“For you, my lord.” I held out all I’d gathered. “You’ve allowed me to help Thirka, and I’ll help you, too, if you’ll permit it.”
“You find my injury unappealing?” The old hardness was in his voice. “I’m not handsome enough for you?” He grabbed me by the shoulders. “’Tis easily remedied, for I may have my fill of you without either of us seeing the other’s face.”
“Nay, my lord. You’re too easily offended. I thought only to ease the discomfort of this wound that’s so long in healing.”
He let go, and a shadow passed over his features—a fleeting glimpse of remorse, I thought, for his having spoken harshly.
It was not his way to take back words spoken or to apologise, for he was jarl, and there was no necessity to explain himself, but he drew me to his chest.
“I came to find you on an errand of my own, and it shall serve both purposes, if you wish to attempt the curing of me. The merchant who sold us the aloe some months ago has returned, and his ship carries other remedies. ‘Twould be well to create a chest of medicines. Thoryn tells me of your skill and, having knowledge, you should help me choose, for I trust your judgement as well as any healer in Skálavík.”
It was a great compliment—the first I’d heard from his lips, but I knew better than to appear too pleased, or to set any store by it.
Rather, I tilted back my head, offering my lips, which he took with eagerness, bold and demanding, wrapping me within his arms as he claimed my mouth thoroughly.
It was enough, that kiss, to rouse his manhood and, when he broke off, he was breathing heavily. Shrugging off his tunic, he lay it flat upon the row of chamomile in which we stood, and guided me to lay upon it.
“You cannot mean… not here!” I protested, but he had already loosened the fastening of his trousers, and his hand was beneath my skirts.
“I am jarl, and it’s my wish. As for your modesty, worry not, for the plants grow tall enough to conceal us.”
And there was no arguing thereafter, for he claimed another kiss and moved between my legs, his flesh hot in mine.
* * *
It was with some lightness of heart that I walked by Eldberg’s side to the harbour. I’d never been permitted farther than Thoryn’s hut—and only then in his company. At other times, I’d been under the watchful eye of Sigrid or the longhouse guard.
Like Svolvaen, Skálavík’s heart lay in its harbour—but it was more than a place of fishing. As we descended the headland, Eldberg told me that merchants often visited, trading for Skálavík’s whalebone and whale oil, hides and herring, axes and arrow heads, and blades of all description. The forge was worked by six strong men, whose skill attracted many in pursuit of fine weapons. The metal came out of the very rock above the settlement, with many to extract for smelting.
In return, Skálavík purchased amber beads from the Baltic lands, soapstone, salt, silks, other fine cloth, and grain, too. The land here did not lend itself to the growing of such crops, and much barley was needed for bread and ale.
The place was a bustle, people jostling to peruse the many goods on sale. The scent of cook-fire smoke mingled with the pungent odours of fish and livestock, while buyers haggled noisily. We made our way past stalls of meat, nuts, and cheeses, the marketgoers parting as Eldberg approached, making way for their jarl—and eying me with curiosity in no manner concealed. I’d picked out the chamomile from my hair and smoothed myself as best I could, but I felt the shabbiness of my appearance, for the dress I wore had been on my back near three weeks without washing, since I’d no other to replace it.
Our destination was a ship anchored in the bay, from which a small rowboat had been sent, waiting for us at the pier’s end. Eldberg jumped straight in and held his hand to help me board.
“This captain prefers to remain on the water with his cargo—it being of particular value.” He nodded at the man standing on deck, watching our approach. “It suits me well enough, since it offers more privacy for our transactions.”
A rope ladder was cast down the side, enabling us to climb up, hand over hand.
I was surprised at once by the size of the vessel and its orderliness. The deck was broad and mostly clear but for neatly looped coils of rope. The sails had been well-tied, enabling the ship to sit perfectly still at anchor.
“Selamlar,Yusuf.” Eldberg inclined his head slightly before touching his forehead and heart.
“Baris seninle olsun, arkadasim,” the man replied, offering the same gesture of welcome in return.
The captain smiled, his eyes flickering swiftly over me before returning to Eldberg. Behind him stood eight of his crew, each as nut-brown as their captain, with legs planted firmly and their eyes upon us. Though they appeared at ease, each wore a weapon at his belt.
“And peace be with you, my friend,” said Eldberg, moving forward to clasp the other’s hand.
“You have something special to trade today, yes? A treasure with eyes like jewels and skin of ivory.”
A cold wave broke through me, hearing those words spoken haltingly in the Norse tongue. I looked fearfully to Eldberg. Was this the moment after all, when he would fulfil his threat? If so, then there was no greater fool than I, for I’d begun to believe Eldberg would be sorry to lose me, when the day came that I made my escape.
“Ha!” Eldberg answered with clear amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching. “She is mine to sell, but were I able to part with her, I’d ask for sapphires large enough to match those eyes, Yusuf.”
“Forgive me.” The captain dipped his head. “I merely assumed…”
Eldberg’s grand reply was almost as disconcerting as my belief that he might sell me. He spoke, truly, as if I were precious to him.
