‘I do think that. They know you are mine, and even when I’m not here, my word will be respected.’
‘You’re deceiving yourself. You are not jarl yet and your father is. He doesn’t want me here.’ She pulled and he finally let her go.
‘He’s already promised to keep you safe, Merewyn. It’s not a problem.’ He wanted to hold her, to stroke her and assure her that everything would be fine, but she wouldn’t listen now. Morning was fast approaching, and he didn’t want to leave things between them like this, but she was being unreasonable. He grabbed the fur and pulled it around his waist as he rose to his feet. He wanted to pace, but still felt a bit weak, so he sat with one hip on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m not sure what you want from me.’
She was silent as she grabbed another fur from the bed and walked to add more wood to the fire. In its glow, he admired her noble profile. She stood staring into the flames, her back rigid with anger and the fur tight around her shoulders.
After a moment, she spoke. Her voice was calm with a thread of anger underneath. ‘I want you to understand that while you ask everything of me, you hold back from me.’ When he opened his mouth to rebuke that, she held up her hand to hold him off. ‘It’s true. I’m to give up my life—I’ll admit, it wasn’t a very complete life—to accept a life as your slave. You say there can’t be marriage, and I suppose I understand that. But there is a part of you that you hold back from me. I can’t know you, really know you, without understanding you and what happened.’
He staggered from the blow. ‘Merewyn, you don’t know what you ask of me.’
‘Nay, I don’t know.’ When she turned to face him, he could tell the anger had drained from her face and shoulders. ‘But I know that your nightmares plague you almost nightly. I know that whatever it is, it’s tearing you apart inside. I know that you fear telling me. I could understand that, except I feel that you don’t want to tell me because you don’t trust me to know. I love you, Eirik, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. It frightens me that you don’t trust me. It frightens me that my feelings for you are deeper than yours are for me. It frightens me to know that you will be in battle soon and we may never have a chance to—’
He crossed to her and pulled her into his arms, unable to bear the pain of her words. He buried his nose in the silk of her hair and breathed her in. When he could finally speak, he didn’t recognise his own voice. ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m as lost as you are, Merewyn, I swear it. I’d be a broken man without you.’ She trembled against him, so he held her tighter and came to a resolution. He couldn’t offer her marriage, couldn’t offer her any more of himself than he already had. But he could give her this. If she turned away from him, it would crush him as nothing else ever could, but he could give her this choice. ‘I’ll tell you.’
* * *
‘Eirik...’ She kept her arms tight around his waist. ‘You don’t have to tell me now. That’s not what I want. I don’t want to force it from you. I just want to know that someday you will feel that you can.’ Now that her anger had drained, she felt guilty for pushing him into something that so obviously made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t right.
His hands rubbed small circles on her back. ‘I know what you want, Merewyn. I want it, too, but I can’t give it to you. This is what I can do now.’
She looked up at his beloved features in the firelight and noted the shadows under his eyes. She couldn’t resist touching his lips, and smiled when he kissed her fingertips. ‘You don’t have to. I can wait until you’re ready.’
He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, but he wasn’t smiling, even when he pulled back to meet her gaze. ‘You deserve to know. You’re right. I’ve been keeping it from you because I’ve been afraid it would push you away from me. But that should be your choice. Besides, sooner or later you’ll hear tales from someone else. I’d rather you know the truth from me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Aye.’ He dropped his arms to take her hand and lead her back to the bed. Once inside, he pulled the bed curtains so it was dark and only a hint of the firelight could be seen. ‘I do have a request.’ His voice reached her through the darkness.
‘Anything.’
She wasn’t sure if she only imagined the faint tremor of his voice when he spoke. ‘I want you to promise to stay the rest of the night and don’t say anything. Whatever I tell you, please don’t say anything.’
She nodded, but then realised that he couldn’t see her, so she found her voice. ‘I won’t say anything.’ Her skin prickled with the awareness that something was about to happen that would change everything.
‘Then come lie with me.’ His hands took hers and pulled her down so that she was lying on her side with her back to his front. He pulled the furs over them and wrapped his arms around her. It was a while longer before he began to speak. His voice was strong and, even now, betrayed no emotion.
‘My father’s punishment for stealing is to take a finger. One fast slice of his blade through the joint.’ He ran his forefinger lightly across hers to demonstrate the motion. ‘It’s harsh, but it’s a clean cut that heals and doesn’t usually fester. Not on the surface, at least. It festers in the brain instead.
‘There were three men who received this particular punishment for stealing his sheep. I don’t know why they did it and I didn’t know them before the day they found Gunnar and I out fishing. We were just boys. They jumped us from behind before we even had a chance to fight them off. Before we knew it, we were bound while the bastards built a fire and cooked our fish. They laughed the whole time about how they would cook us next.
‘I still don’t know how I managed to do it, but I found a rock with an edge just jagged enough to cut the binding on my wrists while they gorged themselves. By the time I had cut Gunnar loose, one of them saw us and I fell along the rocks as we ran. They got me, but Gunnar got away to get help.’
Merewyn closed her eyes, unwilling to hear what happened next, but unable to tell him to stop. She saw the scars on his otherwise perfect back and could only imagine how they had been put there. Suddenly, she didn’t want to know or imagine his pain. She bit her lip to keep herself quiet, but she couldn’t stop the slight trembling of her body as she listened. He felt it and tightened his grip around her.
‘One of them threw a rock and hit me in the head. It kept me down until they could get to me and bash me across the face.’ His voice trailed off as he relived the memory.
‘Eirik, please—’ But his fingers covered her lips.
‘Shh. No words now.’ Then he took a deep breath and continued. She sensed then that it had become something that he needed to tell her, so she snuggled back against him and laced her fingers with his. ‘I was bound when I awoke and strapped to a log. They had taken my clothes. One of them had a knife and boasted that they would carve their names into my back. You’ve seen it, but it’s not their names anymore.’
She frowned and opened her mouth to ask what he meant when she remembered her vow of silence. But he knew her confusion. ‘Aye, I wanted it gone, so we obscured it.’
With more scars. The words hung in the silence between them. She couldn’t imagine what it had taken to submit himself to that pain all over again so their marks could be erased from his body for ever. Tears seeped silently down her face.
‘After they carved their names...’ He paused and took a deep breath. His trembling matched her own. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. ‘They violated me. One after the other, and I was too weak to stop them.’ He buried his face in her hair so the next part was muffled. ‘My father came later, but too late to stop them.’
She couldn’t stop her tears from coming harder as she imagined the boy Eirik had been, subjected to such torture. It made her physically ill to imagine him in such pain. He must have felt so hopeless, so utterly abandoned to them and their horror. Now he must feel that she’d think less of
him because of what had happened. She wanted to tell him how brave she thought he was, how his pain hurt her, how she wanted to hold him and keep him safe so that he never had to experience pain again. She turned to do that, but he raised his head to look down at her. Even in the shadows of the dark, she could see that his face was tortured.
‘Please, Merewyn, you promised.’
So instead of talking, she pulled him down into her embrace. He made a sound, but stifled it as he pressed his face to her neck. It was only then that she felt the heat of his tears against her skin. It made hers come all the harder.
She thought back to his own capture of her and realised exactly how gentle he’d been. Dear God, it could have been so much worse for her. But he was too kind, too good to want anyone to live through what had happened to him. Even that first day on his boat, he’d tended to the scrapes the ropes had left behind because he couldn’t bear to see her hurt. She was so lucky that he had found her. She wanted to tell him that, and vowed that she would in the morning before he left.
But when she awoke the next morning, he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Merewyn didn’t take her supper on the dais anymore. In fact, she avoided it at all costs, even pleading with Hilla to have her do something else besides serve there. The jarl had set a precedent of ignoring her, and she felt it best to honour his disposition. She kept to herself, helping with the cooking and weaving and doing her best to not think of Eirik and their words from that last night. But he was everywhere, especially in their chamber, where his scent still lingered, and she wondered if he was warm enough or missing her as much as she missed him.
She couldn’t wait to see him again and assure him of how much she loved him. Though she still didn’t know what their future would bring. When he was around she could almost pretend that their relationship was sustainable, but when he was gone there was nothing to give her the illusion that her station had been elevated. The slave’s food and clothing, not to mention the collar, reminded her. How much worse would that be when he left in the spring to invade her homeland? She could hardly stomach the thought, the senseless slaughter that would surely erupt. And to be left behind, to be left to the whims of his father and perhaps even his brother, made the situation infinitely worse. So she tried her best not to think beyond their time together.
Gunnar, who had been absent the whole winter, returned at the beginning of the third week of Eirik’s absence. He simply walked in during the evening meal. He was dirty and unkempt, and his hair looked as though it hadn’t been cut since she’d last seen him. Then, the hair on the sides of his head above his ears had been shaved, but that had grown in to make him look almost feral.
From her vantage point behind the slaves’ partition, she hadn’t seen Gunnar until he’d reached the dais. She didn’t see the men he’d brought in with him until they walked farther into the house, perhaps on their way to leave the numerous packs they’d brought in with them before the jarl. She’d never seen the men before and wondered if they belonged there or were simply visiting. Their presence probably had something to do with the upcoming invasion, so she looked back to her work and tried to ignore them. Thoughts of the war only filled her with melancholy and anger.
* * *
Unfortunately, her presence hadn’t been forgotten. About an hour later the jarl called for her. His voice rose up over all the others in the room as he called her. He didn’t call her by name, he simply called out ‘slave’, but there was no doubt to anyone that he meant her. All eyes turned to watch her. As she stood and smoothed her skirt, she noticed her hands were shaking, so she put them into fists at her sides and approached the dais.
Gunnar and the two men he’d brought along had joined the jarl at his table. One of them had taken Eirik’s place. Vidar appeared to have gone to bed. Sweyn had gone with Eirik, so she was alone with no allies, except for maybe Hilla. But she doubted the woman’s willingness to go up against the jarl.
Jarl Hegard spoke an order, and by now, though her spoken Norse wasn’t as good, she could comprehend the meaning of his words, even if she didn’t understand every one of them. ‘Serve our guests, slave.’
Gunnar translated to be sure there was no doubt she understood. ‘He would have a noble serve our guests.’ He wasn’t smiling, but she could see that a smile lurked in the depths of his amber eyes. ‘Not to worry, fair noblewoman, they lack any discernible manners, so simply place the platters of food close enough and your job is done. It’s the same principle for feeding mongrels.’
She took a deep breath and wished she hadn’t. The smell coming from the two newcomers was horrid. Gunnar, though, appeared to have visited the bathhouse before the meal. His hair was still unkempt, but his person was clean and he’d donned fresh clothing. She nodded and tried not to breathe when she got close to them. Gunnar was right. Their table manners were atrocious, so she didn’t watch them as she stood by, waiting to be summoned for more mead. Halfway through, Gunnar indicated that she switch them to ale, and the men didn’t seem to notice.
He did notice her, though, and kept a watchful eye on her as he ate. When he finished, he sat back and looked at her. ‘They can’t understand us, so I’d have the truth from you, girl.’
‘Why should I tell you anything?’
He smiled. ‘You don’t have to. But I’ve heard that my brother has a fondness for you, and I’d like to know if it’s true.’
She supposed it wasn’t surprising that people had talked of her and Eirik. He had never taken another woman to his bed before, but it was still disturbing to be talked about. Also, she wasn’t completely sure what Gunnar would gain from knowing the truth about them.
When she was silent, he shrugged. ‘Tell me this, then—do you still want to return home?’
She didn’t know the answer to that question. It had been one that she’d been struggling with ever since Eirik had left. She didn’t want to leave him, but she could see no future with him at his home. ‘I want to be with Eirik,’ she stated softly.
He didn’t say anything else, and the other men continued eating even after the hall had quieted and most people had sought their sleep. Her own eyelids were starting to droop, and the conversation at the dais faded to a steady drone that she couldn’t be bothered to struggle to interpret anymore. She began to fervently hope the meal would end soon; her only wish was to go to bed and dream of Eirik. It still smelled like him and helped to keep her feeling close to him. But before she could go to it, she was called to refill their ale. This time a hand on her wrist stopped her from moving away when she’d finished.
Their glances had grown more lascivious as the night had progressed, but now the man who held her arm looked at her with open lust on his face. The idea was sickening, and she became frightened when the jarl laughed at the man’s impertinence. The hand tightened on her wrist while his other hand went to her hip. She was thrown momentarily off balance when the man pulled her close, forcing her to lean into him to keep upright. His hand moved from her hip to cup a buttock.
Merewyn dropped the pitcher of ale and pressed firmly against his shoulders, but the man didn’t budge. The resistance seemed like a game to him that made him laugh and bury his face in her breasts. His fingers pressed into her, and the only thing stopping his invasion of her body was the thick wool of her dress.
‘Nay, please, I belong to Lord Eirik!’ Then in his language she cried out, ‘I’m Eirik’s slave!’ The words made a few people raise their heads to look at her, but no one moved to stop the man. Even the jarl didn’t seem fazed by it. She looked to Gunnar, her plea in her eyes, but he only watched, his expression bored and unchanged from just moments before. She looked to Jarl Hegard. ‘Eirik would not want this!’
But the other guest wasn’t to be left out, and he reached for her other arm. His hand was like a vise around her forearm as he pulled her towards him. He spoke angry words to
the jarl, something about how she should be given to him first, and then moved his hand to grab a fistful of her hair. Dear Lord, he was demanding her for himself! She felt like a toy being pulled between two boys.
‘Father!’ Her gaze jerked to Gunnar, who had spoken. ‘If the slave is to be enjoyed by anyone, then it should be me.’
‘Let our guests have her.’ Jarl Hegard smiled without looking away from the spectacle. His gaze caught hers and she saw the triumph shining in their depths. He’d wanted this to happen, had intended for it to happen when he’d had her serve the mongrels.
‘I want her! I found her in that cellar. She should be mine. I’ll not have this filth ruin her first.’
The filth in question seemed too busy fighting over their new bone to take offence at his words. But she had heard them and understood them and honestly didn’t know if he would be worse than them. She didn’t want any of them. She wanted to be Eirik’s wife so none of this would happen. She wanted to live somewhere she didn’t have to worry about being taken away from him. In complete despair, she fought them. Somehow she wrenched her arms away and began scratching and pounding until she was let go. The freedom didn’t last long, however.
She wanted to kick and scream and fight until they all lay there broken and unable to torment her, but just as she raised her foot, someone picked her up from a great height. Almost immediately she realised it was Gunnar. He turned her so she was lying over his shoulder, exactly as she had been on their first meeting. So she fought him again, just as she had then.
The jarl stood. ‘Gunnar!’
‘Would you deny me my due? Again, Father? I take enough seconds around here. I will not take seconds from them.’ He waved his hand at the two men in disgust. ‘Let them have whatever is left of her.’
‘But Eirik. Think of your brother.’
‘Now you think of him? Think you he would be pleased you give her to them?’ Gunnar nodded to the two men, who were looking at him with murder in their eyes, but given how they swayed on their feet, she wasn’t sure they’d be much trouble for him.
Enslaved by the Viking Page 21
