The fight went out of her and she slumped against him, her head falling heavily against his chest. She might have sobbed, her body shuddering against him.
‘There is no shame in accepting what fate has given you. The gods give us all challenges to overcome.’
‘Do not speak to me of challenges. You are not a slave.’ She spoke against his chest, but Eirik heard the hopelessness of her tone.
‘You haven’t been mistreated here.’
She did look at him then with heat and accusation in her eyes. ‘Mistreated? Nay, I suppose I haven’t been physically harmed, but my life is not my own. Everything is at your whim.’
‘Is that any different than living with your brother? I’ve no doubt he would have seen you married soon, and then your brother would have been traded for your husband. At least I don’t place the demands on you that a husband would.’ It was the wrong thing to say, the wrong image to evoke with her in his arms. The vision of her compliant and naked stirred him. It didn’t help that her body was pressed to him, and he found it softer than her slight frame had suggested it would be. Her breasts were full where they pressed against his chest, and her hips flared where he had expected them to be straight. He suddenly had the wish to reach down and feel how softly her buttocks would fill his hands. He suppressed the urge, but not before he’d imagined it.
‘I hate you!’ She struggled again, but he held her tight, and the friction only managed to stir his body to life even more. Her pebbled nipples moved enticingly against his chest, making him want to see them exposed to him. His shaft grew rigid against her soft belly, and he knew the moment she felt it because she stilled.
‘You hate me because you have no one else to blame for your fate.’
‘Isn’t that enough?’ But the hard edge had receded from her eyes. The dark orbs revealed the vulnerability and fear she’d tried so hard to keep at bay. He’d not seen that particular look in her deep gaze since she had tried to bargain her fate with him against the forge. It had a way of taking hold of him and making him want things that were unwise. It made him want to shield her, to take care of her, to make the fear go away. But even more, it brought light to the dark urge that wanted to own her, to possess her completely.
Before he even quite realised he’d done it, his thumb was stroking over that plump lower lip and he was watching it tremble beneath his touch. His breath came fast, matching the accelerated beat of his heart and the throbbing of his shaft. It would be so easy to lose himself. The lust firing his blood wanted to claim her. It was that part that took charge as he leaned down to her.
His hand moved from her chin so his fingers stroked her neck, revelling in her heat and the rapid beat of her pulse under them. Her scent overpowered him. It was delicate like a flower, with just enough of a hint of salt that he wanted to run his tongue over her flesh to lick it off. Just one taste of her, the demon within him urged. Just one taste and it would be enough. He breathed her in as his head lowered to her. His eyes fastened on her coral mouth. When his lips were just a breath from touching hers, she turned her head. He stopped just short of colliding with her cheek and paused, his breath harsh against her skin as he struggled for control. She just smelled too good.
Eirik closed his eyes and tried not to imagine pushing her against the wall and sheathing his length in her anyway, tried not to imagine how hot and tight her body would grip him, but the images played themselves over in his head with vivid clarity. He could even hear the sounds she would make with each demanding thrust. Tiny gasps of pleasure that would grow to helpless moans as she urged him to ride her harder.
To stop them he opened his eyes and watched her body tremble. He felt it shuddering against him and knew it for the fear it was. It was enough to make him win the battle for control. There would be no pleasure for her if he took her now.
Without warning, he released her wrists and went back to the tub, sinking beneath the water before she could see exactly how much he wanted her. He’d bet she’d never seen an aroused man before, and he knew the sight would frighten her. His head fell back and his eyes shut. Part of him was glad she had pushed him so far. Perhaps now she would see how compliance would keep her safer. If she hadn’t run, he wouldn’t have chased her and that moment between them never would have happened. But another part of him was angry that he had come so close to losing control with her. She had a way of accessing that darkness in him that shocked him.
From the relative safety of the tub, his hot gaze raked over her, and he saw that her shift was wet from being pressed against him. The turgid peaks of her breasts were on plain display against the fabric. Light coral. Her nipples matched her lips perfectly. Another surge of lust threatened to overwhelm him. For his own peace of mind, he decided he had to end this. Very little was stopping him from pushing her against that wall and acting out his fantasy.
‘Get out. And, slave, next time obey me without question.’
* * *
Merewyn stood outside the bathhouse, letting the cool night air refresh her overheated body. It was the steam that had so unsettled her, or that was what she tried to believe. She’d never experienced its effect before and it had made her unusually warm and dizzy. But deep down, she knew the Northman inside had something to do with how she was feeling now. The steam didn’t explain her body’s trembling or the pull that had made it so difficult to move away when he’d stared at her so deeply and almost put his lips to hers. It didn’t explain why she’d suddenly become aware of that most secret part of herself that now throbbed between her thighs.
It was her body’s reaction that shamed her the most. For just an instant, she’d wanted his lips to press against hers and had considered letting it happen before her better sense had prevailed. Nay, it wasn’t even her better sense. She had wanted his mouth on hers, still wanted it. Damn him! The only thing that made her turn away was her sense of duty. He was her enemy, and his crimes against her and her family were atrocious. He’d made her a slave.
And yet here she stood, still trembling from his touch. Still wanting to know what would have happened if he had overpowered her token resistance and not stopped. She was weak, the worst sort of traitor.
A traitor to herself.
Chapter Nine
‘Get up, girl.’
His gruff voice cut through her dreams, dragging her to consciousness. She blinked heavy lids and slowly looked around while allowing her gaze to adjust to the candlelight. It took a moment before she remembered where she was and whose voice called to her. He’d spoken in her language, but her sleep-muddled brain was slow to process the command.
‘Up. We leave soon.’
That woke her fully. ‘Where are we going?’ She held the blanket tight to her chest as she sat up.
‘I’ve already told you. We go to visit another jarl. Wash yourself and see Hilla to break your fast.’
She noticed then that he was dressed, his beard neatly trimmed, and wondered how long he’d been awake in the chamber while she slept. The thought bothered her for some reason. It suggested a level of intimacy that shouldn’t exist, though it did. She didn’t move as she watched his retreating back until he closed the door behind him. Then she scrambled to her feet, planning to ask Hilla what was happening.
But the steam rising from the basin of water on the table by the door drew her attention. She’d not washed in hot water since Eirik had taken her. The allure proved too much to resist. She made use of the cloth abandoned next to it, all the while pushing from her mind thoughts of Eirik using the same water.
When she was finished, she ran outside to find Hilla. Dawn was only just breaking when she approached her at the kitchen fire.
‘Where is he taking me today? Do you know?’
A corner of Hilla’s mouth tipped up in what Merewyn had come to understand was the woman’s attempt at a smile as she pressed a bowl of that horrible porr
idge into her hands. ‘Has he not told you?’
‘Just that we visit a neighbouring jarl.’
‘I only know he ordered for a cart and two of the men from the field. Some of the warriors who journeyed with him did not come home. I think he goes to deliver their share of the gains to the families.’
As she sipped the porridge, Merewyn mulled over the revelation. It had never occurred to her that the heathens would have a sense of honour, but it gladdened her to know it. Perhaps if she could find the right persuasion, he’d agree to take her home. A layer of frost tipped the grass on the ground, and as she moved closer to the fire she admitted it would probably be a trip saved for spring. But that she could accept, as long as she had hope that it would happen.
She had just finished the last of the porridge when Hilla brought a woollen cloak for her to wear on the journey. It was as nondescript and scratchy as her apron dress, but at least it was warm.
Eirik returned just then, mounted on a destrier as black as his tunic, leading a horse-drawn cart driven by two large men. He, she noted with bitterness, was cloaked in a lustrous fur that looked as soft as it was warm. It made her think of her own cloak at home. Though only lined with ermine, it had been the most beautiful sea green with silver embroidery along the edges. Merewyn had treasured it so much, she never wore it to the beach for fear the salt from the spray would ruin it. It was probably lucky that she hadn’t worn it. If she had, Eirik would have taken that, too.
Alfred’s wife would wear it now, she was sure. Blythe had always coveted it and had been peeved when Alfred had allowed her to keep it after their mother’s death. She’d argued that Merewyn was a child and had no need for it, but Merewyn had refused to part with it. She’d even slept with it at night because it smelled like her mother. The thought that it was completely lost to her now filled her with such despair, she had to push it aside. In the spring, things could be different.
One of the men helped her into the back of the cart, where she sat down and snuggled into the warm folds of the coarse wool. Her gaze explored the chests, bags and leather pouches sharing the space with her. Some were loaded with foodstuffs, but others she suspected were filled with gold. They were divided out for half a dozen families, but put together would amount to a small fortune. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her notice. Alfred would have given his best men for such wealth, but there she was surrounded by it and it couldn’t save her.
If she hoped to convince the Northman to return her, she’d have to think hard of something with which to tempt him. Gold wasn’t enough.
* * *
They travelled south along the river with Merewyn walking much of the way because the jostling in the cart was too much for her. By evening they had reached the second farm where a family of six lived. She stood quietly by the cart as Eirik met the family who had come out to greet them. The older couple stood in front while their children hung back and watched with wide eyes. It was an almost exact re-enactment of the previous stop. As with that visit, she was left wondering if Hilla was right and he was relaying the death of their son. Their stoic expressions made it difficult to tell. This time, though, when he handed over the leather pouch filled with gold, he waved them forward.
Merewyn’s heart leaped and she breathed a sigh of relief. They had been invited to stay. The prospect of spending the night out of doors held no appeal. Though the morning frost had long melted, she’d spent the past hour dreading its return when night settled.
Eirik followed the family inside their small home, leaving her with the two field men who had occupied themselves with settling the horses for the night. She was at a loss as to what to do and found herself perturbed by this unfamiliar state. Was she expected to stay the night outside like an animal after all? She clenched her teeth and decided Eirik could tell her that himself if that was what he intended. She was hungry and tired and longed for a fire.
So it was with squared shoulders that she approached the door. It wasn’t latched, which prompted her to push it forward. Eirik was sitting at the table, but looked over and caught her eye when she stepped inside. It was the first bit of attention he’d given her all day, aside from that terse order to get up in the morning. His weighted gaze lingered on her face and moved down her front before he jerked it away to answer the farmer’s wife, who was serving him food. The look prompted Merewyn to check her clothing, but it was fine, as fine as was possible for the hated slave dress.
She approached the hearth in the centre of the room with caution, drawn by the warmth, but half awaiting his direction. Nothing was forthcoming. The children huddled on the far side of the small living area and watched her warily, so she ignored them as she approached the fire. Her fingers were so cold, the first trace of heat to touch them actually burned. But it was a burn she savoured as the warmth seeped into her bones. Only when she’d begun to thaw did she realise how her stomach gnawed at her. Eirik was the only one eating, making her think it would be bad manners to serve herself. She, nevertheless, salivated as she eyed the pot bubbling on the hearth.
The woman of the house took notice of her stealing the heat from the fire and glared. Merewyn had no idea if the hostile look was because she was a foreigner, a slave or simply because she’d dared to seek out the fire’s warmth. She was tempted to edge away, the good manners bred into her unable to allow her to presume her welcome within the home, but Eirik’s voice broke the tension in a rough tone that was unmistakably an order.
Merewyn looked to him, and he motioned her over to sit beside him. The woman picked up a crude wooden bowl and began ladling soup into it, dismissing her. She walked to Eirik, intending to take the spot on the bench beside him, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her and he pushed her to kneel at his side. Her eyes widened at the insult—of course, she wouldn’t be allowed a proper place at the table. Slaves were nothing but animals to them, unfit company for the table.
She jerked her shoulder from his grasp. ‘If we were home, you’d be shackled like the criminal you are.’
‘If we were home, you’d be attending me in the bath again.’
The warning in his words—a reminder of the previous evening—was undeniable, but it was the heat in his gaze and his smooth tone that unsettled her. A wooden bowl was pressed into her hands, and her grumbling stomach took over. She sank down and devoured the stew and the coarse bread that was served with it. The two men who had accompanied them on the trip came in soon after and took seats near the hearth, where they were promptly served with their meal. Merewyn couldn’t help the tightening of her lips when she noted they were not subjected to the same hostility from their hostess.
Eirik spoke with the farmer who had taken a place across from him at the table, and the woman joined her husband after everyone had been served. They fidgeted as they sat, clearly unnerved by Eirik’s company. Merewyn kept waiting for tears from the woman or some other telltale sign of mourning, but except for the anger she’d shown earlier, her face was stoic.
Her belly now satiated, Merewyn looked over to the children again. They ranged in age from about seven to a boy who looked old enough to be married with his own farm. He watched her with a carnal interest she recognised from the way men back home had looked at the serving girls. Her face flamed when the boy’s gaze went from her to Eirik and back again, his thoughts plainly written on his face. He thought she served her master in that most physical way.
She looked away from him, but not before she saw the glint in his eye that told her he was envious. Her fingers moved with self-conscious grace to touch her hair, before she glanced up at Eirik. A jolt shot through her when she met his intense blue gaze. He’d seen it all, and that look burned as it touched her face and then moved down to the swell of her bosom. She squirmed beneath the weight of it and felt her body grow warm.
Did he want her to serve him with her body? She thought back to the previous day in the bathhouse
and how his male part had been stiff against her. She’d seen enough of animal mating to understand that was what would happen to a man in lust. Sempa had even gone through the entire explanation with her of how it happened. Aye, he did want to do that with her, but he’d said he wouldn’t demand it of her. She believed him, and it kept her pulse steady and her breath even.
She was safe with him. Despite everything that had happened, he did make her feel protected. It was a strange knowledge that left her confused, especially as the look he gave her caused a peculiar ache to begin deep within her. His possessive gaze on her was meant to fill her with disgust, but the simple truth was that it did not—just as his touch had not last night.
Before he could recapture her gaze, she dropped it to look at his strong hand where it curled around his tankard. She easily recalled how those long fingers had curled around her wrists and pressed her close. The thought of them caressing the breasts he was so obviously admiring came to her unbidden, forcing her to close her eyes to shut it out. When she opened them, her attention settled on his broad thigh resting just inches from her face. A bizarre and inappropriate desire to touch him, to explore the thick, solid muscle with her hands, came over her. Why did she want to know how he would feel beneath her fingers?
She dragged her gaze along the length of the limb and stumbled upon the ridge of his maleness making itself known beneath the taut fabric of his trousers. For one breathless moment, she couldn’t look away, could only stare at it as she became aware that, somehow, she had done that to him. Then she realised that if he was responding to her he must be aware of her scrutiny and raised wide eyes to meet his. The blue orbs were alive with a heady mix of desire and anger.
Caught spying, Merewyn blushed. Her lips even parted to inexplicably offer an apology, but nothing was forthcoming.
‘Go take your rest.’ He spoke in his own language, but repeated the command in her own. His voice was husky and warm.
Enslaved by the Viking Page 7