Bound by the Viking, Part 3: Consumed Read Online Free

will take care of your needs, as well as see you clothed, while I attend to the contract.”
    The women heaved the half-barrel into the middle of the room, before the fire and stood back as the others filled it, strong shoulders and arms flexing beneath their tunics. Aislin’s bound arms itched beneath the gazes of the women, but she straightened her spine, wearing her nudity like a queen, although her head spun at the chief’s words.
    “The contract… Master?”
    “Yes, yes. The bride price, and other details. The marriage contract.”
    He took out his dirk, and examined it in the firelight, before sheathing it once more, and buckling it to his belt.
    “This will have to do,” he said, under his breath. “Take good care of her,” he boomed, turning to the women. “Today she is a slave, but come Freya’s Day, she will be my bride, and your mistress.”
    His eyes burned as he looked at each of them in turn, halting them in their tracks with his gaze.
    Each of them startled, before dipping low into a curtsy.
    “Yes, Chief Alrik.”
    “Yes, of course…”
    He slammed the door behind him, and there was a feeling of tension releasing, like a collective sigh. One of the ones who carried the barrel shook her head as she walked to the bed, trying her best not to meet Aislin’s eyes. She untied her with deft hands, and Aislin wondered how many times she’d done something similar.
    The woman led her to the bath, and Aislin tried not to grimace, as she lowered herself down into the scalding water. As the woman scrubbed her, the coarse brush hairs stinging and biting, she turned her thoughts again to the fleet of boats waiting, just beyond this prison, surrounding the icy bay.
    She would endure.
    She would do what she had to, until she could get to the water, and if the gods were with her, back to her emerald isle.
     
    ***
     
    Aislin tugged on the folds of her wedding garb, draped and pinned with the brooch Alrik held up before the fire, that first night. The brooch bearing her family’s crest, behind a silver sword—her father’s kilt pin. The linen was finer than anything she’d worn as a thrall, and her hair was intricately braided atop her head, shining like copper in the lamplight of the chamber, where she waited.
    She’d always imagined she’d be anxious on her wedding day—wondering what the touch of her lover would be like, praying she’d make a good wife—but now, she felt more like she was going to face battle than join her life together with a man’s.
    Her hands shook, as she brushed a stray hair from her face, and looked up at the doorway, waiting for her doom to arrive. Waiting for her life, as she knew it, to end.
    There was no escape. Not today.
    Her shoes were thin slippers, made for looks, instead of keeping the chill of the snow away; her gown thin and flowing. Even the fur she wore about her shoulders was but a short cape, and would offer no protection in the night, from the harshness of these lands.
    And, what’s more, she was never alone. A serving girl handed her a cup full of mead, and gestured for her to drink--to steel her nerves, she supposed. She obliged, the sweet alcohol shockingly cold on her tongue.
    Voices carried through the door from the main hall, and she sat up, straining to hear.
    “-is fair enough, Denholm, especially since you must stand in for her kin. The gold now, and the title to the land, after.”
    “Excellent, Alrik. I knew you’d agree to the terms, once you saw the coat of arms. You were most wise to hold onto this one.”
    The clatter of a tray banging to the ground drowned out the next comment, followed by peals of laughter.
    “-binds you to the clan. I can guarantee that holds true on their soil.”
    “Then, so be it. You may hold me to my word, once you make good on yours. Once we are established, my men are yours for raids on the south of the isle. You’re going to be a very rich man, Denholm.”
    “Both of us shall be, my friend. Both of us shall