Heart of a Viking (6 page)

Fleinn went limp though she noted he was not rendered senseless. Not quite. He muttered something to Thorarin but she could catch none of it. Whatever he had said, enraged the Viking. He gripped the man by his garments and went in to hit him again but froze as torchlight and feet surrounded them.

Terror pounded through her once more when she recognised her master, bundled in furs and peering at them all. Would he think she was compromised? Would he cast her aside for tempting his son? She looked to Thorarin, whose expression held nothing but fury and confidence. He feared no retribution over the
járl
’s son. The strange thing was, she not only feared for herself but for him too. Would her rescuer also suffer from Fleinn’s actions?

The pulsing heat refused to abate. Thorarin did not release Fleinn, even as several of the villagers and Ragni came upon them. He kept his fist bunched and ready to send the man into the darkness. He swung a look at Keita and in the moonlight, she shone like a goddess. But the fear in those wide eyes and the way she cradled her arm did not allow him to appreciate her beauty—a beauty that was currently marred by dirt and scratches.

He forced himself to ignore her. It would do his cause no good to be distracted by her. However, if the
járl
had heard the words Fleinn had uttered, that might help his plans a great deal. He lifted the man. “You have no respect. You are filth.”

The
járl
stepped forward and lifted a palm. Thorarin had to force his stiff fingers to release him. Every fibre of his body begged him to pound this man until he was nothing but blood and bones, and soon the wind and rain would carry him away to be forgotten. He hated Ragni. He hated Fleinn. But his thirst for blood had always been controlled. Honour overrode any desire for vengeance by violence. A quick death was too easy.

But, by Odin’s beard, he wanted blood now. He wanted this man who had dared to hurt Keita to die in writhing agony.

Ragni jerked his head toward his son, who was slowly easing himself from the ground. “You touched her?”

Fleinn shook his head. “She wanted me. She is a temptress.”

“You are weak,” Ragni spat.

He came to his feet and brushed the dirt from his tunic. “You would believe his word over mine?” Fleinn thrust a hand in Thorarin’s direction.

“I believe what I heard and saw. Do not play me for a fool.”

Fleinn shook his head and released a sound of disbelief. “You are a fool for trusting this man. For letting this
ambatt
be anything more than a bed-slave. Any true man would have taken her into his bed long ago.”

The
járl
’s gaze narrowed. Thorarin stepped back. He need not say anything. The distrust had been planted, the anger set alight. Now the two men would destroy each other without him.

“A true man knows what is valuable and what is not. He is not ruled by his desires, be that for power or flesh. You think people do not talk of my control, of how I have a magical slave who will protect me from all foe? You think I do not know how to use something so simple as a slave girl to my advantage? You are the fool, my son. You always have been and always will be. I wish Fálki were still alive and you had never taken root in your mother’s belly for you cannot be my son.”

“You say I am not your son?”

“I have treated you as my own for long but I believe it not. Not now I have seen your behaviour this night. You are without honour.”

Thorarin tried not to consider how Ragni had been without honour too. How he was still without honour. It would be too easy to let loose all his anger of the past summers, to remind him the reason his other son was dead was because of him. So he kept his mouth shut and came to Keita’s side. He eased her hand away from her arm and pushed up her sleeve to inspect it while Ragni’s attention was diverted.

His inspection was cut short when Fleinn leaped forward to attack his father. Thorarin stepped swiftly over and laid the man out with another punch, finishing what he had started. Ragni paused to eye the man he called son at his feet and shook his head. He motioned to several of the men.

“Carry him out to the river. Put him on a boat. Tether his wrists to it. Should he survive, let it be known that Fleinn the traitor is banished.”

A gasp from Keita drew him back to her side. She trembled from head to toe whether from fear of retribution now or from her ordeal, he knew not. Perhaps both. The urge to put his arm around her was strong but he dare not risk Ragni’s wrath.

Fleinn was dragged away, the
járl
watching until the men vanished into the woods. Not a hint of emotion revealed itself on the old man’s face. Thorarin had no idea if Fleinn really was not of Ragni’s seed—he suspected that was unlikely but the
járl
would never want to admit to siring a weak son. Either way, he had not realised separating father and son would be so easy. He only regretted he’d pushed Fleinn to harm Keita.

He skimmed his gaze over her and forced down the bitter lump in his throat. Had he not told himself to expect as much? Had he not reminded himself that this was the price to pay for revenge? A
thrall
was nothing but an object, to be bartered and sold. Her fate should not matter to him.

And yet it did.

Ragni finally turned his attention to the quivering woman. He thrust a finger toward her and she jolted. “No one,” he bellowed, “touches her. Upon pain of death. Do I make myself clear?”

A murmur of assent rippled through the men present and Thorarin had little doubt Ragni’s words would soon spread to anyone who was not there. Keita’s position as protected would hopefully remain safe.

The
járl
put a hand to Thorarin’s shoulder. “You have yet again proved yourself to me. You were willing to stand against Fleinn to protect my property. You have my thanks.”

“I merely do my duty, my
járl
.”

“I will ask you one more favour for I trust not these men. Have her seen to the other slaves and cleaned and tended to. On the morrow, she shall not work.” He flicked a finger under Keita’s trembling chin. “My pure one does not look so pure at present, does she?” He tilted his head and pondered her. “You have brought me many things, Keita,” he told her. “A good warrior to my side and life and luck. I am of a mind to reward you if you can continue to prove yourself.”

She said nothing. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. Thorarin doubted she brought Ragni any luck. If she did, he would not have been able to infiltrate and pick apart Ragni’s life so easily already. But he would hope that Keita’s position of power remained and that she was smart enough to take advantage of it when she could.

“Everyone to bed,” the
járl
ordered, clapping his hands.

He motioned to the comely woman who had been several paces behind him. She was not Pict or Norse but perhaps Irish with pale skin and dark hair. He hadn’t noticed her before but perhaps he should have done. Her curvaceous figure was draped in nothing but furs and haunting dark eyes peered out at him. Full lips curved into a teasing smile.

The bed-slave gave off the impression of being made for sex.

But it was not that she appealed to him. It was that the
járl
offered her a smile in return. Was there a weakness there too? By the gods, he’d been too distracted by Keita to even pay attention to Ragni’s bed partners. He needed to remain focused.

But first, he had to ensure Keita was well. As Ragni, departed, he motioned for Keita to follow. Once the
járl
was in his longhouse and everyone was abed, he led her into the bathhouse. He lit the torches from the embers of the fire and motioned for her to sit on a stool.

She peered up at him, her wide eyes muddied with confusion, her lips parted. He knelt in front of her and eased her arm out of the grip she had on it. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip and tears spilled down her cheeks.

“You should not touch me,” she said in a strangled tone.

“The
thrall
s will not aid you, will they?”

She shook her head.

“So I must.” He urged her to move her arm and noted the bruising just visible under the dirt on her skin.

Fingerprints.

Thorarin clenched his teeth and spoke through them. “I angered Fleinn. He would not have behaved so had I not.”

She shook her head. “You are not responsible for another man’s actions.”

How wrong she was.

Aware of her cool skin beneath his hands, he felt up the fragile length of her arm. The tunic prevented him from studying her shoulder but that was where he suspected the injury was. Had it come out of its joint? He did not think so but he would have to check. With deliberately slow movements, he reached for the ties at the front of the garment and drew them away. She stiffened and her breathing grew rapid.

“I will not harm you, remember?”

Keita nodded rapidly. Thorarin took her uninjured arm and pressed her palm against her chest to hold the garment in place. He eased it down enough to spy the pale curve of her shoulder but reveal no more. His nostrils flared at the sight. This was not anger, not anymore. This was an aching, desperate need to taste that part of her body, then remove the hand that kept her covered and see more.

Forcing in deep breaths, he methodically pressed into the joint, regretting that he made her wince with pain. But there was no permanent damage and no need to push the bone back into place.

“It will heal,” he told her. “It needs rest.”

“The slaves will not be happy about taking on my duties.”

“Then they should speak with the
járl
.”

“He cares little for the problems of slaves. My life will not be made easier for this.”

“Was it so very easy anyway?”

She offered a weak smile and shook her head. “I must thank you for your aid. Many men would have left me.”

Thorarin eased her tunic back over her shoulder and retied the neck. He did not accept her thanks. Perhaps many men would have left her. He wanted to say he was different, to remind her he had not taken what he could have done, but he was all too aware of the desirous thoughts rippling through his mind now. He might not take things by force but he was not so different to many Norseman. He desired her—another man’s property, a slave girl who had suffered because of him. And he’d been aware of that sacrifice she might have to make.

Willing to let her make it too. For his own revenge. He was not so very different.

That did not mean, however, he would not do his best to protect her. He’d very nearly failed then. He only thanked the gods he’d been unable to sleep and had heard her scream instantly.

“Ragni is grateful to you. He puts much trust in you already.”

Thorarin turned from her shrewd gaze. Why did he feel as though she saw something in him that others did not? It was impossible for her to know anything of his plans or his past yet her gaze near stripped him bare.

He snatched a cloth from the edge of the bath and dipped it into the water before handing it to her. The fire had long burnt down to embers and had left the water only mild but it would have to do. Part of him longed to take the time to light a new fire, fill a bath of steaming water and wash her from head to toe. He would even join her perhaps, moulding her body to his chest while he scrubbed her breasts and down between her thighs.

“Ragni is a generous
járl
,” he muttered when she took the cloth.

Ragni.
There was where his thoughts needed to remain. Not on Keita’s breasts or the shadows between her thighs.

“He is generous until he is not.” Her lips tilted and she worked the cloth carefully over her face using her uninjured arm. “Be careful, Thorarin. You know not what you are becoming involved with. I have seen him turn on men faster than a wolf pouncing on its prey.”

“I do not fear wolves.”

“He has banished his own son.”

“
Já
, and he deserved no less. I would have killed him had I had the chance.”

She paused wiping her face and cradled the cloth in her hands. “Why? I am of no import. You took a great risk. The
járl
may well have been angered.”

Keita was right. Nothing to do with tonight had been planned or thought through. He had acted purely on instinct.

“But he was not,” he pointed out.

“As I say, you should act with caution around the
járl
. I think it likely you will not always wish to be his obedient servant.”

“You think you know me?”

Her lips tilted marginally. “I think you are a man of your own making. I wonder why it is you wish to serve a man like Ragni.”

Thorarin narrowed his gaze at her. How was it she saw such a thing? And did others see this also?

He waved aside her observation with a hand. “A man must work with others if he is to thrive.”

“Ragni does not work
with
men. He has them work
for
him. Soon you shall be no better off than I am. You may have freedom but what worth is it if you must sacrifice all for your
járl
?”

He placed his hands on his hips. “For a
thrall
, you speak too openly. Why does it matter to you?”

She contemplated the cloth in her hands and lifted her shoulders before continuing to scrub up her arms and remove the evidence of her ordeal. “You are different,” she murmured, gaze still focused on the cloth.

“I am a Viking. I have raided and fought. I have come across your people and killed them. Do not be deceived, I am no farmer.”

He could not be sure why he was telling her this. A warning perhaps. Something to carve through the heat swirling in the air between them. A way to frighten her away.

“Did you take slaves?”

“I would have taken you.”

Her gaze lifted to his. “For ransom?”

For myself,
he longed to say it. Where these words came from he knew not. He would never have forcibly taken her. There was no honour or value in forcing a woman to be his. Most prized captives were left well alone so their value remained, much as Ragni had left Keita. Some slaves were even courted by freemen if they were considered attractive enough. Only men like Fleinn used rape as a method to control them and Thorarin thanked his stars he had seldom associated with men like that.