One by one, the women were sold. And then it was her turn. Using his metal staff like a cattle prod, the auctioneer tapped her smartly on the backside, ripping her from the cocoon of her glucose-starved brain.
“Gentlemen, we have here an unusual female. Given her mode of dress and her shorn hair, it appears she’s attempting to pass as a man.” Snickers bubbled up from the crowd. “But, I assure you, gentlemen, she is all female.” He ran his hand over her chest and tweaked a nipple. “She has tits, all right!”
Out of nowhere, a surge of adrenalin coursed through her, focusing her anger like a telescopic rifle sight. Nobody touched her that way. Nobody.
“You bastard!” Power surged from some hidden well of physical strength. She fisted her bound hands together and punched the tubby little creep in the chest. “How dare you touch me!”
The assembly collectively gasped as they watched the man crash-land on his backside. Two of the guards moved toward the platform, but the auctioneer waved them off. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
He scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. Grabbing her upper arm, he leaned in close and spoke in a low, menacing voice. “If you do that again, I’ll beat the bottoms of your feet until they bleed. Understand?” He smacked her backside with the metal rod, nearly sending her to the floor, but she managed to stay upright.
A wave of nausea swept over her. Somehow she had to get something to eat.
The auctioneer put on a sleazy smile and addressed the crowd. “Gentlemen, let us get back to business. Do I have an opening bid of fifty Saxon pennigar for this spirited and singular female?” He smoothed his metal staff over her backside. “My friends, think of the pleasure that awaits you the first time you take her to your bed.”
She stared at the auctioneer with undisguised loathing, but kept quiet.
Grunting and nodding, the men ogled her body like meat inspectors. She was grateful she’d worn her baggiest sweater.
“Gentlemen, this nubile young woman will be an exciting challenge,” he continued. “She’ll make you work for it, I guarantee.” The men laughed from the backs of their throats, rough and low.
That was enough. She summoned what little energy she had left and stepped forward. “I’m a weaver, not a sex slave," she said emphatically, making eye contact with several of the men. “Surely your household could use a good weaver.”
“Shut up,” hissed the auctioneer, “or I’ll have you gagged.” He smacked her again on the rear, this time sending her to her knees. “All she needs is a bit of discipline, my friends, surely a task you might enjoy, eh?”
She knelt on the platform, shoulders hunched and shaking. Maybe she hadn’t time-traveled, after all. Maybe she’d died and gone to Hell.
The auctioneer signaled one of the guards to come over and help her to her feet. She had to admit, she was so weak, she might not have been able to do it alone.
Hands flew into the air and shouts rang out as the men bid against each other like sharks in a feeding frenzy. The bidding was so furious, the auctioneer had trouble keeping up.
Finally only two bidders remained. “Seventy-five,” shouted a red-haired giant with an unkempt beard down to his waist.
“Eighty,” countered the other, a round, bald-headed man who wore fine clothes and jewelry.
She glared at the two men. One of them would have her in his bed this very night, and there was probably nothing she could do about it.
“One hundred,” shouted the red-haired man.
Crap! This cannot be happening to me.
“No woman is worth that kind of money,” the bald man replied, throwing up his hands. “You can have her.”
It was over. Her heart sank to her knees. The giant had won. He raked her from head to toe with a lascivious stare that told her everything she needed to know about him. This was not going to be fun.
Grinning from ear to ear, the auctioneer raised the metal rod above his head. In the corner Egil and Ulf gleefully slapped each other on the back. The greedy jerks.
“I have a final bid of one hundred silver Saxon pennigar. Thank you, gentlemen. Going once, going twice...”
“One hundred twenty-five!” shouted a booming voice from the back of the room.
*****
Stein couldn’t believe it. He’d just bid more money on a bed slave than he’d ever paid for anything, including his best horse, but he couldn’t help it. She was the most unusual and intriguing woman he’d ever seen.
He didn’t even know why he was at the slave market. Despite his conversation with Erik, buying a bed slave was the last thing on his mind. He was in Túnsberg to buy Erik a horse, but something had drawn him inside. He’d noticed her as soon as he took his place at the back of the room. Indeed, she was hard to miss.
Tall and slender, she was dressed in men’s clothing and wore her loose hair about her shoulders in a boyish style. Not only that, she wore a strange device perched on the bridge of her nose. Consisting of two glass pieces held together with wire, it seemed to be some sort of viewing apparatus. It obscured her features somewhat, but he saw enough to know she was pretty. Very pretty. She stood out from the other women on the platform like a bright red flower in a snow bank.
But it was not only her appearance that fascinated him. Her demeanor was unusual as well. She made eye contact with the men and spoke boldly to them. She had spirit, more than was good for a woman.
She also had courage. Pushing the auctioneer to the floor was risky. The man would have been within his rights to beat her there and then, but the wily Arab knew she would fetch a higher price if he didn't hit her.
Yes, a price so outrageous, they all thought Stein was mad.
“The gentleman in the back has bid one hundred twenty-five pennigar,” exclaimed the auctioneer with an astonished smile. “Do I hear any other bids?”
Stein took a deep breath. He could still back out, if he wanted to. He could say his bid had been in error. If he wanted to.
He studied her as she searched the crowd with wide eyes, trying to find him. No, he would not retract his bid. She might cost more than a good horse, but he wanted her. And he'd have her in his bed this night. He hadn't planned on spending money on a room, preferring to sleep under the stars, but he wanted to have a proper bed for their first time together.
He had found his new plaything, all right...
...or perhaps he’d just bought himself a pretty bundle of trouble.
*****
Esme’s attention was riveted to the rear of the courtyard along with everyone else’s. Judging from the looks on their faces, one hundred twenty-five pennigar must have been an enormous amount of money.
“Any other bids?” repeated the auctioneer, his beady eyes gleaming with greed. He looked to the red-haired man, who shook his head and pursed his lips in a frown. “One hundred twenty-five it is. Sold to the tall man in the back.”
The crowd made way for the victor, who strode forward like a conquering hero.
Esme gasped as she drank him in. At least six and a half feet tall, he was built like a granite cliff face. A blond, blue-eyed, über-Viking straight out of central casting, he made Esme quiver with dread...and excitement. His strongly sculpted face, covered in fine stubble, would have been at home on Mt. Rushmore and was as intimidating as his body, making the scar that ran across his left cheek no more than a frightening afterthought.
Oh, lord, he’s Sven Nydahl on steroids!
He climbed onto the platform and towered over her. “What are you called?” he asked in a rumbling baritone. The combination of his deep voice and immense height made her feel small and helpless.
“My name is Esme,” she croaked, her throat suddenly as dry as a vodka martini. “It’s short for Esmeralda.”
“That is an odd name.”
“My mother was into ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame,’” she answered without thinking.
He looked blank. “Your name is not important.”
Yeah, who needed a name when all he wan
ted was her body.
With a slight smirk on his full lips, he scanned her from head to toe, no doubt assessing her worthiness to grace his bed. Yup, she was headed for bedroom duty.
Her gaze drifted down to his humongous feet.
Lord, help me!
Her first night as his bedmate would be memorable, all right...if she lived through it.
CHAPTER 5
“I am called Stein Magnuson. You will wait here.”
She nodded. Stein. Stone. It figured.
The auctioneer stood patiently to the side, smiling like a contented Buddha. Stein withdrew a bag of coins from his waist pouch and placed it in the happy man’s hand.
She turned her attention toward Egil and Ulf, who hovered nearby, beaming like they’d just won the lottery. Glad I could help you boys out.
Stein walked to the exit and gestured for her to follow him outside. She hesitated. Where was he taking her? She felt like she was about to step off the plank into shark-infested waters.
“Come, now.” He spoke quietly, but there was no mistaking the implied warning in his tone.
She cast a final glance at Egil and Ulf and stepped into the crisp air. For half a nanosecond she considered fleeing down the congested lane, but her so-called owner’s stone-cold visage made her reconsider, as did the powerful hand he immediately clamped on her shoulder. Besides, she was too weak from hunger to run anywhere.
“Where are we going?”
“To a nearby inn.”
A powerful spasm cramped her stomach. “Do they have food? I’m starving.”
“Yes, I’m certain they do.” He looked her up and down. “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a very long time. I feel like I’m going to faint any minute.”
He scooped her up into his arms.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“I’m helping you.”
He smelled surprisingly good, like a pine forest, but his arms and chest were so hard, they hurt. I wonder what he looks like without the shirt. Her heart stuttered. She’d find out soon enough.
His rumbling voice interrupted her racy thoughts. “I will see you are fed.”
Like a pet. “Thank you,” she said.
He carried her about an eighth of a mile, past shops and stables, houses and animal pens. Several passersby stared at her, but most did not. It must have been common to see strangely dressed young women with bound hands being hauled down the street this way. What a depressing thought.
Turning the corner, they continued another twenty yards before entering a narrow alleyway. On the right, next to a stable, was an unremarkable wooden building with shuttered windows. Stein ducked under the door frame and set her on her feet. He spoke briefly with an elderly man, the innkeeper she supposed, and gave him some coins.
The old man leered at her. He knew exactly what she was. She'd never felt so conspicuous in her life. She was a librarian, for heaven's sake, not a woman of the evening.
Stein started down the passageway, and she trotted behind him like a well-trained poodle. She'd even bark for him if it got her some food.
He opened the door and, as it swung wide, a large bed filled her vision. It was gigantic, nearly filling the tiny room, but at least it was a proper piece of furniture and not a straw pallet crawling with lice. It looked clean and fresh, as did the white-washed wattle-and-daub walls.
“The innkeeper assures me the bed is free of vermin. We shall be comfortable,” he said without cracking a smile.
Well, how nice. They would be comfortable. Together. In the bed. She looked down at the wooden floor covered in rushes and stared at his ginormous feet. Swallowing hard, she fought down the urge to laugh like a hyena.
Angling her head, she stole a glance at him. He was watching her, an amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth, as if he were already picturing her naked body stretched out on the sheets.
“I’ve ordered the innkeeper to bring us food.”
She couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. “Oh, thank you. The men who brought me here didn't want to waste money on me, so they only gave me water. I’m absolutely famished.” At least she’d meet her fate on a full stomach.
“Yes, we shall both eat something before we begin.”
“Begin?” Her pulse doubled. "Begin what?"
He locked his blue gaze onto her like a heat-seeking missile. “I want to know if you’re worth the rather large sum of money I just paid for you.”
Her stomach lurched. Damn. You’re afraid of disappointing him, aren’t you?
She hated to admit it, but yes, she was. Women must throw themselves at him all the time. He’d probably had so many lovers, he’d lost count. She’d had one.
She waved her hand at the bed. “I...ah...I should tell you that I have limited experience.”
He narrowed his lovely blue eyes. “Does that matter?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on what you expect from me.”
“I expect...” An eyebrow arched as his voice trailed off. “To be honest, I don’t know what to expect from you. You are not like other women.”
“Oh?”
“For one thing, your appearance puzzles me.”
“Yes, well, I...”
“But you needn’t worry about experience.” His lips curved. “I have enough for us both.”
Damn! A hot little bubble of desire burst deep in her core, shooting heat up her throat to her face, making her blush like a virgin. God, she hated to be so obvious.
He drew his dagger from its leather sheath at his waist. “I’ll release you from your bonds if you agree to behave yourself. I won’t be gentle if you try to escape.”
“I won’t run away,” she replied, quickly offering him her bound hands. “Believe me, I have nowhere to go.”
“I take it you’ve not been a bed slave before?” His finely-edged dagger sliced easily through the thin rope.
“Um, no,” she replied, rubbing her aching hands and wrists. “What does a bed slave do? I mean, aside from the obvious.”
He sat down and motioned for her to sit next to him. Since there was no alternative, she took a seat, but kept a ‘do not trespass’ space between them.
“You will perform many duties. You’ll help my mother with all the household chores, and you’ll take care of the animals and milk the cow. When it’s harvest time, you’ll cut and winnow grain. There are a great many things to do on the farm.”
“Oh, yeah, the farm.” Her shoulders sagged, and she stared at her hands splayed against her thighs. She hadn’t counted on being a farm hand, too.
“Everyone must pitch in. You’ll be kept very busy during the day,” he raised a sexy eyebrow, “and during the night.”
A zing of desire shot straight to her pussy. Don’t get excited. The guy was probably married with a brood of tow-headed children.
She smiled tightly. “What about your wife? Surely she’s not happy with that last bit.”
An unidentified emotion flashed across his face. “I am not married.”
Her heart fluttered at first, then froze as she wondered why he wasn’t married. He was probably in his late twenties or early thirties. Surely everyone that age was either married or widowed.
“You live with your mother, then?” Funny, he didn’t remotely resemble a mama’s boy, and he certainly wasn’t gay.
“She lives with me,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Esme replied, not understanding the distinction. “Um, getting back to this bed slave business...” She brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. “I don’t know how to put this exactly, but do I stay with you all the time? You know, every night?”
He chuckled. “For the time being. After a while, I will share you with the others.”
“The others?” She’d conveniently forgotten how free and easy the Vikings were when it came to sex. Well, the men were, anyway.
“Yes, of course. My half-brother, Erik, certainly, and some of the other
clansmen, too. We all share our bed slaves.”
Hugh Hefner would love it. “So how many women do you sleep with?”
He laughed, a warm, rich sound like buttery, hot caramel sauce. “I usually sleep with one at a time.”
She felt her cheeks flush. “Usually?”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve occasionally shared a bed with two or more.”
Holy Toledo! Her clitoris tweaked at the mental image of Stein cavorting with an entire bed full of naked women.
“You must get bored easily.”
A shadow flickered across his handsome face, then he smiled. “Just make certain you never bore me.”
She harrumphed. “I’ll try not to.” She didn’t like the edge to his voice.
“Good. Then we shall get on well.”
“Just as long as you don’t make me do something kinky, like a threesome,” she snapped.
Scowling, he leaned toward her. “You will do whatever I tell you to do. You have no choice.”
Mouth gaping, she slanted backwards defensively. She’d never been spoken to like that in her life.
His expression softened. “I didn’t mean to scold you. I’m not accustomed to having a bed slave talk back to me.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m not used to being treated like a bed slave. Where I come from, women choose their own bed partners. In fact, they control their own lives. Men can’t tell them what to do.”
He looked down his well-sculpted nose. “Oh?”
“Yes.” She straightened her spine, gathering steam. “The women in my country are well educated and work in every profession, even the military. We don’t let men push us around."
He relaxed. “Is that right? Do you order your men about in bed, as well?” His eyes twinkled playfully.
He was baiting her! And enjoying every minute. “No, we don’t have to. Our men respect our wishes and are eager to please us.”
Vanquishing A Viking Page 4
