The Viking's Captive(15)

But it seemed exhaustion had rendered her deaf in sleep.

After filling his bath, checking on her once more to make sure she was breathing—because how could anyone sleep through the commotion of filling a tub?—he began to strip.

As he peeled off his layers, he reminded himself where his others were, and hoped he’d washed them before setting off on his journey. These had been his only items of clothing for weeks, and although his breeches and undergarments weren’t at the burning stage yet, they weren’t far off. Salt did that to clothes, it ate away at them, seeming to gnaw at the fibers.

The water was steaming as he lowered into it and the sensation of heat sliding around his cock and balls was wholly pleasant. He kept on going, until he was resting back, the water covering his chest and only his knees and head sticking out from it.

The fire crackled, outside an owl hooted, and he was sure a mouse was nibbling on the grain again. He sighed and closed his eyes. He’d have to get a cat. Finally, his body was enjoying a pleasant sensation, and not one that required effort, for him to defend himself, or to shiver as he became chilled to the bones.

After several minutes it became a struggle not to fall into the same deep slumber his slave had. So he reached for a bar of the soap he’d made the year before, and began to lather his hair and body.

He reached for the pail, filled it, and sloshed it over his head. Again the sensation was nice, and he repeated it several times.

When he’d finished, he swiped the water from his face and turned to check on her.

She was awake and her expression seemed one of shock at seeing him bathing.

“You’re awake. Good. I’m hungry,” he said.

She flipped over, turning her back on him and sending a flurry of straw from the bed.

He frowned. Her disrespect for her master was really starting to grate on his nerves. He’d have to start demanding it. Now that they were here, there was no excuse. And if they were going to live as man and slave, she would have to conform.

“Get up and start cooking the fish,” he said, rising from the water. It sluiced down his body, the cool air attacking his skin. “There is a pan next to the fire.”

He grabbed a blanket and rubbed it over his body. Finally, he was without the scent of the ocean, or stale clothes. He glanced over his shoulder, to see if his slave was doing her duty as instructed.

Irritation swarmed through him. She was unmoved. She’d remained on her side, facing away from him.

“Get up and cook.” His tone was sharp.

Still nothing.

“If I have to come over there and shake obedience into you, I promise, woman, you will have red raw bottom cheeks and there will be tears. So get up from your lazy bed. You will do my bidding.” He paused, then raised his voice to a roar. “Get up. Now!”

Her body jerked as though he’d made her jump. But then finally she sat, turned, and rose.

He discarded the blanket and stood naked by the fire, allowing it to dry the last of the drips on his back.

“Oh,” she said, her gaze sliding down his body. “I…”

The expression on her face was worth ten gold coins. She now appeared stitched to the ground, unable to look away, and it was his cock she was staring at.

He tipped his head and placed his hands on his hips. He was a fine specimen of a Viking, young, strong, virile, and he didn’t mind being admired as such.

And there was something about this female… a delicateness that combined with her feisty nature made her particularly appealing.

“You’ve never seen a man without his clothes before?” Halvor asked. As he’d spoken he wondered if that was the truth; she certainly appeared shocked. Or perhaps she’d only ever seen weak, pale island-village men who were unimpressive in the nude.

“You… I… where is the fish?” There was a trembling quality to her words.

“Over there.” He pointed to her right.

She swiped her tongue over her bottom lip and made no move to start on their meal.

“Is it not fish you are hungry for, wench?” he asked, taking hold of his cock. “Perhaps you want this.”

“What? No!” Quickly she looked away, then scurried toward the fish. “I do not want you or your…”

“Master.”

She said nothing.

“I do not want you or your cock, Master.” He reached for his clean undergarments. “You are to address me as Master, for that’s what I am to you.”

She placed the fish in a pan, the tail overhanging the edge.

He frowned and pulled on a woolen tunic, then breeches. This really was becoming tiresome.

“Woman,” he said, stepping up beside her as she set the fish over the fire. “Do you not hear me? Do you have wax in your ears?”

“I have no wax in my ears.” She tilted her chin and gripped the handle.

“So obey me.” He caught her jawline in his palm and turned her to face him.

She wrinkled her nose. Defiance flashed in her eyes.

He knew he didn’t smell, not after bathing. And that defiance… well, he just wouldn’t tolerate it. “Don’t think I won’t punish you for your insolence, because I will.”

Some of the defiance in her face switched to apprehension.

Briefly he wondered how she would react if he tipped her over his knee and pinked her buttocks. Would she squeal and wriggle? Scream or cry? Maybe stoicism was the way she’d handle it.