won’t speak of that time.’
Merewyn frowned. ‘Did you teach Eirik to speak our language?’
‘Aye. Gunnar, too,’ she clarified. ‘It was required of me when they were younger.’
An involuntary shiver ran through her as she thought of the red-haired one. He’d grinned at her and told her she’d be going home with him in her language just before he’d taken her over his shoulder. Merewyn pushed the thought aside and found her gaze focused on the necklace at Hilla’s neck. Though she knew it wasn’t a necklace before she even asked. It was a slave’s collar.
‘So you’re a slave, then, too?’
Hilla’s hand automatically came up to touch the wooden chip at her neck. Her thick fingertip traced the rune carved into it. ‘Aye. I expect you’ll be getting one of these soon.’
Merewyn looked to a few of the other women who scurried about the outdoor kitchen and noted they all had the collars, but couldn’t see well enough in the firelight to determine if the same sign was inscribed on them all. Slavery wasn’t a foreign concept to her. There were slaves at home, usually prisoners and captured enemies, who helped work the land, but only servants worked in their home. She’d never seen so many slaves working in such close proximity to free men. ‘Do you all belong to Eirik?’
‘None of us belong to him. We’re household slaves of the jarl.’
‘Does Eirik own any other slaves?’ The thought had only just occurred to her that she might be the only one. What if she wasn’t? Merewyn wasn’t sure which she hoped for.
‘You’re the only one. He’s had no need of a...personal slave. Before you.’
Before she could ask what that meant, Hilla walked away towards the house again. Merewyn gently lifted the spoon in the bowl to examine its contents before taking a small taste. It was a grain porridge, but instead of milk and honey, it was flavoured with water and bits of fish and seaweed. It was horrible. But her stomach was growling, so she finished it all.
As she ate, she couldn’t help but think of Hilla’s words and the days ahead. Eirik had promised not to hurt her, but would he keep that promise now? What was a promise to a slave? Why had he been so intent to have her if he didn’t intend to harm her? Would he force himself on her? Maybe he wouldn’t think of that as harming her. The questions were endless and they wouldn’t stop. But Hilla’s next words did interrupt them.
‘It’s time to go inside now. My Lord Eirik calls for you.’
* * *
The now-familiar knot of terror returned to coil tight inside her. Merewyn stood looking at the closed door before her, knowing that Eirik, her master now, awaited her somewhere in the house. She shuddered to think of the night ahead. Would she still be chaste after this night? What new level of horror would she know? Images of what might happen poured through her mind, but she refused to give in to the panic that beckoned. It wasn’t happening yet. Besides, he had vowed that no harm would come to her. Maybe he was an honourable heathen who followed his word. Maybe Mother Mary would see fit to intervene and grant her one miracle.
Merewyn clenched her fists at her sides and held her head high. Alfred had taught her the importance of bearing, so much so that she’d felt her eyes cross with boredom when he started one of those lectures. She’d hated those lectures. Hated how he would sit her down and drone on and on for hours about the importance of living up to her station in life. Now she hated that instead of listening, she had stared daggers at him until he’d sighed and dismissed her with a shake of his head. Then she’d go back to whatever she’d been doing. Usually dancing with Sempa in the forest as they collected herbs or swimming in the stream. Tears unexpectedly prickled her eyes, but she held them at bay. What she wouldn’t give to hear him lecture her now about her morning walk on the beach, to hug him tight and beg his forgiveness for not listening.
For once, she vowed, his lectures would serve her well. With no other choice available to her, she squared her shoulders, determined to meet her fate in a manner that befitted her noble birth and would make her brother proud. She gathered her grace around her like a shield and followed Hilla inside.
Men, boisterous and loud, were packed shoulder to shoulder in the hall. They sat at benches lining the walls and tables that filled the middle of the floor near the hearth. She might have stared at them, wondering at their strange words and rowdy manner, if she hadn’t caught sight of the raised dais on the right side of the room. An older man who she assumed to be the jarl sat at the middle of the table with Gunnar seated on his far side. She started in surprise when she saw him. She’d not realised he was so important, and the realisation of how potentially little stood between her and his mercy made her knees weak.
Neither of them noticed her. They sat watching a burly man who had taken a stand on one of the benches and seemed to be regaling the group in his immediate vicinity with a tale, judging from the dramatic sound of his voice and his arm gestures. But Eirik watched her from his place beside the jarl.
He was dressed in a midnight brocade tunic that stretched taut across the breadth of his shoulders, accented with gold piping and a small keyhole opening at the neckline. A dark gemstone button winked in the light, but she couldn’t tell what it was. His trousers were tucked into calf boots, but she could see that even they were made of a finer material than most of the other men’s clothing. He wore a gold band around each of his arms. His crimson cloak, trimmed in soft grey fur, was affixed to his tunic with two gold filigree brooches at the shoulders.
He was magnificent. For the first time since entering the house, her gaze dropped to the floor. Somehow it had been easier to maintain her dignity when she’d imagined him the barbarian she had painted in her mind; not the nobleman who sat across from her. The nobleman who held her life in his power. Merewyn resisted the urge to scratch at the coarse wool of the apron dress that had replaced her own fine clothing. The knot twisted tighter in her belly.
What did her own nobility matter here where she was a slave?
‘Come.’ Hilla grabbed her arm and led her around to the back of the dais. Some of the men noticed them now and made room for them to pass. Every one of them watched her with their speculative eyes, while some leered and openly appraised her. She knew they were imagining her without clothing, imagining Eirik taking his pleasure and offering her up to them.
The thought was so unbearable, she might have stalled, but Hilla’s strong hand helped her up the wooden steps and guided her to Eirik. He nodded to the woman, who motioned for Merewyn to sit. Merewyn did exactly as she was told and sank to her knees behind his seat, instinctively wanting to hide herself from the stares coming her way.
He waited until Hilla left before turning to look at her. She forced herself to meet his fierce gaze without wavering. The look of disappointment she’d noted earlier was still present. What did he expect from her?
‘Eat.’ He shoved a wooden bowl filled with pieces of roasted meat into her hands.
Merewyn knew she should have been hungry after the gruelling crossing and the single bowl of porridge Hilla had given her, but food was not appealing. It would have smelled delicious had her stomach not been in knots.
‘I can’t—’
‘Do you intend to thwart my wishes at every step?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Nay, my lord, I’m just not feeling well. Perhaps if you tell me your plans for me.’
Eirik’s
