The Viking Wants Forever (11 page)

“I completely forgot about this,” she’d chirped, her voice dripping with ill-contained glee.

“I’m sure,” Reese had eyed the offensive neck piece made of twisted leather and a bronze plate etched with two bear heads, and her veins had filled with ice.

“My son had it commissioned days ago. With all the chaos going on around here, it simply slipped my mind. Before you or I found ourselves in trouble, I sent someone to pick it up from the blacksmith this morn.” Brita stepped behind her, draped the collar around Reese’s neck and tied the leather straps into a knot. The woman even had the nerve to adjust the collar, fiddling with it until Reese stepped back. Better that than slapping the woman’s hand away and getting herself into even hotter water.

“Do
all
the slaves wear this?”

Brita nodded. “And most of the indentured servants as well.”

“Have to make sure everyone knows their place.” Reese had said it so tightly her jaw hurt.

“Exactly! Everyone knows their place in Skildheim: slaves, freemen, men and women. Despite being Eirik’s mother, I am careful not to overstep my boundaries.”

With the woman’s warning ringing in her head, Reese had returned to her chores, which at this late hour included serving the evening meal. Per the usual routine, she fell into line to await the first of many dishes she would be required to carry into the main hall.

“You burn that buck, and I will tan your hide, boy!” Gurta squawked at young Mads. The boy had been delegated the unsavory and extremely boring job of turning the spit.

Startled, the boy jumped, releasing the brochette.

“Mads!” Sweating profusely, a wooden spoon clutched in her hand, Gurta stepped toward him threatening to leave her throne—a large kitchen table she used to prep the final dishes.

“No burn...no burn.” Wide-eyed with fear, the boy dove for the spit handle, and put his back into spinning the skewered deer.

Gurta pointed two fingers at her eyes, then swung them toward him. Understanding her meaning, Mads churned the spit in a rabid circle.

Dismissing him with a loud snort Gurta turned back to the line. With quick efficiency, she sliced through two loaves of bread and dumped them into a basket. Thankful for the light load, Reese stepped forward.

“
Nei
.” Gurta picked up the basket. “Vida, take this.” Without questioning the switch, the servant girl stepped forward. “Make sure Rollo does not stop you. That pig thinks we only bake for him.” Vida bobbed her head and then scurried off.

Reese on the other hand, balked. “Hello, I was next.”

“
Ja
, I know.” Reese eyed the cedar platter Gurta pushed toward her. Noting the large rectangular dish with carved bear head handles, the blood rushed to Reese’s head. “You will serve Eirik tonight.”

“Wh-why? None of the slaves serve him, only Treske.” Reese looked around for the freeman.

“Treske will still serve Eirik and his family. You will help.”

Jaw set tight, Reese fingered the slave collar around her neck. Earlier today she would’ve been overjoyed by the opportunity to get closer to Eirik. Oh, she still wanted to get close to him but only to box his ears.

“Be on your way.” Gurta hefted the platter heaped with the choicest meats and plopped it in Reese’s arms. “We cannot keep him waiting, and there are plenty more dishes to follow.”

As she walked up the aisle of the main hall, Reese was quaking with two emotions: anger and self-loathing. Despite the despicable collar around her neck, her nerves were shot. He’d done such a great job of ignoring her, she’d only seen him in passing or at a distance. So, the thought of being close to him, possibly having his full attention focused entirely on her, made every single atom in her body short circuit and pulse until she felt like one of those cartoon throbbing thumbs.

Reese cursed the size of Eirik’s fortress. From end to end, the longhouse probably spanned the width of a football field with the main hall occupying the most space. Far from sparse, every available space had a purpose. The main area served two: as both a place to dine and to sleep. The north end housed a barn with its own separate outdoor entrance. A large store room and weapons garrison provided a buffer between it and a room with two weaving looms. The southern end of the structure contained the family’s sleeping quarters and the kitchen. If she ever got back to her time, she would have excellent material for her graphic novel.

With all the activity buzzing around her, a hundred or so people eating and communing, a harpist plucking on her instrument, Reese didn’t hear any of it. Like walking through a tunnel, she focused on the light at the end. His pale hair drawing her like a beacon, Eirik sat at a table elevated above the others on a low dais. As lord of the manor, he didn’t sit on one of the long benches which doubled as beds at night, but in a wooden arm chair with elaborate carvings. The dark Viking, Bjarni sat on his left, his brother Thoren on his right.

The sight of him sucked the breath from her. Attired in a buff-colored tunic, sporting a deep V-neck collar, he was magnificent. Tailored to fit him like a second skin, the shirt barely contained the hard body beneath, the ropy tendons of his arms and torso threatening the garment’s seams.

As if sensing her regard, Eirik suddenly turned his head and looked at her. His gaze traveled the length of her body and Reese could almost read his mind. In direct contrast to his cleanliness, she looked like she’d been to hell and back, her apron bearing the signs of a hard day’s work. Mush had splashed on her while feeding the pigs, and from knee to hem there were grass stains from de-weeding the garden this afternoon.

Well, you’ve made your bed, might as well take pride in it.
Lifting her chin, and maintaining eye contact, Reese climbed the few steps that brought them to face to face. Firelight from two sconces on the wall behind him softened the hard angles of his face, making him even more handsome. Unfortunately, she couldn’t read anything in his expression or find any clue as to why he’d expressly ordered she serve him.

One thing she did know: being near him was like a shock to her system. All her senses were on hyper alert. Made of fire and ice, his pale blue eyes appeared more vivid. The aromatic scent of the meat assailed her, causing her stomach to grumble. She set the platter in front of him, the heavy weight of her slave collar pulled at her skin, and cooled her ardor. As her master, he held her life in his hands; she shouldn’t yearn for his touch.

“How fare you this eve?”

Reese floundered. She’d half expected a caustic gibe or an ‘I told you so’, not a softly-worded inquiry regarding her welfare.

Seemingly oblivious to her plight, he pierced a piece of rabbit and devoured it. Mesmerized, Reese watched his mouth work around the piece of meat. His sensuous lips moving in the most delightful way.
I’m melting...I’m melting.

Feeling more like Peter Parker than Spiderman, she stumbled over a response, “I-I’m well, my lord.”

Eirik set down his dagger. His eyes were dark and enigmatic, a seductive promise shimmering in their hot blue depths. Reese hated flip-flopping, but damn he could make a girl want to climb him like a tree.  

“A part of me had hoped for the opposite.” He leaned forward in his seat, bridging the distance between them. Not by much, but enough for her to see the ice flecks floating in his irises. “For the past fortnight, I have thought of naught, but the heat of your kisses, the lush curves of your body and lying between your sweet thighs again.”

Hot and bothered, Reese reached for the neckline of dress to let out some of the steam. Her fingers grazed the course leather band circling her throat. How could he wax poetic, make her flesh tingle and burn, but then completely disregard the humiliating collar around her neck? Beautiful bastard.

“Were thoughts of seduction on your mind, when you had this made, my lord?” she mocked in a tone that was far from submissive.

His gaze fell to her throat. His expression hardened. “Reese, I—”

“You’re out of mead, my lord.” Reese cut Eirik off before he could spew anymore purple prose, and weave that seductive spell that would have her panting after his cock again. Pride salvaged, and well aware she was back at square one, Reese retreated to the kitchen.  

A
s she retreated to the kitchen, Eirik bore a hole in her back. Soiled, sweaty and disheveled, Reese was still beautiful. His hands itched to touch her, find the secret sensitive places on her body, use them against her until she wouldn’t want any other man between her legs except for him.

“You are no longer suited to be a warlord. You should take Fenrin The Storyteller’s place.” With a forlorn expression, Bjarni placed his hands over his heart. “Sweet maiden...I have thought of naught else, but your sweet thighs.”

Eirik picked up his mug and brought it back down so hard it splintered into three pieces. Ignoring the curious stares of his people, he turned to Bjarni. “How did this tactic work?”

The other man reached out and pressed the back of his hand against Eirik’s forehead. “You are flush. Have you caught a fever?”

Ja
! His malady was called Reese. As quick as a striking serpent, Eirik grabbed the other man’s hand and twisted it until he doubled over. “Answer me.”

“Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. One of the oldest strategies in the world and yet you failed by rushing in like an untrained warrior and got cut down.”

Unable to say anything in the face of his truth, Eirik released his friend.

“She addles my head, turns it to mush.” Eirik glanced down at his hands. They were strong hands, capable of snapping a man’s neck, wielding a sword to vanquish his enemies. And yet, he felt so useless, powerless against one woman.

. “Frustration in the face of a seemingly impregnable enemy is a dangerous companion for any leader as is any emotion that clouds judgment.”

“Too late,” Eirik conceded.

Bjarni stared at him as if he’d grown six horns. “You are in
love
with her?”

“No!” Spoken with such passion, even he doubted his veracity.

“But desire and lust come from the same place, does it not?”

Eirik shrugged. “She hates me for something I did in anger. Something to keep your big mouth shut I might add.”

“No worries.” Bjarni rolled his wrist slowly, testing the joints. All is not lost.”

Disgruntled, Eirik had half a mind to get up. He kept his seat. “Another tactic?”

“Only a simple maneuver. And one you can implement right away, my impatient friend.”

“I grow weary of your schemes, and yet I am all ears.” After all, he was desperate.

“Kindness in capture weakens resolve and frames you as strategically superior.” Seemingly proud of his plan, Bjarni grinned from ear to ear.

I’m fucked.

* * * * *

R
eese welcomed the end of the evening meal. The hour was late and the every minute of it had been a battle of wills with her on the losing side. How could she remain angry at the Viking when he was being so nice to her? Even in the face of her icy silence, he’d remained polite and jovial, gifting her with panty-dropping smiles and such sugary sweetness he made her teeth and a few other things ache.

Thinking she was in the clear, Reese picked up a wash rag, empty bucket and headed to the outdoor well. She didn’t get past Gurta.

“Where are you going?” To Reese’s surprise, the cook divested her of her cleaning supplies.

“Dinner’s over, time to clean up.”  

The cook thrust a pitcher at Reese. “Eirik needs mead?”

Reese grimaced. How could she forget? After the evening meal, the Vikings drank liberal amounts of ale while playing board games, throwing dice or listening to the skald’s far-fetched sagas of the Norsemen’s ingenuity and bravery.

Tonight, the storyteller was in high form as he spewed some tall tale about Eirik and an adventure he’d taken to Bluland. Supposedly, he’d navigated all eight of his ships through what sounded like Noah’s flood. Vanquished a band of Moorish pirates terrorizing the coast. In return, he’d been gifted a nobleman’s beautiful daughter. Of course, being the honorable Viking that he was he could not accept said gift, but took their gold instead.”

1...2...3...the hall erupted in raucous cheers. Two Vikings even jumped up and arm in arm, they danced a jig. Reese rolled her eyes. A night just wouldn’t be complete without extolling the legend of their virile warlord.

Speaking of their leader, Reese spotted him near the hearth playing
kvatrutafl,
an early form of backgammon. Lounging in a carbon copy of the chair he’d sat in during dinner, Eirik looked the picture of a rogue. Slightly disheveled and deep in his cups, his tanned skin was now flush. His white-blond hair had worked its way out of the twin plaits at his temples, and fell in chaotic tendrils to his shoulders. All he needed was far less clothing, a bed and a bottle of Absolut, and he’d look like that hunk from
Sex and the City
.

As if checking him out were a sixth sense, Eirik suddenly lifted his head. Spotting her, his mouth curved into a slow, lopsided grin. If she were wearing panties, they’d be soaking wet. Reese slurped in a calming breath and adjusted her poker face. While she was at it, she needed to modify her game plan. Get with the program. She hadn’t been brought here to enact a Viking Emancipation Proclamation.

Reese eyed the multitude in abject servitude around her. From a nine month old babe to a man who’d probably seen more summers than Methuselah, there had to be more than thirty of them. Why couldn’t she free them? Pull an Incredible Hulk when he’d landed on the planet Saakar.

She walked across the hall, and Reese noted six or seven thralls in the company of a Viking. Two of them, Magdal and Phee, had recently born their captives children. What if she put the bug in their ears? She didn’t have mutant muscles or the Warbound to back her up, still Reese had an inkling her arsenal could prove just as persuasive.

With her theme song (all heroes had one) playing in her head, Reese sidled up to Eirik. With a magnanimous smile curving her lips, she picked up his tankard. As she filled it, she noted it was different than his previous mug.