Merewyn rose up on an elbow, a brow arched in question. She had just opened her mouth to ask if everything was all right when he turned and strode back to her in determination.
‘Come here.’ He tried to gentle his voice, but it was laced with anxiety and somewhat sharp because of it.
‘What’s wrong?’ She rose to her knees before him on the bed, making sure to keep the fur tucked around her for warmth.
‘Turn around.’ His eyes were closed off to her, and she wondered at the change in him, but didn’t question it as she did as bidden.
She gasped aloud when he moved her hair to the side and placed something that seemed suspiciously like a slave collar around her neck. Her hand automatically reached up to grab it, but it was already tied snugly around her neck, so she fingered the wooden disk and discerned a rune carved into it. Before she could find her voice, he pulled her back against his chest, his arms tight around her waist.
‘I had it made at Jarl Leif’s. If it is clear that you are mine, you won’t be in danger from assault here like you were there. I should have had one made for you when we first arrived. If I had, that ugly event might not have happened.’ He buried his face in her neck so his next words came out muffled. ‘I would kill whoever harms you.’
Her body stiffened with anger and hurt. Had everything that had transpired between them meant nothing? How was it possible that he could still collar her like some common slave? Some part deep inside of her had been hoping for marriage. Marriage would assure everyone that she was under his protection. But instead, he’d given her a collar, as though her worth was only in the fact that he owned her. She was a possession to be labelled and not a lover to be cherished.
She twisted out of his grasp and turned to glare at him, her hurt making her eyes ache with unshed tears. He groaned and pulled her back to him, his mouth crushing hers in a bruising kiss that simultaneously claimed her as it attempted to soothe her. When she refused to respond, he pulled back and cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you later this evening.’
He gave her one last look of regret before he turned and left.
* * *
Hilla came to retrieve her later that morning and, with no immediate options available to her, she had to go along. She needed time to think, to reconcile her new life with what she had hoped it would be. And just what had she thought? Merewyn wasn’t sure now. Had there ever really been the possibility that they could shut themselves off from the world around them for very long? Had it ever been possible that she would escape her place as his slave? Her own family had given her to him; it seemed that she was destined to be his slave no matter what she did.
Hilla had brought clothes: the usual nondescript underdress with a dull, woollen apron dress. But Merewyn insisted on the leggings Kadlin—the only person in the accursed land who had dared to treat her as an equal—had given her and dug them out of Eirik’s chest to put them on. Then, despondent and uncertain, she followed the woman out of the safety of the chamber.
She was led to a far corner of the main room. Somehow she avoided looking at the dais, even though she could hear voices coming from there and could pick out the steady timbre of Eirik’s. Hilla led her behind a partition she hadn’t noticed. It was open at each end, but did a fairly good job of separating the slaves from everyone else. The snow must have driven everyone inside. There were women sitting around sewing and weaving, but they stopped to look her over.
A young girl, Mardoll, whom she remembered as helping her bathe on her first day there, brought her a bowl of that horrid, watery porridge. If it was possible, her spirits sank even more. At the farm they had eaten porridge made creamy with sheep’s milk and sweetened with honey that the caretaker had brought for them. But here she was a slave and would be given no special food. She wanted to throw it into the fire, to run out the door and into the snow screaming her fury, screaming that she was a noblewoman and should be treated with respect, but it would get her nowhere. That wasn’t even the real reason she was so upset. It was that she wanted to mean something more to Eirik. But, apparently, she didn’t.
So she nodded her thanks and took a seat near the small hearth. The women there reluctantly made room for her, and Merewyn realised there was a hierarchy at work here that she had no knowledge of. Except for Hilla and Mardoll, the glances cast her way were filled with distrust. She would find no allies among them.
* * *
The day passed in a slow crawl that was made even worse by her sadness. She was put to work helping to weave reed for rushes, a job that was tedious in its simplicity. From her seat on the floor, she had a clear view of her tormentor and couldn’t stop herself from looking to him from time to time. He stayed at the dais with his father, Sweyn and a few others she couldn’t name for most of the day. Gunnar was not to be seen. They appeared to be in deep discussion about something, perhaps war or raiding, if there was even a difference between the two, because they had maps spread out on the table and sometimes raised their voices in disagreement.
Sometime after noon, the snow stopped and the sun came out, turning the powder into a shining mass of white ice. But that didn’t stop them from venturing outside. Merewyn reluctantly retrieved her hated woollen cloak and joined the other slaves at the outdoor fire to begin to prepare the evening meal. As cold as it was, the men shed their tunics and shirts and began sparring, as if needing a release from the pent-up energy of being forced inside for the morning. She shivered as she watched them and bemoaned anew the loss of her precious mother’s cloak.
Her gaze was pulled to Eirik’s bare chest. Was it just last night he had let her sit astride him in the bath? Was it only this morning that he had loved her so intensely and then held her afterwards? He didn’t even look her way once.
Her fingers went up to the disk at her neck, and shame flooded her when she actually found some reassurance there. It said that she was his, but nothing proclaimed that he was hers. She was no one there and would probably never know the privilege of claiming him as her own. The knowledge wrung at her heart and made her look away to fight the tears of anger that sprung to her eyes.
* * *
Later that evening, after the sun had set, she walked back to the great room carrying a platter of roasted root vegetables. She climbed the dais and sat it down on the table and made to turn when Eirik called her name. It was his only acknowledgement of her that day. He raised his hand to beckon her around the table to him. She took a deep breath and held her hands stiffly at her sides as she approached him, but he surprised her by reaching out and capturing one of them in his. His thumb traced gently along her wrist.
‘Sit and eat.’ He didn’t smile, but his eyes were gentle as they caressed her face. He nodded to a cushion that had been placed on the floor behind his chair.
‘But Hilla said that I should—’
‘Eat your fill and then take your rest in our chamber. You’ve worked enough today.’ He cut her off and gave her arm a gentle tug.
Our chamber. The simple phrase shouldn’t please her so much, but it did. Unreasonably, it did. She was like a mongrel lapping up any scrap of affection from her master. She nodded and sat down. He fixed a bowl of food for her and she accepted it with a tight nod of thanks. Like that first night, it was filled with the choicest pieces of meat and, this time, a sampling of the carrots and parsnips. He also gave her a tankard of mead. Not the ale and water given to everyone else, but the mead reserved for the jarl’s table.
* * *
After dinner, she returned to their chamber and immediately fell across the bed. The physical exhaustion of the ride of the previous day, and the late night coupled with the emotional turmoil of the day had left her drained. She barely roused herself enough to shed her clothing before climbing under the fur and letting oblivion claim her.
Eirik came in much later and slipped into
bed with her. She didn’t open her eyes when he pulled her back against him, his arms wrapping around her from behind. But she laced her fingers with his and fell back asleep.
* * *
She awoke the next morning to his fingers stroking her and his body rigid behind her.
‘I didn’t want to wake you last night, but I can’t leave without having you.’ His husky voice against her ear penetrated her half dream state. This was the man she’d come to love.
‘Don’t ever leave without having me. You’re not allowed to.’ She turned in his arms and draped her leg across his thigh.
He growled and put his arm under her knee to angle her hips to accept his rapid invasion. She cried out in surprise at the sudden thrust, but her body was more than ready for him. She wanted him with the same desperate need, and buried her fingers in his hair to hold him close. He took her so hard, the headboard knocked against the wall, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care if everyone knew they made love. She didn’t care if the walls fell down and the world saw them. He was hers and, despite her best efforts, she was his. Always his. She’d claim him the only way she could.
Afterwards, they stayed in bed for as long as they dared before rising to wash and dress each other. He gave her one last irresistible smile and left. She took a few moments more to braid her hair and make the bed before she followed him.
Hilla was just opening the door of the jarl’s personal chamber when Merewyn stepped into the hallway. She quickly averted her eyes when she realised Hilla had stopped to adjust the brooches on her dress. The realisation dawned on her suddenly that the woman must service the jarl in more intimate ways. In the same ways that she herself had just serviced Eirik.
Was there a difference? Her hand went to the collar at her throat. The reminder effectively diffused the euphoria that always followed when they made love and pushed her back to reality.
There was a difference. Eirik didn’t make her service him, the logical part of her mind insisted. She made love with him because she wanted to, because she had chosen to. What if the jarl or Gunnar had taken her? She wouldn’t have been given a choice. Was Hilla forced to perform acts that no woman should ever have forced upon her? The thought left her faintly nauseated.
* * *
The feeling refused to leave her all through the morning and lingered until the afternoon when she was outside near the large fire, chopping carrots. Hilla worked along beside her, directing the younger women, all slaves, with the authority of a chieftain. No doubt the skill had been learned from many years of cooking meals and being responsible for all the work that went into running a large household. Merewyn wondered how she felt about also being required to make her body available to the jarl. As if the workload she shouldered wasn’t already monumental.
‘How do you stand it, Hilla? How can you serve him?’ The question burst out of her with all the strength she had used to suppress it the entire day. It was none of her business, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Hilla didn’t seem surprised by the question. ‘It’s not so bad.’ She shrugged. ‘They only want servants. It’s no different from when I served my master back home.’
‘But it is! You have no choice here where we’re collared like animals. You were a free woman back home, weren’t you?’
‘Nay, I was born to my mother, who served on our master’s farm. Never even knew a father. What choice did I have? Where could I have gone to? He sold me, and eventually Jarl Hegard took me. It was just exchanging masters.’ She stopped her work to look at Merewyn closely and nodded as if she’d come to some profound conclusion. ‘You suffer because you didn’t serve in your home.’
‘I did serve. I watched the children, gathered herbs, helped with weaving.’
‘And did you have a choice in that?’
Nay, Merewyn realised, she hadn’t had a choice. The duties had always been there, and she’d never thought to not do them. But it had been a duty to her family, which was different than a duty to these people. Well, everyone except Eirik. She wanted to take care of him. ‘I suppose I didn’t, but that’s different. Besides, I suppose I meant how do you serve the jarl?’ Her voice lowered as she tried to get the words out. ‘You know, as a wife would serve him?’
‘Ah...’ Hilla gave her a suggestive smile. ‘It’s those duties you speak of, then. The ones that let your lusty man take his pleasure betwixt your thighs.’ She pointed with her bone-handled chopping knife to the group of men wrestling in the snow across the clearing.
Merewyn blushed, but couldn’t stop herself from seeking out Eirik with her eyes. He was without tunic or shirt again, currently battling an opponent who gripped him in a bear hug. She shook her head and wondered at their sanity in their insistence on going about half-clothed in this temperature. Even there near the fire, her hands were cold as she worked.
‘I had a choice in that, and I don’t consider that my duty,’ Merewyn clarified.
‘That’s good to know. It helps if you can enjoy it.’
Hilla seemed to speak in all sincerity, but Merewyn’s blush deepened all the same.
‘Jarl Hegard doesn’t force me, girl. I was here two winters afore he asked. Unlike my old master, who took me first in the fields and then his wife died and he took me into his bed thereafter. I was his favourite because I bore no children. There wasn’t any choice there.’
The picture Hilla painted made her blanch. Instantly, she felt shame for lamenting her loss of freedom when others clearly had a fate worse than her own. ‘I’m sorry, Hilla.’
‘Don’t be sorry for me, girl. I’m happy here. Be sorry for yourself, if you can’t find happiness with that man who shows you kindness. I’ve known him since he was a child. He’s got a good heart and since what happened to him...’ She shook her head as if to rid that particular line of thought from her mind. ‘Well, he understands more than most what cruelty does to a person. And I can tell from the way you look at him that he pleases you well.’
‘What happened to him?’ Merewyn jumped at the chance to learn more about the past that tormented him and gave him nightmares. But Hilla refused to elaborate and held up her hand, unwilling to even address the question.
‘Perhaps it would have been better for you had you been married before he took you. Then you would know the burden of wife. Duties you have no choice in, a man who only takes his pleasure to get children on you that he can send away at his will and you get no say. Slave or wife, Merewyn. There’s very little difference to most men.’
Merewyn didn’t know what to say to that. There was some truth in Hilla’s words, but Merewyn couldn’t get past the idea of children. She could be carrying Eirik’s child now. She gripped the bone handle of the blade tightly to keep her hand from covering her belly. What would it mean for her if she bore his child? More important, what would it mean for her child? Would the baby be free or a slave? Would she know the joy of being its mother, or would that be taken from her? She didn’t know and couldn’t allow herself to think of that eventuality just yet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eirik sat back from the table and allowed his attention to wander from the heated discussion. There had been a time when talk of war and strategy filled him with excitement, but now it was less than appealing. The invasion planned for spring would happen without the constant bickering and disagreement. He knew what to do and could clearly see it happening in his mind. Any discussion to belabour the attack was stifling.
As his gaze found and settled on Merewyn, he almost smiled as he admitted to himself that there might be another reason for his sudden lack of interest in a subject that had once stimulated him. It had been a fortnight since their return and he’d had almost no time alone with her. He missed their time together, and their evening talks. She was almost always asleep when he came to their chamber late at night.
Merewyn was working with one of the
younger girls, he thought her name was Mardoll, demonstrating a complex weave the girl was struggling to master. His gaze went to the slave collar around her neck and fixed there as he marvelled at how well she had adjusted to her new place. Her strength amazed him. He couldn’t imagine accepting a similar fate for himself so gracefully. Then again, he’d never imagined asking someone to accept this fate for themselves. If he lingered on the thought, a tiny thread of guilt would nag at him and give rise to something buried even deeper. To the darkness that he kept hidden within him.
It kept telling him that she would never accept him if she knew the truth. That it didn’t matter if she was a slave; one day she would find out what had happened and ask to leave him. He couldn’t imagine a scenario that would keep her with him then. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, force her to stay. He couldn’t bear to see the look that would surely cloud her eyes every time she saw him.
His thoughts turned to marriage. He could imagine no one else that he wanted to be his wife. She was everything that he had always imagined that a wife should be. In his weaker moments, he thought about taking her to the farm and living with her there until they grew old and died together. It was a disgraceful thought for a warrior, but he didn’t care. To die in battle paled considerably in comparison to spending his life with her. It was only a thought he allowed to be indulged in his weaker moments. He knew the truth. Even if he could give up his future as jarl, he simply wasn’t good enough to be her husband. In his heart, he knew that he could never make her happy, so he was resigned to enjoy the little time they had together.
Every morning he woke up wrapped around her, his arms holding her as if he was afraid she would leave him in his sleep. And every morning he was afraid that she would look deep into his eyes and see that for the weakness that it was. In such a short time, he’d come to physically need her in a way he couldn’t understand. She kept the nightmares away. But so far she seemed to be pleased to wake up in his arms.
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