Byrne frowned as Erin retreated with a huff of indignation. His gaze steady, he watched Amoda ease Kaila past the servant house and into the manor. The sounds of a Norse accent on Gaelic words pulled him along. He shuffled along slowly behind them, down the corridor to Mykyl’s private chamber.
He pushed the door open and peered through the crack. Amoda drew the soaked clothing from the girl’s body and dressed her in a soft, thin chemise. Shock raced through him as the aloof young woman tucked the young girl into her master’s bed and gave her a drink of something that smelled faintly of fruit and honey.
He turned away from his vigil when Amoda turned toward the door, scurrying away to avoid detection. As he hurried down the stairs, Byrne wondered how the others would take this event. More importantly, how would Mykyl respond when he discovered that his mistress, the woman who warmed his bed, had the skills of a healer—and the courage to face down the other women?
Eleven
Amoda smiled a greeting to one of the older women as she walked past her. Warmth stole through her as the woman returned her smile, a genuine, welcoming expression, unlike the ones she’d gotten for so long.
In Mykyl’s absence, she’d grown comfortable with helping around the manor. Many of the women had come to accept her, to treat her with the respect they afforded one another. The change had occurred only after Kaila’s wounds had healed remarkably, leaving her with very little scarring. Still, the women had finally warmed to Amoda. She had earned her place amongst Mykyl’s people, despite her position within his house.
“Good morning, Amoda.”
“Good morning, Erin. How are you feeling today?” Amoda often found herself enjoying their conversations whilst they worked together. Erin she found was a delight to be around. Stubborn, headstrong, she had proven to be a difficult bride for Olev, but the other women adored her candor. She rarely spoke without thought, a trait that Amoda valued. There had been enough deceit in her life. She did not need more.
“Better.” A smile crossed her friend’s freckled face. “It has been so much better since you gave me that tea.”
At the mention of the mint tea, she’d given the other woman to drink, Amoda flushed. It had taken but a few weeks of observation to discover the other woman suffered the curse, which often came with early pregnancy. “I am happy to be of some help. Are you going back to the fields today?” Amoda fell into step with the woman. “Will you be working in the fields today?”
“Of course. Since you have been kind enough to teach me what needs doing, I find myself glad to contribute to the crops.”
Erin laughed softly. “If Lord of Woodstown could see you, he would be shocked.”
Amoda cursed the heat coming to her face. She proudly wore her sun burned nose, tanned face and arms, and the blisters on her hands from the fork handle as they had become marks of her acceptance and place within the bustling community.
“You believe he would be displeased?” Amoda asked. Concern twisted her brow. Mykyl’s displeasure could have unpleasant results, and she did not wish to anger him upon his return.
“Nay, how could he be? You have done so much for his people. And you? Are you happy?”
The fear, which had haunted her nights for so long, was only a distant memory. Each moment of hard work had given her the confidence to be comfortable within her place. “Aye, I’ve made a place for myself here. Amongst these people I’m more than just Rognvaldr’s pet.”
Erin patted her arm before bending to gather her basket, “You are one of us, and we trust you.”
Amoda smiled as Erin moved down the line. A frown tugged at her brow as she watched the long shadow that crept over the ground before her.
“You seem pensive.” Byrne’s voice startled her.
Amoda stared at him as he walked toward her. “I was not aware—”
“I am not complaining, my lady, merely observing.”
“I, uh, I am not sure what you mean?”
“You seemed deep in thought, mayhap you miss Brattilhid? No one has stopped to ask how you fare? Are you comfortable here, now within this community?”
“This is home. I have a place here, a job to do. I am not merely a warm body in the furs. Aye, this is my home,” Amoda replied. “Brattilhid is a prison, a source of great anger and torment, nay, I do not miss it.”
“And what of your lord and master?” Byrne whispered. “When he returns what will be the answer you dread giving him?”
Amoda shrugged, her arms wrapped around herself. What answer could she offer him? “He offers much to me.”
“No more than he asks.”
“I will not abandon my child.”
“And Mykyl?”
Amoda stared into the weathered eyes before her and sighed. So many times, she’d awakened in the night and reached across the cold sheets for him. A part of her longed to see him. He had lit a fire within her body. She fought with every ounce of her strength in an attempt to stop herself from caring, from needing. She wanted to remain aloof, distant, to have the protection of a heart of stone. As long as he was gone, she didn’t feel. “‘Tis a battle long since lost, is it not?”
A soft chuckle drew her attention away from her thoughts to the man standing next to her. “Love knows no boundaries, my lady.”
“I would not know. I refuse to love him. And stop calling me by that title. I am a slave, nothing more,” Amoda bit out. “I will not love him. I refuse to love him.” She ruthlessly crushed the voice within her mind that whispered at the futility of her protests. Nay, I will not allow myself to love him, to be weakened by emotions.
~ * ~
The echo of the gong filled the frosty morning air as Amoda stepped out into the sunshine. She greeted those around her as she walked with the other women to the fields.
“An army comes!” a young boy cried, rushing into the courtyard. “An army comes!”
“Is it lord Mykyl? Has he returned? Are we being attacked?” Questions flew from every direction as Amoda glanced toward Byrne who stood watching the western horizon.
“It is safe. I see Lord Mykyl’s standard.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Amoda smiled at the other women and children around her. “‘Tis a day of celebration then. Come, we must get things prepared. Exhausted as the men will be, I have no doubt that they will also be hungry.”
“He will be shocked that you have remained here.”
“Where would I go? Back to Olaf? To Rognvaldr? There is nowhere to run.”
“I am certain Ui Droria would argue with you, my lady.”
“I know no such place. There is an endless list of preparations of food and quarters that need to be made ready,” Amoda retorted, one eyebrow arched with indignation. Amoda shook her head at Byrne’s smug, knowing grin and started up the stairs even as the gates began to open. She turned and watched the long column of men that rode through the gates.
Seeing the men come back wrapped in crude bandages, Amoda struggled with her emotions. Torn between horror and the desire to help, she chewed on her bottom lip. Already, her eyes assessed wounds, and her mind raced with thoughts of which herbs could help to ease the pain.
“Erin.” Catching the other woman’s arm, she halted her. “We will need many of the herbs I have picked to assist the men.”
“Byrne has already given orders, Amoda. Do not concern yourself with the men. We will help them. Our lord may have injuries that will need tending.”
“But…”
“Lord Woodstown is your responsibility. You are his.” Erin smiled before hurrying off.
Amoda nodded and turned to watch the man in question dismount. His blue eyes held pain beyond any she’d ever seen before. Grim anger tightened his mouth into a thin, bitter line. Mixed in with the tumultuous emotions, exhaustion brought gauntness to him. His eyes scanned the area as though searching for something or someone. She stared at him for a moment, her expression open. His eyes met hers, shock within them as he realized she stood on the steps of his hous
e. Silently, with barely a nod, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of his house.
“Bring boiling water to our Lord’s chamber and make haste,” Amoda ordered as she rushed through the corridors. Many things still remained unprepared, some that needed to put at ease within her before she could face Mykyl. With his return, she would have to rush forward with her plans.
Rushing into their bedchamber, Amoda leaned on the closed chamber door and stared at the bed. She sucked in a calming breath. The pounding of her heart echoed in the tremble of her hands. He had returned to her, returned to her answer. Doubts assailed her as she contemplated the confusion that still plagued her. Could she give him what he wanted?
She turned from the door and hurried to get the room prepared. He would want a hot drink, a bath, and rest. That much she knew for certain. Water boiled on the hearth, the steam rising to fill the room with a moist heat. Dipping the ladle into the boiling water, she poured it over the crushed leaves in the bottom of a cup and set it aside to steep.
Amoda cursed when the bowl she held slipped from her nervous fingers. Bending, she picked it up quickly and set it on the table. ‘Tis only Lord Mykyl. She berated herself as she clumsily fixed the simple meal of bread and meat. You act as though you are going to your slaughter. He will only want to bathe and eat. Once you have met his needs, you can simply slip out of the room until this evening.
Freezing in place at the sound of voices in the corridor, Amoda stared at the door. Her stomach turned in fear as she waited for the door to open. Her decision would mean the difference between death in bondage and freedom. Could she live with it?
She was in no way prepared when the door swung open and a tired, dirty, armor-clad man stepped into the room.
“You saw much success, my lord?”
“Only as victorious as one is in war. We lost men.” His broad shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his emotions. Bitterness twisted his voice into a cold, hard monotone, one that was heavier than she’d ever heard before.
Amoda licked her dry lips and rushed to get his tea. “Here, it will help you relax.” She held the smooth cup out to him, a silent prayer upon her lips that he would not see the tremble within her hands.
“I see you are still here. I feared you would leave the moment I vanished out of sight.” Mykyl absently took the glass and moved away from her. He paused, his gaze upon the simple nightdress that lay on the floor by his trunk. His eyes lifted, bored into hers as he awaited her response.
“Nay, I have little. My honor is of great value to me.” Amoda stepped away from him. Butterflies had settled within her stomach, dancing and fluttering with anticipation and uncertainty. This was something she knew naught about. Her knowledge ran to pain, to degradation. It did not carry forth to tenderness or kindness. With her lip between her teeth, she watched in silence as he settled into the chair near the fire. As unobtrusively as possible, she nudged Kaila’s nightdress out of sight with her toe, her hands crossed behind her back.
“Assist me with removing this.” He gestured with his empty hand at the battle-scarred armor he wore. A grimace of pain crossed his face quickly before he wiped it away. A blank mask slid into place as he stared at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
Amoda stopped behind the chair, her fingers going to work on the knots in the leather at his neck. Wordlessly, she untangled the pliant strands before pushing at the heavy contraption that covered his body. She grunted at the weight as it fell to the floor with a thud. His tunic bore evidence of blood and sweat. A tear ran from his shoulder down to his chest, the edges stained red. “You took a wound.”
“A mere scratch.” Mykyl drained and set the cup aside.
“I will look at it if you wish.”
“Later. I wish a bath.”
“It comes as we speak.” Amoda hurried over to the door and opened it as two young lads brought in buckets full of steaming water. She held it open while they poured the water into the basin before departing as silently as they’d come.
Rising tiredly, Mykyl shuffled to the bath. Doubt and suspicion hung in his eyes as he stared at her. “Join me?”
“I must decline, my lord. There is much to be done.” Amoda smiled tightly. She would need counsel on her course, and the only one she trusted remained busy downstairs.
“The men will keep.”
“Aye, but if there is a problem, my lord, it is best to allow you rest instead of disturbing you.”
Mykyl nodded slowly and discarded his clothing. Multiple bruises and abrasions covered his body, leaving angry red lines and pockmarks upon the tanned flesh. The worst one looked to be on his chest, the flesh around it appeared red and inflamed. Probably a bit of infection ran through it, something she could easily take care of.
Amoda felt his eyes on her back as she all but ran from the room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned on it a moment. Her obedience had aroused his curiosity. She would have to find some way of delaying his questions. It would do no good to have him question her now. Not until she knew how to go about her seduction. What clearer message was there than to give what he asked for? What could he say if she surrendered to him and her own wayward heart? Aye, her plan required a more physical arousal.
~ * ~
Amoda leaned against the roughly hewn table in the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the sound of footsteps and watched as Erin stepped into the room, a startled look upon her face.
“What are you doing down here at this hour?” Erin gasped. “It is not meal time.” Erin moved further into the room.
“I am avoiding Mykyl.” Amoda darted across the room and peeked out the door. Seeing no one about, she turned and leaned against the doorjamb, a slight frown puckering her brow. “I seek your counsel.”
“My counsel? On what?” Erin settled onto a stool and waited. Puzzlement and patience danced within her gaze as she waited.
Amoda checked the hallway again before she eased the door closed. She turned and hurried across the room to where Erin sat. “I know you are aware of the arrangement me and our lord…”
“You occupy his bed. How can I not be aware…?”
“Nay, it doesn’t matter. I seek advice in a delicate matter. I am not skilled in areas best suited to providing comfort to our lord.” Amoda waved aside the other woman’s curiosity. There would be time later to speak of it, now she had need of advice.
“Amoda, if you’re speaking of mating with the man, I thought—” “Please, you must not speak of this to anyone,” Amoda warned as she paced. “I was trained to be disobedient, to resist, as Olaf wants his mistresses. Nay, my teachings did not include such foolishness as tenderness a man wants from a woman. How can I possibly please him if I do not know how?”
“Amoda. Amoda!” Erin snapped. “Come, sit down and explain it to me. What has you so upset? Surely, you and the lord have come together before now. What about Rognvaldr? Did you and the priest not consummate your teachings?”
Amoda licked her dry lips and stared at her friend. Swallowing harshly, she shifted, her face burning with embarrassment. “Tyr forbade Rognvaldr from taking me. He threatened him with a ghastly death if he defiled me,” Amoda whispered. “I know not why, but it saved me from that wretch’s filth to some degree. Still, he did not leave me in peace. I have horrid nightmares of what he would do, ways he would threaten me. I know nothing of tenderness, only pain, humiliation. How can I lay with my lord knowing only that?”
Erin frowned slightly, a thoughtful look upon her face. “Perhaps you need to be the one in control.”
“What do you mean?” Amoda leaned forward, her interest captured. She tried to ignore the fear as thick as sludge in her voice.
“Seduction, my friend.” Erin smiled. “This is what you do. Wait until he falls asleep, as exhausted as he is, it won’t take long. Most of the men will have found a warm bed to curl up in this night, so your attempts will be private. Let him guide you with what he wants, show him you love him with your body, not
with your words. I’ve seen the heat in your gaze when you watch him. Use it.”
“But what if I disappoint him? I am fearful he will not be pleased with my attempts. I do not think I could bear to be sent forth from him because of my failings.”
Erin pulled her into a gentle hug. “We all have known fear. Every woman knew it the first night we laid with our husbands. There is only one way to resolve your fear. Conquer your body, and your fear will fall away,” Erin advised before she hurried from the room.
Amoda watched Erin leave the room, confusion and uncertainty at war within her body. She was not so confident as to believe she could seduce him, but she had to, she needed him too much not to risk it all. It would do well to wait until his exhaustion had taken him, then perhaps he would not be so inclined to notice her hesitancy.
“So you have made your decision then?”
Amoda turned to meet Byrne’s eyes. “Aye.” Distracted by her tangled thoughts, Amoda barely paused at the speed with which Byrne had filled Erin’s absence in the room.
“Is it worth it?”
“I don’t know. A part of me tells me to be cautious. Another tells me that I must….
“Follow your heart, my lady. It whispers its words in honesty.”
“What nonsense do you speak? I would never allow myself—”
“You haven’t allowed yourself to do much, have you? This is not Bratthl’id, and he is not his father.”
“I have work to do,” Amoda snarled, hefting a water bag, unease at the mention of her narrow escape. Byrne bowed slightly before stepping out of her way. The awareness within his eyes made her uneasy.
~ * ~
Amoda paused before the chamber door. Could she do this? She looked at her hands gripped together before her and swallowed. The rewards seemed worthy of the risks. Silence had long since descended upon the house. Men were weary from their battles, from their wounds, and the women had been eager to tend them. Now in the shadowy darkness of the corridor, Amoda faced her greatest fear.
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