After breaking their fast, it was time to leave. The two men from the fields had already gone out to ready the cart and Eirik’s horse, so they stood at the ready. But instead of walking to his destrier, Eirik walked before her to the cart and gripped her arm to help lift her inside. It wasn’t done as gallantly as one of her servants back home might have completed the task, but it was attention. She despised how she lapped it up like a thirsty mongrel.
* * *
They rode that way for most of the morning, until the soil became too rocky for her to continue onwards in the cart. Even then, Eirik didn’t speak to her. He simply motioned her over to him after she had climbed out and pulled her up to ride behind him.
She tried to maintain her distance, even with the close proximity, but it was impossible. After almost falling for the third time, she resigned herself to having to put her arms around him. He’d draped his fur across his lap to accommodate her behind him, so there was actually very little to keep her from feeling the heat and strength of his body all along her front. He seemed unaffected, and the knowledge left her wondering just how shamefully far she could fall under his spell.
The close proximity did have one unexpected benefit. It allowed her to feel just how tense he became every time one of the houses they were to stop at came into view. Each time, the muscles of his back would stiffen, and she heard his harsh inhalation of breath just as he dismounted. Only knowing that was she able to look for and recognise the agony on his face as he approached the family to let them know their son had perished.
Each time he was silent when he came back to mount up in front of her. Her fingers gripped the fur in front of him, but she could feel the tension slowly leave his body with each step of the horse. She felt an inexplicable need to soothe the hurt he felt, though she recognised it as unwelcomed and unwise even as she searched for something to say to him. In the end, she remembered their words of the previous night and decided to say nothing. Words from a slave would mean little to him.
* * *
Their last visit was late in the day and, as on the previous night, they were invited inside to sleep. Eirik accepted, and this time she was allowed to eat at the hearth with the two field men. When it was time to rest, Eirik was still talking with the family, and she fell asleep before he came to her. Merewyn had no idea why she thought he would come to lie beside her again or even why she imagined some sort of repeat of the night before. It was to her detriment to have such a re-enactment play out. Yet when she closed her eyes the phantom weight of his body haunted her, eliciting shameful frissons of excitement along hers.
* * *
The grey light of dawn was filtering down through the only window tucked just under the roof when she awoke. She shovelled down her food and made her way outside, surprised to see the cart with the men riding in it already quite some distance away from the home and retracing their path from the previous day.
‘Where are they going?’ she asked, walking to stand beside Eirik where he watched them riding away. The gruel churned in her stomach.
‘Home.’ It was the only reply he deigned to give her as he turned to his horse and mounted.
There was no doubt as to his intention for her, because his arm came out to lift her up. Merewyn hesitated only a moment before taking it, but instead of lifting her up behind him, he settled her across his lap in front.
‘What are you doing?’
He clicked his tongue and the horse started walking, taking a path to the east. ‘Saving your arse from another pounding today.’
She blushed to realise he’d guessed correctly that she ached from the riding yesterday. ‘I’ve never ridden.’
When she shivered from the cold wind, he pulled the much-envied fur around her and tucked her against him so her head nestled just under his chin. His arms cradled her on either side and his scent enveloped her, that exotic spice mixed with leather. It might have been a tender embrace had she allowed herself to believe he felt anything for her other than the care an attentive master felt for a slave.
‘Aren’t we going home, too?’ The last satchel of gold and sack of grain had been delivered.
‘Not today.’
Of course, the visit to the neighbouring jarl, but he wouldn’t offer a further explanation to her. She clenched her fists in the fur, unable to accept her role as the biddable slave. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I have one more visit to make.’ He gestured to the bolt of cloth wrapped in a length of oilskin strapped to the back of the horse.
She had to crane her neck to see it and felt a momentary pang of disappointment that it had usurped her place on the back—the real reason for the way his arms cradled her so tenderly. His biceps pressed warm and strong against her back, but she forced herself to sit up, away from the false comfort. Had she sank so low in her need for human companionship, her need for a simple scrap of affection, that she’d begun to see it where it didn’t exist? Or long for it even if it was from him? Merewyn closed her eyes against the painful tide of truth that washed over her.
The reality was that her life had been lacking affection for a long time. Alfred cared for her, but Blythe didn’t. The woman had given her away when the opportunity had presented itself. No one had touched her with tenderness since her mother had passed when she’d been six. There were times she barely remembered how it felt.
His truthful words of two nights ago came back to her again. He was right. She wasn’t as angry at him taking her as she wanted to be, as she should be. Or, actually, she was angry for the wrong reason. She should be angry that he had taken her from her family, but she was angry that he had taken her from the promise of a family. She had been more than ready for Alfred to find a husband for her, to start her own family. It had been past time for her to leave Alfred’s household. Merewyn was angry that she hadn’t got that opportunity.
She’d never have a family now. Never know the love and tenderness that could be found there. That was the real source of her anger. Not the present he’d stolen her from, but the future he’d stolen from her.
I saved you. For the first time since he’d said those words, Merewyn believed him. Believed he thought that anyway. She wasn’t sure if she agreed with him.
She shivered, and he responded by tucking the fur tighter around her. When he was done, his forearm settled on her lap. It wasn’t an intimate gesture by any means, but it suggested a protectiveness that implied intimacy. Regardless, it warmed her far beyond the warmth offered by the fur. That was the danger. She couldn’t allow whatever the Northman did to her to become something more than it was. He believed himself her master. There could never be tenderness or even real affection between them. As long as she could remember that, she would be fine.
And she needed to learn more about him. To figure out who he was so that she could convince him to return her. It would also help her to remember that he was a Dane—an enemy.
‘What happened to the men who died? Did they fall in battle?’
To her surprise, he answered right away. ‘Their boat sank when a storm blew in too fast for us to reach shelter. It was a few days before we reached your land.’
There was a hesitancy in his voice. One that she might not have noticed had he not consumed her so much since their meeting that she noticed everything about him. The loss bothered him. She felt compelled to say, ‘I’m sorry.’
Yesterday he’d become tense before each visit to a family, and she was sure that she’d seen genuine sorrow in his eyes. Had she only imagined it? The need to know gnawed at her until she couldn’t contain it anymore.
‘Why did you deliver the payment to those families?’
He was quiet so long she might have thought he didn’t hear her, except that he’d stiffened. ‘We discussed this,’ he answered, keeping his gaze steady on the horizon.
Merewyn observed his stony profile,
but wasn’t fooled. ‘I mean, you didn’t have to do it yourself. You could have sent men for the task.’
‘They were along the way. There was no need to send anyone else.’
He was being evasive. Although the sun had disappeared behind a low overhang of clouds, she’d seen enough of it to know they travelled northeast. The last stop, at least, had been out of the way. ‘You wanted to do it yourself. Why?’
‘Enough.’ The word was spoken softly, but firmly enough that she knew he wouldn’t elaborate.
He reached down to retrieve a small leather pouch tied to a larger one off the side of the saddle. After he opened it, she caught the scent of winter that she associated with him. Intrigued, she watched as he stuck his forefinger and thumb inside and came out with a bit of something that looked like dried leaves pinched between them. He chewed it and seemed amused as he noticed her interest.
‘Míntha. Would you care for some?’
She nodded and moved to reach inside the pouch, but he beat her to it and offered her a bit pinched between his fingers. She hesitated only a moment before opening her mouth to accept his offering. Her tongue swept across his fingertips as she took the leaves. His sharp intake of breath was the only indication he gave in acknowledgement of the intimacy. The leaves were sweet and only slightly bitter as she chewed, coating her mouth with a coolness she’d never experienced. In a strange way, she felt closer to her captor, sharing in this small part of his life.
Merewyn grimaced and lowered her chin, unsure how to proceed with her warring emotions regarding him. She still needed information, still needed to convince him to take her home. As she chewed, she waited, watching the clouds roll overhead. She needed to have him share more of himself; perhaps then she could find something useful.
The temperature had dropped noticeably in the past hour, making her wonder if it might snow. A shiver shook her, and he responded by putting his arm around her and tucking her against his warmth. When she inhaled, her senses were flooded with his scent, manly and wintry all mixed together. She began to warm, but it had nothing to do with the fur wrapped around her.
‘What do you Danes believe happened to those men who died when the boat sank?’
The blue of his eyes burned as his gaze raked her face from brow to mouth. Despite their close proximity, it was a shock how close his mouth was to her own. Almost as close as it had been that night on the floor of the cottage.
‘Aside from drowning, you mean?’ His breath whispered across her lips. She might have smiled at the dry humour had she been able to distract herself from its caress.
She nodded. ‘What of their souls?’
‘Why would you ask that? You despise Vikings as nothing but thieves and murderers. I know about your White Christ. Don’t you think they go to hell like all sinners?’
His tone was almost teasing, so she didn’t allow his words to bait her as he wanted. Besides, she wasn’t interested in a theological debate. She simply wanted to learn more about the barbarian and his beliefs. So she kept her tone pleasant when she replied, ‘I know what I think. I’m simply curious to know what you think.’
His discerning gaze assessed her for a long moment, but he must have decided her question was harmless because he finally turned his attention back to the rocky terrain they navigated and answered, ‘They go with Rán to live under the sea.’
‘Rán is a god?’
‘Goddess. When at sea we all travel with a piece of gold in the event she decides to take us. It helps with the welcome. They’ll feast at her table and, if they’re lucky, maybe even share the beds of her daughters.’
‘Lucky daughters.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Eirik surprised her by laughing. ‘I suppose you would see it that way. Though some would say the daughters are lucky to have the attention of virile warriors if the alternative is an eternity alone.’
‘You Danes believe every woman is eager to lay down for you.’
His gaze drew back to her face and raked it so she felt its touch deep within. His eyes were smoky now and laced with amusement. A heady combination she hadn’t been treated to before. ‘Are you not?’
Did he know? Did he have any idea how her body had responded to him? Nay, it was impossible that he would know. Merewyn jerked her gaze from the hold he had on her and looked out over the hills around them. It didn’t stop the unwelcome fluttering in her belly. ‘It would not please me to be used for Viking amusement.’ Except maybe for this particular Viking’s amusement. She had begun to have serious doubts about her body’s treacherous resistance to him. There was no denying that he awakened wickedness within her.
A shadow passed over them. Her words had altered the mood, extinguishing the brief flash of amusement and leaving a void in its wake. Merewyn knew it without even looking at him. The change happened in the subtle tensing of his body and the icy quiet that stretched between them.
‘I won’t allow anyone to violate you.’ The words were pushed out between clenched teeth.
There was an unspoken depth in his voice that drew her attention back to him and made her wonder what he really meant to say. Merewyn studied his face, trying to determine what lurked behind his words. He refused to look down at her again, though, and kept his eyes on the horizon. Finally, she looked away, but couldn’t shake the feeling. The silence stretched between them until it became all she could think about.
Merewyn’s thoughts drifted to the night before last on the cottage floor. He’d wanted to take her then, of that she had no doubt. But he hadn’t. Would he have pushed further if they had been back at the longhouse in his chamber? He’d wanted to.
Before she could stop herself, she said the very words that repeated over and over again in her head. ‘But you wanted to.’
His hot gaze captured hers and the muscles of his arm clenched tight against her. Reflected in the blue depths, she saw her own memories of that night and the fire that ignited so easily between them. Could he see her own shameful secret in her eyes? Did he realise the pleasure she’d discovered in his touch?
‘Aye.’ The word grabbed at something deep, primitive, within her and tugged a reluctant chord of sensual response. ‘But you wanted it, too.’
Chapter Twelve
Eirik wasn’t expecting the crowd that had gathered at Jarl Leif’s. They rode in at twilight, having taken the path that followed the river and ended at the fjord. So many boats were moored there that more than half of them were anchored and bobbing in the deeper waters, with boys in smaller boats rowing visitors to shore. Ten years earlier, he might have been one of those boys charging for the convenience. It would have been a lucrative night, because it looked as though most of them had brought their women with them. Unless he missed his guess, the jarl’s child had been born.
He’d hoped to speak the words he needed to speak to the jarl in private. Despite his father’s urging, Eirik had decided that now wasn’t the time to marry Kadlin. The declaration would make Leif unhappy, maybe even angry. The man had made no secret of his intentions that Kadlin and Eirik would marry. But Eirik hoped to make him understand that the fighting that would come with the spring invasion would need his complete attention. Besides that, it wouldn’t be fair to leave Kadlin behind as a new wife to face her future without him. It was unlikely, but the campaign could take years. He absolutely refused to leave her pregnant.
The fact that his pretty slave was taking up so much of his thoughts didn’t figure into things. Or so he tried to believe. The presence of the Saxon wench in his life had no bearing on his future. She was simply a minor complication in his present.
Someone called out a greeting to him, drawing his attention from her. He raised his hand, but the greeting alerted others to his presence and he was soon waylaid by others welcoming him back from his travels. The girl drew stares from the well-wishers that caused her to shift against him ne
rvously. His hand automatically settled on her thigh to soothe her. It wasn’t even a conscious thought on his part, just a natural action that was becoming all too common. His hands believed she was his to touch and stroke at will.
Her leg clenched beneath his touch. It was soft enough to be pleasing, with just the right amount of firm muscle. He imagined them clenching around his hips as he buried himself in her and immediately hardened. Even on horseback surrounded by people, he wanted her. It should have come as no surprise given how he’d wanted to claim her in the middle of the crowded cottage. Soon he needed to rid himself of her so his life could progress normally again.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked as they made their way past the crowd that had gathered around them.
‘The jarl and his wife have welcomed a baby.’
‘Is that why you’ve brought a gift?’ She glanced at the bolt of cloth tied behind him.
‘Nay, I wasn’t aware the child had been born when we left. The gift is for—’ He stopped short, pondering how best to explain Kadlin to her. But then he wondered why he felt the need to explain Kadlin to his slave. It was madness, so he stifled the impulse. ‘The gift is for a friend.’
She frowned, and he caught a glimpse of the hurt in her eyes before she looked away. Ever since she’d joined him on his horse, she’d been trying to penetrate the wall between them. Every question and comment had been an attempt to bring it down. He couldn’t figure out her motive, but he knew she didn’t realise the danger in her plan. The wall kept her carefully in her place as his slave. Without it, she became something else, someone he had no place for. Someone with no protection from the things he wanted to do to her.
Eirik walked the horse through the milling crowd until they came to the old man who tended a fire near the back of the large longhouse. Cnut smiled a nearly toothless grin as he rose slowly to his feet and raised a hand in greeting.
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