Nena Read online

  Jarl came to stand in front of her. “I know you’re hungry and probably more than a little thirsty, so can you behave long enough to eat if I release you?” he asked.

  Nena only stared at him. Though she longed for nothing more than to say yes, a warrior did not beg their captors.

  Jarl contemplated her a moment longer, cocked his head then grunted, “I didn’t think so. I’ll eat first, then deal with you.” He returned to the table and took a seat facing her.

  Nena watched him pull tender strips of meat from a drumstick with his teeth, then suck the ends of the greasy bone before laying it on the side of his plate. Her stomach growled painfully. He washed each bite down with a large swallow of wine, clearly savoring every mouthful. His eyes met hers as he reached for another piece. “You could be eating now, too,” he said. “If I could trust you.”

  Nena did not respond. The savory smells swirling around inside the tent had fanned her hunger to a raging flame, and she was sure he was intentionally eating as slowly as possible to torture her. It seemed an eternity before he had eaten his fill. After multiple portions of meat, he ate several small fried cakes, chewing each one slowly and deliberately. The cakes were foreign to her but appeared to be made from some type of ground grain. Finally, he pushed his plate aside.

  She watched with great interest as he cut off both sides of the pheasant breast and laid the chunks on a second plate. She doubted it was by accident that he gave her no piece with a bone she might use as a weapon. Just as Altene had refused to give her a clasp with the new dress and made her tie it in a knot behind her neck instead. After adding two of the fried cakes to the plate, Jarl picked it up, grabbed a nearby waterskin, and came to stand before her again.

  “It’s been a long day, and I’m not up for another fight right now. You can eat here tonight. We’ll try out your table manners tomorrow.”

  He set the plate and water bag on the floor, just within her reach, then stepped back as if she were some wild animal that needed coaxing. It wasn’t necessary. With her hands still bound together, she grabbed the waterskin and gulped down long deep swallows of the lukewarm fluid until it was almost empty. Then without acknowledging him, she picked up a whole breast and tore off half of it with her teeth. She chewed it quickly, swallowed, then stuffed the other half into her mouth and did the same. It was followed immediately by the first grain cake, then the second, and finally the last piece of meat. She picked up the plate and tipped it to her lips before swallowing the remaining traces of juice.

  “Do you want more?” Jarl waved toward the platter on the table, but she shook her head. “Then give me the plate,” he said.

  She hesitated.

  “Not that I think you can make a fair weapon from a plate, but I’m not taking any chances. Hand it to me,” he insisted.

  Nena set the plate on the floor and pushed it with her foot to the edge of her circle of restraint.

  “Now the waterskin.”

  Nena lifted the bag to her lips and drained the last of the water before tossing it at him.

  “Very good,” Jarl said, then carried the plate and bag back to the table. He returned to the bed and his sleeping furs with his back to her. He pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it to the floor, then bent his head while he unlaced the front of his trousers. When his trousers joined the tunic, Nena eyed his muscular buttocks and back warily, watching his every move lest he come in her direction. But Jarl never looked at her again. After briefly rearranging his furs, he crawled beneath them. Within minutes he was asleep, snoring softly.

  As soon as she was sure it was not a trick and that he was actually asleep, Nena began to gnaw at the hardened leather bindings on her wrists. The new braided leather was thick and strong, and tied so tightly to her skin, it was difficult to get a good angle to bite. Forcing herself to be patient, she chose one small section at a time, wet it with her tongue and lips to soften it, then worked at it with her front teeth. For the longest time she seemed to make no progress. Eventually though, the leather would give and she would remove a tiny piece, then start the process over.

  Nena lamented the first rays of gray light that filtered through a thin crack in the tent wall. She was out of time, exhausted, and only halfway through one binding. She knew she would not get another chance. If he awoke and called for Altene, the other woman would see the chew marks immediately—of that Nena had no doubt. That was, if he himself did not notice it first; he did not seem to miss much. She needed to make an attempt now. She stood up silently and carefully placed one foot on the end of the chain to keep it from rattling. Using her second hand to support the wrist with the chewed binding, she pulled upward against the weakened leather with all of her might. She thought she felt the leather give slightly, but couldn’t be sure. She renewed her grip, took a deep breath, and pulled again.

  Nothing.

  Her wrist on fire, Nena frantically calculated her next move. The quiet sounds of his breathing changed behind her. She turned. He was staring at her, his expression intense and lustful. It was too late.

  Nena had more than once overheard the women of her village laughing about a man’s desire when he first awoke, but couldn’t recall their words exactly. Was it stronger than a man’s night desire? She wished now she had paid more attention to the gossip, but had always assumed she would find out for herself one day. She did not want that day to be now.

  Jarl threw back the furs and swung his legs out sideways to the short drop to the floor. His erection was clear for her to see, but he seemed not to care. He stood and walked naked to the tent flap. Holding it open just a few inches, he spoke to one of the guards stationed outside. “Send for Altene.”

  As much as Nena did not wish to see the other woman, or be forced to witness what she was sure they were about to do again, she was relieved for his having an outlet other than her. Though it made no sense for him to have brought her here if not to force himself upon her. He hadn’t known her identity then, so it had not been for the ransom, and he made no attempt to hide the fact that he found her desirable.

  Jarl returned to the edge of the furs and picked up his trousers. Nena looked away as he pulled them up over his erection, more concerned by her own body’s issues at that moment, than his. The water she had consumed the night before was threatening to burst within her, and she wondered where they relieved themselves. She had seen nothing in the tent.

  Altene arrived in a flash, immaculate and scantily dressed, as if she’d been waiting for his summons. Nena realized she probably had. The other Dor woman did not appear to have slept any more than she had—probably fretted all night about her chastising and what Nena and the Northman were doing in her absence. Altene carried a leather warrior dress, though not the same soft doeskin Nena had been wearing when she was captured. This one was made from a poorly-tanned, thick, coarse hide. Altene draped the dress over a chair, then smiled at Jarl. “Shall I pleasure you this morning, my lord?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

  “Not today. Get your women and take her to the latrine,” he commanded, but his voice was softer and carried none of the bite from the previous evening.

  “Yes, my lord,” Altene said. Her half smile and deep exhale as she turned away revealed her relief that his anger had abated. She exited and returned again quickly with four women. Two Nena recognized from the night before, but the other two were new.

  “My lord, she has chewed her bonds,” Altene reported as the other women secured Nena with the rope harness. Her eyes were wide, pretending to be shocked, but Nena could see the hard glint within them.

  Klarta bitch.

  “Yes, but only halfway,” Jarl responded without looking at her wrists. “They will hold. I will fix it when you return.”

  So he had noticed.

  Once he was satisfied that Nena was suitably harnessed again, Jarl left the tent for the latrine, leaving the women alone.

  As the previous evening, the women did not address her as they walked through the camp, a
nd Nena used the silence to focus on holding her bladder and taking in every detail of this new route. The direction was opposite of the way they had taken her to the baths the night before, but this side of the camp appeared to be laid out almost identically. Rows of small tents, a fraction of the size of Jarl’s, were pitched side by side, with shared campfires centrally located in the middle of every eight or ten. Men lounged about outside. Jarl’s message of a week of rest had clearly been well received.

  Nena studied them. Some sharpened weapons, some cooked, some shaved. Some were already drunk, though it was early morning. Many were shirtless in the heat, and the hair on their exposed chests ranged from thickly matted to sparse, but all of them had it to some extent. Some even had thick hair on their backs, she noted with disgust. The amount of hair on their heads also varied. Some were shaved bald, but many were shaved only on the sides, with the long hair on the tops of their heads held in a ponytail or braid high on the back. Most were tattooed to some degree, but unlike the Dor, the Northmen’s green and black symbols appeared to be random pictures and designs that were spread all over their bodies, even extending to the faces and heads of some.

  Altene led the group of women among the men with no apparent concern, and not one of the men made any attempt to address them. Nena tried to look past how repulsive they were and estimate their numbers, but without knowing how many rows of tents were present, it was impossible to tell. One thing she did know. There was no short or easy path back out to the open plains. From what she could see today, what she had seen the night before when they took her to the baths, and the little she’d been able to see when she arrived thrown over the front of his horse, Jarl’s tent seemed to be located dead-center in the camp.

  Nena could smell the latrines long before they reached them, but her need overran her disgust. At least they were private—single canvas stalls with a circular hole cut in wood over a shallow dug pit. Or they would have been private had Altene not insisted on two of the other women escorting her inside the small cramped foul space.

  When they returned outside, Altene led off, with Nena and the women holding her ropes following behind. Nena hurried her step to catch up but felt the ropes tighten around her neck before she could reach Altene. “Release me,” she called to her.

  Altene slowed and turned to face her, but continued walking. “For what? You will not escape here. Unlike the foolish plains tribe you were visiting, this camp is heavily guarded at all times. Rings of their soldiers extend far out into the plains. There has never been a successful escape, and some far more capable than you have tried.”

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of, and what do you care? If I’m recaptured maybe he’ll be angry and do as you suggest and keep me with the other prisoners. Or maybe I would be killed in the attempt. In any case you would have your Northman back all to yourself.”

  “You will not escape on my watch. I will not risk having Jarl angry with me.” Altene paused. “And I’m not worried; his preoccupation with you will not last. Even though it is acceptable among his people, he will not force you to his furs, and I will not offer again to make you willing for him—that was a mistake on my part,” she admitted with a frown. “And since I do not foresee you going to him willingly, soon enough he will tire of the inconvenience of having you in his tent and probably give you to one of his men. For your sake, after your little escapade with his blade, you’d better hope it’s not Tryggr, though he’s the most logical choice as Jarl’s second.”

  “But he said he intends to ransom me to my family.”

  Altene smiled. “And I’m sure he will. Though it won’t be right away. Jarl’s no fool. He won’t alert the Teclan to your presence here until he is safely away from your lands and your warriors. And there’s no reason his men cannot have their fill of you until then. Your family will pay without ever knowing of your well-used condition. Or maybe he’ll ask for extra to cover the red-haired giant’s seed sure to be in your belly.” She gave Nena a long sideways glance, satisfied with the horrified expression she saw there. “And if they won’t pay, then you’ll be sold with the other prisoners as slaves once we reach port.”

  “What about you? Are you also not a prisoner? Will you not be sold as well?”

  “Jarl has other plans for me.”

  Nena shook her head. “Why do you do it? Why do you stand for his animal rutting? You may be Klarta but you are still Dor. Where is your pride? Is it because he is a leader? Is it status you seek?”

  “Animal rutting? Jarl?” Altene seemed truly confused and her eyes searched Nena’s face for her meaning. “Ah.” She nodded as she understood. “I suppose you would think that after last night, but that was not typical. Well, it was typical for after a battle.” She shrugged. “But only when the battle fever grips him, is Jarl ever hurried in the furs. Any other time he’s the most meticulous man I’ve ever lain with.” She lowered her voice confidentially before adding, “and you were correct last night in referring to how large my circle would be. There have been many to compare him to.” She smiled and seemed almost proud of the admission.

  “I won’t say I don’t care about status,” she continued. “Being Jarl’s only chosen elevates me far above the other prisoners. It even earns me a certain level of respect among his men. But I would lay with Jarl any time he asked, even if he were a lowly camp cook; he is that skilled.” Her voice faded off temporarily as she reminisced, then her lips widened in a malicious grin. “Though I don’t need to explain it to you. You’ll soon get an eyeful of anything I could possibly describe if he keeps you chained to the pole for very long. Prepare to see unimaginable pleasures and to see them often, Princess; Jarl has a healthy appetite.” Altene laughed out loud at the shocked expression on Nena’s face as her words sank in.

  “You are disgusting,” Nena spat.

  “And you are a fool,” Altene answered. “Teclan—so fierce in battle, yet so naive as to the true ways of the world.”

  Their arrival back at Jarl’s tent ended their discussion. The guards nodded them past, and Altene pressed on a well worn spot on the side of the tent near the door. Nena heard the thin boards rattle within, and Jarl’s voice bid them enter. He was seated at the table with maps in front of him. He looked up, saw it was them, and went back to studying.

  “Change her dress,” he said to Altene, without looking up again.

  “As you wish, my lord.” Altene retrieved the stiff leather dress from the chair where she had laid it earlier and returned to stand just out of Nena’s reach. “Remove your dress,” she ordered.

  Nena did not move.

  “Are you deaf? Or would you like some assistance?” Altene taunted, then leaned in close to Nena’s ear and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Perhaps from my lord, Jarl?”

  Nena’s fierce gaze met the other woman’s triumphant, laughing eyes and held them. She would kill this woman one day, she vowed. She would see the smirk fade from her face as she choked the life from her. She prayed for the gods to give her that pleasure before she escaped. Keeping her mind filled with image of Altene’s’ bloodshot eyes bugging from her head, Nena reached up over one shoulder with both bound hands in a slow resolute move, and untied the knot of the dress behind her neck. The thin gauzy material floated down her body like a cloud, pooling on the floor around her feet. She stood with her chin raised, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on Altene, waiting for her to hand her the new dress, but Altene delayed, leaving her to stand naked in front of him.

  Jarl hadn’t given it any thought when he gave the order. He had assumed Altene would change the dress once she had resecured Nena to the pole. When it became clear Altene intended to do it there in front of him and use the opportunity to humiliate her, he almost intervened. Almost. The challenge had been issued, and he, like Altene, watched and waited to see what Nena would do.

  Jarl sucked in his breath as the soft material slid down her body, caressing every inch of her golden skin on its journey to the floor. For a brief moment he had an
unadulterated view of what he had only imagined before. Her perfect firm breasts. Her trim waist flaring to the curve of her hips. The dark patch of her womanhood. Altene handed her the baggy leather replacement and Nena donned it in a flash. The sight was lost, but the image still burned clearly in his mind. Jarl took a deep breath and reached for the jug of wine even though it was early.

  “Shall I also replace her chewed binding for you now, my lord?” Altene asked.

  “No. I’ve made other arrangements for her. That one will hold until then.”

  Nena’s mind raced at Jarl’s words and their implication. Had Altene been right? Had he already grown tired of her presence and given her away? Would it be Tryggr? She’d bested him before, but she’d had her hands free to fight. Or would it be the fair-colored one, Gunnar? By his own words, he had no reservations about lying with an unwilling woman. And he shared Jarl’s physique; he would be a difficult fight in the best of circumstances.

  She could tell Altene was barely able to contain her excitement, and knew she was thinking the same. Nena prayed she would ask what his ‘other arrangements’ for her were, but Altene had learned her lesson from the night before and did not question him. After she verified Nena was firmly reattached to the chain on the pole, Altene instructed the other women to leave and turned to Jarl.

  “I’ve asked among the new prisoners and have information about the tribe you attacked,” she said.

  “Give voice to it,” Jarl said, looking up.

  “They are the Eastern Plains tribe, and the celebration your scouts described was a tournament of warriors. The Teclan chief, Meln, and his daughter, her,” she thumbed in Nena’s direction, “were attending as guests of honor. The Plains tribe had hopes that she would choose one of their warriors, and an alliance with the Teclans could be secured. It’s highly unusual for a Teclan woman to be present at a lesser tribe’s tournament, but she had grown so old without choosing, her father must have been desperate and feared the gods had forsaken her.”