On her return Leif held out a broom. ‘Now you will sweep the floor. When you’ve done that you can clean out the hearth and fetch firewood.’
‘I will not.’ Astrid dumped the bucket down. ‘If you need someone to perform these menial tasks you should find a serf. I will not be treated thus.’
The reply was a sharp rap across the backside with the bushy end of the broom. He hadn’t put any serious effort behind it but the twigs acted as miniature whips nevertheless, causing Astrid to jump and stifle an exclamation.
‘It’ll hurt a lot more next time,’ he said.
The violet eyes darkened. She wanted to hit him; she wanted to scream; to hurl abuse at his head and name him for the brute he was. His expression suggested that he was very much hoping she might. The thought of what would happen then was mortifying. Without another word she grabbed the broom and began to sweep the floor.
Leif settled himself comfortably in a chair and stretched his legs in front of him. Astrid’s jaw tightened. The swine was enjoying this, no doubt intending to wring every possible drop of pleasure from the situation, every last obnoxious inch of him gloating over her humiliation. An intimidating presence at the best of times, his silent scrutiny was downright unnerving now—not that she was about to give him the satisfaction of showing it. Nor would she utter any further complaint about the menial nature of the work, though she sensed he was waiting for it. Waiting and hoping. He would thoroughly enjoy beating her. Much as it went against the grain, the only sensible option right now was to obey.
* * *
By the time she finished her chores it was early evening. The smell of food drifted on the air, a sharp reminder that she hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day, and her stomach growled in response. However, pride held her silent. Whatever happened she wasn’t going to beg.
Having seen all the tasks performed to his satisfaction, Leif rose from his chair. ‘Stay here until I return.’
‘Where else did you think I might go?’ she retorted.
He raised an eyebrow, surveying her coolly. ‘You are impudent, slave. Do it again and you won’t enjoy the consequences.’
‘Ah, yes. You will beat me, will you not?’
‘Soundly, and since you have no idea how much I should enjoy it, you would be well advised not to test the matter.’ He paused to let the effect of his words sink in. ‘In future you will speak when you are spoken to and not before. When you do address me you will say “my lord”. Is that clear?’
Her hands clenched at her sides but, unwilling to give him an excuse to make good his threat, she held her temper. ‘Very clear, my lord.’
‘I hope so.’
With that he turned and left her. As she watched his departing back Astrid muttered an imprecation. It served no purpose other than to afford a temporary vent for her feelings. After that there was nothing to do but wait. The temperature was dropping with the sun and the air growing cool, so she sat down by the hearth, trying to draw some small comfort from the fire.
From the central hov she could hear conversation and laughter. The smell of cooking was stronger now, her appetite keener, but she held out little hope of getting anything to eat. There were many ways to punish; many ways to enforce obedience. In that moment she didn’t know which was worse; starvation, or the thought of what might happen when her captor returned.
* * *
Leif finished his food and, having replenished his cup, leaned back in his chair, letting himself relax for the first time since his arrival. It was the first chance he’d had to take in the swift reversal of fortune that had given him back his freedom. He’d been lucky and he knew it. Without the loyalty of his men his fate would have been very different. He had no idea how they’d managed to find him; just then he was only thankful that they had. Truly he was favoured by Odin.
The All-Father had delivered another gift into his keeping, and with it the means of gaining his revenge. That ought to have been a very simple matter. Astrid was completely in his power: she was his for the taking. So why hadn’t he? He wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. It was partly concerned with her courage. Not only had she fought him tooth and nail, she’d even had the nerve to use his sword against him. The recollection drew grudging respect. However, it was the accompanying outburst that had maximum impact, along with the pain he’d glimpsed in her eyes. I was twelve years old the last time a man decided to have his way with me. What he had been about to do was no different, and the words acted on him like a bucket of icy fjord water. Until that moment he hadn’t understood how close he’d been to losing control; to losing all sense of himself as a man. It was as if the cruelty of his erstwhile captors had stripped him of humanity, and left only a wild beast in its place. It was exactly what Hakke had set out to achieve.
Leif’s fingers tightened round his cup. He’d thought himself stronger than that, indeed above such actions. It disturbed him to discover how close the beast had come to deposing his better self. Astrid’s reaction had not been feigned, and the thought of being forever equated with that first brutal rape filled him with disgust. It also brought him to his senses, and he’d left abruptly. He’d never forced a woman in his life, and no amount of anger could justify doing that either.
After he’d cooled off he’d realised that in part his behaviour was a response to shattered illusion, to being shown that the relationship he’d hoped to have with her was never going to happen. That disturbed him. Disappointment never featured in his dealings with women any more, or it hadn’t until then. It was deeply disconcerting to realise that he wasn’t as immune to female charms as he’d imagined, and that his actions were not solely about revenge. There were other ways of bending Astrid to his will. She would resist of course, as she had earlier. In spite of himself, the recollection brought a smile to his lips, but then, he’d have been less than human if he hadn’t enjoyed that little show of defiance.
* * *
An hour crawled by, then two, and weariness began to make itself felt. Astrid wanted nothing more than to sleep but she didn’t dare. Leif already had too much advantage to give him more. She shivered, and not on account of the chill either.
The sound of a footstep brought her head up at once and then the door opened. She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding. Leif stepped into the room and thrust a wooden platter towards her.
‘Here.’
She took it and glanced at the contents: the heel of a loaf and a piece of fish. It was plain enough fare, but it was fresh. Half suspecting a trick, she looked quizzically at Leif.
‘Eat, slave. I don’t want you fading away.’
It was tempting to retort in kind but she resisted the urge and addressed herself to the food instead, before he could change his mind. He watched her for a moment or two then closed the door and dropped the wooden bar into place. The soft thud filled her with foreboding. It was like being caged with a large and angry lion. Suddenly her appetite wasn’t as keen but she forced herself to eat anyway. Notwithstanding his taunt, it was only common sense. Even so, she dragged it out as long as she dared and then set the platter down.
Leif divested himself of his belt and dagger and laid the weapon aside. Then he pulled off his tunic and shirt. The firelight revealed the bruises on his ribs, the black fading a little now to a mottled yellowish green. They did not in any way detract from the suggestion of power in the hard-muscled arms and torso. If anything they enhanced it. Any lingering thought of holding him off by main strength evaporated immediately.
He crossed to the side of the room and opened the wooden chest, drawing out a rolled mat. Shaking it out, he laid it on the floor at the foot of the bed.
‘You will sleep there tonight.’
Astrid remained silent, every nerve alive to the man, hardly daring to hope that he meant it. Slowly he finished undressing. She swallowed hard. Leif naked was infinitely more intimidating. Under her anxious gaze he unsheathed the sword and set it down within easy reach, then climbed into bed.
&nbs
p; She hesitated, keenly aware that he was watching her. Then, seeing that there was nothing else to be done, she lay down on the mat. He had not offered her a blanket, and she certainly wasn’t about to ask for one, even though away from the immediate influence of the fire the night chill was becoming pronounced. For some time she lay quite still, straining to catch every sound from the bed. However, Leif settled quickly and soon she heard only the sound of soft breathing. Relief washed over her, and she closed her eyes.
Thereafter she dozed intermittently. The floor was hard and the sleeping mat offered little in mitigation. It was also much colder now, and she awoke shivering. Cautiously, she sat up, wrapping her arms around herself, and glanced towards the fire. It was reduced to a bed of glowing embers, but they would offer some residual heat. For a little while she hesitated but there was no sound from the bed so eventually she decided to risk it. As quietly as possible, she got up and decamped to the hearth. It was a little warmer so she lay down once more and curled up to conserve heat. She didn’t dare add more logs to the fire for fear of waking Leif. The gods only knew what he’d do if she disturbed his sleep. A beating would likely be the least of it. Closing her eyes, she prayed for sleep to come.
In fact, like most fighting men, Leif was a light sleeper. His senses filtered out the familiar sounds of the night but anything unusual roused him at once. The soft rustling of the reed mat brought him to consciousness, and instinctively his hand reached for his sword. However, the sound moved away from the bed. In the dull glow from the fire across the room he could just make out Astrid’s form. On hearing her lie down, he drew back his hand and let himself relax again. It made no difference to him if she slept by the hearth. The thought that she felt cold was accompanied by a twinge of something very like guilt. He repressed it. Cold was the least of her worries. Then, drawing up the covers, he turned over and addressed himself to sleep.
* * *
Astrid eventually dozed off from sheer fatigue and was woken some time later by a foot nudging her ribs.
‘Get up, slave. It’s past dawn.’
She looked up to see Leif standing over her. He was fully dressed now and ready to face the day. She sat up hurriedly, stifling a groan. Every part of her felt stiff and sore and chilled. His expression was no warmer.
‘Put that mat away. Then go and fetch more wood and make up the fire.’
She got to her knees and began to roll up the sleeping mat, but her cold fingers fumbled the task.
‘Hurry up. I don’t intend to wait all day.’
Yesterday the acid tone would have brought an equally acid reply to the tip of her tongue. Today it reinforced the knowledge of her predicament and, combined with a poor night’s sleep, served only to lower her spirits. She finished the task as fast as she could and got awkwardly to her feet.
‘Give me that.’
Mutely she handed him the mat. As he took it his fingers brushed her hand and she saw him frown. Then he jerked his head towards the door. It was still fast. As she struggled to lift the wooden bar there was a muffled exclamation of impatience behind her.
‘Thor’s blood! Come out of the way, wench.’
She stepped aside and watched as he freed the bar and set it down against the wall. Astrid reached for the latch but a large hand closed on hers, holding the door shut. Cold eyes looked down into hers.
‘From now on when I rise I shall expect to find the fire lit, water to wash in and food ready. Do you understand?’
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes, my lord.’
He was standing so close that their bodies almost touched, so close she could feel his warmth. None of that was reflected in his manner, however. His anger was almost palpable.
‘You won’t get another warning, slave. Now go.’
To her horror she felt tears prick the backs of her eyelids and swiftly lowered her gaze lest he should notice. Such a display of weakness would only increase his triumph.
He stepped back then and let her pass. Astrid opened the door and, bracing herself against the cool morning air, hurried out. Leif watched her go. Contrary to her belief, he had not missed the sudden telling brightness in her eyes as he rebuked her. It had actually taken him by surprise. That she should be on the verge of weeping ought to have pleased him enormously but somehow it didn’t, any more than the icy touch of her hand beneath his. The sensation it provoked was entirely different. If she had wept openly or pleaded or whined he’d have known how to react. As it was, he felt strangely wrong-footed, and it did nothing to improve his mood.
Feeling a need to distance himself for a while he issued Astrid with a list of instructions and then took himself off. Male companionship would put things back in perspective. When he arrived in the main hov he was greeted by Thorvald.
‘Some of the men were wondering if we might go hunting soon. A haunch of venison or roast boar would make a nice change from fish.’
Leif nodded. Now that he was back he needed to turn his thoughts to the practical matters attendant on the well-being of his crew. ‘Why not?’
‘Tomorrow, then.’
‘Aye, tomorrow.’
A hunt would be a welcome distraction: it would help put his recent experiences behind him and it would give him something to think about besides Astrid. The treacherous little witch had got further under his skin than he’d imagined. Fortunately he knew his enemy now. Whatever charm she might once have held for him was broken.
‘Everything all right, Chief?’
Thorvald’s voice broke into his reflections. Leif summoned a smile. ‘Of course.’
‘If we leave early we’ll have the best part of the day to hunt.’
‘We’ll divide the force. It’ll increase the chances of success.’
‘As you say. Are you planning to leave a contingent on guard?’ Thorvald paused. ‘I was thinking about the woman.’
‘She’s not going anywhere.’
‘True.’
‘She can remain here until we return.’
‘If you don’t mind me asking, Chief; what are you intending to do with her?’
‘Eventually I shall return her to Gulbrand. Why?’
‘Strikes me it would be a more fitting revenge if you didn’t send her back.’
Before Leif could reply Snorri entered the hall with Bjarni and Ingolf. They greeted their jarl respectfully and then looked at his companion.
‘Well?’ asked Bjarni. ‘Is the hunt on or what?’
Thorvald grinned. ‘It’s on.’
The news was received with broad grins and the conversation turned enthusiastically to plans for the morrow.
* * *
The list of instructions that Leif had issued to Astrid that morning kept her occupied all day. Somewhat to her relief he didn’t come anywhere near her. Once or twice she caught a glimpse of him, but he didn’t look her way, and seemed entirely involved in discussion with his men. It was evening before he returned. She had been mending a torn shirt but rose hurriedly as he entered.
He surveyed her in silence for a moment and then looked around, his glance taking in every detail. The room was immaculate.
‘Have you performed all the tasks which I commanded of you?’
‘Almost all, my lord.’ She hesitated. ‘I have not quite finished mending the shirt.’
‘Very well. Finish it. Then you may eat.’
She sat down and resumed work. He set down a platter of food by the hearth and then walked past her towards the far end of the room. She heard him open one of the chests and, from the corner of her eye, saw him take something out. Then he returned.
‘You need not wait up for my return this evening. However, I shall rise early to go hunting. See to it that everything is in readiness.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You’ll need this when you retire.’
He held out the item he had removed from the chest. It was a woollen blanket. Astrid blinked. She took the offering somewhat hesitantly, half expecting him to snatch it back again. When
he did not, hesitation became bemusement. He saw it and returned a sardonic smile.
‘I don’t want you succumbing to a chill. It would ruin my plans entirely.’
With that he left her. As the door closed behind him she let out a long breath. Whatever else she’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. Whatever his reasons for permitting her the blanket, she was grateful for it, dreading the thought of another night in the cold. She glanced at the platter of food. It was fish and bread again, but she didn’t care. After working all day her appetite was sharp. As quickly as she could she finished the repair and put the sewing to one side. It occurred to her that he could have made her wait until his return before giving her any food, but he had not. Under other circumstances it might have been considered a kindness. However, she knew that was the last thing on his mind. Her well-being was important to him only because it furthered the possibilities for exacting revenge.
Chapter Eleven
When Leif woke next morning it was to find the fire lit and Astrid pouring water into a bowl for him to wash in. He rose and pulled on his breeches before bathing his face and hands. Then he finished dressing. As he did so he fired off orders.
‘You will clean and tidy this room in my absence, fetch firewood and split some kindling. Then you can wash my shirt and any others that might need doing. I’ll ask my men.’
Astrid’s jaw tightened. ‘As you wish, my lord.’
‘Just so.’
With that he sauntered to the door. As she watched him go she bit back the urge to make a sarcastic reply, knowing the words had been designed to provoke. If he’d hoped she would rise to the bait he was going to be disappointed. Instead she found the broom and, to work off some of her indignation, began to sweep the floor.
* * *
However, when Leif returned a quarter of an hour later and dumped a huge armful of shirts at her feet resolution evaporated.
‘What am I supposed to do with those?’
‘You will wash them as I instructed you, slave. You’ll find a tub of soap in the storeroom.’
‘I will not.’
Defiant in the Viking's Bed Page 10