He searched for Kadlin among the well-wishers, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see her. She’d likely be at her home, not staying with his father to await his return. An image of her as he’d last seen her passed through his mind. A goddess come to life with grace and beauty no mere mortal could hope to attain. She’d been a pretty child, but as a woman she was breathtaking. With hair that rivalled the silver moonlight in its radiance and eyes that shone the palest blue, he’d yet to see a woman more beautiful or good.
Why, then, did the face of another intrude on his thoughts? The slave’s defiant eyes replaced those of Kadlin’s to taunt him. His gaze followed the way of his thoughts until he found the girl standing near his younger brother, Vidar. The boy stood with his hand on her wrists.
There was a prettiness about her, in the curve of her cheekbones, the delicacy of her frame. But she was pale and slight while Kadlin was radiant, striking in her colouring and height. Still, there was something that called to him, that had drawn him to her from that moment on the beach. His gaze raked her, moving to where her gown clung to the curves of her breasts and waist, weighed down by the water that drenched the skirt. She stirred the darkness to life within him. He felt it deep in his gut, and it channelled the excitement already coursing through him to his groin.
He wanted to see her without the dress. To know what colour tipped her breasts. Would her nipples be light pink or coral like her lips? He wanted to lay her in his bed and stroke the pale flesh of her thighs before he pushed them apart to reveal her centre. He wanted to see every part of her. The awareness compelled him to look away, angry that she wielded that despised power over him.
He forced a few deep breaths before looking back at her. The colour had yet to return to her face, and she seemed more fragile than when they’d set out from Northumbria. Both were indications of the weight she’d lost on the crossing. He’d have to be more careful with her.
The girl didn’t belong here. She wasn’t as hale as the women here. It was plain to see that she was different from them. Eirik cursed the demon that had made him crave her as he stalked towards her.
‘Come.’ He walked past her with every intention that she follow, but the girl didn’t move.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked when he looked back at her.
The fire that had intrigued him before was flashing in the depths of her eyes. Eirik wanted to admire the courage the question had taken. He believed in facing whatever the gods meted out as the girl was doing and might have taken the time to appreciate her pluck under other circumstances. But he was too aggravated by the untenable lust she roused within him. Instead, he barely suppressed a growl of outrage as he nodded to Vidar and turned to lead the way home.
‘I demand to know what will happen to me now. I have the right to know my fate.’ Merewyn stood firm, refusing the boy’s tug on her arm.
Eirik clenched his jaw and immediately turned back to her. He didn’t stop until he stood just before her, causing her to take two steps back to look up at him. A flash of fear briefly tamped down the fire that burned in her eyes, but it flared back up again.
‘You have no rights here. You’re a slave.’
‘I didn’t mean—’ She cut herself short and glanced away. ‘I know my station here, I just don’t know— Why won’t you tell me what it means?’
Her eyes swung back to meet his, and he was struck by the same uncertainty and loneliness he had glimpsed on the boat. It tugged at something buried deep inside him that he didn’t want to explore. Nor did he want to admit that he had no idea what her presence at his home meant or why he’d accepted her.
‘You’ll learn your place here soon enough.’
Before she could reply, he leaned down and picked her up, slipping her easily over his shoulder. She weighed almost nothing. The girl would be lucky to last the winter here. The thought didn’t help his quickly declining mood. Eirik ignored the taunts and jests directed at them from some of the men, but was happy the girl noticed and ceased her struggling.
He kept her aloft until they reached the outside cooking fires and then wasted no time in dropping her to her feet. Hilla looked up from turning the newly spitted lamb and smiled when she saw them. His father’s most trusted slave rarely smiled, and the fact that she did now was proof of her devotion. She’d spent his boyhood chasing him from every bit of mischief he’d managed to find in her domain.
‘Welcome home, my lord.’ Her gaze slipped to Merewyn, who was doing her best to look dignified after her unceremonious arrival.
Eirik had never brought a female captive home before, so he assumed he’d have to get used to the looks. ‘Thank you, Hilla.’
‘I see your trip was a success. It’s good to see you well.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Feed her and get her presentable for tonight. And make sure she gets meat with her gruel. She lost weight on the crossing.’
‘Looks as though she fair near withered away.’ Hilla tut-tutted.
‘Watch for Gunnar. He feels he has a claim to her, but she’s not to be touched.’
‘Aye, that one will not be a problem.’ She nodded to the long cane that was always present near her. It was almost as thick as a branch with a gnarled end.
Eirik smiled at the sight. He and Gunnar had felt the blow of that knot more than once. They’d had a lot of good times in their childhood. Standing toe to toe, they were of the same height and breadth. The only real physical difference between them was their colouring. Eirik was golden where Gunnar was blazing red. They had even been born mere months apart, with Eirik born to their father’s wife while Gunnar had been born to the wife’s sister.
It was almost as if they’d been destined to be rivals.
He turned his attention back to the girl and again noted her unnaturally pale skin. It was the fear. While it was a good thing, it could sap the life right out of people if it went too far. He’d seen it happen and found himself hoping it didn’t happen to her. It gentled his voice when he spoke. ‘Stay with Hilla. She’ll get you food and clothing.’
Chapter Five
Merewyn shook from a bone-deep chill that threatened to freeze her solid. She feared that if it did, she’d break into thousands of pieces with no one the wiser, to be swept up and discarded into the fire. That fire taunted her. She stood at the edge of the circle of light cast by the flames and watched them dancing, calling her. She wanted the warmth it offered; every fibre of her being craved it. But she stood immobile. The past days had seen her constantly damp and chilled—there was a comfort in the knowledge that she’d become accustomed to it. What would happen if she got warm only to have it taken away again? Could she become accustomed to the cold again?
‘Merewyn?’ The voice was Hilla’s. ‘Come to the fire and warm yourself, girl. I’ll not have you catching your death.’
Merewyn nodded and pushed aside her reticence to walk to the cooking fire. Hilla was bustling between the small shelter that adjoined the fire pit, where it seemed most of the cooking preparations were done, and the large longhouse. Men had been filing into it all day. The woman disappeared again towards the house before Merewyn even got to the fire.
Despite her activity, Hilla had managed to find time to see that Merewyn was bathed and dressed. Merewyn had been heartened to find that the woman spoke her language and seemed pleasant enough, even asking her name and how she’d faired on the voyage. It had been a surprise to have someone actually looking after her. But the woman had taken her into her fold as if a new captive being brought home was a regular occurrence. Maybe it was.
It almost made Merewyn laugh with a madness she was close to giving in to when she thought of how things had changed for her. It made her shiver anew to remember how Hilla and another girl had taken her behind the longhouse and poured buckets of frigid river water over her and scrubbed her hair while another had h
eld up a blanket to shield her. Yet here she was thankful for even that much. The bath had been so cold she’d forgotten to be modest and hadn’t even noticed if anyone else had been around to see her. It was worlds away from the warm water that a servant would bring to the chamber she shared with the children and the scented soap she adored. She brought her wrist to her nose, but only smelled the river on her skin.
Merewyn put her hands to the flame and welcomed the heat that thawed her frigid fingers. Even their grandest celebration back home had never called for a fire this large. It was a pit roughly two people in length and a person wide. Big enough for several spits and an area for roasting vegetables. Big enough to walk into and never come out of again.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she looked around in guilt, hoping no one had guessed what she was thinking. No one was paying attention to her, though, as they bustled around. She opened her palms wide and caught the tail end of an orange flame as it shot high, propelled by a crackle of grease. But it was too hot for her, and she gasped as she brought her hand back to cradle it against her breasts.
‘Not too close,’ Hilla admonished her as she came back to tend to a spit.
Not yet, Merewyn agreed silently, and checked for damage to her hand. It was fine; no blisters would form. But eventually, if living there became so horrible that she had to, she would leave this place one way or another.
It wasn’t that horrible yet. She latched on to the one bright spot in her new life. ‘How is it you come to speak my language, Hilla?’
The woman grunted, but didn’t seem inclined to answer as she pressed a wooden bowl filled with a watery gruel into Merewyn’s hands.
‘Were you taken like me?’
‘It was long ago. I speak the Dane’s tongue now. As will you, soon enough,’ Hilla said.
‘But what happened? How long have you been here?’
‘I won’t speak of that time.’
Merewyn frowned. ‘Did you teach Eirik to speak our language?’
‘Aye. Gunnar, too,’ she clarified. ‘It was required of me when they were younger.’
An involuntary shiver ran through her as she thought of the red-haired one. He’d grinned at her and told her she’d be going home with him in her language just before he’d taken her over his shoulder. Merewyn pushed the thought aside and found her gaze focused on the necklace at Hilla’s neck. Though she knew it wasn’t a necklace before she even asked. It was a slave’s collar.
‘So you’re a slave, then, too?’
Hilla’s hand automatically came up to touch the wooden chip at her neck. Her thick fingertip traced the rune carved into it. ‘Aye. I expect you’ll be getting one of these soon.’
Merewyn looked to a few of the other women who scurried about the outdoor kitchen and noted they all had the collars, but couldn’t see well enough in the firelight to determine if the same sign was inscribed on them all. Slavery wasn’t a foreign concept to her. There were slaves at home, usually prisoners and captured enemies, who helped work the land, but only servants worked in their home. She’d never seen so many slaves working in such close proximity to free men. ‘Do you all belong to Eirik?’
‘None of us belong to him. We’re household slaves of the jarl.’
‘Does Eirik own any other slaves?’ The thought had only just occurred to her that she might be the only one. What if she wasn’t? Merewyn wasn’t sure which she hoped for.
‘You’re the only one. He’s had no need of a...personal slave. Before you.’
Before she could ask what that meant, Hilla walked away towards the house again. Merewyn gently lifted the spoon in the bowl to examine its contents before taking a small taste. It was a grain porridge, but instead of milk and honey, it was flavoured with water and bits of fish and seaweed. It was horrible. But her stomach was growling, so she finished it all.
As she ate, she couldn’t help but think of Hilla’s words and the days ahead. Eirik had promised not to hurt her, but would he keep that promise now? What was a promise to a slave? Why had he been so intent to have her if he didn’t intend to harm her? Would he force himself on her? Maybe he wouldn’t think of that as harming her. The questions were endless and they wouldn’t stop. But Hilla’s next words did interrupt them.
‘It’s time to go inside now. My Lord Eirik calls for you.’
* * *
The now-familiar knot of terror returned to coil tight inside her. Merewyn stood looking at the closed door before her, knowing that Eirik, her master now, awaited her somewhere in the house. She shuddered to think of the night ahead. Would she still be chaste after this night? What new level of horror would she know? Images of what might happen poured through her mind, but she refused to give in to the panic that beckoned. It wasn’t happening yet. Besides, he had vowed that no harm would come to her. Maybe he was an honourable heathen who followed his word. Maybe Mother Mary would see fit to intervene and grant her one miracle.
Merewyn clenched her fists at her sides and held her head high. Alfred had taught her the importance of bearing, so much so that she’d felt her eyes cross with boredom when he started one of those lectures. She’d hated those lectures. Hated how he would sit her down and drone on and on for hours about the importance of living up to her station in life. Now she hated that instead of listening, she had stared daggers at him until he’d sighed and dismissed her with a shake of his head. Then she’d go back to whatever she’d been doing. Usually dancing with Sempa in the forest as they collected herbs or swimming in the stream. Tears unexpectedly prickled her eyes, but she held them at bay. What she wouldn’t give to hear him lecture her now about her morning walk on the beach, to hug him tight and beg his forgiveness for not listening.
For once, she vowed, his lectures would serve her well. With no other choice available to her, she squared her shoulders, determined to meet her fate in a manner that befitted her noble birth and would make her brother proud. She gathered her grace around her like a shield and followed Hilla inside.
Men, boisterous and loud, were packed shoulder to shoulder in the hall. They sat at benches lining the walls and tables that filled the middle of the floor near the hearth. She might have stared at them, wondering at their strange words and rowdy manner, if she hadn’t caught sight of the raised dais on the right side of the room. An older man who she assumed to be the jarl sat at the middle of the table with Gunnar seated on his far side. She started in surprise when she saw him. She’d not realised he was so important, and the realisation of how potentially little stood between her and his mercy made her knees weak.
Neither of them noticed her. They sat watching a burly man who had taken a stand on one of the benches and seemed to be regaling the group in his immediate vicinity with a tale, judging from the dramatic sound of his voice and his arm gestures. But Eirik watched her from his place beside the jarl.
He was dressed in a midnight brocade tunic that stretched taut across the breadth of his shoulders, accented with gold piping and a small keyhole opening at the neckline. A dark gemstone button winked in the light, but she couldn’t tell what it was. His trousers were tucked into calf boots, but she could see that even they were made of a finer material than most of the other men’s clothing. He wore a gold band around each of his arms. His crimson cloak, trimmed in soft grey fur, was affixed to his tunic with two gold filigree brooches at the shoulders.
He was magnificent. For the first time since entering the house, her gaze dropped to the floor. Somehow it had been easier to maintain her dignity when she’d imagined him the barbarian she had painted in her mind; not the nobleman who sat across from her. The nobleman who held her life in his power. Merewyn resisted the urge to scratch at the coarse wool of the apron dress that had replaced her own fine clothing. The knot twisted tighter in her belly.
What did her own nobility matter here where she was a slave?
‘
Come.’ Hilla grabbed her arm and led her around to the back of the dais. Some of the men noticed them now and made room for them to pass. Every one of them watched her with their speculative eyes, while some leered and openly appraised her. She knew they were imagining her without clothing, imagining Eirik taking his pleasure and offering her up to them.
The thought was so unbearable, she might have stalled, but Hilla’s strong hand helped her up the wooden steps and guided her to Eirik. He nodded to the woman, who motioned for Merewyn to sit. Merewyn did exactly as she was told and sank to her knees behind his seat, instinctively wanting to hide herself from the stares coming her way.
He waited until Hilla left before turning to look at her. She forced herself to meet his fierce gaze without wavering. The look of disappointment she’d noted earlier was still present. What did he expect from her?
‘Eat.’ He shoved a wooden bowl filled with pieces of roasted meat into her hands.
Merewyn knew she should have been hungry after the gruelling crossing and the single bowl of porridge Hilla had given her, but food was not appealing. It would have smelled delicious had her stomach not been in knots.
‘I can’t—’
‘Do you intend to thwart my wishes at every step?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Nay, my lord, I’m just not feeling well. Perhaps if you tell me your plans for me.’
Eirik’s gaze narrowed as he watched her, making her heart flutter wildly. ‘Eat, girl. I won’t ask again.’
She felt it in her best interest to refrain from pointing out that he had never asked her to begin with. But she had intended to argue about not being hungry when he rose, and her protest stilled on her lips. It was replaced with a gasp when his hand touched her shoulder.
Enslaved by the Viking Page 4
