by Jen Black
He saw it, and his reaction was swift. Rising to his knees, he reached for her and his mouth swooped down to join hers.
She recoiled, and jerked her head sideways. As he leaned in, she pushed against him, but her slender hands and reed thin wrists proved useless against his solid bone and muscle. Emer squeaked in outrage, and scrambled backwards to get away from him.
Still grinning, he seized her hand, drew it to his mouth and curved his tongue around her fingertips. Emer wrenched her hand from his as if his touch burned her, and lurched further away. Her back slammed against the wooden wall, and she pressed against it, panting, watching him.
“You’re frightened, aren’t you?” He sat back on his heels, watching her.
Emer shook her head in violent denial. “No.”
“Of course you are. You’re as pale as milk.”
When his gaze descended to the spot where her breasts surged against the too tight cloth of her old gown, Emer instinctively crossed her arms and dragged her legs up, closing in on herself. There was no escape route, and her shoulders already ached from being pressed so hard against the wall.
Pride made her deny her fears, but she was afraid, and he knew it. She could not still the slight tremor that ran through her. Her blood fizzed and bounced in her veins and she could not think, let alone speak.
“Then why take your hand back?”
She did not grasp his meaning, but slowly connected his words to her denial. He was asking why, if she wasn’t afraid of him, she had rejected him. She shook her head, incapable of explaining that there was more to it than being afraid of him. He leaned towards her so slowly it was obvious he expected further recoil from her. “I want to kiss more than your fingertips.”
“But….” Emer bit at her bottom lip, gauging his mood. “I am frightened. I’m sorry.” Perhaps she could win his sympathy. He could have insisted, and made her his bed mate; but he had held off when she made it clear she objected. If he pursued her now, she could see no way of avoiding him.
He regarded her in silence, then shuffled to the edge of the bed platform and sat on it. “I prefer it when you are honest.”
He had decided not to pursue her. Emer sagged against the wall.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Why are you so frightened?”
An idiotic question. Why wouldn’t she be scared of him? “I barely know you.” Her voice shook as she uttered the words.
Flane put one arm back and leaned on his hand. “I don’t know you either. But we could get to know each other very quickly.”
She stiffened against the timber wall, opened her mouth and hesitated. She did not know how to answer him.
“I see you from your silence you have no real objection.” Flane stood and undid the silver buckle of his belt, reeled it free and laid it on the floor beside the bed. He flung his leather jerkin aside.
Shocked, Emer sat rigid, her mouth open.
“Come here.” He reached for her, but Emer lurched away from his hand. She got her feet on the floor and was ready to bolt from the bed platform when Flane caught her arm. She sat down again with a thump. Her mouth trembled, and tears stood in her eyes. Her wrist looked very small and fragile in his hand.
“Anyone would think that you’d never been kissed.”
“I haven’t.”
It was his turn to hesitate. “Never?”
Eyes solemn, she nodded.
He shook his head in disbelief, ducked his head and leaned in towards her.
Emer pulled back, but with her wrist gripped in his hand, could only go so far. She shut her eyes and turned her head aside. His mouth, warm and surprisingly gentle, met her cheek. “Then let me reassure you, my little virgin. I assume,” he murmured, “that you are a virgin?”
“Yes.”
He put hand beneath her elbow and pulled her to her feet. Her palms collided with his chest. His skin, silky smooth and initially cool to her palms, shocked her. Unable to breathe, she tried to push him away. Heat built beneath her hands and disconcerting feelings, unforeseen and yet delightful, rushed through her. In spite of her fears, she found him attractive.
His hair tickled her face as his head tilted. His stubble prickled her cheek as he moved gently over her mouth. Beneath her palms, the muscles of his chest jumped. Emer grasped his arm, felt the hard muscle there and experienced a strange plunge of her stomach, and her heart beat so fast it astonished her.
Flane pulled her against him, and captured her mouth with his own.
Her first instinct was to fight him, but his lips were unexpectedly gentle, and she allowed the kiss to go on and on until she had to tear her mouth free and suck in a much-needed breath. Her heart beat so loud she thought she could hear it.
“Breathe through your nose,” he said. Turn your head a little to the side and you’ll find it’s easy to breathe.” He clasped her face between his large hands, and tilted her head. “Like this.” He kissed her once more. He drew back a little later, and regarded her. “Was that not better?” His lips fluttered against her own when he spoke.
She nodded, wide-eyed.
“There’s a trick to every trade,” he said lightly.
Emer gasped. “Trade—!”
“I used the word loosely. Think nothing of it.” He smiled. “Tell me how to undress you instead.”
Emer grabbed at the neck of her linen chemise, clutched it to her throat and backed from him. “No!”
He sprawled across the bed, balanced on one hip and an elbow so that the long length of him extended the full length of the bed space. “Come and lie with me.” He grasped the rise of her hip and pulled her down with him. Emer shot a panicky glance over her shoulder. “People can see us!”
He contented himself by curling his palm around her so he could catch her mouth. She ducked away.
“Let yourself enjoy it.”
“I can’t!”
“Of course you can.” He pushed forward, nuzzling into her throat.
“I can’t!” Her fists jabbed him.
Surprised, he opened his eyes. “You’re angry.”
“Of course I’m angry! I’m not used to being treated like a…like a woman who… sells her body for silver!”
His fingers continued caressing her, but he said nothing.
“We’re not married and I’m not your…bed slave! Flane, stop! Have you forgotten our bargain so soon?”
He desisted, and grinned suddenly. “Our bargain? I don’t remember making any bargain.” He wriggled his hips against her.
Emer’s mouth and eyes widened at the swift little dart of pleasure that swept through her, and when he groaned, she wondered briefly if he’d experienced the same surge of pleasure.
“I remember we discussed some sort of a bargain,” he said. “But nothing was agreed.”
Emer swallowed hard and sat up. “But you might consider agreeing to it?”
The hall fire behind him lit the line of his cheek and jaw with gold. Frowning concentration replaced his smile. “Don’t push me, girl. Stay here,” he added gruffly, and got to his feet. “I’ll be back later.”
When he strode away, Emer shuffled to the back corner of the bed space where few people could see her and collapsed against the wall. She may have won the first battle, but she could foresee a time when he would not be prepared to wait. Emer grabbed a woven blanket that lay neatly folded at one end of the bed space and snuggled into it, more for comfort than warmth. Her blood zinged round her body in an exhilarating way and her fingers trembled on the patterned wool. He was a beast! He did not mean to marry her, she knew he didn’t. He intended to marry that other girl and take the leadership of the band one day. He would not give that up for her.
But she wouldn’t be his bed-slave.
Emer scowled, and turned her face up to the rafters high above. It was a boast she was unlikely to realise if he persisted. He had been surprisingly gentle today, but tomorrow might bring a different, rougher man who would take rather than persuade. She would hate him for
it. Yet his touch had aroused such strange feelings in her. She’d thought her heart beat so hard it might burst when he kissed her - and she had kissed him back. No wonder he thought she wanted to be his bed mate.
She clenched her hands and dug her nails into her palms. He was playing with her, amused by her. She ought to be strong and hold him at a distance. Was she so spineless she’d let this man do whatever he wanted? If he wanted her, he must…must what? She had no idea what to ask for, what to bargain with or even what she might bargain for.
Emer watched two slaves haul a huge black cauldron over to the fire pit. They struggled to hang it on chains suspended from a large hook embedded in the roof beam but finally had it swinging gently above the fire.
She slept a little, lulled by the warmth of the blanket and the weariness of the last few days. The slave compound had never been a safe place, and any sleep she’d had there had always been so light that it did her little good. Here, she had the bed space to herself, and it seemed no one would dare harm Flane’s property.
A slave woke her some time later, handing her a round bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. Emer sat up and devoured what proved to be her first good meal since she’d left Pabaigh. As she ate, she noticed Flane at the far end of the hall, conversing with Skuli Grey Cloak. She sipped hot liquid from the side of the bowl and tried to ignore him, but within a few moments, her glance wandered over to him once more.
People had collected in the hall while she slept, and sat in what looked like family groups as they ate. If every member of the steading was present, then she’d been correct when she guessed at thirty people living there. Everyone, from the oldest adult down to the smallest child, looked well-clothed and well-fed.
Her glance wandered unbidden beyond the central hearth to Flane. Rosy firelight tinted his hair and smooth brown skin. He could not be much beyond his early twenties. She remembered how the silver stubble felt when he’d kissed her, and a pang shot through her. She immediately erased the thought from her mind.
Though perhaps fifty feet away, she could see his short and neat nose, deep set eyes and strong brows. A strapping of muscle started somewhere beneath his ear and ran down to wide, powerful shoulders. The firelight struck a flare of blue as he glanced over the rim of his bowl in her direction. She looked away at once, but it wasn’t long before her gaze drifted back to him again.
Girls probably hung on his every word. His simple leather jerkin revealed a well-turned throat and emphasised the excellent proportions of his upper body. Close-cut trousers encased long thighs and knees bumpy with muscle. The hands that clutched the bowl were shapely and clean. They had held her only a little while ago. Her stomach clenched on the thought.
His head flicked up and he caught her watching him again. Embarrassed, she retreated back into the corner of the bed platform without realising that he watched her as much as she watched him. Warm, comfortable and safer than she had been since the day she was abducted, Emer pushed thoughts of Flane to the back of her mind, pulled a blanket over her legs and feet, lay back and released a huge sigh.
***
When Flane returned a long time later, he stopped short at the sight of her curled in the shadowy corner. One hand lay beneath her cheek, the other lay open on the mattress. Asleep, she looked little more than a child, and yet he was so powerfully drawn to her that he had squandered a good deal of his hard-earned silver for her. He stared at the long lashes that cast dark shadows over the smooth curve of her cheeks, and admired the slender lines of her nose and delicately curved nostrils. Her mouth, slightly open, fascinated him with its deep indentation and rosy hue.
Her gown had been well made from good cloth, even though it looked too small for her. Outgrown it might be, but the style and fabric told him she came from a good family. He bent close and breathed in the scent of her; then he took his own place on the mattress so gently that she did not wake. He clasped his hands behind his head and lay for some time, gazing at the dim, shadowy rafters while pictures of her ran through his mind. The way her black brows wrinkled towards her nose when she frowned. The fiery chestnut glints that filled her eyes when she was annoyed.
After her tangled mane of chestnut hair had been washed and drawn back, the bones of her face came into prominence in a way that had surprised him. Most of all, he remembered her eyes. Brown eyes that altered with the light. Firelight, he mused, turned them to warm amber, but in the cool grey light of Dublin they had been the dark brown of the bay pony in the stable.
Slowly the murmurings and muttering died away. Couples settled for sleep and one by one the torches and hanging lamps were snuffed. Subdued murmurs drifted over the hall. Someone smothered an outburst of giggles and muffled sounds came from couplings in the dark. The occasional wail of a disturbed child rang out. It wasn’t long before the first sound of snoring hit the air.
***
Emer changed position and the strangeness of her surroundings brought her out of sleep. She looked around warily. The hall was dim, but not totally dark, for the fire pit glowed red in the centre of the hall. She realised with a jerk of alarm that Flane slept only an arm’s length away. She stretched very carefully so as not to wake him. A flicker of movement across the hall caught her eye.
A small figure wandered slowly across the earthen floor. Emer squinted to be sure of what she saw in the dim light. It was a child, a boy of perhaps seven or eight, and his tunic barely covered his rump. One hand was at his mouth. Emer thought he was sucking his thumb, but couldn’t be sure. A black and white dog trotted silently at his side, head tilted towards the child, ears pointed as if expecting excitement and play.
The silence was eerie. Emer sat up. She glanced around the shadowy hall, expecting a sleepy parent or sibling stumbling after the boy, but no one stirred. The child reached the main doors and pushed at them, but the heavy wood, built to withstand siege and attack, did not yield to the frail hand of a child.
The dog watched his master, tail wagging silently as the boy turned away from the doors, and trudged slowly across the hall. Emer was closest to him, and she leaned out of bed and scanned the dark hall. Surely someone would follow the child? Still no parent stirred, and Emer bit her lip in sudden anxiety. There was a small side door that she guessed led to the byres, and the child was heading straight for it.
There was no hesitation, no faltering or deviation. The child walked into the shadows as if into full daylight. Without making a conscious decision, Emer swung her feet to the floor and did not stop for her sandals. She must hurry, for already a rush of air puffed up the ash on the hearth, making the embers glow as fresh air swirled in from outside. She darted across the hall and slowed in the shadows, groping towards the incoming draught of cold air. The boy had left the door open. Emer halted with both hands braced on the door pillars and searched the shadows before she stepped over the threshold.
Moonlight made the outside world a place of light and dark with no gradation between the two, but a flash of white caught her eye. The dog heard her and paused to look back. Its eyes glinted in the shadows before it raced off after its master.
The child wasn’t heading for the byre at all. He was heading round the corner of the hall and down towards the loch. Emer plunged through the gloom, alarmed by the thought of the small child heading for the vast sheet of water. The grass was cold and damp under her feet, and the air cool enough to bring her fully awake. Her bare feet cringed on pebbles and a stretch of shingle made her swear under her breath.
A sharp edge dug painfully into the soft flesh of her instep, her ankle turned and she sprawled full length. She flung out a hand to save herself, pain shot up the inside of her arm and a swear word her father would have shaken his head over shot out of her mouth. She scrambled to her feet, searching for the child, and limped towards the water.
She hesitated on the weathered wooden planks of the jetty and stared frantically round. The shorelines stretched in both directions as far as she could see, shadowy and black where bushes and shru
bs grew, white and silver where stones reflected back the light of the moon. Behind her lay the settlement, with its hall and byres and boat sheds, the family cabins and huts where the slaves slept. But where was the child?
The dog whined softly, and Emer turned sharply. There, out on the very edge of the jetty, hovering over the drop to deep water, the moonlight shone on a short, pale tunic.
“Oh!” Emer’s hand flew to her mouth. It might not be wise to shout. Instinct told her to go to the boy, but if she ran and grabbed him, the frightened child might bolt the wrong way and topple over the edge and into the water.
For a long moment the world stood still, and then several things happened at once. Emer lurched forward, a strong hand grasped her shoulder and a voice she knew hissed in her ear. “I’ll get him.”
Flane, as silent as a ghost, sped by her towards the end of the jetty. He reached the child, faster than she would have done, and knelt at his side without touching him.
Emer limped over and knelt on the wooden boards. The child’s eyes were open, but he did not seem to see her, or Flane. She waved a hand in front of his face, but there was no response. The dog sat close by the boy’s feet, tongue lolling, watching.
“He sleepwalks,” Flane said quietly. “His name is Oli, and he’s an orphan.”
“Oh! So what should we do?”
Flane put a careful hand round the child’s waist and drew him away from the water.
“Come to me, Oli. It’s time to go to bed.”
The child crept in close at the whispered words and curled up against Flane’s chest. Flane gathered him in, and rose to his feet with the boy straddling his hip bone. Emer’s throat ached at his tenderness and she swallowed painfully as she walked beside him. She kept her eyes on the child. The dog bounced up, trotted a few paces ahead of them and turned, one paw raised.
The boy relaxed, his head tucked beneath Flane’s chin. Emer sighed. It was impossible to believe this was the same man she had feared so much earlier in the day.
