by Sofia Grey
He moved to Rowena’s side and cast his eyes up and down her body. She lay on her back, wearing nothing but a smile, arms folded behind her head, and glossy hair draped across her shoulders. There were no words to describe how much he detested this woman. His stomach roiled at the prospect of touching her
“I think it would be best if you were naked too.”
With a resigned sigh, he loosened and dropped the loincloth, and then rubbed his palms together to warm the oil. He would do the bare minimum and spin it out as long as possible. There were slaves working in the outer chamber, the low rumble of voices and sounds of cleaning in the background. She couldn’t keep him here for long.
He started with her feet. Digging his thumbs into her soles, swirling the oil up and over the arches, long sweeping motions around the ankle. He could do this in his sleep.
Rowena fidgeted. Her hands came down to her sides then back up to her head for a moment before she sat up and grabbed Jared’s wrists. “Enough. I’m bored with the massage. I want you to service me properly. I know your mouth works fine; this time I want to feel you inside me.” Her lips curled in a smile, and she opened her thighs, bending one leg at the knee. “See how ready I am for you.” She trailed one hand across her pussy and raised it to his lips. He almost gagged.
“Come now, Wolf.” That sly, girlish voice. “Let me see if you can do the business with someone your own age, or if you can only get excited by old women.”
Her hand dropped and brushed against his dick. It failed to respond, and she frowned. She closed her fingers around his limp member and squeezed hard enough to make spots fly before his eyes. He stayed resolutely soft. Fuck.
The frown turned glacial. Jared blinked and concentrated, summoning every sexy image he could. Failure. Even when Rowena tugged on him and scraped her fingernails across his balls, he remained unaroused. Her scream of fury made his ears ring.
“You worthless, useless piece of dog shit. If I want you, I will have you. Make no mistake.” Rowena climbed down from the high, soft bed and stood before him, trembling with rage. “You’ll regret refusing me.”
Maybe he would, but God help him, he didn’t seem capable of fucking her. She picked up a long, thin, whippy length of birch tree, closed one hand around it, and snapped it in front of him in a showy move. He couldn’t drag his eyes away, and his stomach cramped at the prospect. Her eyes gleamed and he knew then, this was going to be bad.
“Hands,” she snarled. A millisecond of relief. His hands were tough and hard-skinned. He kept his face blank and held out his palms to her.
“Try again.”
Huh? Puzzled, he turned his palms to present the backs of his hands. He heard the whistling noise first. The impact came with a dull crunch, pain blooming out and shooting up to his elbow. He stared at his hands. A bright red stripe bisected them. Painful, but bearable. She raised the birch again and smacked it onto his fingers this time. Another crunch. His fingers tried to curl in a reflex movement but she noticed.
“Keep them flat, or I’ll nail them down.”
All his fingers throbbed, but he forced himself to straighten his hands. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down, a light sweat breaking out over his forehead.
A third strike, but he was ready this time and breathed through it. See, bitch? You won’t break me. He growled at her silently, taking some small measure of satisfaction from her increasing frustration.
“And the fronts.” He hesitated. “Now!” Okay, this was going to hurt. He sucked in a breath and couldn’t hold back a grunt when she blasted the birch across his palms before he was ready for it. Blood danced and shimmied across his hands, the pain detonating deep into his nervous system. He sucked in another breath and tried to brace himself. One slash followed another, until he thought he would fall over with the strain of holding his arms still. A long moment passed with no more strokes, and his eyes flickered open. Nausea engulfed him.
His palms were a bleeding, oozing mess, the skin hanging in ragged tatters. She’d ripped into him from his wrists down to the lowest knuckles. Somehow, he managed not to retch.
Licking dry lips, he focused on her and saw her triumphant smile.
“Say, ‘thank you, mistress.’” Her tone was as savage as her easy brutality.
“Thank you, mistress.” The words grated out.
“Now get out of my sight. I’m going to let you have a treat; you can work outside today. I’m sending you to the fields. A day of pulling thistles and carrying stones will make you appreciate your indoor duties.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lila
I sat in the darkness, drew up my knees, and rested my chin on them. There was nothing to do in there but think. Jared had loosened the knot that bound my hands just enough to get the blood flowing again, and it’d been painful at first, as my digits came back to life. I wiggled them now and felt a wave of gratitude toward him.
How had he ended up as a slave? What had happened to Flavius, and Ness, and the others from the village? My heart contracted when I thought about Marc, about what would happen if we didn’t find a way to stop the Blót.
Something brushed against my foot, and I froze. Had I imagined it? No, there it was again. I shifted to the left, swinging my feet away, and banged against something soft. It squeaked. I wailed and tried to stand, to move away out of reach even while I heard a pattering, scratching noise move away. Mice. Rats. “Go away,” I shrieked. “Get away from me!” Would they bite me? Oh God, please don’t let them attack me.
I sobbed in relief when I heard the door being opened. Same as before, a flickering torch was set into the wall holder. I squinted. Two people I didn’t recognise approached: another fully armored soldier, sword hanging in a scabbard from his waist, and a dumpy middle-aged woman in a dark tunic and sandals. I shrank back against the wall, my heart already pounding from the rats, and I tried to find my voice. Any words disappeared when the soldier came closer and produced a thin dagger from his belt. I couldn’t even breathe. It took forever for him to walk past me and cut through the rope that attached me to the wall. Another eternity as I slowly reinflated my lungs and forced them to start working again. Meanwhile, the soldier tossed the cut end of rope to the woman, and she tugged it, jerking at my wrists.
“Come with me, child.” Her accent was thick and harsh.
In an unexpected gesture of kindness, the soldier helped me stand, and then took a position walking behind me. I followed the woman much as a dog on a lead would. I had no idea where she might be taking me. It was unlikely to be a stroll in the garden. A hysterical laugh threatened to emerge, but I managed to swallow it down. I felt dirty and dishevelled after the cellar. My hair tumbled loose around my face, and I had splatters of blood across my tunic. Heaven knew how I looked after being hit by the guard earlier. My cheek still felt numb.
I followed the woman along a series of corridors and outside into a bright, sunlit courtyard. After the bleakness of the cellar, I was dazzled and disoriented to be out in the light again. I paused and turned my face to the sky, closing my eyes for a moment and revelling in the warmth on my eyelids. A sharp tug had me moving again and I traipsed behind her into a large outbuilding, realising at the last minute it was a forge, of sorts. The ringing of metal on metal drew my eyes to a gorilla of a man bent over a massive anvil, hammering at something. His leather apron looked greasy and stained, and as we approached he wiped first his hands on the leather then the whetstone he’d been using. He drew it along the edge of the apron, adding another layer of dirt.
My eyes scanned left and right, taking in the giant pincers, tongs, and axes that hung on the wall. Why had they brought me here? As if in slow motion, the smith dipped into a bucket of water and pulled out an iron ring. A thrall ring. Adrenaline surged through my veins. No! My heart skipped into overdrive. I yanked hard on the rope, trying to pull it out of the woman’s hand—trying to break free. She let out a surprised yelp and stumbled as she overbalanced and she tried to gra
b the loose end that slipped through her fingers. Too late. I feinted right then darted left, my sandals skating over the loose wisps of straw on the ground.
My rebellion was short lived. I’d forgotten the soldier.
He caught me easily, threw me over his shoulder as lightly as a feather pillow, and hauled me back to the forge, where he dumped me in a heap on the floor. For the second time that day, my body protested as it hit the ground. They had me cornered. I had no escape, but I drew satisfaction that it took two of them to hold me down. I refused to believe this was happening to me. Me! Everything I’d thought I knew was useless.
I wriggled and squirmed, swung my legs and arms, kicked, arched my back, and tried to bite the hands that gripped me. My screams and shouts were silenced by another blow to my face. I didn’t even see who delivered this one. It pounded into me, a solid wall of pain that collided with my jaw and made me dizzy. The world spun before me, and it was as though I looked down on myself. I was a mess. Hair tangled and dirty, blood and snot across my face, tunic ripped and bloody. Quiet sobs escaped when I realized the hopelessness of the situation. I was pushed to a kneeling position, my head tilted forward to rest my throbbing chin on my chest. Hands grabbed at my hair and it began to rain down around me. Hanks of yellow blonde hair—my hair—being cropped from my head. I tried to shout but had no breath left for it. Not my hair, please not my hair. More and more flew down, and I dimly noticed the woman scooping it into a coarse sack. It would make a fine wig for some rich Saxon. My head felt light, unsteady, as though my neck had stretched. I shivered. It was colder too.
I made a token struggle when they fitted the thrall ring. They clamped it shut with the tongs and affixed a rope to the loop at the front. It felt alien, thick and heavy against my throat, and as soon as I moved, it chafed my skin and scraped over my flesh.
I had no words. I thought this was the end, but the humiliation was not over yet. In front of the smith and the soldier, the woman dragged me to my feet and cut a slice down the front of my tunic, tearing my clothes from me. I couldn’t hold back a whimper. I felt numb. This wasn’t happening. A shard of intelligence remained, and I thanked God my artificial leg had been well-crafted. The new limb had been fused to the existing bones and covered with a realistic coating of plast-skin. Apart from some residual scarring around the knee, it looked normal. I made myself think about my leg while I stood naked in front of my captors. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. My cheeks burned, the heat spreading down my neck, and I stared at my bare toes, unable to meet their eyes. My tunic, undergarments, sandals—all removed. In their place, the woman slipped a thin, coarse tunic that fell to mid-thigh.
The transformation was complete. Lila Cammell, accredited historian and specialist for this period, no longer existed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jared
Fuck knew how, but Jared managed to refasten his loincloth. It was pure stubbornness that made him hold his head high as he left Rowena’s bedchamber, staggering through the outer room to the corridor, where he leaned with his back against the wall to catch his breath. To be let outside again would have thrilled him a week ago. Now he could not think about escape while Lila and Marc were in danger.
He lifted his trembling hands to examine them. Jesus. The fingers had curled round and were stiffening in that position, the nerves and tendons burning with pain. Rowena knew full well he couldn’t work outside. She probably hoped he’d beg to stay with her, but he’d rot in hell first. They’d get out tonight. Somehow. He headed for the yard first and plunged his hands into a bucket of water, hissing in agony before the cold started to numb them. They needed to be bandaged, and he sure as hell couldn’t do it by himself. When little Kai appeared at his side, he felt like crying, he was so pleased to see her.
“Wait here.” She darted to the kitchen and then returned with clean strips of linen. It was just enough to cover the worst of the wounds and at least keep out some of the dirt.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He thought again of Lila, confined to the cellar. “You took my friend a drink?” The young girl nodded. “Thank you for that, as well. You didn’t tell me how you managed to get in and out. How did you do it?” Kai could be his way to break into the cellar. She might be able to distract the guard, allow Jared time to slip in unnoticed, to hide in the shadows and wait.
Kai looked down at her feet. Then across the yard and back to the water bucket. Anywhere but at Jared. His heart sank. “Kai?” His voice was gentle.
“I let the guard touch me.”
“Touch you? Christ almighty.” Horror flooded him and, for a second, took his mind off the pain in his hands. “For God’s sake, Kai, why?”
She stared resolutely at her feet. “You were kind to me. Nobody’s ever been kind before.”
God help him, if he needed to get back into the cellar—knowing what it cost her—would he ask Kai to do it again? He made a split second decision. “I want you to know something. I’m planning to escape, properly this time. My friends, the ones that are locked up, I need to free them and then we’re all getting out of here. And I don’t plan to leave you behind.”
Her eyes were dull when she looked at him. She would be no more than twelve, but the expression on her face belonged to a woman much older. “I wish I could believe you.”
•●•
Kai helped him to rig up a kind of sling that hung from his wrists and enabled him to scoop up and carry stones from the field. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave him a chance to work without incurring the wrath of the outside guards. It was agonising labour, under full sun, wearing nothing but a dirty loincloth around his hips. He toiled with two other male slaves, neither of whom spoke to him. By the looks of their dark tans, they spent most of their time outside, and he hardly knew them. It was still preferable to spending the day with Rowena, but out here, he didn’t know what was happening with Lila. It made him sick to his stomach to think of her locked in the cellar.
After a ten-minute break and a drink of water at midday, they were moved onto another task: gathering brushwood for a bonfire. Jared was glad of Kai’s help when she moved to work by his side, and together they dragged branches and twigs across the fields to the sacred grove. For the solstice celebrations, he knew there would be a number of bonfires around the farm, but this one was the largest and most important. By the time they finished, it stood almost shoulder high. Jared and the other slaves were weak with exhaustion and glad of the chance to wash in buckets of water.
He staggered back into the courtyard and stared in amazement at the level of activity. A carpenter was busy cutting wood and lashing poles together into some kind of frame, while unfamiliar horses and soldiers milled around. Jared caught a glimpse of a massive roan stallion and recognised it. The warlord’s horse. The others had to be his guests, just arrived by the looks of it. Jared ducked into the kitchen to see if he could coax a scrap of food and was grabbed by one the cooks.
“Wolf, Mistress Hilde asked me to watch out for you.” The cook gave him a brief smile. “She asked me to put salve on your hands and then send you to clean yourself and rest until dinner. Mistress Rowena will be busy for the next few hours and won’t need you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lila
I stumbled over the courtyard and tried to concentrate, to organise my thoughts. I was a slave. Did this mean they didn’t plan to kill me immediately? I longed to rub my fingers around the rough edge of the thrall ring, to ease it away from my throat, but my hands were stuck out in front of me, led by the rope that still bound my wrists. Before I knew it, we’d arrived in the main building, and I was pushed to my knees in the corridor, outside an ornate door.
I might have guessed this would be Rowena’s room. A minute later she stood in the doorway and gazed at me. “Well,” she murmured, an amused smile playing across her face. “Not quite so high and mighty now.” She glanced over her shoulder at a noise from her rooms and then gave me her attention again. She held up
three fingers. “One. Your new name is to be Mudd. If I hear the name Lila mentioned again in this hall, I will personally thrash whoever says it, and you, until you cannot walk.” She folded down her forefinger. “Two. I’ve had a change of heart about what to do with you. We have a number of valuable allies arriving today, and the chieftain will be pleased to be gifted a new slave to keep his bed warm.” The middle finger folded down and her smile grew. Keep his bed warm? She meant me? My heart stuttered so hard, I thought it would stop.
“And three. Your precious husband is going to ensure we have a successful harvest this year, when we present him as an offering to our goddess. Such a shame you never had the chance to say goodbye.” A cold, hard ball of anger stirred in my stomach, and bile rose in my throat. I’d been right about the Blót. I prayed Jared had a plan to rescue Marc. And if I was very lucky, it would involve inflicting pain on Rowena.
“Get her out of my sight.” Rowena closed the door and the woman yanked on my rope, leading me along more corridors while I tried to memorize my location.
“Where are you taking me?” She ignored me. “Please—”
She stopped abruptly and turned to face me. Anger flashed in her eyes. “You have a number of lessons to learn, Mudd. The first is that you do not address anyone. You only speak when spoken to. Understand?”
I clenched my fists. “My name is not Mudd—”
Quick as a flash, she jerked the rope and dragged me a step closer. Pressing her face to mine, she snarled at me. “Your name is whatever Mistress Rowena wishes to call you. And you will be grateful she has chosen you to be gifted. The alternative is for you to be given to our lady Frige with your husband.”
Frige, their goddess of fertility. I swallowed down my next protest. Making a fuss was not going to help Marc. I hung my head in the way I’d seen the slaves behave, and followed her meekly.