Page 22 of Hungry Like a Wolf
Carmel jumped at the sound of Orm’s voice hollering from outside. She’d been praying beside her meager bed and enjoying the quiet, calming ritual.
“We need logs.” He pushed into the dwelling holding a dead chicken. “Go chop some.”
She scrabbled to her feet. “Aye, I’ll do it now.”
Slipping past him, she felt glad that it was a task that didn’t involve her doing something for him directly—washing his feet, plaiting his hair, or pouring his ale.
Outside, the snow still lay on the ground, though it was defrosting in the midday sun and dripped from the turf roofs. She spotted a pile of thick logs beside a tree stump that had an axe lodged into it.
She glanced around. The village was going about its business. Children played, a few older women chatted by the well, a dog chased a cat, and smoke drifted into the sky spreading the pleasant scent of food cooking.
But the scene didn’t bring solace to Carmel. This wasn’t her home and she wanted to get away. Her castle on the western coast awaited her. A place where good Christians followed the rules of God and the scriptures. A place where she gave the orders and was waited on while her parents deliberated over possible marriage matches—something they could never agree on.
“Lord, give me strength,” she muttered as she gripped the axe in the wood. She pulled, then pulled harder—it was lodged solid. Setting her foot on the stump and heaving with all her might, she felt it finally come free, though the force of it had her staggering backward and almost falling over, the axe was so heavy.
With a frown, she reached for a log and balanced it on the stump. The ground was slippery and she secured her footing before raising the hefty axe above her head.
For a moment, it teetered there, almost threatening to tip her over backward with the weight, then she brought it down with a violent blow, slicing the log in half and sending it skittering.
A sense of satisfaction went through her and she reached for another log.
She swung again, but this time, her aim wasn’t as accurate and she splintered the side of the log and buried the axe deep into the stump.
“Oh, in the name of…” She gripped it and pulled, trying to free it from its bind. Closing her eyes, she grimaced, then pulled some more. “Damn it.” The thing was well and truly stuck.
She glanced at the doorway, wondering if she should ask Orm to get it out.
No. She’d rather he stay away from her.
Another pull and a yank with a twist this time. But it was no good. The blade was lodged in tightly.
“You in a fix?”
She looked up.
Ravn was striding toward her.
“No.” She scowled and pulled again.
He stopped with his hands on his hips. He’d removed his cloak and wore a gray tunic with a deep open ‘v’ at the front that showed chest hair. “You sure?”
“Aye.”
She set her foot on the stump to put her entire weight behind her next heave.
He watched her struggle, one eyebrow raised.
“Damn and blast,” she muttered, releasing a fast exhalation and stepping away.
“Here. Let me.” He curled his fist around the axe handle, gave one effortless yank, and freed it.
Her irritation increased. Sometimes, it was maddening to be a feeble woman.
“Pass me that.” He nodded at a log.
“What?”
“Just do it.”
