Page 86 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
Others could look upon her, but she was for his bed alone.
He’d have words with Sweyn. No one was to touch her. He would show his blade to any cur that disobeyed him. Eldberg strode forward. He’d make himself clear and wipe away that covetous leer.
He’d taken but five steps when he heard Thoryn’s shout from the other side of the hall. “Thirka!”
There was a scream and commotion as the thrall’s platter hit the table, showering food. Her skirts were alight. She screamed again, running back and forth, beating the flames with her hands.
Eldberg leapt forward, sending her to the ground, rolling her back and forth. Yet the fire licked, and the woman shrieked.
“Use this! Cover her!” Elswyth tossed a bundle of cloth at his feet.
With the flames smothered, Thirka’s terrified cries subsided to sobs. Moaning, she looked up with wide eyes. Thoryn had bounded over the table. Kneeling at her side, he took Thirka’s hand, his face grey. “She stepped backward, coming too close to the embers.”
“So tired.” Thirka was mumbling. “Just need to lie down.”
“’Tis all right,” Thoryn whispered. “I’ll care for you.” He picked her up.
“By your leave, jarl, I’ll take her to my hut.”
How did I miss that?thought Eldberg. Thoryn was in love with the girl. Under his own nose, and he’d not realised.
“I can make a salve for the burns.” Elswyth was beside them, lifting the hem of Thirka’s skirt. She winced at what she saw.
“We have honey,” said Ragerta. She wrung her hands. “And there’s marigold in the herb garden.”
“Gather them quickly, and comfrey if you have it.” She thought for a moment. “If you have valerian root, we’ll steep that for her to drink, and mash the others for a salve.”
She turned to Thoryn. “You must spread it thickly on her feet and calves—on her hands, too. Lay Thirka down, and bare her legs. You’ll need some linens to wrap her, after you’ve applied the salve.”
Eldberg beheld Elswyth in wonder. Gone were the downcast eyes and her forlorn look. A spark had lit within her, giving her new purpose.
Thoryn swallowed. “Good lady, my thanks, but—”
He looked at Eldberg. “I would have her help. I don’t know if I can—” Thoryn’s voice wavered.
He touched his forehead to Thirka’s. “She is burnt.”
Burnt.
Eldberg knew what it was to be touched by fire. The healers had made his salves, with herbs not just from Skálavík but those traded from far lands. Aloe, wasn’t it, that they’d smeared over him. Cooling, soothing aloe. A small pot remained, which he yet used upon his eye.
“Sigrid!”
She hadn’t moved from her place at the high table.
“The salve for my eye. Fetch it.”
Cutting a segment from her apple, she took it between her teeth. “It’s costly, and there will be no more until the merchant returns. Are you sure, my jarl, that you wish to use it on this thrall?”
Eldberg clenched his fists. “Fetch it, Sigrid.”
He looked from his friend to Elswyth. “Go, Thoryn, and take her with you. Ragerta will bring what you need. There’s enough moon for her to see by. She’ll find the plants and carry all to your hut.”
Elswyth hesitated, as if disbelieving, then hurried after Thoryn.
Only after they’d left did Sigrid come storming over to him, her face twisted in rage.
“That bitch! She dared enter my chamber and took it! My new cape!”
