Page 12 of Viking Beast
“You will look at me.”
I’d lowered my eyes out of shame, but I raised them now.
The room was warm with steam, yet I shivered.
As before, he studied me intensely—not my body, but my mouth, nose, and eyes. His brow drew tight in concentration. “You look like someone…” His voice trailed away. “Impossible, of course, for you are no Skálavík woman—nor even a woman of Svolvaen.”
“’Tis true,” I stated plainly, determined not to be cowed. “I come from Holtholm, far to the west, and would be there still had Eirik and his men not sought haven with us in a storm. I went willingly to Svolvaen, not as Eirik’s thrall, but as a free woman.” I held my chin a little higher. “Yesterday, he made me his wife.” As I said it, the memory of what had happened rose in a white-hot flash.
He said nothing.
“Is it your habit to kidnap women from your allies and burn their villages? What sort of man are you?”
I shook away from his grasp. He had no right to touch me.
“I saw you! You didn’t give Eirik a chance to stand. He didn’t even know who was attacking him.”
“It was no plan of mine to abduct you. That notion was Sweyn’s alone, and I believe he knew not who you were—only a woman who took his fancy. But the gods brought you to my hands, just as they brought the good fortune of my finding all Svolvaen gathered in one place, and your cur-of-a-husband to my feet. I wished him dead, and he is. I regret only that his passing was too swift. As to allies, I recognise no treaty!”
I drew back in horror, for I’d never heard a man speak without honour. “He was my husband. The man I loved!”
The right side of his mouth curled into a sneer. “You were his thrall, submissive—and to that of his brother, I hear, when this Eirik abandoned you.”
His statement shocked me into silence. Dropping my head, I felt the shame of those dark days. “Eirik loved me, and he returned. He wanted no other woman.” I stumbled over my explanation, knowing that nothing could excuse the choices I’d made. “I believed I was forsaken, but I was wrong.”
I had to live with my sins and, still, they wrenched my heart. Perhaps I was faithless, my will to survive stronger than my fidelity. Even becoming Eirik’s bride, I’d failed to speak honestly, making no confession of my fear that the child I carried was Gunnolf’s.
Yet, for all that, I needed honesty from this man. I needed to know why he’d attacked Svolvaen. Though I wished to spit in his face, I calmed myself. Curling my arms tighter about my body, I framed my question carefully. “You broke our treaty of peace. For what reason?”
Eldberg’s reply was pure ice. “You see my face, caused by the assassin your jarl sent to Skálavík.”
I didn’t understand. “Eirik wished for peace. He would never have—”
Eldberg cut me off before I could say more. “And yet my wife and unborn child are dead at your jarl, Gunnolf’s, order.”
His wife and child? Dead?
In his last days, a strange madness had overtaken our former jarl. He’d trusted no one. He’d been violent and cruel, even to those who wished to serve him. Could he have sanctioned some terrible deed?
But Eirik bore no guilt for his brother’s action.
I began to explain, but Eldberg lunged toward me.
“It changes nothing!” With each word, he shook me. “Your husband did naught to curb his brother’s evil—and for that, he deserved death. His kin took what I held most dear, and I shall repay in kind. His end was quick, but your punishment shall unfold at my leisure.”
I sobbed, for he was crushing me painfully.
“You are nothing now but my slave and shall serve in my bed—willing or not—until you call me your master, forsaking any allegiance you gave to your Svolvaen jarl.”
“Never!” I raised my hand to strike him, but he caught my wrist and twisted back my arm. I cried out, struggling.
My instinct was to escape his hold—to flee, though there was nowhere for me go. I was naked and friendless, and never more alone. But could I submit as he asked? Every beat of my heart protested. I was to be humiliated and kept in fear, knowing that any dissent would bring worse punishment.
I gasped through my tears. “I beg your mercy. Know that I plead not just for myself but for the child I carry. It is innocent and should not be punished.”
Releasing me, he stepped back and, this time, it was my body that received his appraisal by the firelight’s glow: my breasts, then my belly, lingering between my legs, and down their length.
With a mocking smile, he cupped beneath my breast, measuring its weight and smoothness, grazing my nipple with the coarse print of his thumb. His other hand, he laid across my womb. His touch was gentle, but I shuddered. Tears of shame pricked my eyes as I stood helpless.
