Viking Passion (5 page)

He’d not had as much to drink as the other
men. Despite his lameness, he moved easily beside Lenora, guiding
her out the door that Thorkell had used earlier. He led her along a
sandy path to a small building set a little apart from the others
at the back of Thorkell’s hall. It was built of logs and mud, a
single room lacking the wood paneling of the great hall, with a
firepit at one end and a raised platform along one wall. Piled on
the platform, which served as both bed and sitting space, were
woolen blankets, a straw-filled mattress, a few furs, and several
pillows covered with the same lustrous cloth that had made
Thorkell’s robe. These were blue and green, bright spots of color
in the drab room. On the tamped earth floor sat three ornately
carved wooden chests. On top of one was a small oil lamp, its
light, when Erik lit it, casting flickering shadows along the
wall.

“This is my home. Here they leave me in
peace,” Erik told her. He bolted the door and turned to her, his
sea-green eyes gleaming in the light of the oil lamp.

“Do you live here alone?” Lenora asked,
trying to order her swirling thoughts. She wished he would go away
and let her sleep, but she feared he would not.

“You and I live here now. Where I am, there
you live, until I sell you or give you away. But I do not think
that will be very soon.”

Seeing the look in his eyes, the same
expression she had noticed earlier, she backed away from him. She
felt again the sensation of successive waves of heat and cold
passing over her body. She did not understand what was happening to
her. She wanted to run away and hide from those green eyes that
held her in a magical spell. And yet – and yet, she did not really
want to leave him at all.

“Take this off,” he said softly, touching the
shoulder of her dress.

She hesitated a moment, then obeyed with
shaking fingers. She felt his hands helping her, lifting the
tattered woolen gown over her head and casting it aside. Her torn
linen undergarment barely covered her.

Never taking his eyes from her, he removed
his sword belt and then his tunic. His body was as tanned as his
face. The heavy gold chain at his throat gleamed against his dusky
skin. Silky, dark hair grew on his arms and chest, and there was a
narrow scar running up and down his left shoulder. He moved nearer,
muscles rippling as he put his arms around her.

Lenora stood rigid in his embrace. His mouth
hovered above hers, before it lightly, briefly, touched her
trembling lips. His arms tightened, pulling her hard against his
tough, warm body. She shuddered at the feel of his bare skin on
hers. They stood locked together for a long moment before his lips
returned to hers, more firmly this time, as he claimed his new
possession.

His mouth was sweet, caressing her lips in a
way that sent little ripples of heat washing along her body,
throbbing into her limbs. Lenora, lost in unexpected pleasure, was
unaware that her arms had encircled his waist.

Gently Erik’s long hands caressed her throat
and shoulders, moved lower to push aside the remnants of her shift
and cup her breasts. His thumb flicked across one rosy tip. She
caught her breath and tried to move away, but he pulled her back to
him, bending his head to apply mouth and tongue where his thumb had
been.

She moaned, fighting against the strange
melting she felt deep within herself as his tongue played across
her flesh. His hands slid along the smooth curves of her hips in an
intimate, sensuous gesture. Sweet fire laced through her. She could
feel her treacherous body molding itself to his, urging him on. His
hands traced quivering sensations along her loins.

Suddenly she remembered this was a Viking,
and fear surged into her mind, erasing sensual delight. Vikings
were wicked, brutish louts. Vikings had destroyed her family.

“No. No.” She pushed frantically against his
chest.

Ignoring her protests, Erik bore her down
onto the rough bed, tearing off her shift. She lay completely naked
before him, a sacrifice to Viking lust. She could not control the
terror that was consuming her. Her voice rose to an hysterical
shriek.

“Don’t touch me. Let me go. I’ll kill you, I
swear I will. Murderer! You are all murderers. Filthy Norse—”

On and on she raved, scarcely noticing when
Erik moved away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, watching
her. He waited patiently until her outburst ended in a flood of
tears, finally tapering off into infrequent, weary sobs.

“Lenora,” he said at last, “tell me exactly
what Snorri did.”

“I’m so tired. I only want to sleep. Please
leave me alone.”

“Tell me. I must know.”

And so she recounted as much as she could
remember of the raid on Wilfred’s tun, and in addition all that
Maud had told her.

“What did Snorri do to you?” he asked when
she had finished.

“I just told you. He killed my family.”
Lenora gulped, trying not to cry again.

“I mean you. Did he rape you?”

The sharp question brought a flood of crimson
to her face and throat. She had been too shocked and confused to
wonder what had happened after Hrolf had hit her.

“I – I don’t know. I was unconscious most of
the time.”

“Of course he did. He is Snorri.” The
scornful curve of Erik’s lips sent a cold chill to her heart.

She nodded in mute agreement, unable to
speak, feeling totally, irreparably shamed by his words. She
watched in silent anguish as he pulled on his tunic again and threw
her discarded gown over her.

“Stay here,” he commanded.” Do not move until
I come back. Do you understand?”

Yes,” she whispered miserably. She lay on the
straw mattress, wondering if he would bring Snorri, back with him,
if he would turn her over to his brutal brother as unwanted,
damaged goods.

Erik was gone only a short time. He returned
alone, carrying a wooden bucket of water and a cloth.

“Get up and wash yourself,” he said.

“What?” She thought she had misunderstood
him.

“Snorri has touched you, therefore you are
dirty. I won’t allow you to lie in my bed with his seed staining
your flesh. Wash yourself.”

The water was cold. His eyes never left her
as she scrubbed at the dirt on face and arms and torso, on her legs
and feet, and finally on her inner thighs. There was no blood to be
seen there, but she knew enough to realize its absence did not
necessarily mean that Snorri had not violated her. She was too worn
out to be embarrassed by Erik’s steady gaze.

“Now get into bed,” he ordered when she was
finished.

She crawled back onto the straw mattress and
he covered her with a woolen blanket, then lay down beside her,
wrapped in a fur. She huddled against the wall, as far away from
him as she could get.

“You need not fear me,” he told her over his
shoulder. “The thought of wallowing in Snorri’s leavings like a
hungry pig at a trough fills me with revulsion. I will not touch
you in that way again.”

It was not a flattering comparison, yet his
distaste offered her a grain of comfort. This Viking, at least,
would not rape her. But he had piqued her ever-ready curiosity.

“Why do you hate your brother so much?” she
asked. The idea of disliking her own brother was so foreign to her
that she could not comprehend it. Dear Wilfred, warm and funny and
so protective of his two sisters, even of the competent Matilda.
She dug her teeth hard into her lower lip to stop the tears that
threatened at the mere thought of her lost family. In her
concentration on controlling her feelings she almost missed Erik’s
next words, which issued forth in a low, hissed whisper of
contempt.

“It must be a special delight to Snorri to
know that out of deference to our father I have been forced to
accept what he has used first. He must think it is a great joke.
When you have to deal with him, Lenora, keep your wits about you,
and never depend on his word. Now go to sleep.”

In spite of her weariness she could not do as
he ordered, for she saw herself ensnared between contending
brothers. She was terrified that when morning came Erik would give
her back to Snorri as the next move in the dangerous game they were
playing.

Her thoughts ran round and round, giving her
no peace. Maud, who might have told her if Erik’s accusation of
rape against Snorri was true, had left Thorkellshavn with her new
master. Lenora had seen them go. She knew Edwina could give her no
information; Edwina barely remembered what had happened to herself.
Lenora had ascertained that much before they reached Thorkell’s
hall, and had been grateful for the forgetfulness that eased
Edwina’s unbearable loss. She could not trust any answer Snorri
might give on the matter, and certainly Erik would not believe his
brother, either.

Erik stirred in his sleep and flung one arm
over her. The warmth of his body was oddly comforting. He was
clean, with a fresh, masculine body odor that was not repulsive at
all. In that, as in other things, he was quite different from
Snorri and his men.

She realized how foolish she had been to
fight him. She ought to have controlled her fear and encouraged him
to take her, so he would keep her safe from Snorri. Much as she
hated the idea of any Norseman touching her, she decided she ought
to try to overcome Erik’s distaste, to make him want her so he
would not give her away or sell her. If he ever approached her
again, she would force herself to accept his advances and try to
please him.

Her taut muscles began to relax at last as
she drifted into sleep. Her last conscious sensation was of Erik’s
arm across her shoulders, holding her close.

Erik was gone when Lenora wakened. The room
was dim, brightened only by the daylight showing at the bottom of
the wooden door and through the hole in the roof over the firepit.
Lenora swung her feet to the floor and groped about until she
located her gown. She had just picked it up when the door flew
open, letting in a blaze of sunlight. She blinked and clutched her
bedraggled garment against her nakedness.

Erik entered, followed by the blond woman who
had sat across from them at last night’s banquet. As her eyes
adjusted to the sudden bright light, Lenora looked again. Yes, it
was the same woman who had gazed so often at Halfdan. Her dark blue
eyes regarded Lenora beneath raised brows. The woman carried a
bundle of folded clothes in her arms.

“So, you are awake at last,” Erik said. “It
is past midday. I let you sleep because I knew you were tired.”

“Thank you,” Lenora whispered, embarrassed to
have Erik and the blond woman watching her so closely when she was
undressed.

“This is my sister Freydis,” Erik went on.
“She will explain your duties. You are to obey her in
everything.”

“Are you -” Lenora’s voice squeaked in
fright. She swallowed hard and tried again. “Are you giving me to
her?”

“No,” he replied. “I require a woman to
attend me. One of Thorkell’s women has been serving me. Now you
will do that.”

“Will I continue to sleep here?”

“You will. But I will not touch you, so have
no fear of me.” His expression clearly showed his disgust at the
thought of taking what had once been Snorri’s. “I warn you on pain
of death not to tell anyone. I cannot insult my father by rejecting
his gift to me, so no one must know we do not lie together. No one,
not even Thorkell’s slave who was your friend. Let people think
what they will.”

“Very well, if you promise not to give me
away. I do not want to be given back to Snorri.”

He frowned at her. “You are my thrall,” he
reminded her. “I need not promise a slave anything. But I tell you
that if I give you away or sell you, it will not be to Snorri. I
will give him nothing.”

Freydis had been listening to this
conversation, which was conducted in a mixture of English and
Latin, with a puzzled expression. Now she spoke sharply to Erik. He
nodded.

“One thing more,” he said to Lenora. “You
must learn to speak our tongue. I will not always be with you to
translate for you.”

“I will try.” She would have promised almost
anything out of sheer gratitude at not being returned to
Snorri.

“Now you must bathe.”

“I washed last night.”

Erik grinned at her. The smile lit up his
face and made him look like a young boy. His sea-green eyes
sparkled with humor, dazzling her.

“I do not like dirty women. Bathing often is
a custom I learned in Miklagard, although it is not unknown here,
especially in summer. We Danes are cleaner than you Saxons.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?” His eyebrows went up, and she realized
he was teasing her.

“I won’t bathe,” she declared. “It’s
unhealthy.”

“Since you were given to me,” he replied,
“you have said little else to me but
no
. If you say
no
one more time, I will beat you. I will not live with a
dirty woman.”

Lenora’s chin went up defiantly. She started
to speak, but the look in his eye silenced her. He took the gown
from her and gave her the rough woolen blanket under which she had
slept.

“Wrap yourself in this and follow Freydis,”
he said. “And from this moment, you will speak only Norse.”

There was nothing to do but follow his
orders. Lenora covered her nakedness as best she could and left the
cottage.

The mist and rain of the previous day were
gone and the sun was warm on her head and shoulders. Lenora looked
upon a landscape surprisingly like the one she had known all her
life. Undulating green fields surrounded Thorkellshavn. Lenora,
accustomed to living in a farming community, surveyed the fields
with a practiced eye, recognizing a large strip of barley, another
of rye, and noticing a herd of cattle grazing contentedly in the
distance. The flat countryside beyond the farmlands was heavily
forested. Looking in the opposite direction from the farm, she saw
Snorri’s longship drawn up onto a narrow ledge of sand at the
river’s edge. Beyond, along the far western horizon, she could
glimpse between the sand dunes the blue shimmer of the North Sea.
Over that sea lay her home, or what had been her home.