Nena said vehemently, then was silent for a moment. “But that is only two days away.”
“Yes, it is.” Altene nodded. “You know, under different circumstances you and I could have been friends,” Altene said, her voice softer, reassured by Nena’s clear lack of interest in Jarl, and her near acceptance of the plan. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ll be well-served to have Jarl be your first. He’s the best lover I have ever known, and I’ve known many. I was not so fortunate in my first union.” Her voice trailed off, her mind momentarily far away, but then she recovered and smiled. “Then when you escape and marry some Dor brute with hands like clubs, you will always have your first to go back to in your mind.”
“But what of the gods? Won’t this anger them? I would be taking their choice from them,” Nena whispered. Even as she said the words, she wondered if it were possible.
“Do not speak to me of the gods. Where were the gods when my first union was sold to a fat old man in Anbai? Or do you think he was the gods’ choice for me? The gods are nothing more than a bitter joke,” Altene spat.
“Do not say such things. The gods had a purpose—even with you.”
“Then your decision should be easy. When you choose Jarl, it will have been the gods’ choice all along. You can even tell yourself that is why the gods’ saved your choosing for so long—knowing this was coming and you would need it to free yourself.” She could see Nena struggling with that. “You can’t have it both ways, Princess.” With that she turned and called for the other women to return.
Jarl watched Nena pick at her food. She had eaten this way and had few words for him since the incident with the slaver. She’d seemed truly terrified of the man, but he wasn’t sure that was what was upsetting her now. The more he thought about it, her demeanor had truly changed when she returned from the baths with Altene. He swore under his breath. The deal with Altene had been a mistake. He should have never listened to Tryggr. And for what? They had certainly seen no gain from the sacrifice.
He had offered Altene another choice of jewels, which she’d accepted, but with none of the enthusiasm of when she had chosen the ruby for her bruised cheek. That time, Altene had seemed as if the reward had far exceeded her efforts. This time, though she bore no visible injury that he could see, she acted as though the gem was nowhere near worth the price.
What had the women discussed in the baths? Had Altene horrified Nena with tales of the slaver’s twisted appetites? He wished he could have taken Nena for a horseback ride. That always seemed to make things better between them, but there had been no time for it. They were to attack the last target within reach of their current camp in the morning and the planning had taken up every minute of the day.
“You don’t like the food?” he asked her.
“Hmm?” she responded, so lost in thought she had not heard the question.
“The food,” he repeated. “Don’t you like it?”
“Oh, no. It’s fine.”
“Are you ill?”
“No, I am well.” She took another bite to show him but did not meet his eyes.
When they were finished eating, she stood and returned to the pole, waiting there for him to come and reattach her cuffs and chain. Jarl shook his head. She never fought having them put on anymore, but she was never in a hurry. He tried to catch her gaze while he clipped the cuffs around her wrists, but she did not look up.
When it was done, she sat cross-legged, absently running a loop of chain between her fingers. Jarl felt bad as he watched her, but had no time to root out the true source of her reticence. He would only get a few hours of sleep now, as it was, before he needed to be up coordinating the pre-dawn attack. Nena would have to wait until he got back.
IT WAS LATE when Nena heard Jarl’s stallion approaching. That meant the latest village had put up a fight. His battle fever would be strong.
Her mouth went dry.
Jarl entered the tent and shed his bloody battle armor in a heap in the corner. She had tried to prepare for this moment since Altene had first suggested it—what she would say, what she would do. And today, since the moment he’d left for battle this morning, she had thought of nothing else. He seemed poised to return to the tent flap, but then turned and looked at her, his eyes filled with longing.
Do it now. Say the words.
She faltered.
He had not been with Altene in many weeks. He would not be gentle, Altene had warned. Perfect. She did not want him to be gentle. It was now or never. If he called for Altene, she would miss her chance. He reached for the flap.
Do it now! Say something!
“Wait,” she called out to him, her voice shaky.
“What is it?” He dropped his hand and turned back to face her.
“Don’t call for Altene.” It was only part of what she needed to say, but the next words stuck on her lips, refusing to pass. She forced them out. “I will pleasure you tonight. I will take the battle fever from your blood.”
Jarl raised his eyebrows in disbelief and suspicion, but Nena also saw the hope flash in his eyes and knew Altene was right.
“And why would you do that?” he asked.
Nena chose her words carefully. “The truth?” she asked.
“Yes, the truth.”
“Finally captivity has become even less desirable than you.” It was partially the truth and she hoped enough of it would carry in her voice to be convincing.
Jarl moved closer to her, so close that they were almost touching. Nena could feel the heat emanating from his body. She could smell the salt of his sweat and the coppery tang of blood from the battle. He reached a hand up and traced his thumb across her breast through the soft leather material of her warrior dress. She gasped involuntarily, but did not pull away.
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“And you will be willing?” he asked, his now green eyes so intense they were almost frightening—almost.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Is this some trick?” he asked, still suspicious, but wavering.
“It is no trick. I choose you.”
Jarl reached for her wrists and removed her cuffs. Nena wasn’t sure what to do next. She knew, of course, what was about to happen. If she hadn’t before, his nights with Altene would have filled in any blanks. But what did she need to do? Altene was right to not feel threatened by her.
Jarl led her toward the furs, then turned and pulled her to him. Drawing her head back by her thick braid, his lips descended onto hers, his kiss hard and aggressive. It was exactly what she had hoped for. It should be over quickly; she would only need to endure for a little while. She had mentally prepared herself for this all day. She could do it. She forced her thoughts to the cool grass banks and the stream with the small silver fish.
Jarl broke off the kiss and took a half a step back away from her. He was breathing hard. Nena could tell he was gritting his teeth. Why? She knew from other battles, he was quick and rough on these nights. That was what she was counting on—had been why she had chosen tonight. She did not want to enjoy it, or to go back to it in her mind when she was married, as Altene had suggested. She wanted to get it over with and put this all behind her. So why was he waiting? He would have had Altene down, thrusting deep inside her by now.
“Remove your dress,” he said.
That made sense; Altene would have undressed immediately. Nena untied the dress behind her neck and let it fall to the floor.
Jarl sucked in his breath as his eyes took in every inch of her. He reached for her braid and untied it, separating each section, one by one, until her hair fell loose and wavy around her shoulders and down her back. He ran his hand up her back and tangled his fingers in the thick tresses behind her head, then pulled her head back, baring her throat and immobilizing her. He kissed her again, gentler this time, but she could feel his barely restrained tension. As her body leaned into him of its own accord, she once again squeezed her eyes tight and forced her thoughts far away.