Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

“No longer will he be a sullen bear in the mornings, envying us the moans wrung out of us by our wives. Not with her beside him, ready and eager to make him smile.”

Their jests and laughter finally pierced Rorik’s brain. Reluctantly, he eased Mirana down the front of his body until she was standing once again on the ground. He started to release her, realized dimly that she wasn’t standing on her own, and leaned down to say in her ear, “Mirana, sweeting, we must wait. Come now, and we will let them jest with us and give us impertinent advice. They will drink themselves silly and soon we will be free of their attentions.”

She was breathing hard. It was very strange, this difficulty she was having drawing air in and out of her body. And her heart was pounding as if she’d run farther than her body wished to. Her skin felt hot, particularly where his fingers were touching her bare flesh. All of this from a man who was more a stranger than not, and yet she’d just enjoyed having him kiss her, enjoyed having him hold her, enjoyed the strength in his arms and his body pressed hard against hers, and knowing he wouldn’t drop her. Ah, more than enjoyment, more than the growing insanity, she’d wanted something that was still a mystery, a deep incredible mystery, a mystery she knew was there, waiting for her, to be granted to her by him.

“Rorik?”

“Aye?”

“I don’t understand. Give me another moment, please. I feel quite odd.”

He looked like a man who was immensely pleased with himself. His blue eyes were gleaming brighter than the sky. He stood tall and straight, the lord of his domain, and said loudly, “I will give you whatever you wish.”

Hafter, who had heard their words, hooted with laughter. He turned to Entti, who was looking at him as though he were naught more than a slug to be ground under her foot. “Hear you that, girl? Rorik is so besotted with her that he offers her anything she wants.”

“Well, you needn’t worry, conceited oaf, you are quite safe, for never will she want you.”

Hafter narrowed his eyes, riled instantly at the mocking in her voice—her very intelligent voice. “I hope she won’t want me, for I plan to be very busy with you in my bed. I will keep you to myself for a while. Hear you!” he shouted, turning to the men. “This wench is mine. You will have to wait!”

Entti spat at him. Right in the eye.

Hafter, normally a man of good sense and fine humor, yowled. This girl, this slave, this vicious witch he’d always treated well and kindly, even patted absently, had spat on him. He grabbed her arms and jerked her up against him and shook her hard until her head snapped back. “Damn you, Entti, I’ve held you in my arms and given you more pleasure than you deserve!”

“Pleasure, ha! You’re naught but an animal, a filthy selfish beast who cares only for himself. You pass me around as you would a platter of boar steaks! Take yourself to the Christian’s hell, wretched bastard.”

He paused. He frowned down at her. “Do you really think I am selfish?”

“All men are alike, all of you selfish goats.”

“I’m not. Surely I gave you pleasure. Surely you must agree with me. And you said I was filthy. No Viking is filthy. I bathe each day in the bathing hut. Yet you must say that I am filthy. What mean you?”

“Let me go, Hafter. You speak a man’s nonsense.”

“Not until you answer me. You are a slave. You will show me obeisance and respect. You will answer me, you will—”

He had no warning, no clue, though he should have been more careful, for she was no longer the innocent child who’d smiled at him so simply, so sweetly. There was no smile now. She brought up her knee and kicked him in the groin. She caught him squarely. He yowled again and dropped her.

Entti heard his raw moans, saw him drop to his knees and hug himself. She started to run. She saw the men staring at her. Then she stopped, frowned down at his bent head. “I’m sorry,” she said, and came down to her haunches in front of him, and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Hafter, it wasn’t well done of me. You are what you are, after all, and I shouldn’t have punished you so severely for it.”

He moaned, his head still down. Rorik grimaced, for he and every other man could imagine the relentless waves of nausea that were holding Hafter bent down like a frail old man.

Finally, Hafter said, panting, “No, it wasn’t well done of you. Ah, I wish you weren’t so smart now.”

“I’m sorry. I had to protect myself. I will no longer allow you or any man to bed me. I cannot do it. It was difficult for me before, but now, I will not be a whore. If you will promise to restrain yourself and what emerges from your mouth, I promise never to do that again. I am sorry.”

“Do you truly not wish to bed me again? Did you truly never wish to bed me? Did you truly never enjoy me?”

“Everyone is listening to you. Be quiet. I shouldn’t have blamed you for believing that I would now willingly bed with any of you louts. But it is so. T

here will be no more of it. Now, stand up, you’ve mewled quite long enough. You’re a man, stand up.”

Hafter stood, with difficulty, but he stood. “I never thought of you as a whore, Entti.”

“Ha! What then, Hafter? Your beloved mother? A virgin come to Hawkfell Island to be admired and worshiped? Forget not, all you ever had to do was snap your fingers and tell me to part my legs and I did. I will do so no longer. Never again. So, Hafter, if you didn’t think of me as a whore, then what?”

He just looked at her. “You were Entti, that’s all. You were sweet and gentle and gave me all I wished to have. You never yelled at me in anger.”

Entti snorted and turned away from him. “You’re a fool,” she said. “Keep your distance!”