Maidensong (6 page)

 
“
There’s never enough for you, is there?” Rika de
tected the bitterness of a second son, who inherited
nothing but what his own two hands could bring to him.

 
“If you were in my place you’d realize that in order
to keep what’s mine, I must be strong enough to increase it. For the good of all,” Gunnar added quickly.

 
“
But to feed your mercenaries you’re taking more from the farmsteads than the law allows,” Bjorn argued.

 
“Law, what law?” Gunnar spat out the word like a
bitter berry. “In Sogna, 1 am the law. You’ve spent too
long hunting in the frost lands, Bjorn. When men of
talent arise, they can’t be bound by law.”

 
“Is that you talking or did Astryd plant those words in your mouth?” Bjorn asked.

 
Gunnar was silent for a moment, but then he hissed through the steam. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t
say that. Listen to me,
little
brother, and I’ll leave you
with one last thought. The Danes have a king. Why shouldn’t we?”

 
The bench flexed under Rika as one of the men stood.

 
“And why shouldn’t it be me?” Gunnar asked. He
padded to the door that led to the cooling bar
rels of tepid water in the next room.

 
How she longed to plunge into one of them herself.
She’d been in the steam far too long and sweat tickled down the length of her spine. A drowsy, languid feel
ing sapped her strength and just holding up her head
felt like too much effort.

 
The room began to clear, but she was unable to
make sense of the formless blobs and colors that swam
before her. Her eyelids fluttered, stinging moisture
dripping from her lashes. She made herself focus.
Dark hair. Bjorn still hadn’t left the bathhouse.

 
She forced the hot, moist air in and out of her lungs, her head lolling. Shadows gathered at the edge of her
vision. A slow spiral pulled her into the irresistible tug
of blackness. She winked out like a candle flame pinched off between two fingers.

 
When her head slammed into the wooden bench with a thud, she didn’t feel a thing.

*
  
*
  
*

 
Rika came to herself with a start, disoriented and gasping at the water. She was up to her chin in one of the cooling barrels, the excess liquid surging over the sides and splattering onto the stone floor. Bjorn stood
over her, a deep furrow between his dark brows.

 
“You’re awake.” His eyes blazed. “Good. When you threatened to drown yourself to avoid my bed I
thought you were just bluffing. If you really are trying
to kill yourself, you've made a pretty good stab at it.
Another stunt like this and I may even decide to help
you with it myself.”

 
Rika’s eyes started to roll back in her head, but Bjorn grabbed the nape of her neck and splashed water on her cheeks. “No, you don’t. You’re not getting away that easily.”

 
Her eyelids fluttered and then she focused on his face.

 
“Have you any idea what the
jarl
would’ve done to
you if he’d been the one to catch you spying on him
like that?”

 
“I wasn’t—” Rika gulped at the fresh air.

 
“
You have no business being in there. What you
heard wasn’t intended for just anyone’s ears.”

 
“I’m not just anyone. I’m no one.” She swallowed the hard knot in her throat. “You’ve made me a thrall. I know no one here. Who could I tell?”

 
“That’s what I'd like to know.” He leaned toward her, hands on the edge of the barrel.

 
“I wasn’t spying.” Her voice caught. “I just wanted to get clean.”

 
His gaze swept over her and she remembered with a jolt that she was naked.

 
She hugged her forearms across her chest and tucked her knees up to shield herself from him. Her
chin quivered. She’d lost her father, her freedom, and
now the last trace of her dignity. A tear trembled at the
base of her lashes and then slid down her face.

 
Bjorn cupped her cheek with his rough hand,
smoothing away the tear with his thumb. Rika was too
numb to pull back from him. His touch was almost
gentle. Then he turned away from her and strode across the room for a towel.

 
Rika decided that if he could look on her nakedness,
she could stare at him as well as he scrubbed himself
unselfconsciously with the cloth. His chest was dusted with dark hair. Years of living on the sea had bronzed his exposed flesh and sculpted his muscles into hard masses. A livid scar snaked across his ribs on the right side. Even with that flaw, Rika conceded that Bjorn was well-made.

 
When he propped a long foot up on a bench to run the towel down his heavily muscled thigh and calf,
his sex dangled between his
legs. She’d seen statues of Frey, god of increase, with
his outsized phallus proudly erect. The quiescent Bjorn didn’t look so dangerous.

 
He pulled another towel from the stack of fresh ones and strode back across to her barrel.

 
“Get out.” He held out the cloth for her. “You’re looking a little . . . cold.”

 
Rika followed his gaze to her bobbing breasts. Her nipples had puckered into hard pink pebbles. She
stood and snatched the towel, wrapping it around her
self. Just before she climbed out of the barrel, she no
ticed a startling change in Bjorn’s male member. It
swelled and rose, as though possessed of a life of its own. He looked as though he might indeed have mod
eled for the statues of Frey, potent and virile.

 
Defi
nitely dangerous. She slid her widening eyes away from him before he caught her staring.

 
Too late.
To her surprise, he laughed.

 
“Don’t worry. I still don’t intend to force you.” Bjorn closed the distance
between them. He leaned toward her with a long arm
braced on either side of her, pinning her against the
wall. “Even though losing the dirt is a real improvement, my little mud-hen.”

 
“Stop calling me that. I’m not a mud-hen,” Rika said. “And certainly not yours.”

 
“What shall I call you then? She-wolf?”

 
“I have a name.”

 
“
And you’ve yet to tell it to me,” Bjorn said. “
Though I gave you mine at our first meeting. Who
are you?”

 
She straightened and mustered all the dignity she
could when wearing only a towel. “I am Rika Magnus
dottir.”

 
“
Rika.” He caressed her name as he ran a hand over
her close-cropped hair. “Who did this to you, my Rika?”

 
She cringed under his touch, a small swelling lump
leaving her head tender. “Who do you think?”

 
“
Astryd, of course.” Bjorn leaned closer and inhaled
her freshly washed scent. “I’m sorry she cut your hair.
I didn’t think about that when I let her take you. It was a thing of rare beauty. But ‘twill grow back.”

 
“
If I’d
known my hair pleased you,
I’d
have hacked
it off myself. It’s good for a thrall not to
possess any beauty.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “If it keeps her from the unwanted attention of
her master.”

 
“I didn’t say you weren’t beautiful.” Bjorn frowned. “You twist my meaning.”

 
“And you ignore mine.”

 
“I let you work for Astryd today for a purpose.” Bjorn traced one of his fingers along her jaw line. “I
figured that if you had to choose either serving that
dragon or serving me, I’d win the contest.”

 
He caught up one of her hands and uncurled it.
Bjorn shook his head at the rough, reddened skin. A
blister festered at the base of each finger. He pressed a
soft kiss into her palm. “You were not made for hard
labor, little one.”

 
“Better hard labor than your bed-slave.”

 
“
And how would you know enough to make that
choice?” Bjorn clasped her palm to his bare chest,
covering it with his warm, dry hand. His face hovered
near hers. “You’ll find my bed is full of delights you
haven’t imagined. You see, my pleasure
is only complete in giving an equal measure to my bedmate. And that means you have to be willing.” His eyes widened, urging her to tumble into their black depths. “You don’t know enough to choose be
tween me and hard labor. Why, I haven’t even kissed
you yet.”

 
Rika felt his heart pounding beneath her palm. Her
breathing went shallow as she pressed herself against
the rough planks of the wall. She backed away as far
as she could, but he advanced steadily toward
her. His breath was warm and moist on her lips.

 
She couldn’t let it happen. Rika turned her head
away and squeezed her eyes shut. If the beast was going to kiss her, he’d have to force her. But closing her
eyes didn’t make him vanish.

 
She heard his uneven breathing. Smelled the clean scent of his male flesh. Felt the tickle of his hair against her bare shoulder. The solid thump of his heart under her palm sent a message up her arm and
her own matched his quickening rhythm. A strange
stirring ruffled through her belly, clenching her gut,
and sending alarming signals to her skin. A shiver rip
pled down her body, but she didn’t feel cold. She felt warm.

 
All over.

 
Rika sneaked a peek at him.
Bjorn was just looking at her, intent and sure of him
self. One corner of his mouth ticked upward. He re
minded her of a great tom cat waiting at a crack in the wattle-and-daub, body tensed and ready to pounce.
The only trouble with that picture was that it made her
the mouse. No, she’d have none of that.

 
“
What are you trying to prove?” She opened her
eyes wide and shoved against his chest. “That you’re
bigger than me? Stronger? That you can take me
whenever you like whether I will it or no?”

 
Bjorn stepped back half a pace, stunned by her outburst.

 
“We both know all those things are true.” Rika hurled the words at him. “For all your fair speech
about pleasuring, we both know that while I wear this
collar, you hold all the power. But there is one thing
you don't control. My hatred of you. I despise you,
Bjorn the Black. And if you take me unwilling,
I’ll
hate
you all the more with every rutting thrust.”

 
For a long moment, Bjorn did nothing. Then he cupped her face with both hands and planted his lips
on her forehead. A dismissive kiss, like one bestowed
on an errant child. He turned away from her and
stalked over to his pile of clean clothes.

 
“
Get dressed, Rika.” His voice was flat. “You’ve
naught to fear from me. I’ll not bed you till you beg
me.”

 
The tightening in her gut loosened. She breathed a
sigh, but she didn’t feel relieved. Her insides still
writhed like a ball of snakes, first surging in defiance,
then wilting in confused disappointment. But she
squared her shoulders and glared at him. “In that case,
I’ll die a maiden.”

 
His dark gaze slid over her, a slow, deliberate search. “That would be a terrible waste.”

 
When Bjorn and Rika entered the great hall, the meal
fires had smoldered to glowing embers, producing just
enough heat to keep the soapstone kettles warm.
Torches burned at intervals on the walls, making the
long room even brighter than during the day. Scores of burly fighting men swilled mead and gnawed on drip
ping haunches. Loud conversations buzzed all around
Rika, men swapping insults and bawdy songs. A fistfight erupted in one corner.