Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 by Emma Prince Read Free Book Online

like
most of the women Eirik had encountered. He’d seen thralls from other lands who
had dark hair like hers, but they usually had darker skin to match it. Of
course, the women he’d normally taken to his bed had been from the Northlands
since he refused to use a thrall for such purposes. Perhaps Laurel was of Saxon
blood, or even a descendant of the Romans whose empire had spread wide long
ago.
    Whatever her bloodline,
something about her stirred him. Was he only drawn to her because he loathed
Grimar for enthralling her? Was it the contrast she provided compared to the
women of Dalgaard?
    Madrena was right,
though. He couldn’t stand between Grimar and his thrall, no matter how much he
longed to free her from his cruel cousin and the bonds of enslavement. And yet,
Eirik sensed that the tension between them would snap soon. He could only hope
that Laurel wouldn’t be caught in the middle.

Chapter Six
     
     
     
    Laurel bolted upright
with a start. She must have drifted off to sleep while still clinging to the
mast, for she had been slumped over it a moment ago. Blessedly, the seas felt
calmer now, and the boat only rocked a little. She glanced up at the sky to
find that it was late evening. She’d been with her Viking captors for nigh a
day.
    She tried to swallow,
but her mouth was dry and her lips were cracked. Besides the few bites of bread
the one called Eirik had given her, she’d had naught to eat for a day and a
half. Nor had she had more than the swill or two of water the female Viking had
offered. Laurel had been surprised at first to see the warrior woman among the
others, but everyone seemed to treat her like she belonged there. What
outlandish customs these pagans had.
    Her head still spun
from seasickness, but she found her way to her feet to search for something to
drink. Presumably they hadn’t taken her this far just to let her die of thirst.
    As she stood on
unsteady legs, she looked around the ship to get her bearings. Some men moved
about, pulling on various ropes to adjust the sail, but most sat atop wooden
sea chests or on the deck itself. They talked and laughed quietly among
themselves, seemingly uninterested or unsurprised by her presence.
    Lining the exterior of
the ship were wooden shields, the same ones the Vikings had been carrying when
they’d stormed the Abbey. They were painted a variety of colors, but the most
popular seemed to be blood-red, like the stripes in the sail.
    She turned toward the
ship’s stern and started again when she realized that Eirik was watching her
intently from the tiller. The sleeves of his tunic were turned back, revealing
tanned forearms corded with muscle. His hand clenched on the tiller, causing
the muscles to jump under her gaze.
    She looked away
quickly, disconcerted by the intensity of his stare. Yet it wasn’t the
lecherous look Brother Egbert used to give her, nor was it the malevolent sneer
so often plastered on Grimar the Raven’s face.
    Her master .
    Her throat tightened
even to think the word. Nay, she was no man’s slave. She’d been little more
than a slave at the Abbey all her life. She would not be degraded further as
some Viking animal’s property.
    But of course, what her
Viking master could do to her was likely far worse than anything she’d
experienced at the monastery. She shivered when she remembered the look in
Grimar’s eyes when he’d first burst into the chapel. His bloodlust had been
replaced with simply lust at seeing her, a young woman among aging nuns and
monks. He’d handled her coarsely, with no care for her at all. Would he…would
he…?
    As if the Devil had
risen at her thoughts, Grimar stepped before her.
    “I need water,” she
croaked, placing a hand on her throat to show her meaning.
    He frowned and said
something in the strange, guttural language these Northmen spoke.
    She shook her head.
“Water,” she said again, hoping he’d understand eventually. For good measure,
she made a drinking motion and then