Sirens - The Gripping Beast Part 14

It should have been a joyous homecoming, Erik reflected morosely. His trip had been highly profitable. Not only had he added to his own wealth, but the men who had joined him in the trading voyage had prospered as well. That was good for the settlement. His father would be pleased. Also, he had kept Harold out of trouble and out of the way. Gunnar's anger should have cooled, and as long as Harold kept away from Gudred, a feud might yet be avoided.

A feud with that family was no small thing. Their father, Sigurd, had been Thorolf's strongest opposer. Thorolf had defeated him and become jarl, but the t.i.tle remained his so long as his strength was sufficient to rule and lead, and so long as he upheld the law by the force of it. Blood feuds broke out when the law was not upheld, for Vikings would seek vengeance for wrongs against their families. A strong leader meant that peace would be kept and the community would prosper.

Sigurd would not have been a strong leader. His head was too hot, and his son showed every sign of following the father. Erik knew well that some day he would have to confront Gunnar as his father had faced Sigurd. Erik was the strongest warrior. The ablest farmer. The best builder, and the most wealthy trader. When the time came for Thorolf to step down, it would be his duty to take his father's place, and Gunnar was the most likely to oppose his leadership.

He cared not for the thought of a.s.suming the duties of a jarl. He would no longer be free to take extended sailing trips for exploration or trade. He would have even less free time than he did now, with only one farmstead dependent on him. But there was no better man to lead, and he had a duty to his people.

It was doubly regrettable that Harold refused to curb his wildness. He had the wit, strength and cunning to be jarl, and his poetry was envied all along the fjord. He was known for his woman-luck, and luck in a leader counted for much.

Erik scowled blackly. Harold should have been the first-born. Then he may have learned something of the meaning of duty and responsibility. Harold would be the one burdened by duty and parental expectations, and Erik would be free to take his woman and sail far away.

There was a pleasant dream. He would carry Lorelei off and show her the islands he had discovered. They would swim and laugh together, and she would forget her anger. He would have no need to fear the penalties of the law falling on her, so she would be free to do as she pleased.

The thought occurred to him that there was perhaps a way around the difficulty he found himself in. He could free her. As a free woman, it would not matter how defiant and proud she was. She would be admired for it, in fact.

Yes, and if he freed her, she would be gone and unprotected. She had no reason to remain and seemed to take no thought for her own safety. Freya, there was no winning. He could not let her go. He could not keep her.

From the first moment he had found her, he had been trapped in the snare of her beauty. He had touched her as no other man had. He had held her while she slept, wiped away her tears. She belonged to him, and with every touch, every word between them the silken snare tightened. There could be no escape for either of them. He could not let her go, even if it meant her undying hatred, and he feared it might come to that.

He heard the angry words again in his memory, "...for a thousand years."

He had avoided her long enough. It was time to take her to his home and see her settled there. She would have to meet his father. He would have to let it be known that she was his and he would not share her, or some man would think to tumble the lovely new slave during the festivities. There would be a celebration to welcome them home, and the drink would flow for days. Slaves were for the entertainment of any who wished to use them, so long as their owners consented. He would have to make it known that he did not consent or he could find himself in the position of killing a man who had tumbled the wrong wench and becoming an outlaw before he had been home a week.

Life had become so much more complicated since he had acquired her.

Erik strode across the deck and found Lorelei in the same place she had slept in. He wondered briefly if she remembered him coming to sleep beside her. He had pillowed her head on his arm. She had not stirred, or made a sound, and he had risen before she woke. She had looked so very small and fragile in sleep. He had felt the need to hold her, as if he could keep her safe from her fears with his strength.

She still looked fragile. She looked as if she might break apart, and he found himself wishing that she would shout at him instead.

He sighed inwardly. But outwardly, his expression was a calm, implacable mask.

She ignored him, or perhaps did not notice him, until he took her arm. Then she jerked in reaction and turned her head towards him. Her face gave away her every thought, Erik noted. He could tell the moment she decided against pulling away from his touch. Still, her expression was far from welcoming.

She did not want his touch, but she was learning. It gave him no pleasure to know she wanted him not, but she must learn to submit. A slave could not retaliate. A slave could not strike a freeman even in self-defense. A slave could not behave as a freeman did. It was a grave insult to call a Norseman a slave, one worth killing over. Her free ways would be an insult of that order and he would do what he must to curb her.

He saw her eyes return to the waiting crowd, and it seemed natural to bring her close against his side. "Have no fear," he murmured for her ears alone.

A shiver ran through her slight frame, but she remained silent.

That decided him. He lifted her easily and carried her, sparing her the indignity of hobbling along in his wake. She might be too proud to say so, but she was afraid and even if she was still angry with him, he was familiar.

"Put me down," she snarled, but low enough not to be overheard. "I don't want you touching me."

"I will put you down when I choose," he returned.

She raised her face to glare at him. "Getting a thrill, huh? You like your women unwilling and helpless? Well, I hope you're enjoying this."

In spite of himself, Erik smiled. Her fury was so much easier to deal with than the vulnerable look she'd worn when he'd left her. It was a relief to see her fiery spirit return. "I very much enjoy the feel of you in my arms. I may show you later just how much."

Her eyes widened in pretended awe. "Really, master? You would be so generous with your lowly slave?"

He wanted to frown at her sarcasm, but could not resist teasing her. Instead, his smile broadened into a wickedly sensual promise. "I swear to you, I will be very generous."

"Big of you," Lorelei sneered.

"Someday you may grow to like my size."

That silenced her jibes for a while. It amused him, until it occurred to him that she may not have been jesting about being rent and needing time to heal. There had been nothing gentle in their urgent mating. He had taken care to make her ready. But she was not truly hurt, was she? The thought that she might be disturbed him.

It irritated him to worry over her when there was nothing to be done. He would see to her at the first opportunity, he promised himself. She would be disappointed if she thought to rid herself of his attentions by feigning injury, however.

Concern made his voice harsh when he spoke again. "You will keep silent and obey, do you understand?"

"Sorry," she answered, her tone saying clearly that she was anything but. "I intend to scream until your eardrums bleed and fight like a Valkyrie. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Erik stopped abruptly and spanned her waist, turning her so that he held her facing him at eye level. "I do not speak of matters between the two of us. You said you would fight me, and this I can well believe. You have done nothing else since I bought you," he informed her in some exasperation. "I meant you are to obey before others. I have no wish to take you to meet my father and have you offer him a mortal insult."

She blinked, and he could see the fight draining out of her. "Oh."

"He is jarl," Erik went on. "You will behave. Do you understand?"

"Jarl means he's the head honcho?" Lorelei asked tentatively.

He frowned. "Head what?"

"The boss," she clarified. "El Presidente. Supreme Dictator for Life."

"He is the leader."

"That's what I said. Okay, I'll be good." She gave him a furious look. "Not that you would take my word for it. Maybe you should give me a good beating just in case I'm lying."

Erik sighed heavily and stuffed her under his arm again before continuing on his way. "You tempt me, by Thor, you do. You make me long to throttle you."

She nodded. "It's my winning personality."

"More likely it is your disrespectful speech."

To his surprise, she laughed, a short, dry sound. But still, a laugh. The sound warmed him and when he spoke again, it was with a teasing note. "Spare my father your winning personality, woman."

She turned gleaming eyes to meet his. "I'm saving it all for you," she promised sweetly.

As sweet as a venomous serpent waiting to strike, he could not help thinking.

Then she asked almost wistfully, "Do I have to meet him looking like this? I look like I've been through a twelve car pile-up."

He would not ask what a twelve car pile-up was. It would only give her an excuse to invent more of her tales. "You will go as you are."

"I thought you'd say that."

So, her feminine vanity was suffering. He c.o.c.ked one brow at her questioningly. "You would prefer to look your best and attract more offers to buy you?"

She looked stunned. "Somebody tried to buy me from you already?"

Erik gave her a cold look that made her subside. "You attract male attention enough without inviting more. You go as you are."

Somebody else wanted to buy her. She really could have done without hearing that. Lorelei thought about reminding him that he had promised not to sell her or give her away, but that would have been pushing it. She also considered pleading, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Besides, how did she know she'd be worse off than she was with him? The arrogant beast wasn't satisfied with having fun while it lasted. She'd been perfectly willing to play love games with him. But that wasn't good enough. No, he wanted her to heel, sit up and roll over. He wanted a trained pet, not a woman.

And in the middle of a d.a.m.n argument, she'd lost her mind and begged him to give her another good, hard b.u.mp and grind in case she suddenly found herself back where she'd started. In the future. Where she had everything, except him. And faced with the thought of not having him anymore, she'd panicked.

Maybe everything wasn't perfect between them, but physically it had to be about as perfect as it got. And outside of the mind-blowing s.e.x, Erik was a good man. She'd never met another one who could compare. He took his responsibilities seriously, as if they meant life and death. And in this time, she realized, they probably did. She didn't just l.u.s.t after his incredible body. She felt safe with him. And something more. As if she'd found something she'd always been looking for. And now that she'd found it, she wanted to hold on and not let go.

She had it bad for her Viking, and there was this one little problem. Like he wanted her for a slave. Well, no relationship was perfect. She'd had to fight for everything else she had in life. Why should this be any different? She'd fight for his heart and she wouldn't give up until he gave it to her. Because she wasn 't going to be all moony and mushy over him without the feeling being returned.

It was really horrible to be so vulnerable. To know he had the power to hurt her heart. The power he held over her status was meaningless to her, but in the realm of emotions, in her mind and in her physical inability to resist him, she was so utterly vulnerable to him.

"Stop looking so miserable," he muttered. "All the men may think you find me lacking and offer to compensate you."

Her shudder was entirely unfeigned.

"I meant to tease you," Erik said softly.

"Oh. Well, it wasn't funny," Lorelei answered crossly.

"You could tell me you do not find me lacking," he suggested.

"But I do," she sighed. It was so much easier to fight with him than to get into the dangerous realm of Talking About Their Feelings. "Lacking a brain. Lacking a heart. Lacking-"

"Enough," he interrupted. "Cease your insults and show me your meek obedience."

With that, he dumped her on her feet and continued into the house ahead. It had sort of a Bavarian look, she thought. In a rustic kind of way. Sort of a weird combination of a log cabin and an alpine dwelling. Noticing that he wasn't being followed, Erik turned back and hooked an arm around her waist.

"Come, cease your delaying."

"I'm not delaying," she defended herself. "My feet are tied together. I have to take baby steps."

"Let that be a lesson to you. If you were not so defiant, I would not have to hobble you like a horse."

She gasped in outrage. "A horse?"

He plucked her off her feet again and strode with her into the hall. "You have no liking for the comparison?" His warm breath brushed her ear and made her shiver as he continued, "But it is fitting, is it not? You are made to be ridden."

So she made a great first impression on the jarl by kicking his son's shins repeatedly while yelling a string of insults n.o.body understood except by the tone, since twenty-first century English didn't exist.

That she carried out the impromptu performance dressed in a flapping shirt that had seen better days with her hair hanging around her in wild tangles somehow added to the image of an untamable shrew. The abbreviated length of rope forcibly shortened the distance her leg could swing and made her kicks less than effectual, but she was undeterred. What she lacked in force, she attempted to make up for in sheer repet.i.tion.

Erik could restrain her partially, but she continued to flail away with one free foot until he stomped on the length of rope between her ankles. Effectively trapped by his arms and the rope, she subsided, but continued to glower at him.

It didn't seem to bother him in the least. He was laughing almost too hard to maintain a firm grip on her.

"Well, Erik," a deep, masculine voice filled with mild inquiry began, "What have you brought home with you this time?"

Erik took the precaution of clamping one hand over Lorelei's mouth. "Many things, Father," he answered readily. "We found good trading in Birka and Hedeby."

To her disbelief, he went on to recite the cargo manifest in unbelievable detail as to quality, quant.i.ty and profit while his father nodded and listened, as if neither of them were aware of her presence, let alone her continued struggle to escape. When she sank her teeth into the fleshy pad of his finger, Erik paused.

"Be good." It was as much a warning as an admonition.

"And this?" Amused interest warmed Thorolf's eyes.

Erik shook his head in rueful regret. "This I purchased in Hedeby for hack silver. Had I only known then the trouble she brought. That slaver got the best of the bargain by far."

She gasped in outrage, but the sound was m.u.f.fled.

The older man looked thoughtful. "Well do I appreciate the thoughtfulness of my eldest son, and in truth she may be fair, were she cleaner. But if you meant to make a gift of her to me, I can only trust it was before her nature was known to you. Else I must believe you grow impatient with an old man's leadership and wish to harry me to my grave."

Lorelei fairly seethed at that. The implication that she was not only a lowly slave but a worthless one, one that would drive him to an early death, would have been hard to miss. It was a distinctly unsubtle put-down. She glared at the man, since she couldn't give him an appropriate come-back.

She would have known him as Erik's father anywhere, and not just by the att.i.tude. That family resemblance again. Although his features were leaner and sharper, and he had deep grooves in the corners of his eyes. Not that he was old by any means. She would be surprised if he was much over forty. He had the weathered skin of a man who spent a lot of time in the wind and sun that accentuated wrinkles.

His hair was darker, too, a deep brown sprinkled with gray. Aside from that, his build was similar to his sons, which led her to notice that apparently a Viking didn't lose his muscle tone or run to fat in middle age. He'd probably still be an impressive sight at fifty-five. She could believe he'd still have his sword in his hand when the Grim Reaper came. And considering the strength it must take to swing the heavy swords, that was saying something.

She realized that Erik was answering, and forced herself to pay attention. "I would not wish her on you, Father. This one is truly Loki's get."

She'd get him for that crack, Lorelei promised herself. Call her the daughter of trouble, would he? She'd just show him trouble. Loki was also the trickster. Just for that, she'd come up with some tricks to make him regret ever laying eyes on her.

It did her heart good to dream up vengeful fantasies. It kept her mind off the embarra.s.sing situation she found herself in. The hall looked like a formal gathering area, and even the women cooking and working around the central hearth were better dressed than she was. The Nordic style of dress and decor seemed to run to lots of metal and leather, and it made for an interesting combination of the barbaric and the beautiful. Intricate metalwork and tooling decorated everything. Jewels and precious metals sat in bizarre contrast to the primitive lifestyle. Sort of like her bed of lynx skin and mink on the boat, right alongside the lack of running water. Their culture made for a wild mix of incredible luxury and low technology that was mind-boggling, to say the least.

By one standard, these people wore more sheer wealth than many twenty-first century workers earned in a month. By another, the lowliest apartment dweller had a higher standard of living.

However she looked at it, though, she didn't come out looking favorable in comparison. It was like going to meet the governor in her bathrobe. She could kill Erik for putting her there and then laughing at her.

Until it occurred to her that maybe he had reasons. He'd said something about not wanting her to attract attention. No attention of the admiring, positive kind, apparently. By the sound of the discussion with his father, it could be that the highest honcho had his choice of any pretty new faces. Something to consider. If he didn't want to insult anyone but wasn't about to give up the fun of tormenting her himself, wouldn't it make sense to make her look like less than a desirable prize?

Lorelei thought about that while she looked around the rectangular room, noting that windows evidently weren't a high priority. In the winter when the daylight hours shortened and it got too cold to leave the door open, she could only imagine that the hearth lit the hall. Long benches lined the walls, and long tables ran lengthwise in the center.

She was so intent on taking everything in that it took her by surprise when Erik started to haul her back out the way they'd come in. The audience was over, apparently. He didn't uncover her mouth or loosen his hold, however. Instead, he growled at her, "Is this your good behavior? I find it greatly lacking."

Since she couldn't respond, she settled for biting his hand.

She was unaware of the picture they made, the small struggling captive and the towering, determined Viking. When Erik started to laugh and threw her over his shoulder, locking one arm over her kicking legs, she might have been disconcerted to know that a pair of thoughtful, watchful eyes followed them.

Thorolf watched them go, idly stroking his beard in contemplation. He could not recall when, if ever, he had heard his serious eldest son laugh so freely.

"Put me down, you lame-brained steroid abuser!" Lorelei shouted her demand while pummeling Erik's impervious back. With the amount of muscle and bone he had, he probably didn't feel a thing. It was definitely irritating.

She got her wish with an abruptness that almost knocked the wind out of her. Erik dumped her onto her back in a bed of gra.s.s and followed her to the ground before she could recover and roll away.