Bitter is the Wind, page 5
She held them out to him.
He smiled. “You know not to be wasteful. Put them in the saddle bag.”
“Of course I would not waste them,” she said, indignantly, walking over to the saddles and stuffing the soft skins deep into a bag.
Ramming a stick through the rabbits, he bent over the fire to let them roast and rolled a rock over next to the fire. “They’ll take a while. Come. Sit. It is cold. Warm your hands.”
She hesitated and he groaned. “We don't have to go through all that again, do we? If you prefer me to order you to sit, as your master, I will. Now, sit!”
He kicked over another rock for himself. Grabbing a saddle bag, he sat down and pulled out bread and dried fish. “I understand you hate to be ordered but that is how it is and it’s not going to change.”
She could hear his growing impatience and slid slowly onto the rock. He watched her.
She could see his frown in the firelight as he watched her. “Is your tanned bottom too sore to sit?” he asked, bluntly.
She looked down and felt herself blushing.
“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. “Another order, I know. Come here.”
She found her voice. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“Come here,” he commanded. “I’ll not explain everything to you before you do as you are bid.”
She got up and walked slowly around the fire. When she stood beside him, he reached out to grab her hand. Her heart leapt into her mouth and she hurriedly drew away from him.
“No!” she shouted. “You will not beat me again!”
But he was quicker than her and grabbed her wrist. “Tiresome wench,” he muttered. “I’m not going to beat you. Unless you keep on struggling. Be still!”
He waited until she stopped pulling away from him. “Now lay down across my thighs so I can see how sore you are.”
She shook her head, flustered. “I can’t do that. You can’t…”
In an instant, he pulled her down across his lap, pulled up her tunic and tugged down her undergarments, exposing her bottom once more. He gave a low whistle.
“A good spanking and a hard saddle don’t go together. And you are wet.” He bent low and whispered in her ear, “Do you want servicing, perhaps, woman?”
She could hardly believe he was looking at her naked bottom again and had seen her wetness. “Let me go!” she cried, squirming.
But he held her firm with one arm and rummaged in the saddle bag beside him, pulling out a leather pouch. With his teeth and his one hand, he pulled it open.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” Before she could finish, the touch of his warm hand on her sore flesh made her shudder and she cried out.
He began to rub his hand in firm circles over her cheeks, rubbing in something cold and wet. “This will ease it. If it’s good enough for a horse, it will do you no harm.”
He was smearing her with horse liniment. The smell was unmistakable.
“Do not goad me to have to spank you again, do you hear?” he warned.
In spite of the stink, it was soothing her stinging skin and she could not stop herself from easing down over his thighs as he massaged her bottom. It felt good. But at every level, it was wrong and she moaned.
“What is it, princess?” he asked softly. “Do you want a little more?”
His voice cut through to her senses. “No, I do not! Let me up!” She struggled to get up.
Irritated, he pulled her up. “Do not worry yourself, princess. I’ll not take you if you do not have a mind for it.”
She scrambled away from him, hastily pulling up her drawers. “You’re crazy. I don’t understand you. I don’t know a man who would not take a woman once he’d… he’d…” She could not say the words.
“Don’t concern yourself, woman.” His voice was tight. “I have the needs of a man but I’ll not force a woman.” He got up and turned the rabbits, poking the fire roughly to liven the flames.
“But that’s what you people do,” she dared to say, pulling her shawl around her. “Use women.”
He turned to look at her. “Make no mistake, I’ve had my time with many a woman. Forced them. Fucked them hard. Buried my cock deep. But, in the end, a willing woman is a greater thrill. You are not willing, so I’ve a mind to keep my cock away.” He shrugged and sat down.
His body was taut. The logs shifted and smoke belched from the fire, catching her breath. She coughed in the heavy air.
“Over here, before you get choked,” he said gruffly, shifting along, making space on the rock beside him.
She thought for a moment, then walked out of the wind and smoke, around the fire to stand by him. She looked into his eyes and he held her gaze, challenging her to doubt him. She would dishonour him if she did. But could she trust his word? For all his fine words, he was, nonetheless, Viking.
She sat down. His strong body nudged up against hers, his arms stretched out to the fire, warming his hands. They sat in silence watching and smelling the roasting rabbits.
“Cold?” he asked, glancing round at her, as the wind picked up.
She nodded. “It’s no matter.”
He reached his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. “Can’t have a cold princess,” he muttered in the dancing firelight.
“I don’t understand you,” she said again. Warmth pulsed from his body to hers.
“So you say,” he said. “You don’t have to. I’m just keeping my travel wench warm.”
“You are a pirate of the seas,” she said, accusing him.
“Correction,” he said, interrupting her. “I’ve done with my raiding days. I am a man of means…”
“From piracy,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes, agreed. It was adventure to see other lands and fight. But now I am a man of wealth and property. I seek a life on the land again. My land.”
He got up and picked up the roasted rabbit, dripping fat spitting in the flames. Breaking some bread, he cut off a hot, tender chunk of meat with his knife, buried it in the bread and handed it to her. “Eat.”
She was starving, shivering and her stomach rumbled for the wild roasted meat. She took it from him and bit into the hunk of bread. Taking some himself, he sat down next to her again.
The food was good and warm in the chill of the falling night. But her thoughts tumbled in her head. She could not keep her thoughts to herself. She needed to know.
“Where are we going? Why am I with you?” she demanded, fearful. It was beyond her position to demand anything.
He turned to her, chewing his meat, and raised his eyebrows. “You talk too much for a slave—even for a princess slave,” he said dismissively, turning back to his food.
“Don’t slaves have a right to know some things?” she said, risking a beating.
He picked rabbit bones out of his mouth and threw them in the fire, ignoring her. The flames flared. He turned to her again. His jaw was set firm and she trembled. Her bottom was already sore and she feared another spanking.
“What’s your name?” he demanded, gruffly, holding her gaze.
What? No one asked for her name. She was the slave, the witch, the wench, the curser.
“You heard me.” He cut into her thoughts, his eyes penetrating hers. “Answer me.”
She began to say what was expected of her. “I am… slave and curser…”
He stood up and swung round to face her, his hands on his hips. “No, no! Not that, woman! What is your given name, the name your father, your family gave you?”
She looked up at him wide-eyed .
“Answer me. I am waiting.” He watched her.
The sound of the burning logs cracked the silence between them.
She stood up and faced him, raising her chin proudly. “My name is Abria.”
In that moment, she felt the strength of her name fill her blood and bones with passion and pride. She was no slave.
CHAPTER 10
Her name danced on the wind and she felt the air tremble between them. He caught his breath and stood rigidly in front of her, with no words. His jaw twitched and his eyes blazed as he held her in his gaze. Fear crawled inside her. Why did he look so fierce?
“And are you?” he demanded, cutting the swirling silence, barely letting the words escape his lips.
“Am I what?” she asked, puzzled.
“Are you ‘strong and powerful’?” His voice shook.
His words stunned her and her heart thumped in her chest. How did he know?
“Answer me!” The flames of the fire flared in his eyes. He waited.
She nodded. “I will be, always. How do you know the meanings of the names of Eire?” She dared to ask.
He lowered his eyes and shook the tautness out of his body.
“You ask too many questions,” he said, dismissively, bending over the fire to pull out the roasted rabbits. He wrapped them tightly in a leather pouch he pulled out of the saddle bag and handed it to her. “We sleep in the log hut. Take this inside.”
“I ask none other than the questions you would ask,” she said, grasping the bag but not moving from where she stood, watching him clear the scraps of food. “After all, I am human like you, you said.”
He straightened up. “Get inside,” he ordered, tersely.
She shook her head, wary of the beating that may come from her stubbornness. But she had spoken her name. “I am not your slave. I will not be a slave. Now that you know my name, I am beyond a slave.”
He squatted down by the fire again and ignored her.
“And if I am travelling with you, what is your name?” She held her breath as she dared to ask him, she’d already heard it but she wanted him to tell her himself.
For a long moment, he stared into the flames. At last, he straightened up and turned to her. “I am Thorstein. Brother to Thorulf,” he said, his voice low and measured.
She gasped and stepped backwards, clutching the bag. “No!” she whispered. She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Why am I with you? Where is Thorulf? Are you taking me to him?”
Her fear was palpable and he looked at her, puzzled. “You are afraid of him. Why? What has he done to you?”
She shook her head and shifted from foot to foot. “No. I’ll not be afraid of him. I curse him.”
The cold of the falling darkness seemed sharper, pierced with her fear. She trembled in the mountain chill and looked nervously around her, into the threatening gloom of the forest trees. “Is he near?” she demanded, looking back at him.
He shook his head. “He is not. You called him by his name which a slave would not do. What were you to him?”
“He took me from my homeland. He took me to be his slave. And I was to call him by his name.” Her voice shuddered. “I will speak no more of it! Are you taking me back to him? Is that why I’m with you?”
He could feel her desperation as she shivered in front of him, in spite of the fire.
He shook his head again. “For whatever reason, Abria, you need not fear him. My brother is dead. Thorulf is dead.” He watched as his words filled her mind.
Her eyes widened further in her haunted face. “What?” she whispered.
“He died a warrior's death, a hero, in a bloody battle,” he said.
“He could never be a hero,” she said, bitterly. “If what you say is true, I’m glad he has fallen. I hope he died in a pool of his own, spilled blood, in the sodden mud of the battlefield. I curse him in death!”
Her body trembled and her shoulders drooped knowing he was gone. She felt unsteady and dropped the bag she was clutching so fiercely. In a moment, he was beside her and his strong arms went around her.
He muttered in her ear as he held her. “I do not know what went between you and Thorulf and I’ll not force it from you, but I shall expect you, one day, to speak of it.”
“Never!” she mumbled, leaning against him, then struggled to stand firm. “No, leave me! You are his brother! I cannot trust you!”
“Stop resisting, woman!” he commanded. “Brothers we may be, but we are not cut from the same cloth. You need not fear me. I have pledged to care for you like any fellow man and my oath is my word.”
“I cannot trust you,” she repeated, trying to push away from him.
“I can do nothing to reassure you. It is late and here is not the time or place for either of us to give or know more.” He released his hold on her and watched that she was steady on her feet.
“But if Thorulf is dead, am I not free?” she demanded, hope rising inside her.
He shook his head. “No, Abria, you are not. You were in the oversee of Mistress Gudrun as a favour to Thorulf but she will have no more of it now he is gone. Enough for you to know, now that my brother is dead, I have come to reclaim my ancestral home which was given to Thorulf and so you become my…” He paused and looked into her eyes. “You become my property.”
She caught her breath, stung by his words. “I will have my freedom, not another master,” she uttered. “I will be no one’s property”. The word stuck in her throat.
He grew impatient. “Enough of this!” he said, gruffly, turning to gather up his weapons. “It is what it is. You will do as I bid and accept what has been dealt. You remain a slave and I your master. Get into the hut.”
“No!” she cried. “I cannot do this!”
He swung around to her. “And what are your options, woman?” he asked, angrily. “Run and be lost in the thick forest? Be taken by a bear, a wolf or run through by an elk? Fall off the mountain and drown in the fjord?”
She was without words and shivered in front of him.
He waited until he could see her spirit was quelled. “So you will take what protection I can give you and be still with your protests, and that life shall be enough and preferable to death. I will honour your noble birth in what small ways I can but now you will pick up the bag and get into the hut.” He spoke sternly, his tolerance waning.
Her heart was chilled and her blood ran cold. Not even the death of Thorulf could warm her. She bent, picked up the bag and stepped slowly to the little hut, climbing its short ladder.
The hut was small, with two crude bed benches, with reindeer hides rolled up loosely. He stepped in beside her, carrying his weapons and a dripping candle he had lit by the flames of the fire. Tipping some soft wax on a high shelf, he stuck the candle in the pooling wax and waited until it was steady. He turned and bent down, pushing his bow and arrows under a bed.
“What is this place?” she said, looking around in the candlelight. “How do you know of it, out here in the wild?”
“It lies on the land that is now mine. Or will be once matters are attended to.” He pushed a roll of skins over his weapons. “I have always known of it, since I was a boy.”
“You keep hunting weapons here,” she said.
He nodded. “It’s good to know they are here.”
She turned to him. “What do I call you?”
Stepping past her, he dragged the skins off the beds before facing her. “You call me Master. Nothing has changed. It is how it must be. Thorulf took you as a slave.”
“I spit on his name,” she said, bitterly.
In a swift movement, he held her face tightly with one hand, squeezing her cheeks. “You will spit on no one, woman, and guard against any cursing utterances leaving your mouth. He remains my brother whatever ill was between you. Do you understand?”
She held her breath and nodded as best she could in his firm hold.
He released her. “Tomorrow we ride to Heimsgaard.”
Her heart sank. “I do not want to go back there. I am hated.”
He pulled off his top tunic and threw it on the bed. “From what I gained from Gudrun and knowing you these few days, I can say that you did nothing to make your living there easy.”
“Do you blame me?” she asked.
“No, I do not. Or, at least, I can understand how you felt, but you made things harder for yourself.”
“You can’t judge what is hard for me.”
He threw one of the bed skins at her. “Shake it,” he ordered, doing the same to the other, and looked at her through the swirling dust. “I am more able than you may know. And you should take some solace in what is good in your life. You have shelter and food. You have your life.”
She shook her head. “It just stretches before me. Empty.”
He threw the skin back on the bed. “You have to make something of it, as here your life will be.”
“I don’t know how. I don’t know how to begin.” Her voice was tremulous.
He watched her. She was lost. Stepping over to her, he raised his hand and stroked her hair. It startled her and she caught her breath and looked up at him, wide-eyed.
“Don’t flinch from me, Abria of Eire. I have told you, I will not harm you. You are strong and powerful, do not forget, so you will overcome.”
“How do I begin?” she whispered.
He sighed, dropping his hand. “I had not wished to have more but I cannot desert you. I will watch for you. But you must make your own way. You must adapt and accept.”
She said nothing, knowing her heart wanted to fight, not give in.
He turned from her. “Now we must sleep. Take that bed. Tomorrow we complete our journey.”
He threw himself onto the other bed, pulling the thick reindeer hide over himself.
She watched him for a moment. He was strange. How much could she trust him? Dare she? Already his breathing was heavy in sleep. She could take everything—the horses and the weapons, a little food and go wild. But he was right. There were dangers out there she could only imagine. Why did she want to survive? Shaking her head, she crawled onto the other bed and pulled the heavy hide over herself.
CHAPTER 11
Her bottom was sore, her knees were sore and her face ached but under the reindeer fur it was warm. She peered out of her fur wrap and squinted in the shaft of morning sunlight piercing through the gap around the rough, small door. He was sitting on his bed, pulling on his boots.
He looked over to her. “I’m going to see to the horses and get us fresh water,” he said, shortly. “Shake out the hides and set the beds to rights as they were. Take food if you are hungry and wait for me.”
