Bretta.Eldberg’s wife.Not for the first time, I wondered about her.
“What was she like, this Bretta?”
Ragerta paused in her kneading but didn’t answer.
She passed over one of the long-handled paddles next to the trough. “Fist-sized pieces,” she directed. “Pull them off, and roll them in your palm. Sigrid likes them slightly flattened.”
Demonstrating, she eased one onto the paddle. “When we’ve ten loaves on, we’ll slide it over the embers.”
Again we worked.
From outside came the sound of cattle lowing—passing in front of the longhouse, being led down to pasture.
“Did he love her?”
Ragerta’s eyebrows rose. “We all loved Bretta.”
Like Asta,I thought. We’d all loved Jarl Gunnolf’s wife.
“But what sort of marriage was it?”
Ragerta stared at me, and I felt my cheeks redden. I didn’t know why I was asking.
“Arranged of course. Beornwold had no sons and needed an heir. Eldberg joined him as a paid hand at first, on the jarl’s trips to raid the Western lands. When Beornwold saw his strength, he adopted him, then married him to Bretta. Their offspring would be sure to continue the line.”
“Except that she died.”
Ragerta frowned. “It was a terrible thing. Horrible.” She seemed to think for a moment, then shook away the image. “Sigrid was mother to her from the start. A bad birthing, you know—”
I did know. I’d seen my share of babes and mothers die. Unconsciously, my hand went to my belly. What if that happened to me? Who would look after this child?
I asked hurriedly, not wanting to lose my chance, “Is there someone you have feelings for, Ragerta? Someone you love?”
“By Freya! What a thing to ask!” Ragerta looked flustered. “There are one or two I let take me outside, and a few I’ve had to lay with regardless of my choice. I’m not fool enough to think any of it matters. I’m naught to them, nor they to me.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was a sad thing for any woman to admit—even such as Ragerta, who would spend her days a slave.
“Now, ask Thirka, and you might hear a different answer.” Ragerta gave a sly smile. “Thoryn’s been sweet on her this half-year past, and he’s a better sort than most.”
We’d almost reached the end of the dough, and the last of the cows had passed the doorway.
“But naught will come of that,” I mused. “Not unless Eldberg frees her.”
“True. No thrall can marry a free man, so here she’ll stay…” The loaves being all upon the embers, Ragerta made to rise. “For Eldberg has never freed any in his possession. Those who disappoint or anger him, he sells at the slave market—or gives a quicker end.”
With that thought in my mind, the room suddenly grew gloomier, the sun falling dim. Looking up, I saw the jarl standing upon the threshold, his breadth and height silhouetted dark against the light.
I was aware of the room falling silent—of Thirka having stopped her work, and Sigrid, too; Ragerta standing openmouthed.
“Come.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated that I was to enter his chamber.
He stripped away his own clothing, then mine. Throwing me upon the bed, he bound me as he had that first time, but far tighter, and he lay upon my back. I was pinned beneath, with his cock nestled between my cheeks, his own legs extended to touch the length of mine.
He reached beneath to take my breasts in his hands, kneading them as I had the bread, squeezing their softness in his palms. He kissed my spine but was too impatient to spend further time in preparing me.
“Tell me.” His arousal nudged where he’d attempted to claim me the night before.
“I’m ready for you, my lord.”
