by Lily Harlem
The Jarl raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“And for this trip, my payment is the Celt woman, from the last village. Along with ten fox pelts and a barrel of mead.”
“You overestimate your payment, Halvor.”
“I do no such thing.” Halvor grimaced and unhooked the clasp beneath his helmet.
The Jarl hesitated. At an inch shorter than Halvor, although he was a big formidable warrior Viking, he didn’t possess the strength or the swing of sword Halvor did. “You can have the slave and the pelts, but not the mead.”
Halvor said nothing.
“Or the mead but not the pelts.”
Halvor glanced at the pelts. He wanted them more than the mead, though truth be told he’d have settled for just the slave as his payment. In his pocket he had ten gold coins from his own trading, so the trip over the seas had been worth his while.
“I accept.” Halvor nodded. The barrel would have been difficult to transport by horse to his homestead. He was happy to give it up and let the Jarl think he’d bargained well.
The Jarl turned. It was clear he wouldn’t miss Halvor the way Gustav would.
Halvor grabbed the fox pelts, which were held together with a large iron pin. He swung them over his shoulder, then strode toward the huddle of slaves.
“Come,” he said, reaching past several people for his Celt woman.
She evaded his grasp, slinking back three paces and putting two men between him and her.
Halvor snarled. He didn’t have time for this. He was tired, hungry for hot food, and there was still a long journey to be had. Narrowing his eyes, he gave his best withering glare and clutched the handle of his sword, seated in its sheath at his waist.
The two men slipped sideways. They were both malnourished and exhausted. He could almost have killed them with a sneeze.
Their parting exposed his woman. Reaching forward, he clasped her wrist and pulled her from the other slaves.
“No, no, don’t take her,” the older female who’d shared her blanket with his slave shouted. “Leave her be, you brute.”
Halvor ignored her. She wasn’t worth the energy arguing with and was a fool to think he’d do her bidding.
“Get off me.” Small fingers tried to peel at his hand.
He increased his hold and dragged his slave past the Jarl’s wares being unloaded, and headed down the pier.
The sun was shining and he breathed deep, appreciating the scents of home.
“I said get off me.” The wench yanked and struggled. “You savage,” she said, clawing at him.
He’d had enough.
Turning, he dragged her close and slapped his palm onto her lower back, pressing her to his body.
Her eyes widened as her chest shoved up against his and she gripped his tunic.
She was so tiny and delicate, it took him virtually no effort to move her where he wanted her. For a moment he thought of her slender limbs and pale skin hidden beneath the rags she likely called clothes. Of her young breasts and the shape of her ass… the warm tightness that sat between her thighs.
“How old are you, wench?”
“What do you care?”
“Because I do.” He frowned and resisted sliding his hand to her ass. If she was too young, he should perhaps send her to live elsewhere for a few years. One of his friends, maybe, who had a woman in the house to teach his slave her tasks.
She pursed her lips, almost a pout.
“Tell me.” Had he not been holding the pelts, he’d have clasped her chin and shook the number from her.
“I am twenty-one summers.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Twenty-one summers and an unmarried maiden.”
“I had a bad time. Not that a man like you would understand.”
“And what kind of man is that?” He adored the spark in her tone, the challenge in her eyes. He’d like to spank it out of her. Have her apologizing to him, on her knees, begging for forgiveness.
I will have that. I will have this woman submitting to me. She will come to know I am her master and she will desire to please me.
“You’re a man who is an evil monster, no care for anyone but himself.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, for this evil monster does care.” He lowered his face to hers. “I care that you are fed, have shelter, and are unmolested or murdered by other Vikings.”
“How kind.” She looked away and tipped her chin. “I guess I should feel lucky to have you.”
“Aye, you should.”
Chapter Five
Duna was adept at horse riding, and usually enjoyed it. But right now, sitting behind her captor on a stocky steed and racing over unfamiliar terrain, she would have happily thrown herself into a nettle bush wrapped in thorns to end the torment.
Halvor had enthusiastically greeted a man in the port in which they’d landed and exchanged one fox pelt in return for a fine-looking horse. Which had appeared cheap, until Duna figured out it was the payment for this man to care for his horse while he’d been on his corrupt trip.
There was no saddle, and she had to sit close, with her cheek pressed up against his leather-clad back, in order to hold on.
She didn’t bother to ask where they were going; what was the point? He was taking her, regardless. In fact maybe it would be better not to speak at all, and he’d tire of her. It might also fare her well not to eat, that way her bones would become even more prominent. If she kept it up she would die of starvation. That would serve this brute right. To lose what he thought was his prize.
The land was green with rugged mountains. They rode past several dark blue lakes, which reflected the clouds drifting over the sky. There were few other homesteads in the direction they were going. Though it was clear much of the land was grazed.
Eventually Halvor slowed the horse to a walk.
Duna relaxed her grip. Her eyelids were heavy, her stomach so empty it felt hollow, and she had a dull ache in her temples, the sort that pounded with the beat of her pulse.
“We’re nearly there,” he said, speaking for the first time since they left the port and the longboat.
She didn’t reply.
“My home is not grand,” he said. “But it shelters from the weather, has a spring nearby, and we will not be hungry.”
Still she said nothing.
“I have animals,” he said. “They’ve been looked after by a local farmer, but soon they will be returned for us to tend.”
Us? Wasn’t she the slave? Surely that meant she’d be doing all the looking after.
“What do you think?” he asked.
What kind of question was that? What she was thinking was that she wanted to be at home with her father. She wanted to let tears spill for Esca and her friends and neighbors slaughtered by Halvor and his evil warrior friends.
“Ah, so you have decided to hold your tongue,” he said, then sighed. “I will admit I prefer that to banshee screaming.”
Duna frowned and turned to the right.
A bush loaded with blackberries made her mouth water. Would he stop if she asked him? Let her collect some; fill her belly too?
She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She’d rather be hungry than ask anything of him.
They continued in silence, the horse hanging its head as it tired. The sun peaked and began to dip. They rounded the westerly point of a huge lake, and then finally turned onto a narrow, dusty pathway.
Within minutes a structure rose from within a patch of trees. Made of wood with a slatted pitched roof, it was long, low, and thin. Several smaller buildings stood around it, along with a stack of logs. It was clear the land was grazed and cultivated, though neglected in a way Duna wouldn’t allow hers to become. If it were hers she’d have a vegetable patch. She’d clear the weeds and sweep the path to the house. There were also a couple of broken fences neither she nor her father would have let stay that way.
The horse was drawn to a stop. Halvor reached behind himself, clasped her arm
and tugged.
She had no choice but to slip to the ground, her bare feet landing on gritty earth.
He released her and looked around.
For a moment she thought about running, making for the hills and hiding, or to the lake and swimming to the opposite shore. But it was only a fleeting thought. Even if she did by some miracle escape Halvor, how would she survive? How would she find or pay for transport back to her homeland?
“Take a good look,” he said, swinging his leg over the back of the horse and dismounting. “This is where you live now.”
She folded her arms and scowled at the longhouse. She much preferred her thatched croft. Not only was it cozier, it was also prettier.
“There you go.” Halvor slapped the horse’s neck. “Good work, boy, you’re home now too. A few days taking it easy and enjoying the mountain grass will do you good.” He slipped the reins over the horse’s head. “Go ahead, woman,” he said, nodding at the house. “Take a look around while I tether Ivan here.” He paused and frowned at her. “But don’t think about running off,” he said. “You’re in the middle of nowhere. And any folk you come across will be my friends and bring you straight back; there’s no one here that will help a Celtic heathen like you.” He wrinkled his nose. “Not least because of the state of your clothes.”
“Well, excuse me, but I hadn’t known we were having visitors when you barged your way into my home.” Damn it. She’d spoken. Quickly she turned, biting her bottom lip and folding her arms.
He chuckled. “No, I guess you didn’t.”
He was so annoying. He didn’t even bother to deny that he’d barged into her home. But then how could he? That was exactly what he’d done, the savage.
She stalked toward the longhouse, wishing she’d brought her shoes from home. They were still fairly new, leather ones she’d made for herself.
As Ivan’s hooves clopped on the dusty earth, she pushed open the door. It creaked as light from outside spilled into the darkness.
She stepped in. It smelled musty, and of ash, telling her there was a fireplace somewhere within its four walls. There was also the lingering scent of an oil lamp.
The roof was low, there were no windows, though there were huge stone slabs on the floor, which were cool on the soles of her feet. A row of beams traversed the building to support the pitch of the roof.
A rustle to her left told her she wasn’t the only living thing in the house.
“What do you think?” Halvor appeared at her side.
She didn’t reply.
He paused for a moment, then, “Aye, you cannot answer, it is hard to see.” He walked to the wall and opened a squared section, allowing a strip of light to pour in. “I created this, for air and light.” He sounded particularly pleased with himself.
But it did help; it was a good addition. Sunshine now spilled over the room, highlighting a grate with solid wood seating around it and a table between them. There were three beds lined with straw, which had seen better days. A tin bathtub hung from a hook on the wall, and several sacks of grain, the base nibbled out of two of them, were set beside an assortment of earthenware.
Again Duna didn’t answer. What was she supposed to say? Thank you for bringing me here? Your home is very splendid for a monster? I’m looking forward to being your damn slave?
“We have much to do,” he said, not appearing in the slightest bit bothered about her non-communication. “Take the straw from the beds and throw it on the grate. We will burn that and get new bedding from the barn.”
She made no move. This place could never be her home. It was cold and dark, there was evidence of mice, possibly rats. And there were no soft touches to it. Not that she’d come from the Laird’s house, but still, in the home she’d shared with her father she’d had a vase for summer flowers, hessian pillows on the bed, she’d crafted leather pouches to hold water and mead, plus bought a length of woven cloth to hang at the window. Here the window simply opened with a long latch or was closed, there was no in-between.
“Now, damn it.” Halvor stepped closer to her, his eyebrows pulled low. “Do my bidding or you will feel my hand.”
She gritted her teeth as anger spun inside of her. This man could rot in hell for all she cared. But even so, she made her way to the beds, knocking her shin on a small milk pail as she went.
Halvor strode to the grate and stooped over it.
By the time Duna had gathered up a huge armful of dank-smelling straw, a small flame was licking up from the stack of kindling in the hearth.
After a moment of nurturing it, he nodded at the fire taking hold. “Put it on.”
She did as she’d been instructed.
“Now gather the rest, it all needs burning.”
She wondered when he was last at his home, but didn’t want to waste the breath asking him.
Tiredness was really taking a hold of her. She went about the task with languid movements. Everything was becoming an effort. But soon the beds were clear of old straw and fresh new bedding had been laid on them, along with blankets, which were musty smelling, but appeared clean enough.
Duna found herself looking longingly at the bed. But she dared not sleep. For what would Halvor do to her while she lay in slumber? Chances were she’d wake up with him over her, forcing himself on her. She’d heard such stories about Vikings. They were sex-obsessed beasts.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, shucking off his leather tunic and tossing it onto one of the chairs. “I’ll set traps so we can have rabbit meat morrow, and I’ll find us sustenance for this eve.”
She folded her arms and turned from him.
“And you will eat it,” he said, stepping up close to her. “Because that is my wish.”
“Wish all you want.”
“Not carrying out my wishes will have consequences.” He took a lock of her hair between his fingers. “You might not like those consequences.”
She was sure she wouldn’t.
“And another of my wishes is for you to bathe and wash your hair. It’s the way of Viking women, to keep themselves clean and lice free.”
She wanted to scream at him that she wasn’t a Viking woman, and she had no desire to be. But she didn’t. Instead she turned and glared up at him, hoping he’d see the hate in her eyes, that she thought him the lowest of the low and worthy of nothing more than burning in hell for all of time.
He kind of huffed, then, pushing his fingers through his own hair, causing the messy blond strands to sit back from his face, he reached for a pail. “Like I said, don’t go anywhere. The hills of my homeland have eyes, I will know where you are, and I will hunt you down.”
She didn’t doubt it for a second. And as he strode away, his thickset shoulders swinging beneath his tunic, and his neat, taut ass moving beneath his breeches, she knew she’d never stand a chance in a physical battle with him.
But perhaps she could outwit him. He was just a thick-skinned, small-brained Viking after all.
The longhouse went quiet with Halvor gone. The mice seemed to have taken to hiding, and the sound of the birds didn’t penetrate the thick walls and roof.
Maybe there were no birds in this land of slaves and ill-gotten gains.
She lay on the bed, the warmth of the fire reaching her cheeks. Her joints and muscles ached, she was so tired. The days and nights on the boat, shivering, had caused her back to tense over and over and now it was as if needles were jabbing into her skin. Add in her hunger and the hammering in her head, and she wasn’t able to hold in a groan as she closed her eyes.
Images of the sea and the snake’s head filled her thoughts. The other captives, nestling around her. Esca on the ground. The sound of her father’s voice, pleading and fearful, and surrounded by the clash of iron on iron… iron on flesh.
She whimpered and squeezed her eyes tighter, praying for a deep and dreamless sleep to take her. It would serve her well not to wake up at all. For surely a life here with Halvor was a fate worse than death.
F
ortunately sleep did steal her away. It was as dreamless as Duna’s sleep ever was, for she was never without thoughts, emotions, and pictures filling her slumbered mind.
It hurt to move, and she stirred each time she changed position, but soon she drifted off again, enjoying Halvor being out of the house for so long.
When she woke, judging by the light slipping in around the ajar door, day’s eve was encroaching.
Staying completely still, she blinked several times. Her eyes were a little dry from the straw, and she had a tickle in her nose.
It was then she heard it, sloshing water.
His presence in the house came rushing to her. He was more than a physical space, he was energy, like the ocean he loved to sail on, or the horse he rode.
Very carefully, she turned to her left, toward the fire.
Halvor was in the iron bathtub, sitting upright and pouring water from the pail over his head. His eyes were closed, his hair hung in long thick ropes over his ears and down his neck.
The flames created a golden hue on his thick arms and over his broad back. Beneath his flesh, his muscles flexed and danced. Even though his movements were slow and considered, power still emanated from them.
She licked her dry lips, unable to stop staring at him. She’d never set eyes on a man with a body like his. The men in the village… Esca… were pale, their muscles sinewy, like reeds, and their skin didn’t seem to struggle to stretch over their strength the way Halvor’s did.
Suddenly he turned to her, swiping water from his face as he did so. “You’re awake. Good. I am hungry.”
Chapter Six
Halvor had walked away from the longhouse, wondering if he’d made a grave mistake in leaving his new slave woman alone. But he couldn’t keep her in his sights forever. That wasn’t possible.
There were tasks to be performed on the land and in the homestead, which they’d carry out independently. He couldn’t expect a woman to plow the field, that would be his job, but he could expect her to prepare him a meal, tend to the vegetables, and care for the hens. That was something she’d have to do while he was undertaking man’s work.