Page 40 of Her Celtic Captor
"I do like you. How could I not? You are beautiful, and resilient, brave and sensual. And we have already agreed that you are both capable and determined. You are a fine woman, Brynhild Freysson, who any man would be honoured to take as his wife, were you to have him."
"But not you."
"Me?" He paused to consider her unexpected remark. "I would wed you in a heartbeat, my lovely Viking, but I fear we would spend the rest of our lives tearing each other apart.”
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Brynhild sank to her knees, her arms still extended around the mast. She watched through a blur of tears as Taranc crouched beside her and untied her hands then rubbed her wrists to ease the numbness from her fingers. Then he wrapped the blanket about her shoulders again and tucked it tight in front of her. She frowned when he reached for her right ankle and started to tie the end of the rope around it.
"What are you doing?" She could no longer summon the energy required to struggle to escape his grasp.
"You are to remain bound, but I do not wish you to be uncomfortable. You will have sufficient rope to move about a little, though not to reach the rail, and your hands will be free."
"Why? I cannot escape." She surveyed the vast expanse of the sea. The coastline of her homeland had long since receded from view.
Taranc grinned at her, an expression she found both engaging and oddly annoying. "Let us not tempt fate, eh? You have proved yourself to be unpredictable, Brynhild. I believe Eileifr would be happier were you to be restrained."
The karl appeared quite unconcerned one way or the other in Brynhild's view. He busied himself winding a narrow line around a reel which he secured to the side of the boat before releasing the end to trail in the waves. The fisherman was obviously not about to waste the opportunity of returning home with a decent catch if he could, as well as Ulfric's coins.
"Your clothes are almost dry. You may get dressed soon."
"You are most kind, Celt." She could not prevent the waspish tone which crept in, but immediately regretted it. The dreaded belt still lay on the deck, just a couple of feet away.
His smile was sardonic. "Guard your tongue, lady. Let us have a truce, shall we? I believe you will find that arrangement more to your liking than if I were to find cause to discipline you yet again. I expect you will toughen up. You will have to if you insist upon crossing me. But just now I fear your bottom is too tender to take much more punishment so do not push your good fortune with me."
Chastened, Brynhild dropped her gaze. She could not fault him for giving fair warning.
"How long will it take? To reach Scotland?"
"We will be at sea for another two nights, possibly three though the wind is fair and we are making good time."
"I am to remain tied to the mast the entire voyage?"
"I believe that to be best."
"And, when we arrive? Am I to be a slave?"
"We Celts rarely take slaves, though I daresay the life of a serf may well seem not so dissimilar. They are tied to the land they work, and therefore to the landowner, though serfs do have a choice of sorts."
"Of sorts?"
"Aye. The choice between a labourer's cottage to call home and food on the table, or the freedom to go cold and hungry."
"You are a serf?" She thought he must be, by the hint of bitterness in his tone.
Taranc shook his head. "No, I am chief in my village so the serfs there answer to me for their livelihood, though I owe obeisance to the lord of Pennglas. He is Fiona's father."
"Is he a fair lord?"
"Aye, fair enough, and I try to be. I believe our people live well enough. It is better than being a Viking thrall, certainly."
"Ulfric was not a cruel Jarl."
"Slavery is cruel, Brynhild, however benevolent the master. You should consider yourself fortunate not to sample it yourself."
It may pain her to accept the truth of his words, but she could not find it within her to argue. And she did consider herself lucky. "Then what do you intend? If I am not to be your slave, and you will not wed me?"
"I am returning to my village. You may come with me and you are welcome to make your home there. I daresay your skills as a weaver will be sufficient to guarantee you a living. You will be a free woman in Aikrig, not a prisoner. If you choose to leave, to go elsewhere, I shall not prevent it."
