Chapter Twenty-Nine

Alodie Spits Wine

The jarl dragged Alodie to the front of the great hall and stood her beside him. They were upon a wooden dais covered in thick hides. Behind them were two ornately carved chairs, decoration partially obscured by heavy pelts of fur.

The hall was crowded. Everyone watched. Those who didn’t stand upon the ground stood upon stools and benches to see the spectacle.

Jarl Erlendr offered her a gold cup filled with wine. The heady fragrance was not enough to cover the stink of animal grease. It smelled as if the heat of his skin had turned it rancid. She would throw up twice if he tried to force himself on her. Once for the violation and another time for the foul odor.

Thorvald had trailed after them. Each step he took appeared labored. As if he were attempting to move his legs with lead boots upon his feet.

Good. Let the vile demon suffer. The more anguish twisting in the sludge of his sorry excuse for a soul, the better. She forced herself to stare straight ahead at nothing in particular.

The jarl raised his cup. “To my wife.”

The crowded longhouse erupted in a cheer. Was it her imagination or had he laid extra emphasis upon “wife” to goad her?

Alodie scanned the room, eyes narrowed. The women had finished serving their men and had taken their own places. Servants stood at the ready, no doubt for the quantity of ale and mead soon to be had. Likely, these men were happier about the ale to come than for their jarl.

The jarl took a sip, keeping his eyes on her as he tipped his head back. “Are you not to drink, wife?”

Against her will, her gaze found Thorvald. He looked as if he were burning inside. Like he could walk through fire and emerge unharmed, becoming one with the flames.

But he remained silent.

Glaring, she returned her attention to the jarl. This man’s wife? Never. Not even for one night with the promise he’d return her home tomorrow.

Keeping hold of all the vile things ready to fly from her tongue, she smiled sweetly. “Of course, my lord.”

She took a generous sip.

No sooner had his gaze wandered away from her than she spit the wine right in his face.

An eerie hush fell over the room, as if nobody dared breathe. Wine dripped over the jarl’s features. He made no move to wipe it away.

Alodie stood her ground. “I do not agree to be your wife—now or ever.”

All eyes remained on them both.

Finally, the jarl extended a hand. A servant tripped over his feet, rushing forward with an old rag. The jarl dabbed away the moisture. “Thorvald Longsword.”

Erlendr turned, his bearskin flapping once against his calves, and returned to his seat on the dais above the general mass of bodies. “Punish her.”

Alodie’s heart began to bash in the center of her chest. She looked to the demon she’d almost come to…well, trust during their sea voyage. If she’d sufficiently angered him in their last interaction, what would he be capable of doing to her? The night on the beach when she’d tried to escape, he’d made it clear he’d have no compunction against punishing her.

Thorvald’s face remained stony, his expression betraying nothing.