Page 10 of Viking Beast
I was alone, with no one to help me. No one to care whether I lived or died—and I wanted to live. Not just for the sake of the child I carried, but for myself.
If I could run fast enough, past the men outside, I might reach the homestead. There, someone would take pity on me. I’d be at their mercy, but the women of the house wouldn’t let them use me as a whore. This I told myself, summoning what strength remained inside me. Knowing I’d have only one chance, I drew up my knee.
Sweyn must have sensed my intention, for he recoiled as I acted, managing to turn half away, so that I caught him only partially in the groin, but it was enough to wind him. Cursing, he released me and staggered backward.
With a hammering heart, I ran. He would be only a few steps behind, and I would feel his fist for what I’d done. Blindly, I raced for the door, lifting my hem to avoid falling. But I must have misjudged, for the doorway grew dark and I collided with a hard wall. A wall standing three heads above me, wearing a leather breast plate with an axe hanging from its belt. A wall of pure muscle, whose hands had grasped my shoulders to keep me from toppling.
My head fell back, and I lost all power to move.
It was the demon, his wild hair a fiery mane. The side of his face was scarred. His left eye had barely healed. The burns were recent but, long ago, some blade had cut deep across his cheek, leaving a gash through his beard.
Unblinking, he looked down at me, and I was drawn into his eyes. Even in that dim light, I saw how unusual they were—green and gold. There was power in those eyes, as if he might demand anything, and others would obey.
I witnessed his surprise at the way I stared at him, and his grasp tightened, as if he were unsure that I was real. His voice rose deep from his chest, rasping, as if it were difficult for the sound to emerge from his throat.
“I commanded that there be no prisoners.”
I couldn’t see the brute I’d been fleeing from, but I heard the shuffle of his feet.
“The gods threw her easily in my path, Jarl. They meant for me to take her.”
In reply, the red demon touched the ivory brooch on the bodice of my gown. He surveyed the rope about my wrists and the thick noose hanging from my neck. “Take as many bed thralls as your cock needs, Sweyn, but not this woman.”
My heart beat strangely. Was I to be saved, after all?
And then my blood turned to ice, for those eyes, so intense, were upon mine again.
“It is I who will own her—for I am owed a debt.”
6
Elswyth
August 1st, 960AD
Ireceived a mug of buttermilk, gulping it down greedily, and a hunk of bread. With my hunger appeased, my will was restored.
More than once, I’d faced death, but still I was here. If the gods had a plan for me, I was ready to hear it. For some reason, I’d been brought into the hands of this murderer; the man who’d killed my husband, who must have ordered the torching of our longhouse.
The remembrance of it filled me with a desire to empty my stomach, but I needed to be stronger than that. The sorrow that filled me was already turning to anger—a more useful emotion to harness, for it might keep me alive.
The jarl had commanded that I be washed, and so I’d been brought to the bath-house. The thralls had not looked at their master as he gave them his orders, nor had they wished to look at me, at first.
The hut was large enough to house a family but contained a great wooden tub, braced like a barrel. I’d never seen the like of it, nor the manner in which it was filled. Above the fire pit, the cauldron was suspended on chains, hung from a braced rod of metal, and a long spout emerged from its side. Those who’d brought me inside had only to push the lower half of the bowl for it to tip water into the tub.
It must have taken eight cauldrons’ worth to have brought the water to its current level. The bath had not been intended for me, of that I was certain. A table stood beside the tub, upon which rested linens and soap.
The two women helped me to undress and to climb the steps, holding my hands as I lowered myself into the steaming water. Gradually, they grew braver, and I saw them glance one to the other and back to me.They’d seen the slight roundedness of my belly, the distinctive curve sitting low. Eirik had thought me only to be eating well, but I could see they knew better.
I must gain their trust. Perhaps they’ll know a way for me to escape.
Or, if I were to remain and lived long enough to see the babe’s birth, they might find a place of safety for the child to be reared. I didn’t want to think of that. I couldn’t think of it—for such a thing seemed too distant and too sad with all that had happened in the past day and night.
But I needed them, so I smiled as they scrubbed my back and tipped my head for them to wash my hair. I murmured my thanks and asked their names and from where they’d come. They only shrugged at that. Both had been born here—Thirka and Ragerta—and had been slaves, always.
The name of this place? Skálavík.
I fought down my fear when I heard it.
