Page 71 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
“Never!” I raised my hand to strike him, but he caught my wrist and twisted back my arm. I cried out, struggling.
My instinct was to escape his hold—to flee, though there was nowhere for me go. I was naked and friendless, and never more alone. But could I submit as he asked? Every beat of my heart protested. I was to be humiliated and kept in fear, knowing that any dissent would bring worse punishment.
I gasped through my tears. “I beg your mercy. Know that I plead not just for myself but for the child I carry. It is innocent and should not be punished.”
Releasing me, he stepped back and, this time, it was my body that received his appraisal by the firelight’s glow: my breasts, then my belly, lingering between my legs, and down their length.
With a mocking smile, he cupped beneath my breast, measuring its weight and smoothness, grazing my nipple with the coarse print of his thumb. His other hand, he laid across my womb. His touch was gentle, but I shuddered. Tears of shame pricked my eyes as I stood helpless.
I’d withstood much—marriage to my pig-of-a-husband in Holtholm, submission, even at Eirik’s hands in the earliest days; torment in the long months of his absence when Gunnolf had become my lover. Couldn’t I bear this, too?
There was a dark glint in Eldberg’s eyes as he moved his hand lower, brushing the curls of my cleft. His finger parted me, and I flinched. Slowly, he pushed one finger inside.I turned, not wishing him to see my face, but he growled, commanding me by that feral sound to meet his eyes. They were filled with shadows.
Impaling, merciless, they contained something far more consuming than lust.
An emptiness.
His voice was a cruel whisper, even as he curled his finger inside my flesh. “Perhaps in the spring, I’ll take you to Kaupang or Hedeby and sell you in the slave market. Some rich old man would buy you and the child—or one of the higher-class brothels. I might find a trader from one of the eastern harems; they prize a pale complexion, and hair such as yours.”
I could not hold back a strangled cry.
He wouldn’t!
But of course, he would. What did he care?
Withdrawing his hands, he brought them to my cheeks, commanding me again to look into his eyes. “Or in payment for my murdered child, should I not kill this baby when it’s born?”
God help me, and Freya, too.
Could I live with myself if I became his willing whore? Whether I allowed it or not, he would take what he wanted. Wasn’t it better to accept what I couldn’t fight? To stay alive? If I pleased him, might I gain favour? Perhaps even my freedom?
The fight left me. For now, I would say whatever was necessary. I would do what he asked. I would endure.
“I swear on the life of the child I carry, I shall serve you. I will be your thrall and submit to whatever you command.” I made myself hold his steely gaze.
There was a last flash within his eyes before he smiled, and I felt a wave of sickness. I knew not to what I’d agreed.
7
Eldberg
August 1st, 960AD
“Be quick about it.” Eldberg threw her a cloth. She clutched the linen to her chest as she rubbed herself dry, attempting to cover her nakedness.
Rather late for that.
She was trying not to cry.
He watched as she stepped out of the washing barrel. It almost made him bark with laughter—her pleading mercy on account of carrying a child. The fact had only stirred his rage from a deeper place.
Three months had passed, and the pain was forever etched on his soul. He felt it constantly. The darkness. The despair.
He lived for only one purpose now.
Revenge.
He’d torched Svolvaen and cursed them all to Hel as they’d screamed. He’d seen the men responsible for Bretta’s death pay for it with their lives. He’d stood victorious over his enemies. And still the venom flowed through his veins.
