“Look here,” the woman said, as she stopped right in front of her. “Leif is the master of this house, and he has ordered me to keep you happy and fed, but if I am forced to stay here like a wife, taking care of everything while he is away, I will not have you looking pretty and doing nothing.”
“What do you want me to do, my Lady?” Her voice was small. She felt as though she were back in lessons, being chided by her tutor.
“Can you sew?” She asked.
“I can embroider passably.” Zahira reluctantly admitted. Piecing clothing had never been expected of her.
“Spin? Weave?”
The girl shook her head, blushing.
“Cook?”
Zahira sighed. “No. I can sing, and dance, and play music. I can read and write...”
Freja waved a hand dismissively, making a tsk noise.
“I can learn.”
Leif's sister paused, and looked down her nose at Zahira, silently judging her. “Alright,” she said finally. “You may go and find Hilde today. She will find someone to teach you... something... useful.”
“Yes, my Lady.” She actually felt glad of the opportunity. At the very least, it would be good to be able to walk around a bit, and perhaps get some fresh air.
“It pleases my brother to keep you around as his little trophy-toy,” Freja continued disdainfully. “But do not count on that lasting forever. You may soon be doing hard work with the rest of the drudges.”
She didn't know what to say, so she didn't answer.
Freja changed the subject abruptly. “Now,” she said, “Leif wanted to find out what you like to eat, drink, and wear.”
She had eaten nothing but meat and bread in seemingly forever. “Vegetables,” she answered immediately. “Rice. And fruit.” More than anything she desired fruit. “Do you have fruit?”
“Leif has money. We can get anything from the traders. What about that -” she indicated her own eyes, running a finger around them. “Cosmetic you used. He mentioned how much he liked that.”
Zahira was surprised, and perversely flattered. “Kohl.” She answered.
Freja looked dubious, but nodded.
She asked a few more questions, and the girl did her best to answer without further aggravating her. Then Freja dismissed her and left the room.
Zahira wandered for a while. The hall was quiet, with no men around – only the occasional thrall cleaning the floors or bustling about with logs or piles of clothing. They all looked at her with large eyes, but didn't speak.
She climbed the stairs and wandered her way to the kitchens, where a giant fire pit burned hot, huge pots hanging over it. Flustered kitchen women rushed around. And there was Hilde, directing it all.
The old woman seemed surprised to see her, but after being told what Freja wanted, she nodded and smiled warmly.
“Maybe you can not weave or cook,” the old woman said, “But I know something you can do.”
The task was watching over a gaggle of blonde Northern children. They ranged in ages from barely walking to almost adolescent.
With the help of Hanna, a shy red-haired lass of about sixteen, Zahira sat and kept them amused for long hours. She sang them songs and tried to teach them finger games she had known since childhood.
They were endlessly fascinated, even though they couldn't understand her – but whats more, they delighted in teaching her words from their language. Zahira quickly came to the conclusion that Hilde was very clever. She had known the girl would have experience with children, and Zahira expected she had known that the language barrier would force her to learn, too.
In all, it was a lovely diversion, and she almost forgot for a time that she was a slave here, far away from home.
In the afternoon, the children led her outside. She had no cloak and immediately felt cold, but she forgot it all at the sight of the landscape.
Snow blanketed everything – a light, powdery covering. The youngest children laughed and ran out in it, kicking their boots in the white dust and the older ones gathered it in their hands and threw it at each other.
She looked at Hanna, who smiled at her, unconcerned. So Zahira walked out into the cold air and bent to touch the snow, amazed at the unfamiliar sensation as she ran her fingers through the wet powder. Before long, she was chasing pigtailed girls and young boys through the trees, laughing along with them.
In the evening she watched women making butter in giant vats down in a barn. The young thrall women laughed and joked with each other. All of them were plump and rosy-cheeked. They didn't seem unhappy, even if they did work extremely hard.
She had seen thrall men wandering in and out of the property as well, carrying lumber, game for butchering or other heavy loads. She saw them far off, bent double in the fields. She wondered if they were treated as well as these women in Leif's household.
She asked Hilde about it.
“Leif Svensson is a fair chieftain.” She answered, using the Northman word. “His thralls are better treated than others. Many go free, if one day they pay their worth. Then they stay, work for him as freedmen.” Another strange word, but she thought she understood.
“So...” Zahira began, trying to sound casual, “I could go free, if I earned enough to balance my value.” She thought of the gold she still had in the earrings in her ears, her fine dress and the headdress, and wondered how much they would fetch her.
The women smiled kindly. “Yes...” she drew out the word, hesitant. “But Za,” Hilde couldn't pronounce her name well, so she had taken to using just the first syllable. “Your value is high. And you do not make things. You know, to sell at market.”
She ran through her meager list of talents, most of them utterly useless in this foreign land. She could embroider – if she got her hands on some silk, she might be able to sell some. The Northmen might have little use for fine decorated cloth, but the people they traded with would.
Just how long would it take for her to embroider enough to pay for her own freedom? Just thinking about it, her heart sank.
Hilde nudged her, and leaned forward conspiratorially. “There is something else you can do.”
“Yes?”
“Mmmhmm.” The old woman nodded, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “Make him fall in love with you.”
….
Having not had much sleep, she was exhausted by the end of the day, when Hilde sent her off to rest, back to the small cell in which she'd spent her first night.
Zahira curled up on her small straw bed and gratefully slept.
Freja woke her, late at night. Leif was back from dining with the men, and he had called for her.
She followed Freja down the stairs to his chambers, smoothing her rumpled clothing. She wished she'd had a chance to bathe, and hoped he wouldn't be angry that she was a little grimy. She tried to neaten her long hair, running her fingers through it.
When they stopped in front of the door to Leif's room, Freja suddenly turned to face her.
“Good work today.” She said. Then she looked away, and turned to leave.
It was good to receive something other than disapproval from the woman. Zahira felt disproportionately proud. She hadn't done much, but at least she had served a purpose other than “looking pretty.” A touch of a smile on her face, she pushed open the heavy carved door.
Peeking her head in, she saw Leif was on his bed – he had collapsed onto the mattress and fallen asleep. His legs hung over the edge, and he still wore leather armor and boots. He was snoring softly. All of the lanterns were out but a new fire crackled in the hearth, and the light flickered across the walls and ceiling.
She went in and closed the door. As she felt the warm air, she remembered his orders about wearing clothing in the room. Tiptoeing so as not to wake him, she pulled the shift over her head, and then the chemise, standing naked in front of the fire. She folded the clothing neatly and placed them on the bench. For a minute she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of heat on her skin
as she stood by the fireplace.
She wasn't sure what to do. Would he be angry if she woke him? But he had sent for her – presumably before falling asleep – and he might be angry if she didn't. She hoped she would learn these things in time. Mentally she admonished herself for thinking about such things – for wanting to please him.
Zahira approached the bed with some trepidation.
“My Lord?” She said quietly. He did not move.
She saw that his boots had mud on the soles. Moving close, she attempted to pick up one heavy calf and untie the laces. She didn't dare sit on the bed, so she had to awkwardly crouch and unwrap the leather thongs from around Leif's ankles. Heaving, she got one boot off, and then the other.
With difficulty she lifted his legs up onto the bed, one after the other. She looked down at him, and saw that the linen hanging from underneath his leather jerkin was dark with blood. Some of it was dry, but there was new, red blood there as well.
“My Lord!” She said, alarmed. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out a hand to shake his shoulder.
He stirred, grunting, and took hold of her hand.
“You are bleeding.” She said.
Leif raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it, his eyes still closed. His jaw was rough, his lips slightly chapped from the cold wind. He opened his eyes, and squinted at her.
“Oh,” he said, as though surprised to see her.
“You're bleeding, Master.” Zahira said.
“Bah,” he scoffed. “It's not proper hunting unless you get a little injured.”
“If you are wounded, you should clean it. And make sure it does not need stitching.” She told him.
He still held onto her, his pale skin contrasted against her darker hand, and she stood at his bedside looking down at him. He was dirty, his long hair tangled. His eyes sparkled at her, with amusement.
“Let me-” She stopped, heat rising to her face. “Please Master, allow me to tend to your wound.”
He laughed, and released her hand, sitting up. “Help me undress then,” he said, “and call one of the girls to draw me a bath.”
She tried to help. It was hard, not knowing the intricacies of the buckles and straps of his leather armor. But they got it off, and she took it from him, and pulled the shirt off over his head. She could see a bloody gash under his right ribs. It was impossible to tell how bad it was, so caked with dried blood and dirt.
She left him sitting there while she ran to find someone to help her with bath water. Two girls rolled a giant metal tub into the room, and more women came out to help carry huge buckets of cold water along with steaming water from the kitchen kettles. They filled it quickly, and set it by the fire.
Leif began taking off his breeches before the girls had even left the room, and they scurried out, averting their eyes, a couple of them trying to hide smiles and giggles.
Zahira closed the door behind them.
He stood completely naked by the bed, grinning lopsidedly at her. She tried not to stare, but couldn't help brushing her eyes over his muscular body. “You women,” he said. “Always make a fuss over a little blood.”
Having seen quite a few women give birth over the years, she could have refuted that, but held her tongue. “Come, my Lord,” she said gently, offering him her hand.
He seemed to find it all amusing, and he humored her - allowing her to pull him to the tub. He stepped in, and sunk into the water, pulling his legs up. Water slopped over the edge.
She took a small, clean cloth and found the women had left a small block of fatty soap. She sniffed it curiously. It had no real fragrance.
She sat by the tub and dipped her cloth, and Leif watched her face curiously as she began to squeeze water over his chest. Bit by bit the dirt washed away, and she gently wiped his skin, staying carefully above the water line. She soaped his long hair and rinsed it with water from the jug.
Zahira daydreamed, lost in the comforting ritual. A month ago she had had a servant girl doing this for her. If anyone had told her then how things would change, she never would have believed it.
She rinsed the soap from his hair, and blushed as she began to wash lower. She carefully sponged around the wound, cleaning away the dried blood as best she could. It didn't look too bad once it was washed. It should have been cleaned straight away, but she supposed it was not something these Northmen usually bothered with.
“See? It's but a scratch,” he grinned at her.
She furrowed her brow. “How did it happen?”
He shrugged. “I speared a boar. He tried to spear me. It was lucky he mostly missed.”
“It was lucky you were armored.”
He laughed, humor glinting in his eyes, and changed the subject. “You look a little ragged around the edges yourself. Did you go hunting today?”
“Chasing after children.” She muttered, scrubbing his upper arms.
“You should get clean in the tub with me.”
She had to smile a little at that. “There is not enough room, my Lord.”
“You can sit in my lap.”
“I don't think I would get very clean.”
“I might just order you to do it.”
“If you order me to do it, I will obey.” She answered.
He looked at her, his eyes wandering over her naked breasts, their nipples hard, drops of water dripping down her chest.
Again, he changed the subject, looking away. “Did Hilde ask you what you wanted at the markets?”
“Freja did.”
Leif raised his brows in surprise. “Really? What did she have to say?”
Zahira bit her lower lip, unsure how to answer. She didn't want to anger him when he was in such a good mood. “She asked what I could do to pull my weight.”
She noticed his jaw tense a little, and hurried to continue. “It's alright, my Lord. I wanted to find something to help with. And it was good to be with the children.”
“You like children?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
He took a deep breath, and raised cupped hands full of water to rinse his face.
“I sail again after the new moon,” he said, “I will bring back jewels and silk, wine and candies, and all of those things your people are so fond of.”
She didn't know how she felt about him going away- about being left with the thralls, and his abrasive sister. She stayed silent, until Leif reached over and picked up her hand, getting water all over her arm. Then she finally voiced her confusion. “My Lord,” she asked, “Why?”
He chuckled quietly, and shrugged. “Because it pleases me to do so.”
Zahira didn't know what to say.
“If there is anything you desire,” he continued, “tell me, and I will bring it to you.”
She swallowed, remembering something she had been afraid to ask from Freja. “My Lord, the only thing I would ask for is an instrument so that I can play for you. A lap harp or a lute.” She had always enjoyed playing, and missed the sounds of music around her.
He cocked his head at her. The gesture looked strange and boyish on him. “Huh. You play? Harald would love to learn from you. That boy collects instruments. I'll never understand it.”
“I would be glad to teach him.”
She gently took her hand from his, and used the soapy cloth to wash his abdomen. She felt the muscles of his stomach contract as she moved over his skin. As she moved lower she brushed against his erect member, and he chuckled.
She blushed, and felt stupid for it. But she continued washing, even rubbing the cloth gently between his legs, over, then underneath his balls. He leaned back, and sighed in pleasure, and she took her time – circling on his thighs, and back up, wrapping the cloth around his phallus with her hand to tease his skin.
The girl watched his body, learning its paths and curves, and the places he liked to be touched. She stroked wet hands up over his chest and shoulders, letting the cloth drag from her fingers.
She traced his scars, and the musc
les of his arms. He closed his eyes, relaxing. It was the first time she had seen him look anything approaching serene.
She wondered if she should pleasure him, here in the bath. He had not ordered her to, but he didn't object to her touching him either.
Opening her hand she let the cloth drift away in the water as she ran her fingernails over his taut stomach, wrapped her hand around his shaft, and stroked him up and down.
A smile came to his lips, and he hummed in approval. Encouraged, she began to move in a rhythm, twisting her hand slightly around his member as it became even harder. She thought she could feel it throb in her grip.
Her thumb teased the swollen head, her fingers caressed him gently, then firmly, then gently again.
“Mmm,” Leif murmured, opening his eyes. He watched her for a moment as she continued, meeting his eyes. The way he looked at her so intimately gave her chills, and she felt the betrayal of warmth and wetness in her sex.
Without a word, he suddenly sat up, and began to rise from the bath. Zahira stood too, backing up as he stepped dripping from the tub. He shook his head like a dog, droplets of water spraying out from his hair. Then he came to her, and took her in his arms.
His hard cock pressed firmly against her belly as he pulled her close and kissed her roughly, and this time she was ready and eager for his tongue. Their lips played together, nibbling and sucking. His tongue captured hers again and again. His wet flesh slid against hers.
He broke the kiss, only to bend his head and kiss her neck. He sucked on the skin under her ear, hard enough that it felt bruised, and she gasped. It hurt, but it felt good. No one had told her it could be that way. She still didn't understand it.
Zahira wrapped her arms around his waist, her arms clutching his back. His kisses on her neck sent shivers down her spine.
Suddenly, he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her across the room.
He threw her on the bed, and stood over her, a looming silhouette in the dim light, looking down on her naked body. She saw him take hold of his cock, slowly pumping it in his hand. The sight was so deliciously wicked and arousing, and she widened her legs without thinking.
In Thrall Page 4
