Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

The boys were well trained, silent, and all of them looked very foreign.

Hormuze dismissed them, finally. He seemed content to sit back in his chair, watch the king act like an old besotted fool with his young bride, and sip at his wine. Hormuze rose finally and poured the king another glass from a bottle beside him.

“I bid you drink this potion, sire. It will aid you in your dealings with this woman. It will begin your ascension.”

The king laughed. He was giddy with his power, with the anticipation of what would soon be his. He looked at Mirana, then grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap. His hands found her breasts and began to knead them furiously. His mouth found hers, and again, it pleased him that she was quiescent. In truth, she wanted to kill him, but she knew she had to bide her time. She had to wait until they were alone. Then she would act. What she would do, she as yet had no idea. But it would be something. She wouldn’t lie under this old fool like a lump, whimpering away her courage. She would kill him if she had to.

“Sire, you must drink.”

Hormuze sounded to Mirana’s ear to be impatient, nearly angry, but that was surely odd. She waited until the king was finished with her. She gave him a scared look that pleased him, she could see that it did, for he looked as proud as a new father.

He set her back into her chair. His hand skimmed over her breasts to her belly. She drew back, but he said, “Nay, stay

still.” He massaged her belly through her gown, then lowered his hand to cup over her. She wanted to scream at him, she wanted to fling herself at him, for she was the stronger, she knew it, and she could kill him with her own hands, but she held herself perfectly still. Not yet, not yet. Then the king raised the goblet and lifted it to her and then to Hormuze. “My old friend, all will continue. Your rewards will exceed your dreams.”

“I pray it will be so, sire. Indeed, I am certain that it will be so.”

He drank deep, his throat working, the flaccid skin folding and pleating with each swallow. When he finished the potion, he wiped his hand across his mouth and slammed the goblet onto the table.

“You said you had to prepare her, Hormuze. Do it now, for I do not wish to wait longer.”

He turned to Mirana. “Go with him, my beautiful child. He will tell you what you will do. I wish you to wear the white gown, for it is pure, like you. Pure like you will render me. Hormuze, the gown is beyond, lying on the pillows. I put it there myself, just as you told me to.”

Hormuze merely nodded. He stretched out his hand to Mirana. She looked at that hand, looked closely. There was an odd sort of smear all across the back of his right hand. He followed the line of her vision. He jerked back his hand, but said nothing.

“Come,” he said, his left hand still there, waiting for her to take.

“Hurry,” the king said. “Hurry.”

Mirana didn’t touch him. She rose quickly, and looked up. Hormuze was frowning at her. She quickly dropped her gaze. She followed him through a doorway hung with silk draperies. She stopped dead in her tracks.

The small chamber was like nothing she’d ever seen in her life, or imagined. All the walls were lined with red silk. The floor was covered with thick wool carpets, all patterned with deep reds and blues and creams. And there were thick soft pillows upon which to recline, all of vibrant colors. Upon which she would recline with the king, who believed he was her husband, but he wasn’t.

Hormuze picked up the white gown and handed it to her. “Take off your clothes and put this on,” he said.

She stared at him, then at the sheer white silk gown. “I will but you must leave.”

He smiled, and not an old man’s sour smile. No, there was a flair of triumph in his black eyes.

“I won’t look at you, but I won’t leave,” he said. He sat down on one of the thick pillows. His motion was graceful and quick.

Mirana picked up the white gown and stepped as far away from him as she could.

“While you change, I will tell you what will happen,” he said. Did his voice sound somehow deeper? She shook her head and quickly stripped off her clothes. The silk slithered over her head and down her body. It felt obscene against her cold flesh.

He turned and fell silent staring at her. “Loosen your hair,” he said.

She unbraided the thick coils and smoothed her fingers through her hair, but the deep ripples remained.

“Aye,” he said. “Just a bit of kohl at your eyes and you will look just like her. She was as soft and gentle as a summer rain that dampened the earth of the Lufta Valley. She gave me all I ever wanted.”

“What are you talking about?”

He rose gracefully to his feet. She knew then as sure as she knew herself. This was no old man who faced her, triumph gleaming in his black eyes.

“The king expects me to instruct you, to teach you how to arouse his old manhood, but I won’t. He will never touch you, I swear it.”

Suddenly there was a loud crash from the outer chamber.