by Jen Black
“So what happened?”
“I wriggled free,” she muttered. “We both nearly fell in. I kicked him, and he did.” She looked up. “Fell in, I mean.” She stared up at Flane. “Why are you so angry with me?”
“You are causing me a great deal of trouble,” he said, his blue eyes hot with temper. She suspected he might beat her for disobedience. Then she noticed how his mouth twitched and when he finally gave up the struggle and grinned, she realised she had been frightened for nothing.
Instead of feeling relief, she was angry. “I’m so sorry about that,” she said, gazing across the water and refusing to look at him.
“Sarcasm is hardly good for someone in your position.”
“My position?” Emer jumped to her feet. A muscle flickered at the side of his mouth, and his brows lifted in surprise. “You put me in this position!” she cried. “I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t throw myself at you!”
“I know that!” He frowned along the jetty as if seeking inspiration. “What did you mean just now?”
Emer’s brows knitted together. “When?”
“You said, ‘if that’s what men do to women I want none of it.’”
“Oh.” A seagull landed neatly on top of a post, folded its wings and squawked at its fellows. “It was disgusting,” she said in a small voice, and shuddered. “I don’t know how any woman can enjoy that sort of thing.”
“I’m sure women don’t enjoy Gamel, and in the ten years that I can remember, he’s never had a pretty woman like you.”
Emer looked up into his amused blue eyes. “I don’t think it is funny.”
“He’s not typical of men. Don’t think that.”
“Is he jealous of you?”
He shrugged. “Never thought about it. Could be. Just stay out of his way.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t think I want to be anywhere near him?”
“Emer, it isn’t a case of what you want. Give Gamel half a chance and he’ll take what he wants.”
“So my life must be restricted because he—”
“You need to protect yourself.”
“Give me a knife and I’ll protect myself!”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“How can I protect myself if you won’t give me a knife?”
“Here.” He handed her his own wicked blade. “Protect yourself.”
Startled, she took it. It was heavier than she thought it would be. She held it in front of her like a candle, unsure what to do next.
“Now attack me.”
“I can’t attack you.”
“But you think you can attack Gamel?”
“Of course—”
He grasped her waist so fast she gasped. His hands slid down, clamped her buttocks and dragged her tight against him. “Now, what would you do if I were Gamel? That’s not much good, is it?” He nodded at the knife held upright in her hand, the hilt resting on his chest.
Emer gulped and swallowed hard, shocked at the speed of his action. Determination flashed through her face, but before she could ram the knife against his throat, he grasped the wrist that held it. In vain she tried to inflict an injury on him, but he held her off so easily it was laughable.
He was grinning, damn him, and she could not move.
“Do you get the point?” His blue eyes sparkled with wicked enjoyment of her helplessness.
Chapter Five
Emer sat up next morning and rubbed her eyes. Flane had gone again. Emer shook her head slowly and thought how strange that such a large man could get out of the same bed without waking her. He could move so silently, and so gently. She looked around. Oli sat at the hearth gulping down porridge, a hopeful Grendel at his side. Men scooped food from the cauldron, but Flane was not among them.
Katla was, however. The sight of her spurred Emer into action. She grabbed the blanket, folded it and punched up the straw mattress to get rid of the sleeping hollows. She glared at the indentation of Flane’s head, remembered his teasing the night before over her mishandling of the dagger and thumped it with all her might.
Arrogant man! He’d made a complete fool of her.
At least he had not handled her again once they returned to the hall. There had been a few curious glances, but he’d made a show of ordering her about and then left her to join his cronies. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her chin propped on her hands.
It was odd, really, when she remembered the endless tales of Vikings she’d heard throughout her childhood. They knew no restraint, folk whispered, and took whatever they wanted, regardless of any man’s rights in the matter.
Perhaps he’d decided he didn’t want her after all. The thought should have cheered her, but a strange frisson of disappointment ran through her and other worries flooded after it. If he didn’t want her, then he would not keep her. He would sell her to someone else if only to recoup his silver. Her stomach churned. He might sell her to anyone, even someone as vile as Gamel.
Her stomach heaved and she jammed her knuckles to her mouth. Perhaps if she did something that would make him want to keep her, she would be safe. If he sold her to that dreadful man, she’d kill herself. Her hand went to the snarled tangle of her hair, and she sighed. Without a comb she could not even smooth out the tangles in her hair. She looked down at her old, faded gown and groaned. It was too short and too tight. It certainly displayed her figure. Perhaps it showed it off too much. Maybe that’s why Gamel was so interested.
She lifted both hands to her hair and ran her fingers through the riot of tangles and cotters. She should have left it in the tight bun the way Inga and the other girls dressed it. At least it would have been tidy.
“Good morning, Emer.”
Emer let her hands fall to her lap at the quiet feminine voice. She stayed where she was on the mattress, but returned Katla’s greeting with a polite inclination of the head and waited, wondering what was coming next. Her last conversation with Skuli’s daughter had hardly been encouraging.
But Katla’s smile seemed pleasant and genuine this morning. “I wonder…did you sleep well?”
Emer decided to meet her half-way. She needed friends more than she needed enemies in this steading. “Thank you, yes.” Her gaze travelled over Katla’s smart red gown and she couldn’t help the twinge of envy that ran through her. “Whoever made that gown?” she asked without stopping to think. “It fits you perfectly.”
Surprised, Katla smiled. “Thank you. I will pass your compliment to my mother.”
“She must be a marvellous seamstress,” Emer said, and meant it. The gown fit snugly to Katla’s curves, and inset panels made the skirt flare instead of hanging straight. “My own gown shames me, I know.” She shrugged. “It is an old one I wore the day I was stolen from the beach on Pabaigh.”
“You must miss your island home.”
“You can’t imagine how much I miss it!”
Katla looked at the neat mattress. “May I sit, Emer?”
“Of course. I told Flane my father would reimburse him with silver if he took me home, but…”
Red braid looped through Katla’s long, thick black plait and fastened the end. Bracelets jangled on both wrists, and silver earrings dangled from both lobes. Emer couldn’t quite suppress the unkind thought that Katla wanted something, so she adopted a calm expression and waited to see where the conversation would go.
“Where is Pabaigh?”
“People keep asking me that question and I cannot answer them,” Emer said with resignation. “No one here knows of it and I cannot tell them where it is.”
“That is a great pity. We might have persuaded someone to take you back to your family.”
Emer glanced at Katla from the side of her eye. “I understand, of course, that you would like to be rid of me.”
Katla’s brows rose a little. “I confess it. I want Flane all to myself.”
“I suppose I would feel the same way, if I were you.”
Katla’s head turned, and her dark eyes studied
Emer. “You would go, then, if provision were made for you?”
“There is nothing I would like better that to return to my family!” Emer burst out. “There is nothing to keep me here.”
“Ah. I did not know if you and Flane…you might have become lovers.”
“Flane is a very handsome man,” Emer said carefully. “But he bought me for silver in a slave market. My life is dependent on him. I must learn to please him, unless you can help me return to my father.”
“Then there is nothing between you?”
“He has kissed me.” Emer stared across the hall rather than meet Katla’s speculative gaze. “So far, there has been nothing more. I do not know how long he will wait. And he is attractive,” she added in a thoughtful tone, and glanced down at her interlinked fingers.
She did not know what else to say. She’d never faced this kind of adult conversation before, and wished she were more knowledgeable about relationships between men and women. It seemed her attempt to cause jealousy had not worked.
“I will have to please him if I am to survive,” she whispered. “I will have to…do anything he asks, however much I hate it.”
Katla exhaled sharply and narrowed her eyes. “I wish he had never brought you here, and the sooner you leave, the happier I shall be.”
“Then send me home—̓
“I will find a way to get rid of you.”
Emer’s hands clenched at the coldness of Katla’s voice.
“I cannot spirit you away, for that would be as good as stealing. You are his property, after all, and I don’t think stealing from him would be a good way to start our marriage.”
Emer found it exceedingly difficult to sit still. “Perhaps I should run away. Would that be easier? But you must tell me where I could find shelter.”
Katla seemed to like that idea. “Snorri Longnose’s settlement is a little way along the coast to the north. Don’t go inland. There is nothing there.”
Emer suspected Katla would be delighted if she died in the attempt. “I don’t think I’m brave enough to run away.”
“Emer, please don’t worry! We will think of something.” There it was again, the smile that did not reach Katla’s eyes. The girl sat back and tilted her elegant black head to one side. “Perhaps you need a distraction. My room needs tidying and you could do that very well, if you wished to help me.” Katla got up. “I’ll take you there now. It won’t be hard work, and if I don’t give you something to do, someone else will before too long.”
Emer could think of no reason to refuse. She simply nodded and rose smoothly to her feet. Katla took her through the hall and into the family rooms built on behind the gable end of the hall. Emer looked about the dim hallway, and saw two doors.
“This is my room,” Katla announced, standing on the threshold. “My parents have the larger space and you may clean that later.”
Katla’s room shocked Emer. The shutters had not been opened, discarded clothes littered the bed and dirty platters and beakers covered the lid of a wooden coffer. Garments trailed half-in and half-out of two large wooden chests, each with the lid flung back against the wall.
Her astonished gaze moved to a shelf that looked so cluttered that to remove one item would likely bring down the whole pile. She thought of Flane’s neat, clean bed space and thought he could have no idea of his potential bride’s untidiness.
“Start work at once,” Katla instructed. “I shall return and inspect your efforts in a little while.” She frowned at Emer, stretched out her hand and lifted the coloured glass beads at Emer’s throat. “I thought I saw something gleam. You won’t need that anymore. Slaves don’t own jewellery. You can leave the necklace with me.”
Emer’s hand flew to her throat. She had not realised her necklace was visible above her chemise. “My lady mother gave me this—it is all I have of her—”
Katla simply held out her hand, palm up, and waited.
Emer hesitated. Precious as the necklace was, Katla might be the only person who would help her return to Pabaigh. Though Katla’s gloating expression was not reassuring, she had to believe the necklace would be safely returned once Emer was ready to leave the steading.
Undecided, Emer stared helplessly at the older girl. With her hands behind her back she surreptitiously slid the ring of twisted gold strands from her finger and closed her palm about it. Katla was not going to steal that from her, too. “I cannot undo the clasp, lady.”
Katla’s cool fingers scrabbled at her nape, and cold air touched Emer’s skin where the warm glass beads had been. With her ring safely hidden in her palm, Emer bit her lip to stop words spilling out as Katla swept out of the room.
Once she was alone, she kicked one of the chests. “May misfortune land at your feet, lady!”
She grasped the thick rope looped to the window shutter and heaved on it. The shutter swung up, fresh air swept into the squalid little room and Emer whipped the rope twice round the twin-armed hook in the wall before the weight wrenched it out of her hands.
She ripped the rumpled blankets from the bed platform in one furious stroke and tossed them aside. She grabbed the straw mattress and swung it against the wall. Dust flew into the air and made her eyes water. Coughing, she retreated to the hallway, cursing herself for her stupidity. She should have taken the mattress outside before beating it, but causing the dust storm had at least vented her temper.
She peeked into Skuli Grey Cloak’s quarters. A huge bed took up a good deal of the space. Someone had carved sinuous, open-jawed animals across the head- and footboard, and a pretty blanket in soft shades of blue and pink lay across the feather-filled quilt. A half-made gown, abandoned on a chest, still had a needle and thread tucked into the fabric. Several more stout wooden chests lined the walls, and in the far corner Emer espied one bound up with a heavy iron hasp and padlock. Skuli’s gold, no doubt.
Emer seized a besom, returned to Katla’s room and swept the bed platform. How odd that such a neat, attractive girl should live in such squalor. Employing short, swift strokes of the besom, she slowly realised her anger was directed at Flane as much as Katla. He thought himself a warrior, but how much of a warrior could he be? She stabbed the besom into a corner. Men considered themselves so brave, so full of courage and yet when it came to explaining feelings, they backed away like small boys from a broken pot.
She folded discarded chemises, retrieved gowns thrown carelessly over a three-legged stool, picked up and shook out those that had fallen from the pole jammed across the corner of the room. She could not fault Katla’s preference for gowns in shades of blue and red, which would undoubtedly suit her dark colouring and the stitching and embroidery was exquisite at close quarters.
The overloaded shelf was crammed with ribbons, half-finished tablet work and a collection of mismatched objects. It looked as if a cat played with them all on a daily basis. Emer tidied the collection with a grimace of distaste, knowing she couldn’t live in such squalor as this.
She paused to admire an amber pendant. Beside it she found a twisted golden torque, and a carved walrus tusk dangling from a leather cord. Broken wooden combs, obviously discarded, filled a mug with no handle, while a good carved ivory comb sat in plain view. Would Katla notice if she took one of the broken ones? It was a temptation, since her need was great; but the last thing Emer wanted was to be accused of stealing a broken comb.
A flat leather purse lay at the bottom of the untidy mess and she propped it in plain view against the shelf upright. Then she paused, swung her hair back over her shoulder and ran the back of her wrist over her warm face. She considered the room, slowly, as if seeing it for the first time.
The mattress had been dusty, like any mattress filled with straw, heather and bracken, but it smelled sweet and seemed free of insects and lice. The slaves would change the filling on a regular basis. Katla’s clothes had been creased and crumpled, but they were clean. The besom had picked up the debris of a day or so, but nothing like the accumulated dirt of weeks.
Emer bit her lip, and a suspicion hardened to a certainty. Katla had deliberately upset her room so she could ask Emer to clean it.
Why on earth would she do that? The natural answer was spite, of course. If Katla loved Flane, she must be terrified Emer might entice him away. Emer snorted. As if she could!
A small voice at the back of her mind suggested that she could if she tried.
Emer dismissed the idea as absurd. All she wanted was to get back to Pabaigh. She wanted to avoid Flane’s embraces, not encourage them.
Another idea struck her, and she went to the shelf, took up a needle and some wool thread and sat on the bed. She turned back the top edge of her gown and stitched her treasured gold ring on the inside where it would never be seen. She was not going to lose that as she had lost the necklace of glass beads. Her father’s gift was doubly precious now.
Her thoughts wandered back to Flane as she stitched. It was obvious that if he married Katla, the gold hidden away in the family quarters would become his on Skuli Grey Cloak’s death. With that and the leadership of the settlement, most men would see Katla as bride worth acquiring.
Yet Flane was Emer’s only protection here in the steading. If she didn’t escape soon, her prospects would be bleak once he married Katla. Slaves always did the hard, physical work of any community, tilling the land in the harshest of weather, chopping and hauling wood for fires and building. They carried water, cleared slops and night-soil. Half-starved, kicked and beaten, she might be offered as plaything to any visiting lord, married man or clumsy, bumbling youth anxious to prove his manhood.
If a child resulted, it might be sold away or brought up in the same household, depending on the whim of the master.
If she knew Flane better, she might be able to gauge what he would do. Could she persuade him that he should not marry Katla? But that would mean becoming his bed slave.