Enslaved by the Viking. Harper St. George

live here now.’ His voice was cool as he removed the brooches that affixed his cape to his tunic and then walked over to hang the luxurious fabric on a hook.

      ‘By force.’

      Eirik’s brow arched as he loosened the ties of his tunic and then brought it over his head to hang it beside the cape. Her eyes followed him as he walked to deposit the brooches in a small wooden chest that sat on a shelf near her. He moved like an animal, sleek and smooth, with a confidence that irritated her. Her only solace was the sight of the wound she’d inflicted on his biceps. It wasn’t deep, but the cut was still there.

      When he was finished he came over to stand in front of her. She took an involuntary step backwards. ‘If you obey me, you could have a good life here.’

      ‘Are those my choices? Obey you, submit and I won’t be harmed or fight you and...and live to regret it?’ Merewyn couldn’t stop herself from staring at his bare chest. She’d never seen a man without his clothing this close before. His skin was golden and looked like satin covering hard muscle. She took a deep breath to steady herself, but only managed to inhale his smell. That strange scent that was him—an exotic spice she’d never tasted mixed with leather—filled her and somehow made her feel more alone than she ever had before, even on the crossing. Everything about him was foreign. A strange longing flickered to life within her, and she realised that even she felt foreign around him.

      ‘Submit to my commands, aye.’ Eirik’s hand came up to tip her chin upwards so she looked at him. His solemn blue gaze fixed on hers. ‘But I’ve already vowed to not harm you. I’ll never ask you to share my bed. It’s not a demand I place on slaves.’

      Merewyn’s gaze flicked to the bed in a completely involuntary move, but then dropped to the floor when it only made her earlier fears return. There was no need for him to lie to her. She was here in the chamber with him, completely at his mercy. He could do with her as he would and no one would come to her aid if she screamed. She could trust him—at least in this. Then something shifted in his gaze. She couldn’t name it, but—just for a moment—the self-assurance was gone and she saw that he was unsettled. By her? The weight of fear that had held tight in her chest released the tiniest bit so that she could breathe freely.

      ‘I believe you.’

      ‘Do you?’ The corner of his mouth tipped up. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close.

      ‘Aye.’

      She did. But he traced over her bottom lip with his thumb, causing it to tingle. Then he was moving away from her, leaving only the ghost of his touch behind to linger on her skin. Merewyn pressed her own hand to her lips to smite it out.

      ‘Eat.’ He nodded to the bowl she still held and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and woollen socks.

      She chewed a piece of the meat, but only to keep the newfound peace between them. It was tender and flavourful, but she barely noticed. ‘What happened in there with the jarl? He’s your father?’ At his nod, she continued, ‘Just before we left, he asked you something. About me.’

      Eirik stood abruptly and his hands went to the fastenings on his trousers. She looked away when he began to push them down past his hips. Why didn’t it bother him to strip bare before her? The man was a heathen. They were all heathens.

      ‘Aye, it was about you. He asked why I was keeping you for myself instead of presenting you to him like a good son should.’

      Merewyn closed her eyes against the unspeakable vision that raised in her mind. ‘What did you say?’

      She gave him a moment to answer, but when nothing was forthcoming she looked to him, making sure to keep her gaze from lowering. He watched her with an intensity she’d never known before.

      ‘Obviously I denied his request.’ His voice was laced with sarcasm, but his eyes were solemn.

      ‘Why?’ With that one word, his face closed. Merewyn knew she’d get nothing out of him that night and averted her eyes.

      ‘You’ve already begun to address me as “my lord” and that should continue. The state of this chamber will be your responsibility, but we’ll talk more of your duties and my expectations when we return.’

      Merewyn studiously maintained her diverted gaze, despite the shock of that statement. ‘When we return from where? When are we going?’

      ‘I have to go on a short trip to visit a neighbouring jarl. No more than a week or so. I leave the day after tomorrow. You’ll come with me unless you’d prefer to stay here alone.’

      It wasn’t really a choice. ‘I’ll go.’

      He crossed in front of her again, completely unashamed in his nakedness, to reach into a chest at the end of the bed. She was forced to acknowledge him when he offered the woollen blanket to her.

      ‘You can sleep on the fur.’ Eirik indicated the dark brown bear pelt that was nearest the bed on the floor. It still had its claws.

      She clutched the blanket to her chest as he walked away and couldn’t help the glimpse she got of his backside. Solid muscle worked smoothly beneath his skin. That flare of foreign longing, exciting and unwelcome, ignited within her and shamed her into looking away. She waited for him to climb into bed before she sat her bowl down on a shelf and took her place upon the fur.

      ‘Oh, girl?’

      Her eyes shot open.

      ‘If you think to attack me with one of those weapons, I’ll stop you and you’ll spend the rest of your nights tethered. Think hard if it’s worth that risk.’

      It wasn’t worth the risk. Even if she hurt him, she had the others to contend with and an entire ocean to cross to make it home. There had to be another way, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Let him wonder if he’d wake up to a dagger in his chest.

      She thought she’d lie there contemplating the change in her living situation, but she fell asleep almost immediately. It was a deep sleep, the like of which she’d not experienced since she’d been taken.

      * * *

      Eirik did not fall asleep easily. Despite the fact that he was exhausted and in his own bed for the first time in nearly two years, the slave’s face haunted him. Hilla had managed an extraordinary transformation. The chestnut silk of her hair shone with health and had reflected hints of red from the fire in the hall. Highlights he hadn’t noticed in the grey light of the crossing. Her face wasn’t as drawn as when they’d arrived, but her cheekbones were still too sharp under her skin. Nothing a few days of rest and proper meals couldn’t fix. He’d even been pleased that she seemed to have regained some of her colour.

      But none of that explained why she disturbed him. It didn’t begin to explain what happened to him when he looked at her. The way his body tightened with the unexpected need to possess her and protect her at the same time. The way he’d wanted to stand up in front of everyone in the hall and proclaim that she was his. Or the primal anger that had gripped him when his father had laughingly asked for her and the internal struggle he’d had to beat it down.

      The girl was his. He wanted to possess her and liked the idea of her awaiting his pleasure entirely more than he should. But he couldn’t possess her. Couldn’t even let his mind take him down the path of imagining what it would be like to explore her body. It would be too easy to pluck her from her pallet and push her underneath him in bed if he let his mind wander there.

      But even the mere thought caused his blood to thicken and settle low in his groin. He wanted her. There was no denying anymore that he wanted her in the primal way a man lusted for a woman. It was a visceral urge that gripped him in its tight fist and refused to let go. He knew then it was no demon that had possessed him to take her. It was his own dark needs—his desire for her.

      Shame reared its ugly head, the usual complement to his damnable lust. To want any woman was not something he permitted, but to want her—a slave who could neither fight him nor accept him—made him angry. He’d