The Viking's Captive(12)
She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She’d rather be hungry than ask anything of him.
They continued in silence, the horse hanging its head as it tired. The sun peaked and began to dip. They rounded the westerly point of a huge lake, and then finally turned onto a narrow, dusty pathway.
Within minutes a structure rose from within a patch of trees. Made of wood with a slatted pitched roof, it was long, low, and thin. Several smaller buildings stood around it, along with a stack of logs. It was clear the land was grazed and cultivated, though neglected in a way Duna wouldn’t allow hers to become. If it were hers she’d have a vegetable patch. She’d clear the weeds and sweep the path to the house. There were also a couple of broken fences neither she nor her father would have let stay that way.
The horse was drawn to a stop. Halvor reached behind himself, clasped her arm and tugged.
She had no choice but to slip to the ground, her bare feet landing on gritty earth.
He released her and looked around.
For a moment she thought about running, making for the hills and hiding, or to the lake and swimming to the opposite shore. But it was only a fleeting thought. Even if she did by some miracle escape Halvor, how would she survive? How would she find or pay for transport back to her homeland?
“Take a good look,” he said, swinging his leg over the back of the horse and dismounting. “This is where you live now.”
She folded her arms and scowled at the longhouse. She much preferred her thatched croft. Not only was it cozier, it was also prettier.
“There you go.” Halvor slapped the horse’s neck. “Good work, boy, you’re home now too. A few days taking it easy and enjoying the mountain grass will do you good.” He slipped the reins over the horse’s head. “Go ahead, woman,” he said, nodding at the house. “Take a look around while I tether Ivan here.” He paused and frowned at her. “But don’t think about running off,” he said. “You’re in the middle of nowhere. And any folk you come across will be my friends and bring you straight back; there’s no one here that will help a Celtic heathen like you.” He wrinkled his nose. “Not least because of the state of your clothes.”
“Well, excuse me, but I hadn’t known we were having visitors when you barged your way into my home.” Damn it. She’d spoken. Quickly she turned, biting her bottom lip and folding her arms.
He chuckled. “No, I guess you didn’t.”
He was so annoying. He didn’t even bother to deny that he’d barged into her home. But then how could he? That was exactly what he’d done, the savage.
She stalked toward the longhouse, wishing she’d brought her shoes from home. They were still fairly new, leather ones she’d made for herself.
As Ivan’s hooves clopped on the dusty earth, she pushed open the door. It creaked as light from outside spilled into the darkness.
She stepped in. It smelled musty, and of ash, telling her there was a fireplace somewhere within its four walls. There was also the lingering scent of an oil lamp.
The roof was low, there were no windows, though there were huge stone slabs on the floor, which were cool on the soles of her feet. A row of beams traversed the building to support the pitch of the roof.
A rustle to her left told her she wasn’t the only living thing in the house.
“What do you think?” Halvor appeared at her side.
She didn’t reply.
He paused for a moment, then, “Aye, you cannot answer, it is hard to see.” He walked to the wall and opened a squared section, allowing a strip of light to pour in. “I created this, for air and light.” He sounded particularly pleased with himself.
But it did help; it was a good addition. Sunshine now spilled over the room, highlighting a grate with solid wood seating around it and a table between them. There were three beds lined with straw, which had seen better days. A tin bathtub hung from a hook on the wall, and several sacks of grain, the base nibbled out of two of them, were set beside an assortment of earthenware.
Again Duna didn’t answer. What was she supposed to say? Thank you for bringing me here? Your home is very splendid for a monster? I’m looking forward to being your damn slave?
“We have much to do,” he said, not appearing in the slightest bit bothered about her non-communication. “Take the straw from the beds and throw it on the grate. We will burn that and get new bedding from the barn.”
She made no move. This place could never be her home. It was cold and dark, there was evidence of mice, possibly rats. And there were no soft touches to it. Not that she’d come from the Laird’s house, but still, in the home she’d shared with her father she’d had a vase for summer flowers, hessian pillows on the bed, she’d crafted leather pouches to hold water and mead, plus bought a length of woven cloth to hang at the window. Here the window simply opened with a long latch or was closed, there was no in-between.
“Now, damn it.” Halvor stepped closer to her, his eyebrows pulled low. “Do my bidding or you will feel my hand.”
She gritted her teeth as anger spun inside of her. This man could rot in hell for all she cared. But even so, she made her way to the beds, knocking her shin on a small milk pail as she went.
Halvor strode to the grate and stooped over it.
By the time Duna had gathered up a huge armful of dank-smelling straw, a small flame was licking up from the stack of kindling in the hearth.