Maidensong (10 page)

 
He set the empty horn on the floor and then leaned
toward her. “And I think the moment has come for me
to kiss you.”

 
She shrank back. “But what of your oath?”

 
“
Not to bed you till you begged me?” he asked, moving ever closer.

 
“
Ja,
that’s the one.” She was sure the whites must
show all the way around her green eyes.

 
“
It still
stands,” he said softly. “I only want to kiss
you, Rika. One kiss. It’s such a simple thing. Don’t
make it difficult. Remember Ragnar and Swanhilde. If
we let the moment pass, it may never come again.”

 
“Just one kiss?” Her voice tremored a bit.

 
“
Say you won’t fight me. One kiss and
I’ll
blow out
the lamp and trouble you no more,” he promised, shrugging his broad shoulders. “For tonight, at least.”

 
“
Very well.” Rika couldn’t believe the words coming
out of her own mouth. Magnus had been right to warn
her of the unusual power of a maidensong. “One kiss.”

 
A smile blazed across his face.

 
As if she was as delicate as Frankish glass, Bjorn cupped her cheeks in his hands. He closed the
distance between their mouths, stopping just before
their lips touched. His warm breath swirled over her,
tinged with the rich scent of ale. One of his thumbs
traced the soft outline of her mouth as his gaze swept over her face and settled on her eyes. She felt herself
being pulled into his dark depths and squeezed her
eyelids shut.

 
His lips covered hers in a caress as soft as a whispered endearment. He moved his mouth, lightly prob
ing, as though waiting for her answer, patient, but
insistent. When her lips parted softly, his tongue slid into her with the same caution and thoroughness he’d
use to sound an unknown harbor.

 
Rika could scarcely breathe. Her mouth sent some
kind of undecipherable signal to the rest of her body,
both frightening and exciting at the same time. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch. Their kiss deepened and it was as though a spark had been struck. Fire danced through her limbs and settled to
smolder in her belly. All rational thought faded in the
oblivion of his kiss, and the only truth in the world was the dizzying sensation of his mouth on hers.

 
Bjorn cradled her shorn head in his palm as his
other hand slid down her neck. Her skin shivered be
neath his fingers. His hand brushed lightly over the iron collar.

 
The hateful ring of metal yanked her back to reality.
What was she thinking? To this man, she was no more than a possession to be used, like his bloody
sword or humble piss pot, and cherished far less than
his dragonship.

 
And to think she’d been enjoying his company,
mooning at him with calf’s eyes, and worst of all, answering his kiss. How could she have forgotten Mag
nus? Her father’s blood was on Bjorn’s head. Guilt
clawed at her. Rika put both palms on his chest and
shoved with all her might.

 
At least he had the wit to look surprised.

 
“
There,” she said. “You’ve had your kiss.” She turned her face to the wall and drew herself into a tight little ball.

 
Bjorn was silent for a moment and then blew out the
lamp. “Good night, Rika. May you sleep without
dreams.”

 
Of course she would. All her dreams were as dead as her father.

 
When Rika woke again, Bjorn was gone. He’d lit the small lamp and left it burning on the wooden trunk for
her. Without it, the windowless room was black as a
moonless night. A trencher of bread and a salty wedge of cheese waited for her beside the lamp. She searched
every corner, but her scratchy tunic was gone.

 
Loki take the man!
He knew very well she couldn’t
venture out of his small cell in the short tunic she was
wearing. He’d imprisoned her without so much as a bar on the door. She snorted in disgust, picked up the
cheese, breaking off a small chunk with vehemence,
and popped it into her mouth.

 
Bjorn’s room was just a rectangle of space off the main hall of Gunnar’s longhouse, without a smoke
hole or fire of its own. His bed was made of built-up
earth on one side of the room, covered with a straw-
tick, and then piled with furs and fine woven blankets.

 
The one piece of furniture in the room was a heavy wooden trunk, which he used to store his clothing and personal possessions. A round, hardened leather
shield leaned against the opposite wall. It was heavily scored with slashes from glancing blows Bjorn had taken in battle or raiding.

 
Pity the shield caught them all, Rika thought.

 
A long broadsword, safely tucked into its shoulder baldric, stood balanced next to the shield. She
wrapped her fingers around the hilt and tried to lift the
blade. It was too heavy for her to
wield, and she soon gave up the effort with a disgusted
grunt. She’d have to find some other way to make Bjorn the Black pay for Magnus.

 
The room was tidy, clean-swept and, like its owner, spartan. The only item that seemed out of place in that
masculine space was a small bone flute on the wooden
chest. She wondered whether he could play it, or if it
was a remembrance of some sort, a trophy of his con
quest of some witless female perhaps.

 
The fiend.

 
The door swung open suddenly, and the fiend in question peered in.

 
“You’re awake. Good.” Bjorn strode into the room
with a bundle of clothes in his arms. He dropped them
on the bed beside her. “Here. Put these on. Do
you know how to ride a horse?”

 
“
Ja,
I can ride,” she said as she sorted through the clothing he’d brought her. The tunic was a soft, creamy cloth the color of ripened wheat, with a kyrtle of deep forest green. She fingered the twin silver
brooches sparkling up at her. They were every bit as
fine as the ones Magnus had bought her. Thoughts of
her father made her turn from them in disgust.

 
“
We usually sailed to the places Magnus performed, but he liked to ride back into the less-settled areas, too,” Rika said.

 
“
A skald as renowned as Magnus wouldn’t have to
travel to out-of-the-way places.” Bjorn helped himself
to some of her bread. “I’d heard from one of our
traders that he was at the court of the Danes.”

 
“
We were for quite a while on and off, but Magnus could never bear court life—all that posturing and
preening. So we’d head for the wilds.” She wiggled out
of his short tunic while keeping herself covered with the blankets. If he thought she was planning to un
dress in front of him, he was sadly mistaken. “Besides,
sometimes he collected a new tale in the hinterlands,
so he always felt it worth the trip. And Magnus used to say that all people need a skald, not just the powerful.
Our sagas and eddas make us who we are as a people
and keep us strong.”

 
“You put heart into Gunnar’s hall
last night.” His dark eyes crinkled with admiration. “
There hasn’t been that much laughter here since my
father was
jarl
.” Bjorn’s voice trailed away as if follow
ing the wisp of memory.

 
“Has he been gone long?” Her own loss
still pierced like a blade, yet she recognized pain in his
drooping shoulders.

 
“A little over a year,” he said. “So much has changed since then, sometimes it seems even longer.”

 
Rika would not allow herself to sympathize with the pain of the man who took her own father from her.
She disappeared completely under the bedding and after several moments of tussling with the tunic and kyr
tle, threw back the blankets fully clothed.

 
Bjorn frowned at her. “
It’s not as though I haven’t already seen you naked.”

 
“I was unconscious at the time, so that hardly counts.” She ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. It was so short she didn’t even feel the lack of a comb. “I was not raised to be a bed-slave, so I’m not
likely to conform to your lewd notions of how one
should behave.”

 
“Pity,” he said under his breath.

Rika scowled at him, but she supposed she should
be grateful. Little comments like that made it easier
for her to hate him as he deserved. Last night, when
he’d awakened from his evil dream, disoriented and
afraid, she’d been tempted to see him as just a man, not as the brute she knew him to be.

 
In the light of day, she wondered whether he’d made
up the whole incident, feigning a night terror just to weaken her resolve. Remembering his soft kiss made her lips tingle and her chest constrict strangely. She shook herself to ward off the unwanted sensations. It
puzzled her that her body could react so independently
from the wishes of her head. Her lips didn’t recognize
Bjorn as the enemy. The kiss had been a mistake.
Now that she knew how crafty he was,
she’d be doubly wary.

 
“Where are we going?” she asked. “I was hoping
you would let me see how my brother fares today.
”

 
“Today we ride up the mountain,” Bjorn said. “And
your brother is already on his way there.
I’ll
make sure
you see him.”

 
“
Are you sure
I’ll
not be missed here?” Rika asked
archly. “Perhaps you should confer with Lady Astryd.
There may yet be a privy somewhere I haven’t scrubbed.”

 
“I’ve already spoken to Astryd.” Bjorn popped a
pinch of the cheese into his mouth. “You’ll be scrub
bing no more privies. The skald of Sogna shouldn’t be
wasted on drudge work. From now on, you’ll attend
me, day and night.”

 
“I might’ve preferred the privies,” she muttered as she fastened the buckle on her new leather boot.

 
They crossed the
jarl’s
compound to the stables.
There they mounted a matched pair of chestnut geld
ings and plodded out of the settlement, past the iron
worker’s and tanner’s sheds, past the lush cultivated lands and up a narrow trail into a fragrant pine forest.

 
The air was crisp, and Rika tugged at the brown woolen cloak Bjorn had draped over her shoulders.

 
Several tree trunks they passed had been gnarled by
wind and extreme age, shaping them into oddly human figures. With knotholes for eyes and gaping mouths
unevenly bearded with moss, they were trolls in the
wood, indeed. A light wind ruffled through the trees,
setting them swaying in a macabre dance. Rika decided she’d rather not be in this wood by moonlight.

 
“
Where are you taking me?” Snow-kissed air washed down from the high summit, and she pulled her cloak tighter.

 
“To the new fields,” Bjorn said, a heart-stopping smile on his lips. The sunlight glinted blue highlights
on his dark hair. When he went out of his way to charm,
she had to admit Bjorn was devastatingly appealing.

 
So must Loki appear when that shape-shifting
godling has a fool to bedevil,
Rika reminded herself.
She tore her gaze from her captor, trying to ignore the way her insides tightened with excitement.

 
Bjorn gestured up the trail. “There’s a nice level spot
up there. Once we clear the trees and pull up the roots,
we’ll double our tillable soil. We can plant more barley
and rye. There are more people living in Sognefjord now than ever in memory. And people need to eat.”