"So Hakon, tell me of these prisoners . . . and the wench," Einar said, his voice low. "From what little I have seen of her, her eyes alone could cast a spell over many a lesser man. Have you been bewitched by this silver-haired beauty?"
Hakon did not answer. Had he been bewitched? Yea, it seemed so. He had known many women in the past, and had even loved a few of them. Or so he had thought at the time. But he had never felt stranger than when he had looked into the emerald depths of this woman's eyes.
""So 'tis true, then." Einar threw back his shaggy head and laughed out loud, the hearty sound carrying over the roar of the waves. "I never thought I would live to see you taken by any one woman!"
"Her name is Anora. She and her brother, Garric, the scrawny lad in the hall"—Hakon chuckled— "were taken captive by two of my men . . . against my orders." He sobered quickly at the thought of Svein and Torvald's deceit. He continued, relating the entire story to Einar, who listened with great interest.
"Those are the men chained to their benches this night?"
"Yea. They have been more trouble than their lives are worth, but I cannot help thinking I would not have the girl now if it had not been for them," Hakon replied, recalling how it had felt to hold her in his arms when he carried her ashore. She had trembled against his broad chest, reminding him of a frightened doe.
"It sounds like the mischief of Loki is afoot, my boy, or perhaps the goddess Freyja has seen fit to turn your head with a sea nymph instead of a woman!"
"Nay, Einar, she is a woman of flesh and blood . . . and she is mine."
"Then, my boy, perhaps you would like to seek out this woman?" Einar queried slyly, glancing sideways at Hakon. "I believe you will find her in the bathing house beyond that hall over there." He pointed, a lewd grin on his bearded face. "I myself feel a call to return to where the women no doubt are more willing!" With a crude laugh, he slapped Hakon on the back. Then he turned around and was gone.
"You old bear," Hakon muttered fondly, watching Einar's huge form lumber off along the shore. Why should he feel strange that Einar knew him so well? he wondered. The man had practically raised him along with his brother Eirik. Laughing to himself, he began to walk slowly toward the bathing house.
Hakon had barely reached the small stone building when the door opened suddenly. Greta, in a great hurry and with her head down, ran right into him as he stood along the path.
"Oh . . . my lord Hakon, forgive me," she blurted apologetically, wringing her hands. "I was just coming to speak with you." Her face was flushed from the steam in the bathing house, and her massive breasts heaved from obvious frustration. "The wench refuses to bathe, my lord. She would barely eat—like a bird she picked at her meal. And now she will not let me near her to remove her clothing. She does not understand that I mean her no harm—"
"'Tis all right, Greta," Hakon cut her off gently. "My thanks for your trouble, but I will see to the wench now."
"Very well, my lord." She smiled broadly, her eyes following Hakon's tall form as he disappeared into the bathing house. What she would give to be in that wench's place! she thought wistfully. Lord Hakon was by far the finest-looking man she had ever seen, and he no doubt knew how to please a woman!
Closing the wooden door softly behind him, Hakon stood silent for a moment. Anora was facing away from the door, her slender back proud and straight.
"For the last time, woman, I do not wish to bathe," she said clearly, yet firmly, caring naught if the woman could understand her words.
"But it is my wish that you do so," Hakon murmured in a deep, husky voice.
Startled, Anora whirled around, her hands clutching her mantle tightly to her body. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Viking looming in the doorway. He looked so much taller and broader than she remembered from the ship. Suddenly the bathing house seemed suffocatingly small to her as she stared at him across the room.
By the blood of Odin, Hakon thought, his blood hammering in his veins, only the gods could have created a woman as beautiful as this. His piercing blue eyes took in every inch of her. The steam, rising from the surface of the warm water in the large wooden tub, had flushed her fair cheeks with a rosy hue, and tendrils of her long, silver-blond hair curled damply about her delicate features. The curves of her slender body, accentuated by the clinging lines of her clothing, seemed to cry out to him for his touch.
Taking a step toward her, Hakon felt an inner sense of dismay as Anora edged away from him until she could go no farther, her back against the rough stone wall. He could see the pulse point at her slender throat beating rapidly, her fear of him an almost palpable presence in the small room. "Why do you fear me so, Anora?" he questioned softly, his eyes not leaving her face.
"'Tis not you I fear, m-my lord," she murmured shakily, "only what you will do with me." Her emerald eyes met his, an unmistakable plea for mercy reflected in their depths.
But Hakon could no longer deny the powerful attraction drawing him to her. He had known from the moment he saw her on the deck of his ship that this moment would come. His arms ached to hold her, his mouth longed to taste the sweetness of her lips.
"Do you not understand that you belong to me now? I have the right to do with you as I wish." Moving slowly toward her, he stopped by the side of the tub. His voice was low, commanding. "You will do as I ask, Anora. Take off your clothes, or I shall have to do it for you."
She stared at him in horror, unable to reconcile herself to the inevitable. "Nay . . . please," she whispered desperately, her eyes looking past him to the door. Suddenly she darted across the room past the other side of the tub.
But Hakon was quicker than she had expected. Catching her about the waist, he crushed her against the hard length of his body and brought his lips fiercely down upon hers. Anora frantically pommeled his broad chest with her small fists as she tried to twist free of his arms, but to no avail. Her slender arms were no match for Hakon's well-muscled strength. Catching both of her wrists behind her back with one hand, he entwined his other hand in her long, silky hair and deepened his kiss.
Sweet Mother Mary, protect me! Anora thought wildly. She could scarcely breathe. A stifled cry broke from her throat, shattering the stillness of the room.
The wrenching, agonized sound suddenly pierced the cloud of lust and raging desire in Hakon's mind. He pulled back from her lips, his passion subsiding at the paleness of her tear-stained cheeks and the stark fear reflected in her eyes. She stood limply against his chest, her heartrending sobs tearing through her slender body.
Stunned, Hakon angrily cursed his crude callousness. Thor, what had come over him? He had never before forced himself on any woman, preferring instead the pleasures of a willing partner in his bed. Yet, blinded by his desire, he had chosen to treat Anora like the lowliest of whores . . . and even they were well paid for their favors! Gathering her in his arms, he strode to the door and kicked it open violently.
"Greta!" he roared into the night. "Greta!" After a few moments the stout woman appeared from a longhouse nearby, clutching a woolen cloak about her shoulders and carrying a small oil lamp.
"My lord?" she asked, surprised at Hakon's obvious ill temper. He had been in such a fine mood only a short time ago.
"Show me to my sleeping room," he said curtly, a dark scowl on his handsome face.
He must truly be in a hurry to bed the wench, she thought somewhat jealously. Holding up her lamp, she hastily led the way along a dirt path until she reached Einar's hall at the far end of the settlement. As an honored guest, it was only befitting that Hakon have a room in the chieftain's longhouse.
Entering the hall with Hakon close behind her, Greta turned into an adjoining room and placed the oil lamp on a wooden table beside the large bed. "On the morrow, shall I bring a morning meal for you and the lady?" she asked, crossing the room to stand by the entrance.
"Nay, only for the lady," Hakon replied. "I sleep in the hall with my men tonight."
Greta started in surprise. "Very well, my lord," she muttered. Shrugging, she quickly left the room.
Hakon lay Anora gently on the bed and covered her with one of the warm furs. The sight of her long lashes, glistening with tears in the dim lamplight, caused him to curse himself again for his rough treatment of her. He tenderly traced the trail of a tear with his finger, marveling at the silky softness of her skin. Thor, he had only to touch her to feel the rekindling of his desire! He knew he could tarry no longer.
"Greta will prepare a meal for you on the morrow, then bring you to the ship. We will sail at first light," he murmured. "Sleep well, little one."
Anora watched in disbelief as he turned and abruptly left the room. Her thoughts whirled in dizzying confusion. Had she seen a flicker of tenderness in the Viking's eyes, where moments before there had been only a burning lust? Sighing raggedly, she only knew that for the moment she had been spared. Rolling over on her side, she clutched the soft fur to her chin and fell into a deep sleep.
Once outside the hall, Hakon leaned against the turf wall and looked up at the clear night sky. The sparkling stars, winking brightly in the heavens as if they were the eyes of the gods, seemed to be laughing at him. A trial of fire would have been no worse than what he had experienced this night.