Enslaved by the Viking. Harper St. George

midnight brocade tunic that stretched taut across the breadth of his shoulders, accented with gold piping and a small keyhole opening at the neckline. A dark gemstone button winked in the light, but she couldn’t tell what it was. His trousers were tucked into calf boots, but she could see that even they were made of a finer material than most of the other men’s clothing. He wore a gold band around each of his arms. His crimson cloak, trimmed in soft grey fur, was affixed to his tunic with two gold filigree brooches at the shoulders.

      He was magnificent. For the first time since entering the house, her gaze dropped to the floor. Somehow it had been easier to maintain her dignity when she’d imagined him the barbarian she had painted in her mind; not the nobleman who sat across from her. The nobleman who held her life in his power. Merewyn resisted the urge to scratch at the coarse wool of the apron dress that had replaced her own fine clothing. The knot twisted tighter in her belly.

      What did her own nobility matter here where she was a slave?

      ‘Come.’ Hilla grabbed her arm and led her around to the back of the dais. Some of the men noticed them now and made room for them to pass. Every one of them watched her with their speculative eyes, while some leered and openly appraised her. She knew they were imagining her without clothing, imagining Eirik taking his pleasure and offering her up to them.

      The thought was so unbearable, she might have stalled, but Hilla’s strong hand helped her up the wooden steps and guided her to Eirik. He nodded to the woman, who motioned for Merewyn to sit. Merewyn did exactly as she was told and sank to her knees behind his seat, instinctively wanting to hide herself from the stares coming her way.

      He waited until Hilla left before turning to look at her. She forced herself to meet his fierce gaze without wavering. The look of disappointment she’d noted earlier was still present. What did he expect from her?

      ‘Eat.’ He shoved a wooden bowl filled with pieces of roasted meat into her hands.

      Merewyn knew she should have been hungry after the gruelling crossing and the single bowl of porridge Hilla had given her, but food was not appealing. It would have smelled delicious had her stomach not been in knots.

      ‘I can’t—’

      ‘Do you intend to thwart my wishes at every step?’ He raised an eyebrow.

      ‘Nay, my lord, I’m just not feeling well. Perhaps if you tell me your plans for me.’

      Eirik’s gaze narrowed as he watched her, making her heart flutter wildly. ‘Eat, girl. I won’t ask again.’

      She felt it in her best interest to refrain from pointing out that he had never asked her to begin with. But she had intended to argue about not being hungry when he rose, and her protest stilled on her lips. It was replaced with a gasp when his hand touched her shoulder.

      ‘Courage.’ His gaze met hers briefly, and then he turned to address the room.

      He held up his arm in a gesture for quiet until the entire hall watched what was about to unfold. The bowl of food sat forgotten in her hands. Her attention settled on the breadth of Eirik’s shoulders.

      His voice carried around the room, and something about its deep, even cadence soothed her the slightest bit. It seemed as if he was telling a story because they all looked on with fascination and his speech continued uninterrupted. As she watched him, she realised that, here amongst his own kind, he was hardly a giant. Though one of the tallest, she had seen a few others that topped him. Even Alfred was only slightly shorter. It was Eirik’s solid strength coupled with his height that had made him seem so big. The men she knew from home were not as broad in the chest and shoulders.

      The jarl had turned in his seat to watch his son, but stood now as Eirik finished his speech. When the older man spoke she took the opportunity to observe him. His colouring was similar to Eirik’s and he had the same strong jaw, but the face was subtly different. The nose was the same, except for the break, but the jarl’s lips were thin and firm while his eyes were amber, like Gunnar’s. It struck her then that the three of them were related, leading her to wonder if the jarl was Gunnar’s father, as well. He must be, given that Hilla had taught him along with Eirik. She should have asked Hilla more about them.

      The older man stopped speaking and turned his head to look towards the door from which she had just entered. Merewyn looked to see men bringing in three chests, which were set on the floor before the dais. Eirik gave the word and they were opened simultaneously. Her mouth dropped open at the riches they contained. One held coloured silks and brocades; the second glimmered with various metals in coins and chains; while the third held packages wrapped in leather and linen. She couldn’t be sure what they held, but the aroma told her spices.

      Though she couldn’t understand the conversation, Merewyn knew these were all treasures Eirik had brought back from his trip. He’d probably stolen them all just as he’d stolen her. The jarl moved to leave the dais and walk amongst the riches. The man had yet to acknowledge her, but after he completed a pass of each of the chests, he stopped and looked directly at her. She instinctively held her hands clasped against her, pressing the bowl into her belly. His amber eyes were alive with merriment when he spoke and gestured to her. Eirik stiffened, but he didn’t appear amused. Whatever the jarl had said made Gunnar laugh and drew his attention to her. They were talking about her.

      She refused to look at him and instead held her gaze firmly on Eirik. His voice was low and solemn. His fingers were firm when he reached down to grab her arm and pull her to her feet. She dared not ask where they were going, but he took pity on her and answered the unspoken question.

      ‘Time for bed.’

       Chapter Six

      Eirik led her towards the back of the longhouse. It was darker there because a loft area loomed overhead and blocked most of the light from the fire and candles. Chests and bundles covered in coarse cloths were stored in the loft, but she saw some movement there, too. Just before he led her beneath it she saw a pair of eyes staring down. She barely had time to meet them before she faced the darkness underneath.

      It took a moment for her eyes to adjust enough to see that the area had been sectioned off into chambers on both sides, with wooden walls that rose up to meet the floor of the loft overhead. Four of the chambers had rough wooden doors, but the other two had scraps of cloth hanging down. The spaces along the walls between the doors were lined with bare wooden benches.

      She had just begun to wonder, to hope, that one of those benches was meant for her, when he spoke.

      ‘You’ll sleep in my chamber.’

      Merewyn swallowed as he pushed a door open and entered the chamber before her. She said a silent prayer for strength and followed him over the threshold. The darkness lingered for a moment, and then a lantern flickered to life, revealing the room to her. It was small in relation to the great hall, but much more lavishly decorated than she had expected. This was where he kept his personal treasures. Even Alfred didn’t have this sort of comfort in his own chamber.

      The floors were covered, wall to wall, with colourful carpets and thick furs. A large bed took up almost a third of the space. It was made of wood embellished with carvings of animals and piled with pillows. Heavy curtains hung from the corners for warmth, though they were tied back with braided cords. The outer wall was hung with tapestries while another held shields, armour and weapons. She recognised the chain mail he had worn hanging there. Chests lined the floor along one wall below shelves laden with assorted treasures in gold, silver and other materials she couldn’t even name. It was the home of an exotic prince.

      She stepped to the shelf nearest her to examine the figurines carved from a beautiful green rock she’d never seen.

      ‘Jade,’ he supplied. ‘But don’t touch them. Or take them.’

      Merewyn dropped the hand she had raised to touch the one closest to her. The door closed and he slid the wooden latch into place. ‘Stealing a jade figurine won’t get me home.’ Her glare would have