Page 38 of Her Rogue Viking
“Remember, Adair died bravely, defending his home. I will always be as a brother to you.”
“Yes. And I love you, as your sister. I will always love you. When you escape from here, and I know you will, I want you to take me with you. I want to go home.”
“I may be a good enough swimmer to pluck a wee lad from the waves but even I cannot swim all the way back to Scotland. If we were to escape, we would be stranded here, in this frozen wilderness unless we could procure a ship of some sort. We must bide our time, Fiona. A chance will come, and we will take it.”
“No, we should?—”
“Things change. Always, events we do not control. You are safe here for now.”
“I want to be free. Do you not long for the same thing?”
“I am free, though for now I choose to remain here. Your Viking brought us to this place against our will, so I see no reason not to enjoy his hospitality for a while longer. He feeds us well, clothes us, provides decent shelter.”
“He is not my Viking.”
“No? I believe he is, or could be, but that is for you to judge.”
“I wish…”
“Hush, sweetheart. It will not always be thus, I promise you. Something will happen to change all of this. For now though, we should return before you are missed.”
“Must we?”
“Yes. Come, I shall walk back with you.”
“That will not be necessary.” Ulfric stepped forward and around the tree to stand over the seated thralls. “I shall escort my thrall back to her place in my bed.”
He was gratified to see the blood rush from Fiona’s cheeks at the sight of him. She might well be afraid. The wench had sought to incite her fellow slave to escape with her. Ulfric’s palm twitched already.
Taranc rose to face him. “You were listening.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Enough. You may return to the thrall barn.”
“Treat her well, Viking.”
Ulfric did not answer. His icy glare did his talking for him.
Taranc nodded and turned to make his unhurried way across the meadow in the direction of the slave quarters.
“Again, I thank you for your timely aid this day.” Ulfric called the words after the slave’s retreating form. Taranc raised his hand in silent acknowledgement and did not look back.
9
“Contemplating escape is a serious crime for a slave. You belong to me. You are my property. Escape would be theft, punishable by a flogging, or worse.”
Fiona shrank back against the furs in their sleeping chamber. Ulfric was furious; she saw his anger in his stern features, the determined set of his jaw. Surely he did not really mean to flog her, she had not actually attempted to get away. She could not be punished merely for her thoughts…
“Worse, you would be putting yourself in grave danger. Here, at Skarthveit, you live under my protection. You are safe. As a runaway slave you would have no rights, no shelter as the winter draws in. You would be a renegade, at the mercy of any karl who might recapture you though I doubt it would come to that. You would not survive even the first few days alone.”
“I would not… I never intended?—”
“You say that, now, as you face me and know that I will punish you. But the thought is here…” He tapped her temple with his fingertip. “It is here in your head. For your own safety you need to let it go, and I will help you to do that.”
“I swear to you, I will never attempt to escape. I know the dangers. Taranc said…”
