Page 48 of Her Rogue Viking
“Harald? How does he come into this?”
“It was he who fastened me in the stocks, because Brynhild told him to. I told him that you would be displeased, that you would not permit it, but he would not listen.”
“He will listen well enough when he has to face me with his excuses.”
“What… what will happen to him?”
“He cannot remain here, not now. You must see that.”
“Yes, but…”
“He shall go to Bjarkesholm as part of the payment I intend to make. Let him see if he finds thralldom to a madman more to his liking.”
Fiona nodded. She did not bear the other servant any real ill will, she well knew how difficult it was to gainsay Brynhild, but Harald might have remained with her, ensured that she was well instead of leaving her to her fate. No, she would not miss him.
“Let me see your hands, and your feet. Those are always where the cold bites most keenly.”
She lay still as Ulfric examined her extremities, finally announcing her none the worse for her adventure. “It could have ended very differently though, had I not returned when I did.”
“I would have released her.” Brynhild interrupted them from her position just beyond the curtain. They both turned to glare at her. Fiona noted that she still wore her cloak.
“Not now, Brynhild. I will talk to you in the morning.”
“But, I was on my way. I would have brought the wench back indoors, but you arrived, and?—”
“Brynhild, fuck off.” Ulfric strode to the curtain and snapped it closed, blocking his sister from their view. Her retreating steps indicated that she had at last accepted her dismissal.
“You should sleep now. Let me help you into bed.”
“Only if you will remain there with me, Viking. You can tell me what you have been thinking.”
He aided her from the bath and wrapped her in a thick fleece, then he banked up the fire a little more. “Here, that should suffice until the morning.”
Fiona huddled among the bedding, her chin on her knees as she hugged her legs to her. Ulfric’s expression was one she could not quite read as he undressed and joined her on the mattress.
“I cannot wed you, you must know that.”
She turned to him, surprised. Whatever he had been thinking about, she had not expected this.
“I know that youwillnot, though I do not understand why it is impossible. Gunnar did not find it to be so.”
“Gunnar is a bastard.”
“Ulfric!”
“I mean that literally. We share a father, but his mother was a thrall, a woman who warmed my father’s bed from time to time. She succumbed to a fever when Gunnar was six years old, so hewas brought into our household and raised alongside Brynhild and me. He is a Freysson, but as an illegitimate son he was never expected to lead the family after our father died. He will not inherit, he does not bear the name of our kin. He is not wholly of the jarl as his mother was a slave, and thus he enjoys a freedom of sorts. He may do as he pleases, and usually does exactly that. His marriage is no one’s business but his own, whereas I… I have responsibilities. I am expected to protect my family, our honour…”
“At the cost of my honour?”
“I know, it is neither fair nor just and I am not without regrets, but it is done now and we cannot undo the past. The future, however, is ours to shape.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot make you my wife, but I can grant you your freedom. For a price, a thrall may purchase his—or her—liberty. I will provide you with the wealth to do so, which would make you a karl. You would enjoy the same rights as most other women here. You could remain in Skarthveit?—”
“As your mistress?”
He nodded. “That would be my preferred solution, certainly. It is a reasonable enough prospect.”
