The Viking's Captive(24)

“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.”