by Lily Harlem
“You heard the wolves, you’ve seen the boar prints,” he said. “And while there are, I’m sure, worse creatures in the world, there are none worse than a band of Viking warriors, hungry for a woman, hungry for a slave.”
“Like you, Master.”
“I wasn’t hungry for a slave… you were just there.”
“Just there for the taking.”
“I saw you.” He turned to her. “And I wanted you.”
There was something in his eyes that spoke to her of desire. He was seeing her as female, not simply a thrall to perform household tasks.
“And when I want something, I, Halvor Stein of Gorstein, take it.” He banged his fist on his chest. “You should learn that about me.”
She stared ahead. Remembering his big cock and knowing if he decided he wanted to stick it in her, the way he had the ginger root, there’d be nothing she could do about it.
An image flashed through her mind of him naked, over her, making those guttural noises as he pumped his seed into her, not onto the shoreline. A shiver of something, she wasn’t sure what, wound its way up her spine. She didn’t abhor the image, as she probably should.
What does that say about me?
“I know you hate me,” he said, “and think me a man of no morals, and that I’m a harsh master. But you would see, mark me, that another Viking would not be so kind to you.”
“Kind, my bottom was bright red for days and that ginger root burned a part of me that shouldn’t have had your attention.”
“I own you, all of you. No part of your body is undeserving of my attention.” He paused. “And remember, you have food in your belly, a warm home, we are preparing for harsher weather, and you have my word I will fend off anyone or anything that tries to hurt you.”
“And I am thankful for the food and shelter you provide.” She hesitated. “What else, Master? What else would another Viking do that you would not?”
He navigated through a small stream and past several boulders. She hadn’t thought he’d answer, but then, “He would have forced himself on you, done what every man carnally desires should the mood have taken him.”
“Yet you have not.”
“No.” He paused. “I prefer to have my women willing.”
For a while they traveled in silence. She mulled over what he’d said and it started to make sense to her why he’d worked his own cock. It was to take his pleasure without taking her.
A strange emotion grew in her chest, one she tried to beat down, but couldn’t. It was gratitude that he hadn’t taken her virginity, and also, with it, a whisper of respect.
A virile man like Halvor must have struggled to control himself. Especially with her offered up to him, her ass red, squirming with the heat of the ginger and for some reason, her cunny damp as if to ease his way into her.
“Ah, look.” He pulled Ivan to a halt. “Wild celery, let’s take our fill.”
She shook the erotic thoughts from her head and reached behind for a basket, glad of something to do other than think of Halvor, his need for a willing woman, and her virginity.
Will I ever be his willing woman?
They filled the basket. Duna also spotted horseradish, which seemed to particularly please her master and they loaded a basket with that too.
An hour later and after following the meander of a fast flowing river, they came across farmed land and another longhouse.
“Asmund was friends with my father,” Halvor said. “For many years.”
“What happened to your father?” Duna asked, for she knew nothing of his family.
Halvor raised his eyes to the sky. “He died a warrior, on foreign shores, and is now with the Valkyrie in Valhalla.”
“I am sorry you lost him.”
“My loss was the gods’ gain.” He drew Ivan to a halt, and then jumped down. Instantly he turned and reached for her. Gripping her waist, he lowered her gently to the ground.
She clasped his tunic, aware her weight was nothing to him. “Thank you.”
He didn’t release her; instead he stared down at her with gentleness in his eyes as his hands spanned her waist. “I’ve enjoyed our journey here together. The hills are beautiful, and the sun warm.”
She studied the ink around his right eye—the ends of the swirls were shaped like tiny spearheads—and the darker blue lines around his irises, and the shape of his nose and lips.
He lowered his head.
Duna pulled in a breath. He was so close, and there was something softer and more courteous between them, something she hadn’t felt before.
“Halvor!”
He released her and stepped away. “Asmund.”
It was strange, but she missed his closeness.
That is foolhardy, he’s your capture.
Asmund was elderly but still tall and broad. He had a thick gray beard and wore brown leather breeches held up with a thick black belt. His top half was bare and his muscles still evident despite the wiry patch of silvery hair on his sternum.
Halvor spoke in his native dialect.
Asmund replied, smiled, and studied Duna.
“Come here, slave,” Halvor said. “Meet my old friend.”
Duna walked over the graveled ground.
Asmund was smiling broadly and showing off a mouth that had only a few top teeth. He took Duna’s hand in both of his and spoke words she didn’t understand.
“He says you have hair the color of a crow, and eyes the color of chestnuts,” Halvor said.
“I suppose that’s true.” She smiled at Asmund.
Asmund’s grin widened and he spoke again to Halvor, gesturing to the longhouse.
Within minutes they were sat beside a waning fire, and drinking mead with Asmund and his wife.
To Duna’s surprise, his wife, Nadir, spoke reasonable Celt. Enough for Duna to have a conversation about her new clothes and her boots.
“There are few women in these parts,” Nadir said. “I feared Halvor would always live alone.”
Duna hesitated, then, “I am his thrall, not his wife.”
“I understand.” She glanced at Halvor. “And my feet have been on this earth long enough to understand men. I had five sons, you know.”
“You did? Where are they now?”
“Now I only have four.” She glanced away and her smile slipped, but after a sip of her drink she retrieved it. “They live with wives and children in the hills to the south of here. There they found a good inlet port to trade; sometimes they make the journey and bring me gifts.”
“That’s kind of them.”
“Aye.” She reached into the pocket of her red dress. “This silk ribbon came from Igor.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Feel it.”
Duna took the length of white ribbon. She hadn’t felt such a thing before; it was soft like fur, but smooth as water on her fingertips, and so light she barely knew she was holding anything. “Thank you.” She passed it back.
“It would be pretty against your black hair,” Nadir said. “May I touch it?”
“My hair?”
“Yes, I have never met anyone with such a dark color.”
“Well, yes, if you want.” Duna sat still while Nadir curled a lock of her long hair around her finger.
Halvor paused in his conversation with Asmund and watched Nadir.
Duna felt a little embarrassed by the scrutiny.
When Nadir dropped the lock and leaned away, Halvor cleared his throat. “We should leave soon, Duna.”
“The rooster is ready for us?” she asked.
“Aye, Asmund bought it yesterday from the reverend who lives up yonder on the river’s edge.”
“Reverend?” Duna was surprised; she’d never heard of a Viking practicing Christianity.
“So he says,” Nadir shrugged. “He spent time in the land of Normandy, came back talking of one God and his son and all of the saints. Said he was now a reverend.”
“He did?” Duna had a lovely warm feeling rush
through her. “He is?” That stopped her from feeling so alone. Perhaps this man would be of help to her.
“Why is that so exciting?” Halvor stood and pulled out a coin from his pocket.
“Because he is speaking of my God, of my belief.”
Nadir nodded. “I see.”
“It’s not the belief of this land, slave, here we have put our destiny in the hands of Thor and Odin.” Halvor placed the coin on the table. “Please pass this on to the reverend, and thank him for the rooster.”
Asmund appeared a little confused; he hadn’t understood a word of what Halvor has said to him.
Nadir translated.
Halvor chuckled and shook his head. “Thank you, Nadir. I’ve become used to the company of Celts, my tongue slips into what was an unfamiliar dialect with such ease now.”
“It’s good for us to speak both,” Nadir said. “That’s why the reverend taught me.” She leaned a little closer to Duna. “Though you have a kind of music to your words, Duna, why is that?”
“It’s the way of her people,” Halvor said. “The dialect comes with many nuances and accents.” He held out his hand. “Come hither, slave, it’s time to go back to the longhouse.”
She stood, placing her fingers in his palm. For a moment she paused and stared at his hand, remembering how it had slapped against her rump and the heat and pain it had delivered. Yet today, as each day since, he was gentle and kind with her, as if the punishment had never happened.
‘And when it’s over, it’s over, we are on a clean slate. You will have learned your lesson and I will have forgiven you.’
She remembered his words, and appreciated that he’d stuck to them. She also hoped she wouldn’t sully her slate again for some time.
After securing the rooster in a small wicker cage, Halvor lifted her onto the wagon.
“Goodbye, Halvor.” Nadir drew him into a quick hug. “I’m pleased you’ve returned safely, after the promise I made your mother you’re like another son to me.”
Halvor held her small hands in his. “I have no urge to go traveling the seas anytime soon, Nadir.”
“I’m sure you haven’t. Your last venture was fruitful, your thrall is quite a catch.” Nadir placed her hand on his cheek. “Now go, be happy, and don’t be a stranger, come and see us soon, both of you.” She raised her hand. “Goodbye, Duna, I enjoyed meeting you.”
Chapter Twelve
Ivan was on a go-slow, but Halvor didn’t mind. The sun was warm on his shoulders and the landscape a feast for his eyes after months at sea.
Duna was talking about the reverend, and how she’d like to meet him, to discuss her God with him.
Halvor had only met the man once, and he’d seemed nice enough. Perhaps if his slave was well behaved it could be a treat for her in the future.
“Oh, look, what’s that?” Duna pointed to the right.
Halvor pulled the wagon to a halt.
Standing against a copse of tall elm trees was a female elk with her calf. She was a huge beast with a stunning earthy brown coat that glistened in the sun, and a large curved nose. She was chewing, though her attention was firmly on them.
The calf nudged at her belly, seeking milk.
“That is elk, Duna,” he said. “Have you seen one before?”
“No, and I didn’t think it would be so big.”
“She is big, dangerous too when with her young. I would not like to bump into her on a dark night.”
“She’s very protective?”
“Incredibly, strong too. She could and would take on a pack of wolves and there would be wolf injuries, even deaths. She can supply a lethal kick.”
Ivan raised his head and snorted.
“Hey, hey, go on then,” Halvor said, shaking the reins. “Ivan isn’t fond of elk.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I’ve had other horses who don’t mind them.”
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze seeming to stay with the elk, then she spoke again. “Nadir said she made a promise to your mother, what was that?”
He turned to her, surprised by the blunt question.
She glanced away and dipped her chin. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
He studied the track ahead. “My mother and Nadir were great friends. They grew up together, and when my mother became sick, she asked Nadir to be there for me after she was gone.”
“How many summers were you when she died?”
“Twenty, I hardly needed mothering, but Nadir took her promise seriously and has always sent prayers for my safety to the gods.”
“I like her.”
“Yes, I like her too.” He paused. “Elderberries, let’s collect some.” He glanced back to make sure they were a safe distance from the elk.
“I’ll make a tonic with them, should we fall ill in the winter months, and also a jelly for the bread.”
“You are very useful to have around,” he said, jumping to the ground and reaching for her. The drop was too great for her small height.
As she set to work, filling a basket, it pleased him that she’d spoken of the winter months, and that she appeared to have accepted her new life with him.
Though she was clever, in her pretty head he believed there to be a sharper mind than many thrall women. He’d discovered that in their conversations over previous days, and she was particularly skilled with leather. He’d have to be sure she wasn’t luring him into a false sense of security, and begin to trust her too much. She had, after all, been plucked from her home, her father, and everything she knew in the middle of the night and brought to his land to be his possession.
A fate of the same kind was not something he’d accept readily.
* * *
They were back at the longhouse in plenty of time before nightfall.
Duna put the new rooster safely in the coop, and Halvor worked with Raven to bring the sheep into the barn. He noticed a dip in the earth around the corner, as though something had scratched at the soil beneath the wood. Had Raven been digging again? Sometimes he liked to bury the trotter bones Halvor gave him.
When he went into the longhouse, the fire was blazing and Duna stood before it. She held Misty against her chest with one hand, and with the other she was stirring broth.
She was singing; a sweet melodic tune he hadn’t heard before.
He paused, enjoying the sound and the scents of the scene before him. Having Duna in his house this last week or so had changed how he felt about it. It was no longer quiet, he didn’t have to perform every task, and it smelled pretty good when she cooked.
It’s home.
He realized that was what she’d done. She’d turned it from a building into home. He hoped her singing meant she’d had a happy day with him and she was learning to accept her role.
“That’s nice,” he said, reaching for his cask and stepping closer to her.
“Thank you.”
“What’s it about?”
“My island. The place where I was born and where my heart is.”
So maybe not so accepting… yet. “Is it a song enjoyed by many?”
“I guess so. My mother taught it to me.”
He poured a drink, then sat and studied her small frame from behind. He couldn’t help sliding his gaze to her ass even though it was hidden beneath her clothing. “Where was your mother that night I came to your village?”
“She is with God and Jesus Christ.”
He paused. “She’s passed?”
“Yes, when I was seven summers. She was giving birth to my brother.”
“I was unaware you had a brother?”
“I don’t.” She paused. “He died with his mother and became an angel with her.”
“I’m sorry for your sadness, Duna.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“But you still miss her?”
“Of course. She was my mother, so kind, so beautiful.” She sighed. “My father took the loss hard.” She turned. “And now he has lost
me.”
He took a deep drink. He was sorry for her father, for he would hate to lose Duna, but he wouldn’t apologize. The old man’s loss had been Halvor’s gain. It was the way of Vikings, to take slaves from other lands.
Though if he could send a message that he was treating his daughter well, that he’d lay down his life to protect her, then he would. Maybe next time he went to the port he’d pay a coin for a message to be delivered to her island.
“The food is ready.” Duna placed Misty down beside a bowl of buttermilk. “I used some of the horseradish we collected this morning.”
“Ah, good.” He set his drink aside and inhaled deep as she set a huge earthenware bowl of steaming broth before him. “You cook well when you’re not burning food.”
“It’s easy to cook well when there are plenty of ingredients.”
He nodded at the empty chair. “Sit. Eat. I wish you to put meat on your bones. You need your strength for working around here, especially when winter comes.”
“Yes, Master.” She filled herself a bowl and sat opposite him. “If that’s what you wish.”
“It is. And you will do as I wish, Duna. You know that?”
“I know that if I don’t my behind will be turned red.”
“Is it still red?”
“I haven’t looked. But I shouldn’t think so not after this long.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “I may look, after this food.”
“That will not be necessary.” She frowned. “I have not been disobedient, so why should I have my rear exposed?”
“Because you are mine, thrall, and if I wish to look at your behind and judge if it still holds the color of berries, I will.”
She squirmed a little, then slurped her broth.
He knew he’d irked her. Having taken her punishment well, including the heat of ginger, she didn’t want to discuss it or be reminded of it.
But the truth was he’d quickly become fond of her buttocks, and the way she pinked up, squealed and gasped as he spanked her. Trouble was she’d been on such good behavior helping around the longhouse he’d had no reason to enjoy her ass.
Odin, help me find strength.
