Her Lord and Master by Alexa Cole Read Free Book Online

his sword and shield.
    “Jeg er nødt til at gå. Jeg er straks tilbage,” he flung over his shoulder on his way out the door.
    Elizabeth had no idea what all that meant, but she certainly had no intentions of going out there without him. To do so would spell suicide – or worse - of that she was sure. She could only imagine what havoc a rowdy mob of vicious Norse raiders could wreak upon a hapless female.
    Without another word, he left the tent, issuing instructions in Danish to the guards as he departed.
    ––––––––
    E lizabeth sat forlornly on a tree stump inside the tent, tired and terrified all at once. What on earth was she doing here? This morning, she had been sitting peacefully at her breakfast table in the calm and safety of the convent. Now she was cowering in a flimsy sailcloth tent, hiding from over two hundred of the world’s most murderous, merciless, malevolent killers. Men who had no fear of God, and no remorse for their disgusting, aberrant ways. Warriors who wanted to kill her, rape her - and probably even eat her for their dinner, she almost sobbed.
    She was in real, imminent danger, and one solitary man was the only thing that stood between her and a fate worse than death.
    And, if these were the most brutal and violent men on earth, and he was their leader ...what exactly did that make him? The thought was not at all comforting.
    Fighting the urge to cry, Elizabeth looked around the tent for something to cut the rope. It was completely empty. Not one single item was available for any purpose whatsoever. Only a chamber pot.
    She knew, without asking, the henchmen outside would not aid her.
    Elizabeth peaked furtively out the door of the tent. Outside, it was a flurry of activity, and Ragnor, her captor and kidnapper, was right at the helm of it all. The argument had apparently been quelled, and the work of loading the ships had begun.
    Elizabeth watched as Ragnor divided the livestock animals, sorted the barrels of grain, and divvied up the bags of treasure among the men. It appeared that all of the booty was shared equally among all of the warriors, regardless of rank or position, evidence of which, she could find none. They all seemed equal, except Ragnor.
    After it had been partitioned, Ragnor ordered it all to be stowed safely and efficiently onto the boats. Elizabeth couldn’t help but be impressed. She guessed that in his lands he must have been a great laird, like her father. For an instant, she forgot her anger, and almost felt proud of him.
    “Hei,” the young man, now shoeless, suddenly returned, pushing his way into the tent. “God eftermiddag.”
    Elizabeth looked at him.
    “My lord told me to check in on you,” the boy said in perfectly fluent Anglo-Saxon.
    “You speak English?” she said, with relief.
    Finally, someone who could understand her.
    “Yes, of course, I speak English,” he replied. “I am from the Kingdom of Mercia.”
    He was from England too, from the lands just south of Northumbria, her home.
    “You are Anglo-Saxon?” she asked, skeptically.
    “Do I not look it?”
    “Nay, not at all,” she answered truthfully.
    At first glance, he looked every inch a Norseman. But upon closer inspection, she could see his English blood.
    “I am Ragnor’s slave,” he said proudly.
    Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
    “Then why do you not escape?” she asked.
    The young man looked at her for a long time, as if completely baffled by the question. He almost looked offended.
    “I do not want to,” he said simply.
    Elizabeth shrugged doubtfully. What slave would not want to escape?
    “What is your name?” she asked.
    “Jordan,” said he.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jordan,” she said sincerely, extending her hand. “My name is Elizabeth.”
    He kissed the back of her hand, and bowed politely.
    “May I have some water, Jordan?” she asked.
    “Yes, of course, my apologies,” he said, passing her his drinking horn.
    She took a long, un-ladylike