The Viking's Captive(36)

He’d almost doubled in size, he chewed everything and had just about learned not to jab his claws into Duna as she held him—for each time he did, she yelped and pushed him aside.

“That’s it, a bit more,” she encouraged. She had jobs to do, but playing with Misty was too tempting.

He flattened his small furry body to the stone floor and stretched to reach the mouse.

But it must have found an escape route and made a run for it toward the stack of grain.

“Misty!” she called, laughing. “This way.”

He raced after it, going so fast he was almost a blur.

Duna followed him, tugging the sack of grain away from the wall to make his job easy. The sooner the mice population was extinguished the better. Halvor was anxious not to have their winter stores depleted.

“Duna! Why in Odin’s name are the hens still out?”

She gasped. The harsh tone of Halvor’s voice told her he was most displeased.

Glancing out of the propped open window, she realized darkness had encroached without her noticing. With the fire blazing and caught up in her game with Misty, the time had slipped away.

“Slave wench! Get out here.”

She jumped up, her heart tripping over itself.

How could she forget the hens? She was dutiful in her responsibility to them. Not only that she was quite fond of them, they were prettier than the ones back home, cluckier too, as if they had conversations with each other and her.

She left Misty to his hunt and raced outside. The chill of the evening wrapped around her.

“Duna!” Halvor shouted again. “Where are you?”

“I’m here, Master.” She rushed to the hens that were pecking around the edge of the vegetable patch. “Come on, come on.” She ushered them to the barn, but as she went she spotted several fluffy white feathers catching on the breeze. “Oh, no. Not that.”

Looking into the shadows, she searched for an injured hen, or a fox, or maybe a big bird of prey feasting on one of her livestock.

But there was nothing.

More feathers fluttered past her, each one evidence of a struggle.

“Quickly, quickly.” She ran this way and that, sending the hens into their coop.

Raven was barking; something had set him off.

Halvor appeared at her side, wearing just his breeches, for he’d been working in the field all day. “One of them is missing.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“There are more feathers on the breeze than a bird can lose.” He slammed the door of the coop shut, trapping the clucking hens safely inside for the night.

The sheep were quiet, having been put away a few minutes ago and feasting on meadow grass Duna had collected earlier for them.

“It’s your one eve job.” He slammed his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “How can I plow, drive in the sheep, and see to the hens?”

“You can’t, I’m so sorry.” She clasped her hands behind her back and hung her head.

She hadn’t had a spanking since the day at the lake. She’d worked hard, obeyed, tried to make the best of the situation she’d found herself in.

But now she feared a bare-bottomed spanking was in her near future.

“I am sorry, Master,” she said again. “Perhaps you will allow me to search for the hen.”

“Raven can do that.” He turned to the dog and spoke in his native dialect. Raven began scooting around, with his nose to the ground. “At least it wasn’t the rooster.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Get in the longhouse, wench. I will see to you in a moment.”

See to you.

She knew what that meant.

She scurried into the longhouse, perspiration popping in her armpits and cleavage.

Misty had been successful and was snacking on his catch.

She left him to it, then rushed to the fire and threw on two stumpy logs, poked at it to bring it back to life. She’d neglected the flames while she’d been playing with Misty and that would double her spanking, for another of her jobs was to keep it burning.

Perhaps if she quickly made Halvor’s supper, he’d go easy on her. Food would maybe mellow his mood.

She grabbed two carrots, a parsnip, and some salted mutton.

“Put that down.”

Her belly clenched, and she tensed all over, especially her buttocks.

“Now!”

She tossed the food back into the basket. “I was making—”

“I do not care what you are making. I care about a lost hen which I paid good coins for and still had another year, at least, of laying.”

Again she hung her head. “I wish it had not happened.”

“What were you doing for it to happen? How can you not notice the sun slipping from the sky?”

“I was…” She could hardly bring herself to give the explanation. She feared it would mean her ass was tanned more severely.

“Spit it out, Duna.”

“I was playing with Misty. Well, not playing, Master, teaching him to catch mice. And he was successful, look.” She pointed at him.

Halvor didn’t look. “He is a cat, he can teach himself to catch mice, which means you were wasting time when you had duties to perform.”

“Yes, Master.” She paused and swallowed a lump the size of a crab apple, which had formed in her throat. “I understand that I’ve disappointed you.”