Chapter Nine
Halvor drove his wagon toward the longhouse with his sheep around him. They were being ushered along by his dog, Raven, who knew the herd and the land so well Halvor barely needed to do a thing.
He was loaded up with fifteen hens, a huge cut of mutton, and several trotters. He also had carrots, parsnips, and cabbage. He’d spent an extra coin on seeds so he could plant his field and the vegetable patch. They’d need to get to work soon in order to stock up for the winter months. He also had some cow milk, salt, fruit wine, and flax. And as he’d journeyed he’d collected hazelnuts, crab apples, elderberries, and rosehips. He’d hoped to find horseradish, as he enjoyed the flavor, but hadn’t been lucky.
He’d brought things for his slave too. For she had nothing but the rags she stood up in.
The longhouse was still and quiet, the door and window closed despite it being mid-morning. As he drew level with it, he pulled Ivan to a halt.
The horse snorted and scraped the ground.
Halvor frowned, wondering what his trusty steed was unhappy about.
The sheep skittered, Raven struggling to keep them under control as he shepherded them into the barn.
It was then he saw them.
Paw prints in the dirt. Big ones. They were undeniably wolf.
A bolt of fear went through him as he spotted more. There’d been a large pack prowling around in his absence.
“I hope you obeyed me, woman.” He jumped down and tethered Ivan, giving him a reassuring pat on the neck. The wolves had gone now; he only hoped his woman hadn’t left with them.
He thumped the door with his fist. “Duna, open up. It is I, your master.”
Nothing.
He hammered the door again. “Duna!”
Finally he heard the wood sliding free. Relief flooded through him. She was there, and hopefully hadn’t left the house in all the time he’d been gone.
Pushing the door open, he stepped into the dimly lit room.
She stood there, looking utterly pathetic, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes wide and scared.
“Are you unharmed?” He gripped her shoulders and studied her face.
She nodded. “Yes… Master.”
“You obeyed me, you stayed indoors?”
“I did. There were wolves outside, lots of them. They were here for many hours.” She peered past him, as though checking they weren’t about to burst in.
He frowned. “They do not come to the house often in the summer months, it’s the winter when they get hungry and I see them. I wonder what they were after.”
“Me.” She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
It was then he noticed she’d bathed. Her hair was smooth and glossy, her skin clean and fresh.
“They would not be specifically after you,” he said, touching her cheek with the back of his index finger. “Perhaps they’ve gotten brave because the house has been empty for so long. Maybe they found a few morsels to eat around here when I left and came back to look for more.”
She stepped away from him, turned and went to the fire. She used the poker to move a slipped log onto the embers.
Something had changed about her, he wasn’t sure what. It was as if she were calmer, more resigned to being in his home.
He stepped back outside and retrieved several things from the wagon. Marching back indoors, he dumped a pile of clothes onto the table. “Here. Burn your old ones.”
She turned. “What?”
“The clothes you came in. They are old and ragged. Here are new ones, new undergarments too.”
She set down the poker and walked over to the bundle of material. “But—”
“Do as you’re told, slave. And when these clothes wear out, I will get you more, that’s the way it is. I will look after you, even if you vow to hate me.”
Her gaze settled on his face.
He wondered if she’d deny hating him.
“And this,” he said when it was clear she was to remain silent on the matter, “is only just old enough to be away from his mother, so he will need caring for.” From within his tunic, he produced a tiny gray kitten. It had one black ear, and had meowed for the first half of the journey until it had fallen asleep against his chest.
“A kitten!” A smile tugged at her lips.
“Yes, for the mice problem we have.”
“Oh, he’s lovely.”
Halvor passed the kitten over. He was light as a feather, his fur as soft as silk.
Duna took him single-handedly and cupped him beneath her chin. Her smile widened and softness grew in her eyes.
Halvor drank up the sight of her. When she wasn’t frowning she was incredibly beautiful. Her eyes were the shape of almonds, her lips soft and full, and her hair looked perfect for running his fingers through. “What will you call him?”
“I can pick a name?” She ran her jawline over the kitten’s fur as if she couldn’t get close enough.
“Aye, go ahead.”
“Hmm…” She frowned a little. “Misty, for he’s the color of the sea mist when it rolls toward my island at dawn.”
“I hope Misty will soon learn to love the taste of mice.”
“I’m sure he will, but he’s too little for that now.”
“I have buttermilk on the wagon. Get dressed…” He paused; he liked the thought of her naked beneath the blanket. He’d enjoy another look at her buttocks to assess if his shoe marks remained. And he’d like to set eyes upon her breasts again, see if the cool morning air had peaked her pale nipples. He clenched his fist. It was tempting to tug the blanket from her and feast on her naked body. She was his, after all.
“Thank you,” she said. “For bringing Misty.”
He flexed his fingers to rid them of the need to act. Stealing her blanket away, and instructing her to turn a full circle for his perusal, would wipe the softness from her features, he’d bet coins on that. “He’s for practical purposes.”
Halvor returned to the wagon. There was heat in his groin again. He’d taken Duna to be his slave, to do the woman’s work on his homestead. But he couldn’t deny there was something about her his body reacted to whenever they were close.
Duna quickly joined him in unloading the wagon. She was dressed in a long-sleeved, dark green woolen tunic, with a v-shaped neckline and cinched in at the waist with an embroidered belt. Halvor was pleased with his choice.
“Here,” he said. “Help me with this crate of hens.”
“There’s so many.” She placed Misty down and quickly reached to do as instructed.
Between them they lowered the crate to the ground. The hens clucked and complained; several feathers flew from the slats.
“Be calm, ladies,” Halvor said. “You are at your home again.”
He pulled their doorway free, and in a bluster, several hens rushed out.
Duna reached for Misty and cuddled him close against the bare flesh below her throat. “Look at them.” She shook her head. “What strange hens.”
Halvor frowned. “They’re only hens.”
“They are so big, and white. I’ve never seen them like that.”
“They’re good layers; we will have plenty of eggs. Their flesh is nice too, when they’re young. But I need a rooster; my farmer friend is getting one for me. I will have to go back.”
“Today?” She glanced around, as if checking the hills for wolves.
“No, not today. There’s much to do.” He shook the crate, encouraging the stragglers out. “And one of your jobs, each day, is to tend the hens. They have a coop in the barn, that’s where they’ll sleep at night.”
“Away from wolves.”
“Aye, and foxes. Always put them in the coop before dusk.”
She said nothing; instead she stroked Misty and made a little cooing noise.
“Duna.”
Nothing.
“Duna, do you hear me? Put the hens away before dusk, every night. If you are neglectful of this task, you will earn yourself another spanking.”
She jerked her head up and stared at him.
Ah, that got her attention.
“Now put the kitten down and help me carry the wares into the longhouse.”
“Yes… Master.”
She did as he’d asked, and between them they carried his purchases from his farmer friend, Asmund, into the house. They stacked their supplies high, hoping to discourage mice, and Halvor placed the seeds on a wooden shelf.
After he’d attended to Ivan and placed his wagon under shelter, he gathered more logs for the fire.
Duna was sitting with the kitten on her lap. A small bowl of buttermilk lay at her feet; most of it appeared to have been drunk.
“What are you doing, woman? There’s work to be done.”
“You haven’t told me to do anything, Master.”
His palm tingled. It was tempting to tip her over his lap again. “Go and fetch water, from the spring. And then make porridge, for I have brought fresh oats.”
She placed Misty on the bed, stood, and reached for the pail.
When she’d gone, he dragged the tin bath outside and upended it to drain the used water.
“Ouch!”
The sound of her squeal alarmed him and he spun around.
She was sitting on the grass, near the stream, clutching her foot.
“What is it?” He rushed to her side.
“I have stood on something sharp.”
He crouched down on his haunches to investigate. A ruby red drip of blood was growing on her heel.
“Is there anything stuck inside?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
He clicked his tongue on the top of his mouth. “I should have brought you shoes.”
“I can make myself some, if you have a hide and a needle and thread.”
“You can do that?” He was surprised.
“Yes.” She swiped at the blood. “For I am of little use outside the house without footwear.”
“This is true.” He slid one arm behind her legs, the other around her waist, and stood, bringing her with him.
“Halvor,” she gasped and clutched his tunic. “What are you doing?”
“I do not wish for you to lose more blood. Until you’ve made your shoes, you will remain indoors.”
He strode back to the longhouse, and once there, carefully set her on the chair. “Here.” He passed her a strip of hide, along with a knife and a needle and thread. “Set to work.”
As Duna went about her task, Halvor made headway with his agricultural plans. His molder board plow was in good working order. His meadow would soon be ready for cutting down with his scythe and it would provide winter fodder for his animals. The vegetable patch was a tangle of weeds. But that wasn’t his problem; Duna would be responsible for that.
In what seemed like no time at all, she appeared at his side, holding Misty and with neat leather boots on her feet.
He stared at them. They were of fine quality. She was clearly an expert when it came to leather.
“What would you like me to do, Master?”
“You didn’t tell me you were talented at shoe making.”
She smiled, just a little, and shifted her feet on the gritty earth. “In my village, everyone came to me for boots, saddles, leather tunics and bags. It’s my trade.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And a very useful trade.”
She was quiet, then, “If you can get me tanned hides, I can make more, for you.” She paused. “It brings me pleasure to be creative.”
“Does it?” He’d enjoyed the way she’d said the word pleasure. Would she ever willingly allow him to bring her pleasure?
She nodded. “I’ll get the water now, and then make porridge.”
“I have fencing to attend to.”
As she walked away, he called to her. “Stay on the homestead, do not go into the hills or down to the lake on your own.”
She didn’t reply. But he knew she’d heard; she wasn’t far away from him.
He gathered nails and hammer and went to tend to a broken fence around the pasture. His sheep could eat that grass down before he drove them to higher land to graze. At this time of year, it would keep them busy for several weeks.
He toiled for an hour, hammering and repairing. The sun heated his back, and he discarded his tunic as he began to sweat.
The sheep were bleating in the barn; they were hungry after their journey. Raven lay in the grass sleeping and Halvor often thanked the gods for such a good dog. He was big enough to take on a wolf, as long as it was one on one, and he was as smart as a Viking when it came to caring for the flock. As long as Halvor saw to it he was fed well twice a day, Raven never let him down.
He finished the fencing, then rolled out his shoulders and swiped at the moisture on his brow. He was in need of ale; as soon as he released the sheep into their pasture, he’d quench his thirst.
Before he headed to the barn he glanced around, wondering if he’d see Duna. When they’d been unloading the wagon, he’d told her the vegetables would be her next task, and now that she had shoes there was no reason why she couldn’t start weeding and planting.
He couldn’t see her.
“Raven,” he said, clicking his fingers. “Come hither.”
Raven jumped up and went with him to the barn, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling. His energy had been topped up after his rest.
Halvor released the sheep, and with Raven’s help they were soon in the meadow.
“Watch them,” he said to Raven in his native tongue. “Do not move.”
Raven sat, back straight and eyes scanning his charges.
Halvor ruffled the fur on his head. “Good boy.” Again he glanced at the vegetable planting area. If only his slave was as obedient as his dog.
Entering the longhouse, he paused and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He’d expected to see Duna.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Where is she?”
He spotted Misty in a basket, curled up asleep. He strode to his barrel of ale, drank deep, quenching his thirst, then wiped at his mouth.
He’d have to go and find her. Surely she hadn’t attempted to escape him.
That thought tightened his belly and sent fear shooting through his heart. The land was beautiful, but danger lurked all around for a thrall on her own.