by Ann Boelter
You are nothing more than a favored slave to him. Do not forget it. He even thinks to appease you with trinkets, now—as he did Altene.
“Come.” He motioned for her to follow. “It’s this way.” He held open the tent flap.
Nena followed him out into the bright sunlight and had to shield her eyes with her hand for a moment. There was Jarl’s stallion, saddled and ready, and beyond was the shadow of another horse. She assumed it would be the fat little gelding she had grown fond of, and moved around Jarl’s horse to mount. Her present must be out on the plains, or for some reason he chose not to give it to her here.
As she stepped around Jarl’s stallion, Nena saw a creature more beautiful than she had ever imagined. The mare standing saddled was the color of polished steel, with lighter dapples distributed evenly throughout her glossy coat. Where Jarl’s horse was tall and muscular, this one was sleek and refined. Nena’s eyes scanned the entire animal, finding no flaw. The mare’s legs seemed almost delicate compared to the thick bones of Jarl’s warhorse, but they were straight and perfect. Her hooves were flinty and tough, able to withstand the roughest terrain. But it was her face that drew Nena’s longest regard. The mare’s head could not have been finer had it been chiseled by the most skilled sculptor. Huge intelligent eyes were set wide on a broad forehead that tapered to a tiny muzzle with large nostrils.
Nena had never seen anything like her. She had to be one of the legendary Bedouin horses from the lands far to the south. She had heard of them but had never seen one in the flesh. The horses that could carry a man for days without rest. Horses that could survive in the harsh desert with little food or water. They were the toughest, and some argued the fastest, horses the gods had ever created. So prized by the Bedouin who bred them, they even slept in their tents with them as family. Nena had heard all the stories, but never that they were so beautiful.
The mare wore a Dor sheepskin saddle. It was plain, with no adornments of ivory or zebra hide as her tournament gift had been, but the thought behind the additional gift moved her even more. She approached the mare and took her bridle. The mare lifted her tiny muzzle and sniffed Nena’s face. The two stood bonding, exchanging breaths for a long moment.
Nena turned to Jarl, unable to hide the emotion his gift had elicited. “She is for me?” she asked in disbelief.
“Yes.”
She held his gaze, looking deep into his eyes. “But she can outrun your stallion.” She said the words quietly, her eyes searching his face the entire time. It was a simple observation to an outsider, but both of them understood the significance.
“Perhaps not on a short stretch, but yes,” he nodded. “She could outrun him—if she wanted to. Would you like to ride now?”
Nena nodded and smiled a small smile, still deeply affected by his gift and trying to overcome it. “Yes,” she said.
Compared to the other thick tribe horses, Nightwing had been sensitive and willing, but this mare was even more so. Jarl had no way of knowing that her beloved mare had been killed in the raid. And yet he had chosen the one gift that would move her more than any other. How had he done it? How did he know her so well in so little time?”
After miles of riding, when even Jarl’s stallion had a sweat, the mare seemed as fresh as if she had just been saddled. What the Teclan warriors could do with horses like these. She was a weapon beyond value. What Nena herself could do with a horse like this to escape.
They rode for many hours, stopping at a turn in the river where trees grew tall and the water pooled in a lazy slow moving current. There, they unsaddled the horses and turned them loose to graze on the lush river bottom grass. They did not fear them running away. Jarl’s stallion was trained to many commands, and coming to Jarl’s whistle was one of his lesser ones—the same trick that Nena had thought unique to her previous mare, Nightwing.
They watched the bay stallion circling the gray mare, bowing his neck and striking high with his foreleg in the air, trying to get her attention—trying to impress her. The mare regarded him coolly while she nibbled the tender blades of grass, but was quick with a reprimanding sharp nip or kick when he pushed too close. Finally, the stallion, too, began to graze, though he remained ever hopeful. Taking short anxious bites, he kept his eyes fixed on the mare and nickered softly at her whenever he raised his head.
Jarl laughed at his antics. “It seems my great warhorse has also found a southern beauty who rejects him. He’s almost embarrassing to watch.” He turned and smiled at Nena. “Though I’m sure I never acted quite so foolish.”
Jarl pulled off his tunic, revealing his well-contoured chest and arms. He turned and stepped to the water’s edge, then bent to remove his boots. The sun danced on the rippling muscles of his back and shoulders, and Nena felt an overwhelming urge to run her hands over his skin—to feel the firm ridges of muscle beneath her fingers.
“Do you swim?” His voice interrupted her reverie, and she flushed guiltily. Jarl grinned at her obvious thoughts and her embarrassment at having been caught in them. He stood with one hand carelessly resting on the front of his half undone trousers, his eyes laughing at her.
“I…uh…yes, though not since I was a child,” she answered. “The water in the mountains is cold.”
“It’ll be much warmer here. And if you get a chill, I’m here to warm you. Though you look quite warm, now,” he teased, referring to her flushed face. With that he shed his trousers and turned to wade out into the water. He stopped when it was just above his knees.
While his attention was focused on his next step on the river bottom, Nena resumed her admiration of his naked body, safe for the moment from being discovered again. Her eyes started at his broad shoulders and worked their way down to his muscular buttocks and lean, haired thighs.
Suddenly he leaped into the air. His body curved into a perfect arch as he dove, his hands and arms slicing through the surface of the water. With barely a splash, he was gone. There was no sign of him for many seconds. Nena looked with consternation at the water that had swallowed him without a trace. Still no Jarl. She ran to the water’s edge. There was no sign of a struggle, no thrashing that she could see. She didn’t know what to do. If something were to happen to him now....
Then, as suddenly as he had disappeared, he resurfaced on the far side, spitting out a mouthful of water and shaking his soaked locks like a great bear would shake his mane. “You’re still dressed,” he observed. “Hurry. Come join me. The temperature is perfect.” He called out encouragement to her and began to lazily make his way back toward her with slow sure strokes.
Nena tentatively undid her dress, not at all looking forward to the frigid water. But Jarl was not gasping or shrieking from the shock of the cold that she still remembered vividly from her swims as a child. She had told him she could swim, and it was true, but her rapid frantic dashes and splashes in the water did not resemble what he was doing.
Nena tested the water with her toe. Jarl was right; it was quite warm in the shallows, almost the temperature of the baths. Slowly, she waded out further, feeling the temperature drop with every step, though it still remained comfortable. Jarl waited for her in the deeper water beyond. When the water was waist deep, she hesitated and looked to him, unsure.
Jarl was mesmerized by the sight of the water slowly creeping up her naked body. It concealed a tiny bit more of her with every tentative step she took. When it passed above her thighs and the dark triangle of her womanhood, he let out his breath. Standing there now, the water lapping against her trim waist, with only her upper torso still exposed above the surface, she seemed a vision of some golden water goddess. He could see she was waiting for further encouragement from him, but his mouth could not form the words that would end the alluring display.
“How deep is it where you are?” she asked.
“I can touch the bottom,” he lied.
“Can I?” she asked. Jarl was a full head taller than she was.
“I think so, but if not, you can hold ont
o me.” This was the first time he had seen her afraid of anything other than the slaver, and he enjoyed her vulnerability—enjoyed being in the position of her needing him to protect her.
Nena took a deep breath and lunged forward, her arms and legs moving in an odd combination of flailing and dog paddling. When she reached him, she turned her body vertical and reached with her toes for the bottom that wasn’t there. She shrieked with terror. Just before her head went under, Jarl grabbed her firmly by the arms, keeping her face safely above the surface. He shook the water from his hair again, thoroughly soaked from her erratic thrashing. “Easy. I’ve got you,” he reassured. “It’s alright. Hold on to me.” He pulled her toward him and felt her arms wrap around his neck. Her breasts and body pressed tightly against him. Keeping one arm around her waist, he tread water with the other. “I thought you said you could swim,” he chuckled.
“I can, but what you are doing is…” she marveled, at a loss for words at how he was keeping them afloat while barely seeming to move his legs and one arm.
“No,” he corrected her. “What you did was not swimming.”
“I did not say I was a fish,” she retorted, more comfortable now that it was becoming clear he truly could support them both and she wasn’t about to drown.
He reached for the end of her braid and pulled loose the tie, allowing the water’s gentle current to undo the sections.
“Can you teach me to swim like this?” she asked.
“Yes, I could. But then you wouldn’t need to cling to me so tightly, so I don’t think I will,” he teased. His eyes were the multicolored mixture of grays and blues of when he was amused, but she could see the flecks of green becoming more predominant the longer he held her. She felt his hardness growing between them.
Wrapping her legs around his waist, she kept his goal suspended just beyond his reach. He kissed her deeply, water droplets mingling with their kiss, then began to paddle them closer to shore. He could easily keep them both suspended in the water, but to do anything more required some traction. Her dark hair fanned out around them now like a veil in the water. Jarl could feel its thousands of tiny fingers caressing his skin, tickling, teasing, tingling everywhere it touched him.
“Nena,” he groaned under his breath.
Her entire body, to her core, reacted to his tone, his need, and she felt it become her own in an instant. In that moment, there was no Teclan, no Northmen, no camp waiting for them, no slaver, only the two of them as one. She felt a fluttering weakness within her that she knew now could only be quelled when his strength was inside her. Slowly she loosened her grip with her legs around his waist and allowed him to push her lower until his shaft was buried deep within her. Their bodies firmly connected, he paused and kissed her again, his eyes now the color of emeralds. With his hands tight on her hips and buttocks, he began to move with firm upward strokes, slowly at first, then increasing in intensity.
Nena twisted her fingers into Jarl’s thick dark chestnut hair, feeling the explosion building with each sure thrust. She clung to him, her parted lips pressed against his cheek, lost in the ecstasy of her senses. When her body began to shudder, she felt him join her with his climactic release.
Neither moved or spoke for many moments. Jarl remained locked inside her. Even when his manhood fell away, they remained embraced, motionless in the cool water.
“I think I will definitely not be teaching you to swim,” he said with a smile, his eyes once again a playful swirl of blues and grays.
Nena smiled back and gently bit his lower lip. She pulled it back toward her slightly before releasing it. “I have changed my mind,” she whispered. “I no longer wish to learn.”
Jarl nodded, appreciating her response. “Lie back,” he said, “until you are flat on top of the water.” He felt her tense. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you and I won’t let you go. I promise.” He kept one hand under her neck and the other under the small of her back. “It’s alright, just enjoy the water. Feel how it lifts you.” He moved behind her holding her only by her head now. “If you feel like you are sinking, just take in a deep breath and hold it; you will float without even trying.” As her body began to sink, she did as he suggested and soon felt her chest breaking the surface. It was amazing. “The salty waters of the sea are even easier to float in,” he said. “They lift you without your hardly having to draw in a breath at all.”
Nena couldn’t imagine doing something like this in the unpredictable shifting sea. Even wading with her feet firmly on the bottom had disturbed her, but she did not doubt that he was telling her the truth, or that the sea was different with him. She had thought before that their mastery of the sea was due to the strength of their ships, but seeing him here, so at home in the river and hearing him describe the sea as being the same, Nena knew it was more than that. These Northmen had a powerful connection—almost a kinship to water.
She felt him crouch down behind her, and then his strong arm was around her ribs. Gently he pushed off the bottom, pulling her with him, until he floated next to her on the surface with her head on his shoulder. Nena fought the urge to thrash, every instinct telling her that one of them needed to have their feet on something solid. His arm tightened around her.
Then they were both floating together. When she was finally able to relax, the experience was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The sensation of pure weightlessness. The quiet. The strange feeling of buoyancy while remaining perfectly still. Jarl occasionally paddled with his other arm and moved them lazily around the pool. Nena didn’t want it to end. She’d never been able to enjoy water like this before and was disappointed to find he had maneuvered them back to the shore.
“Come,” he said as he dropped his feet to the bottom and helped her to stand. “Too much time in the water and your skin will wrinkle.” He began to wade to the bank.
Nena didn’t care if her entire body looked like a piece of dried fruit, and followed him only reluctantly. She watched as Jarl gathered their clothes and then spread them out side by side on the grass in the sun. They lay together on their backs, looking up at the cloudless blue sky, while the sun dried and warmed them. He rolled up and gently kissed the dark circle on her arm. It was still raised and tender.
“Why do you not have tattoos?” she asked.
“I have a few,” he responded.
“But not like your men.”
“No. Not so many as most of them do.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not opposed to them, and I understand why other men get so many; I just never cared to.”
“Gunnar has a great many, and I’ve often wondered why you did not decorate yourself in a similar manner.”
“Why? Do you like them?” Jarl asked, disturbed that she had taken such close notice of his second.
Nena thought for a moment. “The black ones I do not mind, but the green ones I do not care for. From a distance they look like bruises to me. Though perhaps it is because my people do not use any color other than black, and I’m just not used to seeing them.” She paused. “But it is strange to me that they have no meaning.”
“They do have meaning,” he disagreed.
“I misspoke. I understand they have meaning, but only to the bearer. And if they have no meaning to those who look upon them, then why have them at all? A man does not need them to remember things—his memories are forever within him. With the Dor each one tells something specific to all who look upon them. They are not for decoration.”
“Our men get them for many reasons. Some are to remember something important and, even though you’re correct and they do have their memories, by looking at the symbol, it keeps the memories fresh in their minds. Others bear marks that show unity or brotherhood. But some are for nothing more than decoration or to frighten the enemy.”
Nena thought of the Northman she had seen in the camp who had filed his teeth into sharp points and tattooed his entire face with scales like a serpent. It was repulsive to
her, but not frightening. “Teclan do not need such marks, we believe in frightening the enemy with our weapons.”
Jarl chuckled. “As do I.”
They lay in silence a while longer.
“We need to get back,” he said, but made no move to rise.
“Yes,” she agreed, but also did not move.
He smiled at her and shook his head. “You’re a terrible influence on me. I could stay here forever.”
Tryggr was waiting for them on the outskirts of the camp, pacing back and forth, clearly agitated. He glanced at Nena, then at both of them, taking in their recently wet appearances. He scowled. “Nice ride in the country?” he asked sarcastically.
“What is it, Tryggr?” Jarl asked, not taking the bait and not amused.
Tryggr looked at Nena pointedly and remained mute.
Jarl turned to Nena, “Return to the tent. I’ll see you there. Have the guard take care of the mare. I’ll show you where she is kept tomorrow so you can do it yourself the next time.”
Nena nodded, nudging the mare forward with her heel.
When she was safely out of earshot, Jarl raised his eyebrows, not about to repeat his question. Had his afternoon not been so perfect, he would have given Tryggr a strong reprimand. Friend or no friend, Tryggr was pushing his boundaries and was going to have to be dealt with. Jarl took a deep breath. Some other time.
“You’re not going to believe who our men have found skulking ahead in a canyon.” Tryggr waited a few seconds to build the suspense. “Piltor.”
“What’s he doing there?” Jarl asked.
“I don’t know, but they said he’s not traveling with his whole caravan, just a small well-armed force.”
Jarl stroked his chin. “That’s very unlike our friend to travel without his comforts, more like how a raiding party might travel.”
“Exactly. What do you think he’s up to?” Tryggr asked.
“I don’t know,” Jarl lied. “But I plan to ask him. Bring him to me and increase the security around the camp.”