Harper George - Enslaved by the Viking

Kadlin was lovely and kind. It was past time she became a mother. But the thought of babies made an unwelcome image flash behind his eyes of the act that created them. He’d never thought of her in that way. But then her image changed to that of the girl, and bedding her was something he could imagine all too well.

‘It was kind of him to wait,’ Eirik acknowledged.

‘That bastard doesn’t have a kind bone in his body. He wants you for his son.’ Hegard’s gaze narrowed. ‘You want to be jarl after I’m gone, don’t you?’

‘Aye, it’s what I’ve always wanted.’ Eirik had imagined himself in his father’s place since he was small enough to conceive of such a thing. But he clenched his teeth because he knew what was coming.

‘Then you know you’ll need the men to follow you after I go. There are those who would choose Gunnar when I’m gone.’

‘I’m the better warrior. I led them all on every raid for the past three years. They’re all wealthier because of me. The men will follow me when it’s time.’ His voice was hard and determined.

‘Aye, that is true. You led them well, son. I don’t mean to imply otherwise. But you must hold their trust.’ The older man let the words linger in the air between them.

There was no need to elaborate. No one knew what had happened on that day long ago. Even his father had only speculated, but he’d immediately installed a girl in Eirik’s chamber. The men had assumed she’d slept in his bed, but she hadn’t, and Eirik suspected his father knew that.

Eirik had never taken a bed slave, never once lain with any of the gypsy women who followed their camps, never taken a woman in a raid. He’d taken women into his tent, the ones who were reluctant to bed the others and grateful for his protection. But he never took pleasure with them and gently rebuffed the few who had tried to repay his protection with their favours.

‘They have no reason to distrust me.’

‘The slave was a nice touch,’ Hegard agreed. ‘I admit, even I wasn’t expecting her. You’ve never taken a slave before.’

Eirik had to look away from his father’s appreciative leer. It enraged him to have his father view her so casually, but there was no reason it should. She was only a slave.

‘Bed your slave. But Kadlin won’t wait. You need to wed her soon. Leave her with child when you return to fight in the spring. Then the men will have no reason to distrust you.’

‘They have no reason to distrust me now.’ Only the few who followed Gunnar had dared to voice any dissent against him.

‘They distrust what isn’t like them. Marry a jarl’s daughter and you’ll prove to be even better than them.’

Eirik could read his father’s eyes and knew that the seeds of distrust lived even in his own father. If it could live there, then how could he expect the men to trust him?

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll be married by spring and there will be no reason for it to linger.’

The jarl nodded, but kept a keen watch on his son’s face. ‘Good. Gunnar is learning, but he’s not as temperate in his decisions as you are. The men need a level head to lead them.’

Gunnar was his main rival for his father’s seat. It was his duty to make his claim as solid as possible to lessen the fight. Despite the rivalry, he had no desire to harm his brother. But Gunnar wouldn’t sit by and allow what he deemed to equally belong to him to slip through his fingers. The fight was coming. It was the way of a jarl’s sons.

‘How was your bed slave last night?’

Eirik hadn’t realised his brother had come out of his chamber when he joined them at the table, but the question shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Gunnar wasn’t known for his subtlety or tact. He seemed to enjoy purposely riling both Eirik and their father.

‘Gunnar.’ Hegard shook his head in disapproval as he watched his son take a seat.

‘A fair question, father. I only wish my brother happiness.’ Gunnar grinned and raised his mug to them.

They were joined then at the table by Bram and Sweyn, who’d returned with Eirik and Gunnar, and the talk turned to the battles and raids over the past summer. The raids in Francia had been immensely successful. Much of their treasure had been paid in tribute, but the raids had been going on long enough and they were beginning to meet resistance. Which was why they had been patrolling the northern coasts. For years they had been raiding Wessex, East Anglia, Mercia and Northumbria to moderate gains. But now there was talk of more than raiding.

Hegard’s brother, Einar, claimed the land was ripe for the taking. Hegard was doubtful that men could be such fools to suffer kings unable to protect them, which was why Eirik’s trip had been so important. He’d confirmed Einar’s claim. Every stop along the coast had proved the Saxons were unfortified and unable to counter a full attack against an organised fleet. Their leaders offered tribute too easily now. It had become second nature, as if they thought no other form of aggression was possible. Leaders like that didn’t deserve to keep what they held. The only real resistance they had encountered was a skirmish just days south of where he’d taken the slave girl, and that had been pitifully organised. Judging from the lack of men at her home, Eirik suspected the group, or at least a part of it, had originated there.

Come spring, Eirik would return with even more men and join the group wintering just near Thetford. Then they would raid north to take Northumbria.

Eirik watched the excitement light up Hegard’s eyes as he listened to their stories. There was no doubt in his mind that the jarl would be inclined to commit men to the battle. The exhilaration was almost contagious. It even pulled at him, making his hands restless and his heart pound. But he could be gone for years. What would he do with his pretty slave then?

Chapter Eight

Merewyn had awakened to the Northman’s screams in the night. They had been so terrifying, she’d been convinced there was a demon attacking him until she’d risen to verify he was unharmed. Then she’d watched in fascination as he’d fought against something she couldn’t see. It had occurred to her to try to calm him lest he hurt himself, so she’d reached out cautiously to touch his forehead. His screams had quieted, and the moment his struggles had ceased, she’d moved back to her pallet. It had seemed better to not let him know she had witnessed his nightmare, so she’d pretended to be asleep until he’d left.

But real sleep had proved elusive. She’d lain there as her mind had relived the previous days. Every time it was quiet, Merewyn would hear Blythe’s words echo in the silence. She still didn’t know what had possessed her actions. After a while, the door opened and Merewyn closed her eyes, unwilling to face the day. She opened them when it was quiet again to see that someone had placed a pitcher of water inside the door—Hilla, she imagined—so she made use of it to clean herself. She managed it as discreetly as possible, afraid that the door would open at any moment. But it didn’t. She finally ventured out when her stomach began to grumble.

The first person she saw was Hilla, who directed her to an empty bench where she broke her fast surrounded by some of the men from the day before. She managed to remain unnoticed, so she slipped back to the bedchamber when she finished, where she was left alone until the evening meal.

* * *

Hilla was the one to retrieve her. This time the hall was considerably less full as she was led to the dais. Most of the men had probably left for their homes. Eirik sat eating, but didn’t even glance her way as she took her place on the floor behind him, though once she was settled he handed her a bowl filled with bits of food from his. Famished again, Merewyn ate without reservation and finished it all.