Page 7 of Her Celtic Captor
"You will bring food, and have a bath brought in here."
"I am to fetch and carry for a worthless Celt now, am I? You insult me, brother."
"You are to do as I ask, and at this time that means providing my property with food and seeing to her comfort. I shall return soon, when I have made certain that the new slave hut is ready."
It was on the tip of Brynhild's tongue to inform him that he had no need whatsoever to check on the slave quarters. Had he not left that matter in her own capable hands? Did he imagine that she had become derelict in her duty whilst he was awayseizing Celtic whores and bringing them back to install inherhome? Her eyes narrowed but she held her tongue…for now.
Ulfric rose. He spoke to the girl on the bed. "My sister will see to your needs. She runs this household so you will obey her as you would me. You understand the consequences if I have cause for complaint?"
At least this was something. The girl would soon learn her place, Brynhild would make sure of it. And if she had anything to say on the matter, the wench would soon be gone.
Brynhild Freysson wasnotabout to share her home with a Celt, and if her fool of a brother thought otherwise he had much to learn.
Ulfric strode from the sleeping chamber, Brynhild at his heels. He marched outside, accompanied by a chattering Njal.
Brynhild paused for a few moments to collect her thoughts. A Celt? Ulfric had taken a Celt as a house slave. What was he thinking? Surely he realised how dangerous they were, how unreliable. They could none of them sleep safe in their beds as long as such vile creatures lived among them. It was too much, just too much...
In a near daze, Brynhild set Hilla to collecting the necessities for a crude meal. At her instructions a bowl of broth was drawn from the simmering pot then left to cool and congeal on the table, carefully devoid of any meat or decent chunks of vegetables. A lump of stale bread was retrieved from the bottom of the bag where offcuts were stored.
Brynhild was tempted to have Hilla carry it into the bedchamber, but decided to do so herself. She dumped the unappetising fare beside the bed. "You will eat," she announced in a curt Gaelic, but she did not remain long enough to see if her instruction was obeyed. She had no desire to so much as look at the girl.
Back in the main hall she sank onto the bench beside the long table which ran the length of the central portion of the dwelling.
"Lady, shall I take in the bathwater?"
"What?" Brynhild twisted in her seat to regard Harald. The young man stood before her, his expression puzzled.
"The Jarl said that the new thrall is to have a bath. Shall I carry the water into the chamber now, lady? I have some heating, down there..." He gestured to the fire pit where a second cauldron now hung, light wisps of steam starting to rise above the brim.
"Oh, yes... No!" Brynhild straightened on the bench and scowled at the curtain which concealed the object of her anger as an idea formed. If Ulfric could not be convinced that the wench should rest elsewhere, then maybe the girl herself might be brought to that conclusion. She could have a bath, but not one she would enjoy overmuch. Brynhild promised herself that it would not take long before this Fiona was demanding to be allowed to reside with the other Celts in the slave quarters. She would be out of Brynhild's way soon enough.
"Yes, take the bath tub into my brother's sleeping chamber and fill it with water. But not from there. Take the water from the river."
"The river, lady? But it will be too cold..."
"It will be absolutely fine. Just right, in fact. Do as you are told, Harald. You will need help, get a couple of others to aid you or you will be at it all evening." She knew that Ulfric would not be more than an hour or so at the slave quarters so she really needed to get this done quickly.
Harald frowned at her, obviously troubled by her unusual instructions. She did not blame him. Even thralls were treated well here, he would not be able to comprehend her reasons for behaving otherwise now. She could barely comprehend themherself, but was not about to start examining her motives and certainly she would not be questioned by her servants.
"Get on with it. Do as you are told or your next dunking will be equally frigid."
Brynhild watched in haughty silence as Harald and two other thralls trooped past her carrying buckets of cold water drawn direct from the river which skirted their village. Once or twice one of the servants would slide her a sidelong glance of reproach, thralls tended to stick together, after all. Brynhild met their impotent protest with a narrow-eyed scowl.
"The bath is full, lady."
"Thank you, Harald. Now, would you please bring me some ice from the cooling pit, if we have some." She knew full well they did. Every winter she would have her thralls cut large lumps of ice and drop them into a deep pit at the rear of the village. Even in the summer the ice store remained chilled and the ice did not entirely melt. The cold pit offered a good way of storing perishable food, and this evening would deliver up the final flourish for her intended treatment of this intruder in her home.
As Harald left to do her bidding, Brynhild returned to her brother's chamber.
The wench still lay on the bed. Her deep grey eyes darkened as Brynhild entered. This was good, it showed she did at least possess the wit to fear her. As she should.
"You will undress and bathe. We have no use for a filthy Celt here." Brynhild spoke in her halting Gaelic, but had no doubt that the wench took her meaning clearly enough.
She perched on the edge of the bed and looked up at Brynhild as though expecting to be left in privacy to go about her ablutions. She would learn.
"Thank you. I... I believe I can manage." The wench had the temerity to seek to dismiss her.
Brynhild's lip quirked. "I know that you can. Get on with it."
