The Viking's Captive(16)

“You’re a brute,” she said, venom in her tone. “And I’m sure your punishments would be wholly evil.”

Halvor didn’t especially enjoy being called a brute; at least not in his own home. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He paused. “Now you will obey me, in all matters, starting with calling me Master.” He held her chin tighter. “Do it… now.”

She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Master.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” He lowered his face to hers. “I have no wish to punish you, but mark me, I will, my little Celt.”

She tried to turn her head, but he kept her secure. She needed to know the position she’d found herself in, and that there was no point in fighting it, or him.

“As your master, you are mine, in every sense of the word. I have never sought a slave before, but I can assure you I will be fair. If you work hard, do not give me cause to worry or chase you up on your duties, you will always have food, shelter, and my protection.”

“I can look after myself.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I can, Master.” She’d hissed the last word. It was worthy of a few swift spanks. But he’d let that go… for now.

“That is of no consequence, and besides you are ill equipped to keep yourself safe from the wolves, boars, and marauders who frequent these hills.”

She swallowed and uncertainty flared in her eyes.

“So you see,” he said. “You need me.”





Chapter Seven


Duna didn’t want to need the huge Viking who stared at her with such an intensity his gaze was as hot as the flames at her side.

But what he’d said was true. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself from the animals he spoke of, or other Vikings. And if she had to call him Master to keep herself alive until there was an opportunity to escape safely, then she’d conform.

“You should let me cook, Master,” she said.

Finally he released her chin. “Aye, do that.” He smiled. “For we are both in need of food.”

He stepped away, and she tended the fish, which had already seared.

“I will travel east at first light, to the farm yonder,” he said.

Duna didn’t answer.

“My friend, an elderly farmer lives there. I will retrieve my animals, and buy some new clothes for you. His wife is a seamstress.”

Duna remained quiet. The fish was cooking quickly and she jiggled it in the pan.

“I will tell her that you are here,” Halvor went on. “Though I must know your name.”

“You seem to be comfortable with slave or wench, Master.”

He was silent for a moment and she wondered if she’d angered him. Not that she cared much about that. She didn’t want to be a convenience. She wanted to be a thorn in his side. Then maybe he’d take her back to the port, throw her on a longboat heading west and she’d get passage home.

“I’d prefer to know your name.”

Duna flipped the fish. It had blackened; the pan was too hot.

“Tell me,” he said, “before I spank it out of you.”

“Duna, Duna Terin.”

“Duna,” he repeated. “It’s a strong name for a waif of a creature.” He sniffed the air. “What’s happening to the fish?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was putting on woolen socks and leather shoes.

“It’s cooking.”

“It smells as if it’s burning.”

“No, Master.” It was. So much that another minute and it would be inedible. Not that she cared. Her appetite had vanished when she’d been hauled into the air, stolen from her village, and set upon a life of slavery to an ogre of a man.

She stooped and put another log on the fire, then stoked the flames with a long poker. They licked into the pan, the fish becoming an ashen mess.

“What in Odin’s name have you done?”

Halvor was by her side, staring at the ruined meal. His upper arm brushed her shoulder.

“I’m a poor cook, Master.”

“How can that be the case? You lived with your father, you must have prepared meals for him, fish meals, you were only a short distance from the ocean.”

Duna silently congratulated herself when she heard the anger in his voice. She could happily go to bed hungry, she was used to that, but it was clear Halvor wasn’t and he was particularly displeased about it.

“I will try and learn,” she said, moving the pan and its contents to one side.

“Learn! Learn! Aye, you will. And not just how to cook fish. You will learn that I was serious about punishing you for bad behavior.”

“Bad behavior? I was doing my best to cook us a meal. You should have given me clearer instructions.”

His brow creased into three neat lines, distorting some of the ink that flowed from his cheekbone to above his right eye. His mouth was a thin, straight line and his shoulders were bunched up around his neck. “You’re a fool to think me a fool.” He sat on one of the chairs, lifted his foot, and began to remove one of the shoes he’d only just put on. “And you will learn now, this moment, not to do it again.”

A tremble of anxiety gripped Duna’s stomach, flowing outward to her limbs and making her knees weak. “What are you doing?”