Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 (6 page)

Laurel thrashed
violently, grasping at the air even as she sank into the water. She flailed her
arms and legs, but her woolen gown felt like a stone around her. The ocean
pulled her down into itself, its cold fingers embedding into her flesh.

With a gurgled scream,
her head slipped below the water. She held her breath as she’d learned to do in
the chair, but this time, there would be no one to pull her back up. Still, she
fought with all her strength. Her kicking legs tangled in her gown. Her hands
uselessly clawed at the sea, finding no purchase. Her lungs burned as she
struggled upward.

Her head broke the
surface and she inhaled hard, taking some of the sea into her lungs along with
the treasured air. She forced her eyes open despite the sting of the saltwater
dripping into them. The Viking ship had already glided past her, yet she
thought she could hear faint shouts from on board.

A splashing near her
drew her attention for a fraction of a moment.

“Eir—”

Sea water flooded her
mouth, swallowing her cry for help. The ocean pulled her down once more, but
this time, she didn’t have a chance to take a deep breath before the cold
silence surrounded her.

Her limbs grew feeble
as she tried to claw her way toward the blessed air. She felt herself drifting
down, too weak to fight against the force of the ocean’s pull.

Suddenly a rock-hard
arm wrapped around her. There was a rush of water around her body, but she
couldn’t tell if she was going up or down. Perhaps a sea monster had claimed
her, pulling her into its den beneath the waves, she thought dimly. The water
felt warm and soft now, like a bed of down feathers.

Her head exploded
through the water’s surface, waking her from her dream. She tried to inhale,
but water clogged her lungs. She was racked by a coughing fit as the salty
water expelled itself from her chest and stomach. Finally she could take a gulp
of air into her burning, crumpled lungs.

“’Tis all right. I’ve
got you.”

Eirik’s rough voice
filtered through her mind. Was it his hard arm still wrapped around her waist?
Was it his strong body holding them both up at the water’s surface?

Eirik shouted something
behind her, and she blinked her eyes open. The Viking ship, which a moment
before had been dwindling in her vision, was now barreling down on them. But it
was the carved serpent’s tail that rose above the ship’s stern drawing nigh,
not the serpent’s head on the prow. Long wooden oars bristled from each side of
the ship. They stroked in unison, tugging against the sea.

Someone shouted
something in response from the ship, and a moment later, a rope sailed through
the air. She felt Eirik’s body jerk as he snatched the rope with one hand,
never loosening his grip on her.

Then they were both
being lifted out of the water and into the air. Hands reached toward them and
pulled them over the ship’s gunwale. They both fell into a sodden heap on the
deck, Eirik’s arm still holding her to his hard chest.

Laurel blinked up into
the vivid blue sky, more spent and grateful than she’d ever been. Two heads
leaned over her, blocking some of the light. One was the Viking woman, and the
other was a man who looked remarkably like her. She’d seen him talking to Eirik
before.

They both started
talking at once, but she couldn’t understand a word they said. Eirik sat up
next to her, pulling her upright with him. He responded to them wearily in
their language. Laurel paid no heed to what they said. She was content to lean
back against Eirik’s broad chest, feel his arm wrapped around her middle, and
stare up at the cloudless sky. She inhaled air greedily, the salt burning her
nostrils, but she didn’t care.

All too quickly, her
euphoria was shattered.

Grimar stepped before
them, his face turned down in ire. He spoke tersely to Eirik, who answered just
as sharply. A look of surprise transformed Grimar’s face for a moment, but then
his features dropped into an even darker rage. A flutter of murmurs rose around
her.

“What is happening,
Eirik?” she breathed, looking between the two men. “What is he saying?”

Grimar spat on the deck
right in front of them and turned, storming toward the bow.

“He demanded that you
be returned to him,” Eirik said, finally easing his hold around her waist.

She turned to stare at
his strained features. “And what did you say?”

“I told him that since
he had discarded you, you were no longer his.”

Relief flooded her.
Grimar was not her master anymore. He could never exert his will over her
again. She was free.

Yet Eirik’s bronzed
face remained taut. Laurel noticed a muscle in his jaw ticking. She recoiled
slightly, fearing something that she couldn’t put her finger on.

“What else is there?”
she breathed.

“To protect you from
him, I…” Eirik broke their gaze, his jaw working.

“Tell me.”

He finally turned back
to her, his bright blue eyes searing through her. “I…claimed you for myself.
You are my thrall now.”

Laurel’s heart froze in
her chest. She felt like the world had tipped on its side.

“You…you
claimed
me?” She jerked away from him, scooting back across the deck in her soaking
gown. “I am your
slave
?”

“Laurel, let me
explain.”

“Nay, what is there to
explain?” Her voice was high and shrill, but she didn’t care. “I went from
being
Grimar’s property to yours. Now I will be
forced to serve you just as I served him.”

Saying the words aloud
made them even more sickening. From the tales she’d been told at Whitby, she
knew Vikings were ruthless, merciless heathens who took what they wanted with
no thought to anyone else. She’d never imagined that she could be forced into
abject slavery by first one man and now another.

She cursed herself,
acknowledging for the first time since this ordeal began that she’d looked to
Eirik as a protector of sorts. Aye, he was a Viking warrior, and aye, he’d
looted the Abbey with the others. But he’d also stopped Grimar from striking
her again that first night in the chapel and had intervened when Grimar had
dangled her overboard. He’d given her food and spoken to her in her own
language. And he’d saved her life from drowning.

But she’d been a blind
fool, only seeing what she wanted—nay, needed—to see, to cling to a sliver of
hope that she was not completely at the mercy of these savage barbarians.

But he was no different
than the others. And now she was his property to do with as he pleased.

“I am not like Grimar,”
he said through gritted teeth. “He said that you were still his by rights. You
are an
utlending
—an outsider—and if I hadn’t made a claim to you as my
thrall, he would have taken you again for himself.”

“You make it sound like
you barbarians follow laws and rules,” she spat out.

“We do.”

She crossed her arms
protectively over her chest. The cold from her wet dress was finally starting
to seep in.

“Hear me out, Laurel,”
he said, his voice softer now. He reached tentatively toward her, but she shied
away. “I am not like Grimar.”

“You said that already,
but how can you be believed when you can force me to your will and no one will
stand in your way?” Bitter tears rose unbidden to her eyes. It was better to be
the thrall of Eirik than Grimar, a small voice said in the back of her mind.
She
knew
they were different—Eirik had begun to show her that already.
Yet she bucked at the idea of being a slave to any man.

Eirik opened his mouth
to respond, but the Viking woman and the other man who was often by Eirik’s
side reappeared. They spoke to him and he nodded wearily. The man helped Eirik
to his feet, and the woman approached Laurel.

“That is Madrena,”
Eirik said from behind the Viking woman. “And this is her brother Alaric. You
can trust them. They will not harm you. No one will harm you now that…now that
you are mine.”

The woman called
Madrena guided Laurel a few feet away and halted her before a sea chest.
Madrena opened the lid and produced a large, thick cloak with rabbit fur lining
around the hood and collar. The cloak made puddles around her feet, but it
helped cut the chill from her damp gown. Laurel realized with a start that the
cloak was far too big even for Madrena, who stood more than half a head taller
than she did.

It must be Eirik’s
cloak. That meant that it was Eirik’s sea chest that Madrena was now pushing
her down to sit on.

Laurel looked around
uneasily as Madrena left her side to carry on with her duties. None of the
other Vikings were looking at her, yet she felt acutely aware of her presence
among them as an outsider—an utlending, as Eirik had called her.

His words floated back
to her, ringing in her ears, causing heat to flood her salt-crusted skin.

“
You are mine
.”

Only four days remained
on their journey back to Dalgaard, five if the winds weren’t favorable, and
Eirik was determined to prove to Laurel that he wouldn’t treat her the way
Grimar had.

After the
confrontation, Grimar stayed at the bow, glowering and muttering but keeping to
himself. Eirik hoped that the distance would make Laurel feel safe, yet she
frequently started at unfamiliar noises. Then again, she’d clearly never been
on a ship before, so Eirik supposed it was all strange and new to her. Whenever
a sea chest would shift or the sail snap in the wind, her eyes would dart to
the front of the ship as if to reassure herself that Grimar was still there.

Eirik often found
himself clenching his jaw or squeezing his fists at her frightened reactions.
It irked him that she did not feel safe under his protection. But judging by
her reaction to learning that he’d claimed her as his thrall, she didn’t see
him as her protector—more like her jailor, or worse, her tyrant overlord.

She had fallen into an
exhausted sleep at the foot of his sea chest the evening he’d pulled her from
the icy waters of the North Sea. The next morning, however, her guard was back
up. She’d stared at him cautiously when he brought her fresh water, flatbread,
smoked meat, and a small crabapple. She ate hungrily, yet her wide eyes
skittered around the ship as if she expected to be attacked at any moment.

When the midday sun had
grown hot, Eirik erected an awning over the stern out of an extra length of
sailcloth. Her pale skin was already flushed pink from being exposed to the
wind, salty air, and sun for two days, but at least she could find relief from
the elements for the remainder of their voyage. She willingly went underneath
the woolen sailcloth awning, which made Eirik’s chest pinch strangely. She
would now be only a few feet away from where he stood at the tiller.

Each night, after she’d
eaten and Eirik had passed the tiller to one of his men, she curled up in his
cloak under the awning. He slept by his sea chest out in the open among the
rest of his crew. But with each passing night, it grew harder for him to sleep.
He even began imagining that he could hear her soft, steady breathing as she
slept several feet away.

Madrena began rolling
her eyes more frequently at him, and Alaric took to watching him with a little
smile on his lips.

“Why don’t you put
yourself out of your misery and go to the girl?” Madrena blurted out when they
were only a day away from Dalgaard.

Eirik’s gaze jerked
away from the horizon and landed on Madrena, who was standing cross-armed in
front of him. He hadn’t even noticed her approaching. Yet he was acutely aware
that Laurel sat behind him
,
fiddling with a
piece of rope.

Eirik’s mood instantly
darkened at Madrena’s question. “You would have me risk the wrath of the gods
to scratch a bodily itch?” he snapped crossly. That was all it was, anyway—a
physical desire, a natural if presently inconvenient male urge. They’d been at
sea too long. All he needed was a quick tumble—with a willing woman, not a
thrall.

“Nei, I’m not telling
you to insult the gods. But your eyes give you away, Eirik. They follow the
girl everywhere. Why don’t you share the awning with her at night if you want
to?”

Eirik felt a flood of
hot anger surge through him. He couldn’t simply crawl under the awning and lie
next to Laurel. She was a thrall, which meant she had no choice in the matter.
He didn’t want her that way. Despite his frustration, he lowered his voice.
“You know better than anyone what it means to be forced by a man, Madrena. I
would never do that to Laurel—or to any woman.”

When Dalgaard had been
attacked a handful of summers ago by a neighboring village, many had been
killed—and others, like Madrena, had been violated and made half-dead by the
damage the event had done. Eirik and Alaric had stayed by her side through the
bed rest, the nightmares, and eventually the long hours of training when she’d
been well enough to learn how to wield a sword. Eirik’s father had always
taught him that men’s use of force against women was cowardly and dishonorable.
After witnessing what Madrena had gone through—what she still lived with—he’d
vowed never to do such a vile thing.

Madrena dropped her
arms and stepped toward Eirik so that they were practically nose to nose. “Ja,
I don’t need you to remind me,” she bit out quietly. “And I know the code of
honor you hold yourself to. But soon enough we will be back in Dalgaard, where
she will be expected to behave like a thrall—and you’ll be expected to treat
her like one. You may not get the chance to treat her as well as you have been
these past few days.”

If it were possible,
Eirik’s mood darkened even more. “What do you want me to do, Madrena? Treat her
poorly so that she will adjust to what awaits her in Dalgaard? Or treat her as
my equal while I can, only to make her place as a thrall that much worse when
we arrive?”

“You could at least
explain things to her before we reach the village,” Madrena replied, though
instead of her usually sharp tongue, she softened the words. Her pale eyes
searched his face, but he wasn’t sure what she saw there. “You clearly care for
her.”

“What a cursed mess,”
he muttered. Was his interest in Laurel really so apparent? Grimar had sensed
it, but then Eirik had proved him right by rescuing the girl and claiming her
for himself. Judging by Madrena’s words, he was making a spectacle of himself
to his crew as well. Even now, his eyes tugged to where Laurel sat. He found
her watching them closely, her head cocked to one side.

“Grimar has been
telling anyone who’ll listen that he wants to call a council meeting when we
get to Dalgaard,” Madrena said lowly.

Eirik’s head snapped
back to her. “What?”

“He says he wants to
put the question of the girl’s ownership to the Jarl.”

Eirik cursed. Why
couldn’t Grimar simply let the matter go?

And a council meeting
could have more serious consequences than his cousin’s vitriol. Eirik feared
what a meeting regarding Laurel would mean in terms of his standing with his
uncle. If Jarl Gunvald sensed that Eirik’s claim on the girl was a roundabout
way of challenging his Jarlship, Eirik would have to decide between his desire
to protect Laurel and maintaining peace within the village.

“Enjoy her company
while you can, or not,” Madrena said over her shoulder as she turned away. “But
you should warn her about what awaits
her
in
Dalgaard.”

Eirik’s eyes fell on
Laurel once more. Thank the gods she couldn’t understand their language,
otherwise Madrena’s words would have likely confused and frightened her. But
that was also another problem to add to the pile. He needed to teach her his
language, teach her how to swim, prepare her for life in a Northland village,
caution her about how she would be treated as a thrall—and warn her about the
council meeting that would decide her fate.

He sighed and stepped
toward her. Those dark eyes followed him, unreadable underneath the awning’s
shadows. He crouched before her, pinning her with his gaze.

“We need to talk.”

Laurel had to suppress
a gasp of surprise when Eirik’s vivid blue eyes took hold of her. When he
spoke, she was struck silent for a moment. Even though he checked on her
several times each day, he rarely met her eyes or said more than was necessary.
Though she was glad that he mostly left her alone, a small part of her felt
guilty for telling him he was like Grimar. He’d seen to her needs and hadn’t
forced her to work—or forced her to do aught else for that matter.

She pushed the thoughts
aside, reminding herself that he was a Viking barbarian and she was his slave.
Just because he treated her kindly now didn’t mean that she should be glad for
her situation.

“What is it?” she
replied, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“We are only a day away
from my village,” he said.

Her stomach clenched
uncomfortably, though blessedly she didn’t fear that she would vomit. Her
innards had finally settled to the sea’s rhythms in the last day. But the
thought of setting foot inside a Viking village had her quaking.

“And…and what awaits me
there?”

“That is what we must
discuss,” he said, his eyes pinching slightly. “You are my thrall, and you’ll
be expected to behave accordingly.”

She sucked in a hard
breath at his words. He didn’t need to remind her that she was a slave, yet she
realized that she had no idea what to anticipate in his village. “What does
that mean?”

“It means that you are
to obey my every word, and my every wish.”

A spike of outraged
heat sliced through her.
His every wish?
He met her gaze, his face hard
and…ill at ease? She didn’t know how to interpret his apparent discomfort, but
suddenly she became acutely aware of how much space his body took up under the
low awning.

His broad shoulders,
clad only in a thin linen tunic, almost completely blocked her into the point
of the stern. His forearms rested easily on his knees, the sleeves of the tunic
rolled back to reveal bronzed, corded muscles. This close, she could see just
how callused and large his hands were. She’d never seen so much of a man’s skin
before, especially one so imposing and strong. This was a man who could take
whatever he wanted.

She shivered and leaned
back, trying to escape not only his dominating presence but also his foreboding
words.

A muscle twitched in
his jaw as he watched her. “I’d hoped that my actions these last few days would
have shown you that I am not the type of man to abuse my power over you.”

“Power is always
inevitably abused,” she whispered, her thoughts flitting back to Abbess Hilda
and Brother Egbert.

A taut silence
stretched between them until Eirik cleared his throat. “As my thrall, you are
also entitled to my protection. I think you should know that…that Grimar wants
to call a council meeting to challenge my claim to you.”

Confusion swamped her.
“He wants to…he can…what is a council meeting?”

“It is a gathering of
the village’s free men and women to witness the passing of judgements and the
handing down of rulings. The village’s Jarl, the leader, will preside and have
the final say over whom you belong to—me or my cousin.”

Laurel swallowed hard.
“And who is this Jarl, this leader, who gets to decide my fate?”

“He is my uncle and
Grimar’s father,” Eirik gritted out.

Her heart tumbled to
the pit of her stomach. Grimar’s father would determine if she would be returned
as the monster’s slave?

Suddenly she longed
with all her being to remain in Eirik’s care. The clarity of the thought caught
her off-guard. Was being the slave of one Viking savage really better than
serving another? Aye, Eirik had shown her consideration and mercy these past
several days. Yet being any man’s slave made her heart scream in impotent rage.

“Then…then I may be
made Grimar’s thrall once more?” The words were almost too bitter in her mouth
to get out. But she needed to say them, to face the reality that awaited her
when they landed.

“Ja, but Laurel—” He
cupped her chin in one large, callused hand. The gentle yet firm touch sent
ripples of awareness through her body. “—I promise to do everything in my power
to make sure that doesn’t happen. As I said, you are under my protection now.”

She shook her head,
breaking their contact, yet the skin of her face felt unnaturally warm, as if
his hands still caressed her.

“Besides Grimar, from
what do I need protection?”

He hesitated, as if
weighing how much to tell her. She felt her anger rising again. She knew so
little and had so little power over her own life. “Tell me. At least I can be
prepared, even if I can’t have any control over what will happen to me,” she
choked out.

“There are other
thralls in the village. Most work on farms, helping their masters tend animals
or bring in crops. Many free men treat their thralls with decency, though there
are also those like Grimar who view thralls as lower than sheep or cows.”

Laurel fought back the
wave of hopelessness that threatened to drown her. This was to be the place she
spen
t
the rest of her life? And worse, she
might be one of those cows in Grimar’s possession soon.

“Most of the thralls in
Dalgaard, my village, are from the Northlands,” Eirik continued. “They were
captured in raids or traded for prisoners of battle. There are only a few
utlending thralls.”

His voice held a
warning that she didn’t fully understand. Her confusion must have shown on her
face, for Eirik went on. “Utlendings are considered even lower than Northlander
thralls. They are outside the bounds of our laws and customs, tossed aside by
the gods.”

A slave and an
outsider. Oddly, the labels felt familiar to her, yet this was far worse than
laboring at the Abbey, where she was considered an affront against the holy
order. “So I am to be the lowest of the low. What…what will be done to me?”