Brandewyne, Rebecca (25 page)

For
a long moment, Rhowenna thought he would not heed her entreaties, and her heart
pounded with both fear and the passion he had aroused in her. But finally,
sighing and swearing softly, Wulfgar rolled off her,
flinging
himself down next to her on the pallet, his breath coming in hard rasps.
Trembling, she fumbled with her shift to cover herself, abruptly stricken and
ashamed by what she had almost allowed to happen between them. She did not
understand how she could have let him kiss and fondle her so; truly, he was a
devil who had tempted her to wickedness, and she was a wanton to have responded
to him as she had. At the thought, tears began to trickle without warning from
her eyes, glistening like silvery dew upon her cheekbones in the shadowy light
before dripping slowly, like rivulets, into the hair at her temples.

"Hush,
sweeting. Hush," Wulfgar said kindly, half turning now to draw her into
the circle of his arms, cradling her head gently against his shoulder and
stroking her hair soothingly. "You've no cause to weep. Much as it tried
my heart and soul, I kept my word. You are a maiden still."

He
meant to comfort her with his words. But to his dismay, Rhowenna only sobbed
all the harder, and Wulfgar did not know why— nor, strangely enough, did she.

At
long last, she slept— and dreamed a haunting dream of a great, burning sun that
shone in a sky blacker than black, and of a mammoth, crimson-sailed longship
that carried
her far beyond the charted seas, to the place where it was written that dragons
were, and the old gods reigned, and Wulfgar stood upon a distant shore, his
gilded head thrown back, his hand outstretched to her, strong and sure and
waiting.

The Chatelaine

When
Rhowenna awoke in the morning, Wulfgar was gone, leaving behind on his side of
the pallet only the deep indentation of his powerful body to tell her that he
had slept beside her. If not for that, she might have convinced herself that
what had passed between them last night had been only a dream such as she had
so many times before, of that she had only imagined it in a mead-soaked stupor.
But although she longed to believe otherwise, she knew that his kissing and
caressing her had been more vivid than anything her imagination could have
wrought. She could not deny the truth of that; still, the light of day brought
no understanding of her own behavior in the shadowy gloaming of last night. She
had never in her life felt so confused as she did now, so incapable of sorting
out her emotions. She yearned for
guidance, but there was no one to whom
she could turn, no Gwydion now to weave a tale that would satisfy. There was
only Wulfgar— who wanted her and who bided his time, knowing her to be
vulnerable. The thought unnerved her. How long could she continue to resist him
when in his embrace her own body traitorously betrayed her? She did not know,
and she prayed that Prince Cerdic or her father would ransom her quickly.

As
Rhowenna rose from the pallet, there appeared in the doorway two of the slave
women who had assisted her with the cleaning yesterday. Both were Saxon
captives, so she was able to speak to them, and she learned that for this
reason, Wulfgar had assigned them to serve as her waiting women. They carried
several garments she was to have as her own, as well as a small ivory casket of
jewelry, all of which had come from the bartering at Sliesthorp. When she had
finished sponging off with hot water from the soap-stone bowl the waiting women
had also brought, they helped her to dress, showing her how to fasten at her
shoulders, with two beautiful wrought oval bronze brooches, the sleeveless
scarlet tunic that went over her finely pleated white gown, in the fashion of
the Northland. No girdle of fine mesh or laced leather, such as was worn in the
Southland,
was among the clothes. Instead, a chain of colored beads was suspended between
the brooches; and from this hung the implements of a chatelaine— a needle-case,
a pair of small scissors, and the key to the storeroom, as well as her own
small dinner knife, which Wulfgar had returned to her. Then the waiting women
bedecked Rhowenna with necklaces, armlets, and bracelets of gold and silver,
which, it was explained to her, a lady of the Northland wore as evidence of her
husband's or her paramour's riches. Next, the women, each taking a side, combed
her long black hair back from her face and plaited it in two thick braids into
which they wove a profusion of ribands. When they were finished, they handed
Rhowenna a polished-bronze mirror, which had also come from Sliesthorp, Wulfgar
having apparently given considerable thought to a woman's wants and needs.

Seeing
her reflection, Rhowenna felt that for the first time since being taken
captive, she was garbed as befitted her rank, although she never would have
worn such finery at home, except for special occasions. Yet this was the
everyday dress of ladies of the Northland, she was informed by the waiting
women. Suddenly, she felt a longing for the plain, workaday gown of undyed wool
that she had worn yesterday; for this clothing and these
adornments
marked her as Wulfgar's concubine. It was as though she had, in truth, lost her
maidenhead to him last night, and now was no more than his slave and whore. She
had a wild urge to snatch off everything he had bestowed upon her, and she was
only deterred by discovering, in answer to her inquiry, that the course slave's
garments he had bought for her in Sliesthorp had been taken away by him
earlier, the waiting women knew not where. She must wear what she had on.

Two
spots of color staining her cheekbones, Rhowenna drew back the hide curtain of
the sleeping chamber to survey the great mead hall. Wulfgar was there, talking
earnestly to Flóki the Raven and a few of the other
thegns;
and although the
rest of the warriors had not yet stirred from their sleeping quarters all along
the
langpallar,
the
slaves were up and about their morning chores. Upon his arrival, Wulfgar had
made it clear that there would be no slackness or slovenliness tolerated under
his authority, and this warning had been taken to heart, it seemed. Rhowenna
observed with approval that the fire in the central hearth had been stoked; and
as she smelled the fragrance of the thick porridge bubbling in a cauldron on
the blaze, she became aware that she was very hungry. Still, like the slaves,
she must attend
to her duties before breaking her fast.

As
Wulfgar was absorbed in conversation, she hoped to escape his notice; she did
not know that he had spied her the moment she had appeared in the doorway of
the sleeping chamber, that he had, in fact, been watching and waiting
impatiently for her to appear. Now, as she started toward the kitchen, he
caught her wrist, drawing her into his arms and kissing her deeply before she
could protest or struggle, prompting low laughter and a few good-natured jests
from Flóki and the other men, who had come to know and to like her.

"Good
morning, sweeting," Wulfgar drawled lazily after a long moment, with a
slow, knowing grin. She yearned to scratch his eyes out as they raked her
appreciatively, delighting in her beauty and her body so finely arrayed. The
fury that sparked in her own eyes that he should act as though he had taken her
last night and had found the experience pleasurable indeed seemed to add to his
enjoyment at her expense. Still, it would not be wise to provoke him before the
rest, she knew. He might feel the need to demonstrate his power over her with
more explicit actions here and now. "I trust that you... slept well?"
he asked.

Unable
to trust herself to speak, she merely nodded, humiliated by the blush she could
feel deepening on her cheeks as, unbidden, the memory of him pressing her down
upon the pallet stole into her mind. Would he do as much to her tonight? she
wondered, mortified as she realized she felt tantalized as much as fearful at
the thought. Aye, he would do as he pleased— tonight and every night until she
at last submitted to him, yielded herself willingly to him, desiring him as
much as he desired her. He was a monster, a fiend to torture her so, she told
herself, far worse than all the other
Víkingrs
put together—
when she had hoped and half believed he was better. But how could she escape
from him, and even if she did somehow manage to flee, where could she go,
knowing so little, as she did, of this Northland? Yesterday, when she and the
rest of the women had been brought from the
Dragon's Fire
to the
longhouse, she had seen the fenced meadows where the horses ran free in the
summer, horses that could be ridden to chase her down; and the kennels in which
the hunting dogs were kept, dogs that could be set to track a lone woman as
easily as they tracked game. Even if she were able to steal a small boat, who
knew what might befall her on the long journey between the Northland and Walas?
Much as
she wished otherwise, common sense told her that realistically, until she was
ransomed, there was surely little hope of her getting away from Wulfgar.

When
he released her reluctantly, Rhowenna moved quickly lest he take her back to
the sleeping chamber to finish what he had only started last night. The
insolent, unexpected smack he gave her bottom as she walked on toward the
kitchen jarred her to the bone, adding injury to insult. How dare he treat her
in so ill-bred a manner? she fumed to herself, although she knew with certainty
that it was to make his possession of her plain, so no other man would dare to
touch her or even to think of helping her to run away from him. And if she were
honest with herself, Rhowenna knew she must admit that perhaps this itself was
for her protection, as well; for who was to say whether another man, after
assisting her to escape, would not turn on her and force himself upon her once
they were well beyond Wulfgar's reach? Surely it was as she kept reassuring
herself: that her anger and embarrassment and the advances she suffered at
Wulfgar's hands were preferable to what she might endure at those of another
man.

In
the kitchen, Rhowenna saw that the slaves had already milked the cows, for
buckets
white with foam sat to one side, along with crocks of honey and butter, and
loaves of the bread baked yesterday, as well as eggs gathered earlier from the
chicken coop. But she knew from experience in her father's royal manor that
bread and eggs and porridge were not enough to feed a great hall full of hungry
men, and so she ordered what remained of the roasted sheep from last night set
out, as well as bowls of fruits and nuts. There was no cheese, and she made a
mental note to find out whether this was due simply to the previous
mismanagement of the household and markland or whether this was a staple
unknown in the Northland. In addition to the milk, she directed that mead, ale,
and beer be served. All the while, Rhowenna thought to herself how cramped and
inefficient the kitchen was, how inconvenient the great mead hall was, both
lacking trestle tables and benches, so the slave women must sit upon the low
stools or the floor to prepare the meal and be constantly stooping to wait upon
the
thegns,
who, having been rousted from their pallets, were now taking
their places on the cushions around the central hearth. Given the vast forests
she had seen, the dearth of furniture could not be due to an equal dearth of
wood, so there must be some other reason why there was none. She would ask
Wulfgar about it; surely, some of the male slaves or the freedmen could
construct something so simple as trestle tables and benches if she were to
explain the rudiments of what she wanted. There were other things she would
change, too, Rhowenna decided resolutely. After all, if Wulfgar was right, she
might be here for a while; and just because the Northmen lived like savages,
there was no cause why
she
should. She was civilized, a lady, a
princess; she must not let herself forget that. She must not let her spirit be
crushed, her dignity stripped from her, as had obviously been the fate of many
of the poor slave women who toiled in the kitchen this morn.

Only
Morgen, as she had yesterday, escaped the work, sitting languidly on a cushion
on the dais between the two huge pillars at the sleeping-chamber end of the
great mead hall. She had spent last night locked in the storeroom, whose door
had been guarded by Flóki. She, too, had been given two slave women to wait
upon her, and clothes and jewelry, and now, she was even more lavishly attired
than Rhowenna. Morgen's pleated gown was the color of amber; her indigo over-tunic
was bordered by wide bands of elaborately embroidered riband and fastened with
gold brooches at her shoulders. Countless
necklaces of gold and amber draped her
neck, and armlets and bracelets of gold and silver gleamed at her arms and
wrists; even rings, which were rare and thus costly, adorned her slender
fingers. Her black hair was intricately braided, woven with ribands, and pinned
atop her head, giving her an undeniably regal air. Even Rhowenna, knowing the
truth, could believe Morgen a princess.

When
the morning meal was finished and the last of the pots and dishes were cleared
away, Rhowenna discussed with Wulfgar what she had in mind in the way of
furnishings for the great mead hall and the kitchen. To her surprise, he said
she might do as she pleased to make the longhouse more comfortable; and
presently, freedmen armed with axes were dispatched to the woods to choose and
to cut down trees suitable for Rhowenna's purposes. She herself, she learned,
was to be permitted to roam the markland freely, so long as she was accompanied
by some of the
thegns—
for her own
protection rather than to prevent her from escaping, Wulfgar informed her with
a bland smile, so she knew he was on guard against her instinctive urge to flee
and would thwart any such attempt. After ensuring that the household chores
were under way, she and a few of the other slave women, laden with
baskets,
ventured down to the seashore, where they searched for seaweed, with which
Rhowenna planned to make laverbread. If Wulfgar would allow one of the pigs in
the pigsty to be butchered, she could fry the laverbread in the rendered pork
fat and make hog's-head cheese, a jellied meat, at the same time, a method her
practical mother had always favored.