Lord of the Seas

by Sabrina Jarema

  “They’re more trouble than they’re worth, always wailing and crying. I’d have to feed and clothe them. That bites into the profits.”

  She studied the distant hills. “Then I should have wailed and cried. Perhaps you would have left me alone. You’ll still have to clothe me since this gown is ruined.” She lifted her stained skirt. “And I hope you serve better food than I had on the boat. It was terrible.”

  “I think you’ll approve. I’ve ordered a feast to celebrate our return.” He stepped around her so she would see him. His eyes were solemn. “I give you my word that I’ll take you to Hedeby before the fall.”

  “Why should I trust the word of a heathen?”

  “We don’t hold with good and evil, as you Christians do. We have only our word and our honor to live on after us. If I say it is so, then it is so.” He smiled at her and the full power of his masculine beauty broke over her. He, no doubt, used it to get what he wanted. She couldn’t forget he’d threatened her people, took her from her ill mother, and destroyed her life.

  Her anger flared anew. “You say you don’t take slaves, but apparently you do take hostages. Which am I?”

  His eyes glinted with humor as he reached out and caught a lock of her hair. He ran it through his fingers. “If I made you my slave, I’d have to shear off your glorious hair and put an iron collar around your neck. I couldn’t give you beautiful dresses to wear while you’re here, but then, you would be mine. All of you.” He leaned toward her, his voice husky, rich, deep. “Perhaps you wouldn’t need dresses at all.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as she jerked her hair away. Carried on the warm timbre of his voice, his words drove deep into her, and she suppressed a shudder. He thought to melt her to his will, as he likely did all other women. It was not going to work. She hoped. “I thought you said slaves weren’t worth it. I can weep and wail quite loudly when I want to. Keep you up all night. Make your life into a hell. My father’s wife gives us all a good example of how to do that. I learned from the best.” She gave him her sweetest smile.

  He burst out laughing, causing many of the people on the far dock to look their way.

  She blushed and lowered her head at the unwanted attention. “Then I suppose that leaves me a hostage.”

  “If you want to see it that way, you can. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a guest. I think you’ll find life here is very good. You can stay in Oslafa’s house in the village. She came from your land long ago when she was captured as a slave. She speaks your language and can help you make your way here.”

  If she was a slave, then he probably bought her. Slept with her. Used her for his own pleasure. So much for not dealing in them. Could she trust anything he said? “That would be acceptable.”

  “With your gracious approval, my heart can beat again. I have to go to the longhouse. I’ll have new dresses brought to you.” He glanced down at her bare feet. “And shoes.”

  “Can I help it if your boats have more leaks than an old barrel?”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped as he cleared his throat. “My ships are the finest in the world. But your father damaged the one you were on and so it wasn’t quite as seaworthy. My shipwrights will repair them, though no vessel is entirely watertight. The next time you’re on one, it may meet your approval.”

  “Only if it’s taking me to Hedeby. It can sink after it hits the docks there and I’ll bid it a fond farewell.”

  He shook his head. “The slave idea is sounding better. I could gag you and no one would gainsay me. Though if you’re like this to everyone here, they’d cheer me on, slave or no slave.”

  “The rest of the village isn’t responsible for my being here. I reserve that honor just for you.”

  “A slave. Looking better and better.” He peered toward the other dock. “I see Oslafa, thank the gods. I’ll introduce you and we can be rid of each other.”

  “That suits me very well.”

  “At least we can agree on something.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up too much.”

  He eyed her as though she were some strange object he was trying to figure out. She probably was. She didn’t soften into a puddle of desire like other women must. Why did he bring out the worst in her? Mildburg had never cowed her. It was part of the reason the woman hated her so.

  Rorik was in another realm altogether. Big, powerful, and arrogant, he was lord of everything and everyone here. His air of self-importance goaded her into saying things she shouldn’t. She needed to take care. He could kill her and no one would blink. It was fortunate she was going to live under a different roof. She could avoid him. If she did come across him, she’d need to control her emotions to keep smooth waters between them. He could so easily change his mind about her status here.

  He had gone ahead of her and by the time she caught up to him, he was speaking to a plain-looking woman about the same age as her mother.

  He barely glanced at her. “Oslafa, this is Elfwynn. Since Turold isn’t at the house much, would you have room for her? It’s just for a short time. As short as I can make it.” He shot her an irritated look.

  “Of course. You’re more than welcome, Elfwynn. It will be good to see someone from home again. You’ll have to tell me who is attacking whom these days.”

  “Everyone.” She held her hands up and shrugged. “Everyone is attacking everyone. The same as always.”

  Oslafa laughed. “We’ll get along fine, Rorik. She’ll need some clothes, though. And a few other things, I’m certain.”

  “I’ve already sent for a dress for her. See to whatever else she needs. And don’t forget to come to the feast this evening.” He strode away as though he couldn’t leave Elfwynn behind fast enough.

  “Come with me, Elfwynn. After so long in the ship, you’ll want the sauna. I have wine and fruit. This will be enjoyable.”

  What slave called her master by his name? And she had a house of her own? Elfwynn walked beside her up the path toward the village, gazing at the buildings. They were beautiful, intricate and majestic. In the midst of them all stood the building that she’d seen from the ship. It rose high, its peaked roof sharply angled, overlooking the fjord.

  “Is that Rorik’s longhouse?” She nodded at the building.

  “Yes. It’s quite beautiful inside. Of course he has the best of everything here. Where are you from in Northumbria?”

  It was good to hear her language spoken without a foreign accent. “On the north shore of the Humber. My village is called Redbank from a battle fought near the river many years ago. Where did you come from?”

  “Farther north, near the Tyne.”

  They reached the top of the path and Elfwynn stopped. The longhouse rose before her and she could only stare. Intricate carvings decorated the doorframes and the entire structure was built with the same care as the ships. There were glass panes in the windows to let in the light but keep out the cold. A rarity, even in her own country, and a great expense. Smaller buildings lined the road, while others were nestled in the hills beyond.

  She glanced behind her, toward the water. Ships lined the shore, both at the docks and pulled up onto the beach. All this belonged to Rorik? He stood amidst a crowd of people, a woman under each arm.

  “You’ll see it all later. We’ll get you cleaned up, fed, and dressed, and you’ll feel like new.” Oslafa led her toward a tidy little house down the road. “I used to live here with several other women and our children. They all remarried, but I never did. My son and I remained here. He’s gone most of the time, working on Rorik’s farmlands. Even when he’s here, he’d rather spend his time with the men instead of with me. Though he does come to visit. I don’t blame him. What young man wants to live with his aging mother when a world of adventure awaits him?”

  “You don’t seem to be aging, Oslafa.” It was true. She was a plain woman, but her skin was clear, her brown hair shiny and her figure was trim. Warmth shone from her and Elfwynn was drawn to her immediately.

  They walk
ed into the house. It was clean and simple with a central fireplace, a table with chairs and several beds. “I’m afraid there’s not much privacy. They don’t have it here, like we do at home. But since it’s just the two of us, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I live with my mother in a one room house, so this is what I’m accustomed to.”

  “Sit. I’ll get you some milk and fresh bread. I have butter and honey also. I know I promised you wine, but I think this will do you more good for now.” She went to a sideboard and gathered plates, a loaf of bread and a pitcher.

  “It sounds delicious. Especially after all the dried food in the boat. I could eat anything, then sleep for a year.”

  When they had settled into their meal, Oslafa said, “This is simple fare. I usually don’t keep much here and take my meals at the longhouse with the others. Everything is the finest there and the serving girls do all the cooking.”

  “The men don’t cook here?”

  “It’s not like Northumbria, where we did much of the baking, and they made the meats and most of the food. Here, all the cooking is women’s work.”

  How odd. While men of her father’s rank wouldn’t cook, all the other men hunted, brought home the meat, and either roasted it or made soups and stews. Just what did these men do besides raid?

  “It seems to me many things are different here,” she said as she spread honey on her bread. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Rorik said you were a slave. They certainly eat and live well here.”

  Oslafa laughed. “It’s like him to leave out the details, especially when it comes to his concern for others. I was a slave, but he saved me.”

  “I don’t understand. Everyone knows the Northmen take people from all the isles and sell them as slaves in the East.”

  “And that is what happened to me. Ten winters ago—they judge years here by winters—Northmen came from the sea and attacked my village. They destroyed everything and killed all the men and many of the women. Those they didn’t slay, they took to sell, including my son and me. He was eleven winters then, but short for his age. When we got to the great market in the East, they tried to separate us.” Her voice shook.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried. You needn’t tell me if it’s too difficult.”

  “I have a feeling we’ll be good friends and you should know. Besides, it’s a tale I have told many times, though it gets no easier. In any event, when I realized what they intended, I screamed and pled with them to let us remain together. I didn’t care at that point what happened to me. My husband was dead, my people slaughtered, and I would never see my home again. To lose Turold and never know what had happened to him was more than I could bear. He, too, begged and cried, but to no avail. They said if I wasn’t quiet, they’d kill him in front of me.

  “Rorik heard us and came to see what was happening. We’d attracted quite a crowd by that time. He had to push to the front, followed by his men. He was so young, just over twenty winters. But he had already made a name for himself. He looked at my son and me clinging to each other, then threw the men a small bag of gold. He said if it wasn’t sufficient, he’d offer the point of his blade to make up the difference. They said it was enough. Everyone in the crowd stepped aside for him, then, as we left.

  “He took us aboard his ship and assured us we wouldn’t be separated. All through the journey here, I didn’t know what would happen to us, but at least we would be together. Not long after we arrived, Rorik said we were free. I had the choice of whether to stay here at Vargfjell or return home.”

  Elfwynn stared at her. “And you chose here? Why?”

  “Everyone I knew had been killed or taken. There was nothing left to call home, no reason to return. He and everyone else here treated us decently. Nothing is too good for his people. They are well fed, well housed, and want for nothing. He took me in and has never asked anything of me. I’m an excellent seamstress, though. So I make clothing for the people here in return for my keep. He doesn’t like it, but allows it because he knows it makes me happy. Though Rorik is having clothing sent for you now, I’ll make dresses for you, as well.”

  Warmth swelled her heart. Not only for what this woman had endured and survived, but for the contentment and joy coming from her. She had found her place, even though it lay in a foreign land with the very people who had taken everything from her. And yet, Rorik wasn’t the one who had done so. He had saved her.

  Elfwynn tightened her jaw. That wasn’t the case with her. There’d be no rescue. He’d swept into her life and taken her away from everything she knew. Even though she had offered to go with him, she had done it to save her people from exactly what had happened to Oslafa’s village. The good woman’s story had a happy ending, where most didn’t.

  It remained to be seen how her own tale would be told.

  * * *

  “I scarcely recognize you, Elfwynn. Neither will Rorik.”

  She frowned at Oslafa. She didn’t care what he’d recognize. She smoothed the skirt of the dress he’d sent over. It was blue, with a colorful ribbon around the hem. Oslafa had shown her how to fasten the two bronze brooches at the shoulders. The dress had no pockets. None of the northerners’ clothing did, so she’d had to hide her small bag of silver under the mattress of the bed she’d chosen. It was the best she could do until she fashioned a hidden pocket in the skirt.

  Oslafa had arranged the front of her hair into intricate braids, letting the rest of it curl down her back. At least she was clean, for Oslafa had taken her to the sauna. Since there were other women there, she’d kept a towel around herself while she sat in the steam. They weren’t so modest. But by the end, when they’d poured buckets of warm water over her, she’d let the cloth drop because it felt so good. Weeks’ worth of sea and salt were washed away, leaving her renewed.

  With a new gown and shoes, clean hair, and a brief rest, she was ready to face the people of Vargfjell. And Rorik. Now that she wasn’t a half-drenched, salt-encrusted, hungry waif, she could better control her words and her temper. But she still wouldn’t allow him to step on her. She just needed to keep the peace between them until she left.

  As they walked toward the longhouse, Oslafa nodded toward it. “Normally, longhouses are low and narrow, with thatched roofs instead of wood. Inside, they have three sections down the length of them. But Rorik saw buildings in other lands and wanted something grander. He brought builders here and they constructed this. It’s far taller and has more room inside. It’s unique in all of the north.”

  They entered the longhouse and Elfwynn stopped. Grander, indeed. The walls and tall ceiling were made of wood. Intertwined animals and plants were carved into the posts and on panels set into the walls. Fine weavings of all colors hung between them. The open glass-covered windows let in air and light, as did the smoke holes in the high ceilings. The floors were of smooth wood and the furnishings were well crafted. Polished tables filled the center of the hall, and doorways led to other rooms she couldn’t see. Silver plates and goblets shone on the tables, with food piled high in their midst.

  “We’d best sit down before the men devour everything in sight.” Oslafa showed her to a table near the back of the room. “Not that Rorik is close-fisted by any means. But with so many warriors here, it’s difficult for the servants to keep up with their appetites. Things will ease up when many of them leave to raid or trade.”

  “Rorik does both?” She stabbed a piece of beef with her knife as the plate passed her.

  “Of course. He has to sell what he raids to make gold. As most of the people in the north do, he trades, buys, sells, and barters. He’s just better at it than most.”

  She feasted on goose, venison, shrimp, carrots, peas, and onions. Passing on the fish, she slathered butter on wheat bread and devoured that. She’d never eaten so well, not even at her father’s table.

  She didn’t see Rorik, nor did she look for him. If she could eat and then leave, it would lessen the chance of a confrontation. In a room f
illed with his people, a clash with him wouldn’t be wise. Something uncontrollable sparked between them that left her uncomfortable. She would rather it didn’t burn her.

  As she ate, people looked at her, whispering and craning to see her. She kept her eyes down, not wanting to attract any more attention.

  “You came here on one of Rorik’s ships and they saw you talking with him after you landed,” Oslafa said. “They’re wondering who you are. We have many visitors here, but few who sail with him. Whether they want to or not.”

  While they’d finished their small meal at Oslafa’s house, Elfwynn had told her of how she’d come to be here. If word got out that she was little more than a hostage, there was no telling how they would treat her. Several beautiful women eyed her, the same ones who had hung on Rorik at the docks. Including the very tall, haughty one. They had no reason to worry about her where Rorik was concerned. They were welcome to him.

  As she met their stares, they changed their demeanor. They sat up and preened, moistening their lips and stroking their braided hair. They’d apparently seen Rorik somewhere behind her. She didn’t turn around. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice her.

  “Have you enjoyed your meal?” His words slipped over her as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “It was very good.” She kept her voice level and her eyes lowered. With any luck, he’d go on his way.

  “Come with me for a moment.” He held out his hand.

  So much for avoiding him. Oslafa nudged her. She had no choice with everyone in the hall watching them. Placing her hand in his, she stood. His eyes widened as he swept her with his gaze. A surge of female satisfaction cascaded through her and she lifted her head, giving him a slight smile. All her life, those around her had told her she was beautiful. She hadn’t believed them until now when she saw it in his eyes.

  He’d bathed as well. His long black hair was combed smooth and sleek over his wide shoulders, his clothing was of the finest leather, silk, and wool, and he wore thick twisted wire neck and arm rings made of gold. A sense of wealth and power surrounded him, more so than any man she’d encountered. As important as her father was, she’d seen many of them. They were pale pretenders next to him.