Chapter Two

"Come."

It took everything she had for Miriam to lift the hem of her gown and descend the shallow steps to accept the mercenary's outstretched hand. Unlike hers, it was warm with no trace of a tremor. She was silent, not knowing what else to say, as they made their way to the place where the red carpet ended - or began, depending on your perspective.

Nobody came to her rescue because someone already had.

A thought struck her.

"What will become of my maidservant?" she asked, looking back over her shoulder at the middle-aged man who was now engaged in counting his coins. How vulgar of him.

"You certainly won't be needing her, love," a voice thick with mirth remarked, causing a ripple of amusement to make its way through the many bystanders.

The grip on her hand tightened, warningly perhaps, but she had to say it. Jenna deserved no less.

"Will she be disposed of, too?"

Miriam became aware that the mercenary was regarding her strangely. She bit her lip. She must stop thinking of him like that.

"Why do you care?" he asked.

"I suppose the idiot can help Ruthie by doing some of the more menial tasks," Daphne said, sounding bored.

Her first instinct was to defend the girl, but she didn't want her sister to take it out on Jenna.

As she was debating what to say in reply, Ketil squeezed her hand again. 

"Answer me, Princess."

The use of her title shocked her a little, given the circumstances.

"Being dumb, Jenna cannot speak up for herself. They were going to send her to the mines to - to entertain the men before I asked for her. I couldn't let that happen, my lord."

She thought she saw a softening in his demeanour.

"I will do what I can for the maid," he said.

"Very noble of you," a red-bearded giant commented, startling her, and she saw they were now flanked by the other two mercenaries. Like Ketil, they wore the blue cloak of palace guards and had obviously caught up after leaving their usual spot closer than most to the throne. "Is she pretty?" 

"Sigurd." It came out as a growl.

"Why, yes," Miriam answered, recalling the plump girl's rare but radiant smile which showed the cute gap between her front teeth and eyes the colour of honey.  

She recognised the other very tall man now as someone who often performed sentry duties when he wasn't chasing women.

"Imagine that, Ketil. You could have bought two for the price of one."

Miriam blushed, as she did every time anyone paid her a compliment. Unlike Daphne, she believed she wasn't renowned for her beauty or poise, only her intellect. How would a quick mind serve her now when what she really needed were social skills, especially the kind that might persuade him not to bed her?

To focus on something other than her panic, Miriam asked, "Do you have a family name?"

The silence which followed told her she'd made a misstep.

"The lady must believe you to be a bastard," the one named Sigurd said, slapping Ketil on his broad back.

"My father did not introduce us when you - " She swallowed, forcing herself to meet what were now stormy grey eyes, though she had to look up a long way. "Forgive me, I meant no offence, my lord."

"Where does she think she is, at court?" the red-bearded one remarked, with a chuckle.

"Let's get out of here." Ketil glanced over his shoulder to the throne, adding contemptuously, "Even now, I expect to be called back and accused of fraud."

"I thought he was going to insist on counting it out first, even biting into a few at random," a third, younger man said. His sandy hair was pulled into a ponytail, though the guileless blue eyes avoided hers after the initial contact. She seemed to recognise him, even though not all the guards were familiar to her.

"Me too, Orm," Sigurd agreed. "But this isn't really about the money, is it?"

Miriam decided she didn't like the sound of that.

As she had feared, the three men parted outside the palace and she was left alone with the one who had bought her.

Ketil cleared his throat. "I have been meaning to tell you for weeks now how sorry I was when your mother passed."

Miriam gulped. "You - you have?" she stammered. 

"I am not - unfeeling."

"You live in the huts beside the river, don't you? I suppose that makes it easier to wash."

"Be quiet," he hissed. "As my slave you speak only when I ask you something, Mia."

She gasped. Her mother used to call her that, in private.

"How dare you?" she managed, clenching her small fists.

Ketil did not reply. He continued to regard her fiercely with those intensely light eyes. She hung her head, relaxing her fingers before they began to ache. It had happened before.

This was not to be borne.

After a short walk through the pasturelands, avoiding the copse of trees, she saw the sturdy dwellings, arranged in a cluster. They were on the very outskirts of the village now, the one which lay parallel to the city itself.

Ketil led the way to the hut at the far end, unbolting it with practised ease. It was fashioned from a different timber to the rest and she wondered if he had built it himself.

He lit a couple of candles.

"You have good taste," she blurted, admiring the woven rugs from the orient, the pine bench and table and a silver chest at the bottom of a flat bed without pillows.

"Can you not follow one simple rule? Sit."

Ketil was pointing to a sturdy chair she hadn't seen. As she approached it, she saw the intricate carving on the back and seat.

She eyed the solitary bedroll. 

"Where am I to sleep?"

"With me. And your disobedience has not gone unnoticed."

He was hunkered down now, looking at something on the tamped earth of the floor beneath one of the rugs. Had she caught a flash of movement? She did hope it wasn't a mouse or, even worse, a rat.

Miriam debated with herself, but she had to say it, risking his wrath. "What about my gown?"

"You are in luck, Mia. I have some experience with laces."

"I bet you do," she muttered, eliciting a grin. Had she really said that aloud? "I usually bathe before bedtime," she continued, without thinking.

"We are close to a river," he reminded her.

"But the water will be cold."

"Freezing," Ketil agreed. "Though I am quite happy to warm you later, Mia." His eyes gleamed with something she had seen before and did not exactly like. "Come here, and I will unfasten your kirtle."

"I'm not tired," she lied.

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

She dragged her feet. "Please, don't make me do this."

So Ketil came to her. As he busied himself unlacing her bodice, the irony of the situation struck her. Wasn't she supposed to undress him?

Once the gown was loosened sufficiently, she felt her cheeks grow hot.

"Remove it," he ordered.

Reluctantly, Miriam freed her arms and began to push the heavy material down her slender body. Stepping out of it, she placed it neatly on the chair. And stopped. No amount of persuasion could convince her to go any further.

Ketil said nothing, though he continued to stare at her with those no longer cold eyes.

She crossed her arms about her upper body even though the chemise afforded adequate coverage, as did the drawers beneath.

"I will not be molested," she stated.

His gaze altered significantly, scaring her.

"Do you think I would take advantage of someone like you?"

"You - you wouldn't?"

"Disappointed?" he taunted. "My name is Ketil. Use it."

Glancing at her moodily, he lifted the homespun shirt over his head and that was when she saw the inked images which gave away his heritage.

"You are a Norseman," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Always," he said. Baring his teeth, he added, "Though we're not all like Sigurd."

"He's almost as tall as you," she blurted, still in shock. "Does my father know?"

"His seneschal may have hired us but, trust me, he knows."

"Is it very beautiful, your homeland?" Miriam wanted to know.

"No more questions, woman," Ketil said, preparing to remove his breeches. "Go and lie down on the bed."

Miriam shut her eyes tightly. "Can I at least wash my face?" she queried. "I promise I will not run."

"Be quick about it," he said. "Or else."

She drew a shuddering breath. It was difficult to know what to make of him. Was the threat real?

Miriam pushed open the unbolted door and went to kneel by the river, which appeared to run black beneath the dim light of a sliver of moon. As she splashed a small amount of very cold water onto her cheeks and laved her neck, she tried not to think about what it would be like to sleep with a man.

Rising, she wiped away a few droplets of moisture with her fingers before returning to the hut.

Ketil was already abed, lying on his back. He wasn't asleep and she could see the outline of muscles and sinew in one bare shoulder, not covered by the furs, and some of the snake tattoo.

Unbuckling her shoes, which stank of mud and pondweed, she removed them quietly and set them aside. Then she made her way reluctantly to the opposite side. Scarcely daring to breathe she eased herself beneath the coverlet, regretting the lack of a pillow. One of the hairpins in her chignon caused her to stifle a cry and she realised she must take them all out if she was to get any sleep at all.

That was if Ketil would allow her to get any sleep at all.

Miriam sat up, groping for them in the gloom. It wasn't an easy task and the falling strands of hair elicited several gasps. She could smell candlewax and a faint hint of manly sweat.

"What are you doing, Mia?"

"Letting my hair down," she replied. "I - I forgot."

"What a shame," Ketil said. "I was planning to use one of the pins to stab you with during the night."

"That's not funny," she retorted, though she managed to stop herself from making an unflattering reference to his topknot.

"Perhaps I'll use another kind of weapon instead."

Miriam froze. Even she was worldly enough to understand his meaning. She couldn't let it go. "Won't you have to get out of bed to achieve that?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Not necessarily. Want me to demonstrate?"

"Please don't," she whispered.

Ketil sat up and looked at her. She stared back through a tangled mass of uncombed hair, not bothering to conceal the fear in her eyes. He reached out a hand and she flinched, but it was only to extract a stray hairpin from a spot behind her ear.

"Give them to me," he said.

"For - for safekeeping?" she hazarded. He shook his head. "Surely you do not intend to sell them?"

"From now on, Mia, you will wear your hair down like a proper slave woman."

"But some of them have plaits!" she protested, knowing she was on thin ice and not being able to stop herself from prodding at the cracks.

"I suppose that is acceptable. You have a ribbon, don't you?" How did he know about that? She always tied one at the top of her drawers in case they came loose at an awkward moment. "Show me," he said, no trace of humour in those sharp grey eyes. Had he already spotted it beneath her silken shift?

"Now?" she asked, breathing unsteadily.

Ketil nodded.

Thinking fast she delved beneath the furs and began to lift the hem of her garment. That was easily achieved, but the knot proved difficult to budge. She was extremely conscious of his hard, presumably naked, body only inches away.

"Need a hand?"

"No," she protested. It came out as a squeak and she was surprised to see him throw his head back and laugh.

"The morrow will do, Mia. Go to sleep."

He moved onto his side, taking nearly all the furs with him.

Miriam was just about to object when he rectified the matter, his large hand making brief contact with her still bared thigh. She tugged her chemise down rapidly after that, still fuming at what he had made her do.

Anxiety took the place of annoyance.

"Please, promise me you won't ..." She found she couldn't even say it now.

"I have no designs on you. You are nothing like your sister," he told her, his tone one of contempt.