by Speer, Flora
“What’s this, Torgard? Are you sampling my merchandise before I have a chance to try her?”
Torgard, his breeches down around his knees, was sitting on the edge of the bed platform, still doubled over, clutching himself and moaning.
“She’s a fighter, is she?” The blond stranger laughed even harder. “Too strong for you, I see, but I’ll soon tame her.”
With his free hand he pulled a leather purse from his belt and tossed it at Torgard, who snatched it up and began to count the silver coins it contained.
“You’re not as badly hurt as you thought you were,” the blond man observed. “Or is it that silver cures all ills? It’s all there, Torgard. Weigh it and see. Now I’ll be on my way.”
“You can’t buy me,” Lenora cried. She was still dangling across his shoulder, and she kept on pounding at his back with both fists. “I’m not a slave, I’m a free woman. Torgard abducted me.”
The blond man put her down at last.
“Is this true, Torgard?”
“Of course not. She lies all the time. That’s why her master wanted to sell her.” Torgard limped to Lenora’s side, holding his breeches up with one hand. He regarded her with an expression of pure hatred. “Just don’t believe anything the wench says.”
The blond man stood Lenora on her feet and looked her over from head to toe, considering her.
“Well,” he said softly, “whatever you were before, you are a slave now.”
He put out one hand to take her arm. The hand was covered with fine golden hairs and it looked strong enough to crush her with no effort at all. Lenora stepped back, out of his reach.
“I won’t go with you,” she declared. “I’m going back to Erik.”
She headed for the open door. Torgard caught her shoulder and spun her around. His fist connected with her jaw. The last thing she heard was his exultant laugh.
* * *
“Where is she?” Erik’s sharp eyes scanned the area around their tent. “I told her to stay here.”
“Lenora wouldn’t wander off,” Halfdan said. “She understood your warning, and she has too much good sense to defy you about something so important.”
“Has she? I hope so. She has been remarkably difficult since we left Denmark.”
“She wants to be with you,” Halfdan said. “She loves you.”
Erik stared at him in amazement, and Halfdan saw a flicker of something in his friend’s eyes. Ordinarily, he would have teased Erik about his feelings for Lenora, so clearly revealed by that look, but the situation was too serious for joking.
Halfdan could think of several explanations for Lenora’s absence and none of them was pleasant.
“At least,” Halfdan said, “we can be sure Snorri or Sven had nothing to do with this. Neither of them could possibly be in Kiev so soon. Why don’t you search the tent, and I’ll look around out here.”
Erik ducked into the tent and came out holding Lenora’s cast-off woolen dress and dirty linen shift.
“Here, see this. Where could she go without clothes on? Halfdan, what has happened to her?”
“Your concern has clouded your reason,” Halfdan reproved gently. He knew if it were Freydis who was missing, he would be as upset as Erik was. Halfdan was fond of Lenora, but he could see things more clearly than his friend. He took the garments from Erik’s hands and held them up for inspection. “They’re not torn or bloody, Erik. That means she took them off herself. Didn’t she have another dress, a blue silk thing? She’ll be wearing that. We will look for a girl in a blue silk dress. We had better start asking questions right at the next tent.”
“When I think,” Erik said, “of what might happen to a young and beautiful woman in Kiev – Halfdan, we have to find her.”
Chapter 20
She was being smothered. She was wrapped in a shroud and she could not get out. She struggled, moaning at the pain in her jaw and clawing at the choking fabric. She heard a laugh coming from a great distance.
“Awake, are you?” said a vaguely familiar voice. “Hold still.”
She was released from the shroud and saw it was only a blue wool cape. She gasped for air and looked up to see the blond giant watching her. They were standing in a courtyard enclosed by a tall wooden fence. At one end of the courtyard was a large log house, with several wooden buildings to one side. She took another deep breath as the blond man steadied her.
“That’s better. I thought you were dead. I was going to get my silver back from Torgard. Who needs a dead slave?”
“I’m no slave. Let me go, please. I must find my friends.”
“No more lies.” He touched her jaw. His hand was surprisingly gentle; but still she winced. “That will soon heal. Tell me your name.”
“Lenora. I am not a slave,” she insisted.
“I’m Attair. If you behave, I’ll treat you kindly. If you try to escape, I’ll kill you, slowly and painfully. Do you understand?”
“I’m not a slave.”
Attair caught the hair at the back of her head and pulled her face close to his. He had smooth, lightly tanned skin with a golden tinge to it. His eyes were golden-brown, like two pieces of sea amber. They slanted up at the sides above his high cheekbones. He had a full, sensuous mouth.
“You are a slave. Mine. I bought you.” The amber eyes softened. “I may have gotten a better bargain than I originally thought. You will be beautiful once you are clean and dressed. This will be an interesting night.”
When Lenora opened her mouth to protest, Attair stopped her.
“One more word and I will order your tongue cut out. That is what I did to these women, and I will do it to you.” He beckoned to two women who stood by the door of the log house. “Bathe and prepare her, then bring her to me,“ he ordered.
The women bowed their heads silently, and Attair strode off toward the gate, where a group of armed men was admiring a horse.
The women indicated by gestures that Lenora should follow them. They conducted her to one of the outbuildings, a bathhouse, where they stripped her of her clothes. She began to object, but then realized that Attair had spoken the truth. The women could not speak. It seemed to Lenora they were trying to convey to her that she should be silent and do as Attair had commanded or she would suffer the same fate.
When they took her clothes away, she did insist, albeit silently, by gestures, on keeping the two bags that had hung around her neck, one with the silver coins Erik had given her, the other containing the amber they had found in Holgar’s warehouse in Hedeby.
The women scrubbed her and made her sit in a room with hot stones onto which they threw cold water. The room filled with steam, choking her. Then they washed her again, scrubbing her hair, too, this time, and rinsed her with cold water.
They massaged scented oils into her skin with firm, rhythmic motions. Next they rubbed her body with linen cloths until her skin flushed rosy-pink. They trimmed and cleaned her nails and polished them with a piece of silk to make them shine. One of the women opened a vial of silver-black powder. Into this she dipped a pointed stick and used the stick to outline Lenora’s eyes. The other woman rubbed a reddish-brown powder onto Lenora’s cheeks and lips.
If she had not been so frightened, she would have enjoyed these ministrations, but fear lay like a cold stone at her heart. Where was Erik? Would he, as Torgard believed, search for her, delaying his departure from Kiev until Sven and Snorri found him? Or would he shrug his shoulders in that gesture so characteristic of him, and go on to Miklagard and forget her? She thought that was possible, considering their recent quarrels. She did not believe he cared about her at all.
Finally, when her naked body had been cleansed and oiled and scented and painted to the satisfaction of the two serving women, they dressed her. They brought her a gown of heavy, pale green silk. There were patterns woven into the fabric, branches of flowers and little birds and strange round symbols that seemed to be some kind of writing. The wide sleeves were lined with sheer, peach-colored sil
k. The gown wrapped across the front, and was held with a jeweled gold sash.
The women combed her hair, letting it ripple down her back in thick chestnut curls that glowed against the pale green of the gown. They put soft, silk-lined slippers on her feet.
Lastly, they gave her a cup of hot liquid brewed with herbs. It tasted bitter. She would have refused, but they made it clear she must drink it. She obeyed.
They led her to Attair’s house, into his private chamber, and left her there alone. Lenora had never seen such richness. Thick carpets covered the floor and the extra-wide bed platform along one side of the room. More carpets were hung on the walls. Where there were no carpets, there were panels of silk draped in brilliant, shimmering colors.
Everywhere Lenora looked she saw pattern and color. The rugs were red and blue and gold and turquoise, woven in designs of flowers, leaves, vines, and geometric patterns.
On top of the rugs covering the bed platform were thrown thick furs and silk-covered pillows in violet, gold, or azure blue, with silk tassels on the corners. Before the bed stood a low, ornately carved wooden table, topped with a huge gold tray that was piled with dishes of food. The oil lamps hanging on long chains from the high rafters were of pierced brass or colored glass.
The air smelled of incense and of another, oddly sweet scent Lenora did not recognize. It made her dizzy.
She heard a sound behind her and turned. Attair had entered the room. He closed the door and drew across it a panel of green and gold silk, hiding the door and enclosing them in the ornate, fragrant opulence of his private quarters.
He, too, had bathed. His dark gold hair was still damp, but it was carefully combed, as was his beard. He was robed in a long, gold, velvet caftan, trimmed at neck and sleeves with gold embroidery. When he moved toward her the fabric swished softly against the carpets. His yellow-amber eyes glowed as he looked at her.
“I was right. You are beautiful,” he said.
Lenora backed away from him.
“Will you eat?” He gestured toward the gold tray.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Some wine, then.”
He picked up a long-necked gold pitcher encrusted with jewels and poured purple-red wine into a delicate glass goblet. He handed it to her.
“You are afraid of me,” he said. “You needn’t be. You will enjoy this night. I will give you as much pleasure as you will give me.” He sat down on the bed platform, lounging against the glowing silken pillows.
“Sit here,” he invited.
“I’ll stand.”
“As you wish. You will lie down soon enough.” Looking amused, he leaned forward and lifted the cover from one of the dishes on the gold tray. A mouthwatering odor of chicken mixed with cinnamon and herbs assailed Lenora’s senses. Attair selected a piece and chewed it thoughtfully. “This is very good. Are you sure you don’t want to try some?”
“I want to go back to my friends.”
“Impossible. What is that you are holding?”
Lenora held out the two leather bags.
“This is all I own,” she said. “I’ll give it to you if you will let me go.”
Attair took the bags and opened one. He shook it over the bed, and silver coins scattered across the soft pile of the carpets.
“This is not enough here to buy your freedom.”
Lenora watched his fingers tugging at the thong that fastened the second purse. Amber flowed out of it, filling Attair’s open hand, glowing in the gentle light of the oil lamps; soft, rounded lumps of yellow-gold and brown-gold, blending with his tanned skin and golden hair and eyes.
“Ah.” He expelled his breath in delight. “Lovely sea gold.”
He selected a piece and held it up, contemplating a tiny insect trapped forever within the translucent globule.
“The Greeks believe sunlight shining on the waves of the northern ocean solidifies, making amber,” he said. “They treasure it. They believe it has magical properties,”
“Then you can sell these pieces to them. Surely they are enough to buy my freedom.”
“I don’t want to free you.” Attair scooped the pieces of amber back into the bag and tossed it aside. He rose and approached her. “This amber, and the silver coins, are mine. I bought them when I bought you, though Torgard did not know you had them.”
“They are mine,” she declared, nearly in tears.
“Not any more.” His large hands rested on her shoulders. “You are not going to drink?”
“No.” Pulling away from him, she set the goblet of wine down on the little table. She knew she could not escape this man. It was useless to think of Erik. He could not help her now.
Attair followed her. He wrapped his arms about her, pulling her back against his chest, her head on his broad shoulder.
“Don’t you like me?” he whispered. His moist, full lips nibbled at her earlobe, then inched slowly down to the hollow of her throat. She felt his strong, masculine body pressed firmly against her back.
“How can I like you? I don’t know you,” she said.
His left hand holding her at the waist, Attair’s right hand began wandering over her, sliding under the loose folds of her green robe to enclose one breast in his huge grasp.
“You will know me well enough before tonight is over,” he murmured. His hand moved lower, creeping slowly down her body.
“Are you a Dane?” she chattered nervously. “Did you come down the river from the northern sea?”
“I have no country. My father was a Norseman from Birka, my mother a Petcheneg woman he captured on a journey home from Baghdad. The Greeks call us Rus, so that is what I am, a Rus trader.” He lowered his voice, modulating it seductively. “I am a rich man, Lenora. If you please me, I will cover you with jewels and silks, and furs in the winter.”
Both of his hands now worked at the golden sash that held her gown closed. She put her small hands on top of his and tried to stop him.
“I want to know more about you,” she said, hoping to delay the inevitable.
“You know all you need to know for now. Be silent, Lenora. I do not like women who talk. Do not speak again until I have finished with you.”
Brushing her restraining hands aside, he and went on with his explorations. He finally succeeded in pulling off her sash. It slithered to the floor as the edges of her robe slipped apart. Reaching beneath the soft silk he ran his golden-haired hands across her abdomen and down between her thighs, rubbing gently against her. She stiffened. Only Erik had ever touched her in that way. Erik. She forced back a sob and closed her eyes. She could not stop thinking about Erik, and how much she wanted him. But Erik did not want her. She kept her eyes tightly closed and bit her lower lip to stifle a cry as Attair’s determined touch moved upward on her thighs. He held her immobilized, his hands never stopping their motions.
Lenora did not want Attair, she wanted to leave this luxurious prison, she wanted Erik. Erik! And yet, as Attair continued to stroke and rub and press, and his breathing in her ear quickened with his rising passion, Lenora was flooded with an insistent, pulsing need that throbbed in rhythm with the slow, sensuous pressure of his hands. She began to moan softly and move herself against him. She felt a shock when she opened her eyes and saw not Erik, but Attair. She whimpered in disappointment, then choked back the sound.
Attair was being remarkably gentle for a man who claimed to own her, which gave him the right to take her with violence if he so desired. But behind every caress of his expert hands, every sensation of purely physical pleasure those hands imparted to her body, lay the threat of violence. She could not forget the women who had bathed her, whose tongues had been removed at Attair’s command. She believed that if she wanted to survive this night, she would have to submit to her new owner.
Her owner. Attair was right; however much she might protest, she was a slave once again, subject to the desires of the man who had bought her. She hated him and hated herself even more for the desire he was creating between them. No
man but Erik should ever make her feel this way. She should not be responding to Attair.
He did not notice her distress. He was concerned only with her body, with preparing her to receive him for his own pleasure. He pushed the silk robe off her shoulders and then, in a smooth, purposeful motion, divested himself of his only garment. His body gleamed gold in the lamplight, covered with soft golden hair, hard-muscled and totally, powerfully male. When he looked at her his amber-gold eyes flamed with a fire that threatened to burst out of control as he drew her to him and his arms surrounded her and his mouth fixed itself upon hers and would not let her go. She was imprisoned in his golden embrace, like an insect caught in molten amber, trembling with fear and unable to free herself.
She was not aware of walking or of being carried, but by some mysterious means he brought her to his bed and laid her there. The oil lamps above her swung on their golden chains and the scented air filled her lungs. She knew in another moment Attair would possess her completely, and then she would belong to Erik no more. Two large tears welled out of her eyes and ran across her cheeks to moisten the pillows on either side of her head.
Attair separated her legs and knelt between her thighs, poised to plunge into her. She saw his tongue come out and moisten his full lips. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer.
He heard the hammering on the door before she did. She felt him moving away from her, heard him swearing a hideous oath. Lenora’s eyes flew open. Attair was off the bed platform, wrapping the gold velvet caftan about his waist. She watched him tear back the silk panels over the entrance with a violent gesture. He wrenched open the door and shouted into the darkness. There was an answering cry, a question, and another oath from Attair. He came back into the room, pulling the caftan over his shoulders as he walked. Lenora, seeing his angry face, quaked with fear. This did not look like the same man who just a little while ago had been caressing her tenderly and murmuring words of desire.
