Chapter Nine

 

“Wash?” Bertrada stared at Gisela. “Why?”

Gisela cleared her throat. “The Viking plans to sell me and knows I am worth more if clean. I mean to show him what he loses by giving me up. I want to raise doubt in his mind that maybe he should keep me.”

“I thought you hated him.”

“Aye.” She stopped. Bertrada spoke true, Gisela had not said one kind word about Thorvald. Yet, after seeing how other Norsemen treated their slaves during their travels overland, she had to admit he was better than most. “Nay.” She threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“I think you do. You just don’t want to admit it,” Bertrada replied. “He desires you.”

“I disagree.” Gisela shook her head. “How can he desire me when he means to sell me? He thinks me nothing more than the means to obtain gold.”

Bertrada snorted. “You care too much of what he thinks and feel more for him than you realize. He treats you well. Think on that and fear the unknown master instead. This one has yet to raise a hand to you.”

“Because it will leave marks and diminish my value!” Gisela cried. Her warring emotions made her head ache.

“Blows can be struck where none can see them. He’s treated you well when he has no reason to.”

“Enough nonsense.” Gisela spoke briskly. “Come, let us wash.”

Bertrada’s words unsettled her. But her logic had the desired effect and Gisela began to question her stance. Anger still burned within her towards Thorvald for all she had lost at his hands, but he’d not mistreated her. She could do worse, far worse. The image of the old man cruelly beaten for no misdeed other than stumbling and falling in the dusty road to Hedeby rose in her mind. She shivered.

Perhaps Bertrada was right. Perhaps Gisela would be better off to stay with Thorvald. If so, she must convince him to change his mind to keep her. Aye, she would wash. She would wash and offer herself to him.

She shook her head. Nay, what was she thinking? She would wash and prove her beauty so Thorvald would rue the day another man bought her.

 

* * *

 

The public room in the thatched inn squatting by Hedeby’s busy harbor buzzed with excitement. Word had spread quickly of the golden haired Frisian maid being auctioned tomorrow.

Thorvald clenched his fist around Silver Tooth’s smooth hilt and shouldered his way through the unkempt crowd, ignoring the stench of smoke, sour ale and rancid pork fat. He reached the scarred table where Arni and Halldor waited and pulled out a three legged stool. He sat, shoving aside bowls of congealed stew and half eaten flat bread with one forearm. A scrawny barmaid, hair tangled and greasy, apron torn and dirty, eyed him speculatively before sashaying over to hand him a mug of ale. Thorvald fished around in his pocket for a sliver of silver, which he tossed at her.

“Is there aught else I can do for you?” She leaned over him, stringy breasts almost spilling from her tunic, a suggestive look in her eyes. Thorvald tried not to gag at her fetid breath and shook his head, pushing her away firmly. He had business to discuss with his men and her undisguised interest, although flattering, was not wanted at this time. She pouted and flounced off, but not before throwing one last inviting glance over her shoulder.

Thorvald ignored her and adjusted his sword to settle more firmly on to the stool.

“Why don’t you take your pleasure with her? Swords and knives will greet you in Agdir, not the flesh of one who is warm and willing.” Arni raised his mug. “Either way, let’s drink to going home.” He tilted back his head and quaffed his ale, then signaled to the barmaid to bring another.

Thorvald nodded, lifting his own mug to take a long, satisfying swallow before answering. He cradled the mug, letting its smooth surface cool his fevered hands. “I know. But I have the money to pay restitution as ordered by the court. Or I will have,” he corrected himself, “when I sell Gisela tomorrow. With what I have already, she should bring more than enough to clear my debt and build up a farmstead of my own.”

A burst of laughter almost drowned out Arni’s next words and Thorvald strained his ears to hear.

“You know you didn’t murder the man.” Arni shook his head. “It doesn’t seem fair that you must pay and the man who falsely accused you walks a free man.”

“I know,” Thorvald shrugged, “but if I make restitution it won’t matter.”

“Wormtongue will be furious to see you.” Halldor finally spoke, black eyes shrewd. “He thinks you’ll never return and he’s taken over your father’s farmstead as his.”

“Wormtongue may have falsely accused me, but once the compensation is paid there’s nothing he can do. My name will be cleared.”

Then I will walk among my countryman as a free man.

The thought brought a lump to his throat; he could barely force the ale past it and he had to swallow hard not once, but twice.

“Aye.” Halldor inclined his head. “That is our law. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be your enemy for life. That one does not like being bested. Especially by his own half-brother.”

“Nor do I,” said Thorvald. “Remember he is half-brother only by sharing the same father. My father knew he shamed my mother with his dalliance. After that, he remained true to their marriage vow.”

“Leaving Wormtongue’s mother to scratch out a living as best she could, and Wormtongue himself to battle the taunts of the other children.” Halldor leaned forward on his elbows. “I do not envy him his childhood.”

“Enough!” Thorvald slammed down his mug so hard the table shook and several patrons close by turned with astonished faces to look at him. “I showed him kindness. We played together. I brought him food from our table. His mother’s misfortune does not excuse him.”

“Agreed, agreed.” Halldor held up his hands. “I merely sought to warn you. Returning to Agdir won’t be as easy as you think. Wormtongue will not be pleased and he has powerful friends.”

“It’s easier to deal with a man’s open anger than hidden bitterness that gnaws a man’s heart where you can’t touch it. Besides, we’ll see how his friends stand by him when I return with the truth.” He ran his fingers down Silver Tooth’s blade.

“Aye,” chuckled Arni, “you and your sword are a fearsome sight in battle and will easily stopper a man’s anger like a cork in a bottle.”

“Aye, Silver Tooth carries a keen blade.” Halldor fingered the small scab on his throat and grinned. “I wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of it again.” He stood up. “It grows late, I want to visit the market before the stalls close and see what I can find for my wife.” He sketched a salute with a knuckled fist before sauntering off.

Thorvald waited until Halldor left the inn before turning to Arni.

“Will you stand by me tomorrow during the bidding?”

“Of course. I know her importance to you.”

“I need you to watch the crowd. Gisela is a prize that must be guarded.”

“Is it she who must be guarded? Or your heart?”

Thorvald scowled and leaned across the table to point a stern finger at Arni. “Enough of your comments.”

Arni slapped Thorvald’s shoulder and laughed. “A jest. The woman has addled your wits indeed if you can’t recognize a jest when you hear it.”

“My wits are as keen as Silver Tooth’s blade.” Thorvald leaned back and crossed his arms. “Tomorrow evening she’ll be gone and we’ll see whose wits are addled then.”

Just for an instant, did the scent of roses drift through the room?

 

* * *

 

Thorvald wound his way between Hedeby’s buildings back to their encampment. Anticipation gave haste to his feet and his boots thudded on the wooden boards of the walkway as he jogged. Now that she had bathed, her golden hair would glow with a life of its own, he was sure.

He entered their encampment and stopped, puzzled. Gisela was nowhere to be seen. Had she run off? Then the lilt of woman’s voices caught his ear. Of course, the two women were still in his tent. He moved closer and the breeze lifted the front flap, and for a tantalizing instant he caught the sight of Gisela’s ivory flesh.

She stood naked, with her back to him. Drops of water glimmered on her curved buttocks. Then she half turned, leaning forward to reach for the cloth the other woman held out to her. Her breasts swung, sweet globes that begged to be kissed and caressed. She must have washed her hair first, for already it dried, releasing golden wisps that framed her head like a crown.

Her smooth skin, unmarked and succulent, called to him. His mouth grew dry while his loins pounded with a sudden urgency he was hard pressed to deny.

Take her! Take her now!

He took an involuntary step forward. Then stopped. He desired, nay wanted her like he had never wanted another woman before. He could take her and none would be the wiser, but what if, instead of slaking his desire, it would make it burn brighter? What if, once having taken her, he would want her more? Already he faced the wrench of losing his prize without the added torture of physical delight remembered.

Aye, he could keep her but that was not his plan for her. Yet, how could he sell her to another master, knowing full well she would grace the man’s bed until he got tired of her? Then she would be starved and beaten.

He slammed his fist into his palm.

How cruel the fates. How cruel that another would have her and taste her sweetness.

He forced himself to turn away.

She was not his to keep, for she was the means to pay restitution to the family of the murdered man. He must take comfort in that.

 

* * *

 

“He saw you,” said Bertrada. “His eyes feasted on your bare flesh like a hawk feasts on fresh kill.”

“Then I suppose that is why he’s known as Thorvald Stronghawk.” Gisela dropped her drying cloth and reached for the pile of clothes placed neatly on a three legged stool.

Eyes round at the quip, Bertrada glanced about. “Be careful what you say. You don’t know who might be listening.”

“No one is listening. We’re slaves, remember? Nay—” she waved Bertrada away when the other woman stepped forward to help her. “It looks as if there are garments for both of us. There’s still a little water. You will feel better when you’ve washed away the grime of travel.”

Gisela pulled a thin linen shift over her head. The soft fabric lay smooth against her skin and she ran her hand down one arm to feel it. Grudgingly, she had to admit Thorvald was right when he said she would like to be clean.

Then she slipped her amber cross over her head before tugging on a grey wool tunic and over that, a blue linen pinafore that fastened over the shoulders with bone buttons. Finally, she braided her hair into one thick length, flipping it forward over one shoulder like she had seen Viking women do. For good measure, she pinched her cheeks to give her a becoming glow and spread a bit of balm on her lips so they glistened.

Plain but serviceable, she decided when she looked down at herself, and it will do while she washed her own kirtle and tunic. She would wear her own clothing again as soon as they dried. Other than the new linen shift. She would keep that, for the delicate garment felt silky against her skin.

Behind her, Bertrada splashed in the bucket, humming tunelessly.

“I want to wash my clothes at the stream.” Gisela picked up her soiled clothing and bundled it under one arm. She peeked over her shoulder to find Bertrada, skin pink and splotchy, scrubbing herself briskly with the drying cloth. “Come and find me when you’re finished.”

“Wait for me, you shouldn’t go by yourself.” Bertrada scrubbed faster.

“No one shall harm me. All know I belong to him. Besides, you’re only a few minutes behind me.”

Gisela lifted the flap and stepped out into the sunshine. She scanned the campsite, searching for Thorvald, wanting his reaction to her now that she’d washed and changed. Aye, call her vain but she wanted his admiration.

She spotted him, resting on his haunches, leaning back against the wheel of the cart that had carried her and Bertrada. She raised her chin and waited to catch his gaze.

When she did, in an instant pleasure and admiration filled his eyes. A flush of well being warmed her. She’d succeeded. He saw her as an attractive woman. Then an icy veil drifted over his eyes, turning them into shards of green ice.

He rose to his feet and moved to block her way. “Where are you going?”

“To the stream. To wash my clothes.” She faltered at the expression on his face. Austere. Forbidding.

She moved to step around him but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of her rose balm and his eyes melted and came to life, longing and desire battling with anger and misery.

Anger won out. Again his eyes hardened as he scoured her up and down with his gaze. Fist tight on her arm, he remained silent.

“You are angry. Why? I only did what you asked of me. I washed and put on clean clothing.”

“Because you mock me with it.”

“How is that? You wanted to see me clean and I have done so. I only did what any slave would do and that is obey her master.”

“Now you call me your master.”

“Because I am yours still. You have no need to sell me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “A different tune you sing now. Perhaps you realize I am not the fiend you think me to be.”

“Your longing for me shows in your eyes. I am yours. You have no need to sell me,” she repeated. Then wondered why she said that when he tightened his grip on her wrist. The blood in her arm began to pound. He frightened her. At this moment, with her arm gripped in his hand, she very much doubted her decision to show him her beauty. Untamed danger churned within him and it could very well be her undoing.

He recoiled. “Aye,” he replied bleakly. “I do need to sell you.”

He loosened his grip and she pulled her arm free.

Humiliation burned her cheeks. Her ploy had not worked. He still meant to sell her. She cradled her bundle of clothes and turned to walk away but had not taken a single step before he spun her around, to hold her in front of him, fingers pressing into her flesh. His face burned with an unnamed emotion and his mouth settled in a firm line, so firm the muscles in his jaw twitched. Gisela dropped her bundle.

“Let me go.” Gisela squeezed shut her eyes against the fearsome visage, fully expecting to be beaten. Somehow by following his instructions, she’d angered him, and she had no idea why. Seconds ticked by and, when nothing happened, she opened her eyes to see his mouth descend on hers.

He kisses me?

Stubble grazed her cheek, the scent of patchouli filled her nose. The chill in her skin dissipated the instant his lips touched hers. They are soft, she thought in amazement, and tried to pull away. His grip loosened and he moved his hands down her arms to pull her closer to him, before brushing his lips across hers again. A quiver skittered across her shoulders and she tried again to pull away.

“No,” she whispered and dared to look him full in the eyes. Emerald rimmed black discs, they pulsed with an emotion she couldn’t understand.

With a growl, he wrapped his arms around her, trapping her and kissed her again, this time with enough force her lips burned. She opened her mouth to protest and in a heartbeat his tongue teased hers, probing and stroking. Her breasts where they pressed against his chest tingled and her woman’s place grew hot and thick, throbbing with a primal rhythm that weakened her knees. Her eyelids sagged and she wilted against him.

He lifted her chin with his fingers and his lips snared hers again. This time she opened her mouth gladly, her tongue sparring against his with an unnamed urgency.

He is master over me truly.

The thought should have angered her. It didn’t. Instead, she touched his hair, clean and soft, and wound her fingers into it to hold herself upright.

It seemed she stood at a magic portal, one that claimed her body and scattered her thoughts in a hundred directions, one that made her wonder at the power of a single kiss.

And left her wanting more from the man she vowed to hate.

She moaned and shoved her hands against his chest, twisting her head back and forth in an effort to break the contact.

“A minute ago you weren’t so eager to leave my embrace,” he said before letting her go.

Gisela staggered back a step, wiping her mouth with both hands before she dared look up at him.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Enough?”

Yet below his waist his tunic bulged, betraying he’d not had enough. Betraying his desire for her, a desire he could easily slake and no one to defend her against him but herself.

She mustered her strength and slapped him, hard. Hard enough that it turned his head and left a red imprint of her hand glowing on his cheek.

His eyes narrowed. “Many would beat you for that.”

“You won’t strike me for you don’t wish to mark me. A slave marked by the fist of another loses value, isn’t that so?” She taunted him, taking satisfaction in the dull flush crossing his cheeks to swallow the imprint of her hand.

He stared at her, chest heaving and eyes narrowed. “I cannot wait to be rid of you. Do not test me further,” he said.

“I despise you, don’t you know that? What possible worse fate could befall me other than what I face already?”

He stood silent for a moment and she felt herself shrivel under his continued scrutiny.

“Why don’t you wait and see.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.

His chill voice and the threat it carried frightened her. A wave of nausea rolled through her and she sucked in a huge breath to beat it back. She couldn’t show her fear. Nay. She must show strength and so she remained standing, even though her knees threatened to buckle.

When he disappeared from sight and Gisela was certain he wouldn’t come back for her, she sank to her knees and clasped her arms around her middle, ignoring the curious onlookers who had witnessed the entire incident. Uncivilized brutes, the lot of them.

This time, hate pressed away the nausea and kept it away. She would find her way home, she and Bertrada, away from these northerners who had no care for human life.

Now more than ever, she was glad she’d taken the time to make herself presentable. To see the treasure he was about to lose would surely gall him.

 

* * *

 

Thorvald pounded his fist against the slats of the cart. Of all the foolish things, he’d kissed her. A thrall. One he meant to sell on the morrow. Instead, he’d pulled her close and fallen prey to her sweet scent, her silky skin, her satin lips. Once he’d started, he’d needed to discover more, had plundered her mouth as if there he could find the treasures he sought.

Nay, kissing her had not been his intent at all. Kissing implied caring, affection, love even. None of which he felt for her. He’d been weak, had let his physical desires breach his guard.

Gisela meant nothing to him, he assured himself. Tomorrow he would sell her for the gold he needed to clear his name. Then he need never face her nor her impudence again.