A few more days passed on the road. Amelina grew painfully sore from the saddle, then turned the corner and overcame it, and still the northman had not taken her maidenhead.
It was evening when they arrived in Jorvik. It was a fully Viking occupied stronghold, and the many unfamiliar men in the great wooden hall were mostly large and blonde. They greeted Bjorn and his band, sparing her only a brief glance.
It must be a common thing for men to show up with new women along. Bjorn did not introduce her, and the men ignored her, speaking only in Norse amongst themselves. She was beginning to feel intensely awkward when he finally flashed her a brief smile, led her to a bench along the wall, and told her he'd come and get her in a bit.
Bjorn and his band of men settled down with mugs of ale, sitting down with the strangers at tables beside a long hearth in the center of the hall. There were two women tending food by the fire, a flame-haired beauty and an exotic dark-haired girl. They glanced over at Amelina curiously, but did not try to speak to her.
She grew increasingly miserable as the men drank. Bjorn did not seem to be drinking as much as the others, but neither did he pay her any attention. As his frilla, as he called her, she was nothing but a faithful shadow to him. She had given up being a noblewoman to be a Viking's third concubine.
Presently, a matronly blonde woman came in with a plate loaded with meat. She set it down among the men, to great whoops and celebration. As she turned to leave, she spotted Amelina. A few words were exchanged with the men, then she approached. Yet instead of food, the woman pulled a spindle from the waist of her apron and shoved it into her hands. Amelina did not understand the woman's words, but she guessed their meaning: yes, she knew how to spin.
So her idle female hands were put to work, and she sat and span wool into thread while the men feasted and drank. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. Yet despite her misery, the spinning restored some sense of normalcy. The last time she had sat and span was the night Bjorn had barged into her room and torn apart her life.
She had made a small pile of thread when a shadow fell over her. Bjorn was smiling down at her, holding a plate of food and offering her a hand. She quickly set the spindle aside and stood up with him.
He must have already said his farewells, for he pulled her out of the hall and led her down the road to a small wooden house. Inside, it was simply but cozily furnished.
"Is this your house?"
"Nay, it's just for guests" He pulled her over to the table. "But we can treat it as our own for a few nights."
He set the food down and pulled out a chair for her. As she sat, she felt a bit more like a lady again.
Food restored a sense of dignity to her, and her courage returned along with it. Bjorn went over to start the fire, then sat down with his arms crossed, watching her eat with a warm expression.
"Do your women not eat with the men?" she ventured to ask after awhile.
"Some do. Shieldmaidens. Ladies." He grinned and cocked his head. "You were used to being a lady, weren't you?"
She pursed her lips before she could help herself. "I was."
"Well, I didn't mean to make you a servant. You'd be a lady still back in your father's house."
Was she a servant then? She suddenly did not have an appetite for the rest of dinner.
"Ey." Bjorn leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "You're a strong lass. If I had to bet, you'll win your honor back yet."
"Have I lost it?"
"Some of it. Might as well give me the rest." He jerked his head towards the bed.
His frank proposition did not offend her anymore. It was something she more than half wanted herself. But she was feeling surly tonight, so she slid her plate back and crossed her arms. "Why have you not taken it already? I thought Vikings simply took what they wanted."
Bright blue eyes searched over her face. "What I want is for you to freely give."
"You're a patient man."
He smiled. "I can wait. Can you?"
Before she could think of how to respond, Bjorn abruptly stood. Amelina tried to restrain her frustration as he turned away and put another log into the hearth. His very indifference to her was a form of power over her.
As if he were alone, he casually removed his belt, then his vest. The room was still cold, but he went ahead and stripped off his shirt, the broad muscles of his back rippling in the firelight as he tossed it onto a wooden chest.
He glanced back to catch her staring at him. "Like what you see?"
She dropped her gaze. Irritating man.
He swaggered over to her, the heat radiating off the bare expanse of his chest as he stood before her. A finger slid beneath her chin and tilted her head up to him.
"It's in the eyes," he said as she met his gaze. "The eyes never lie."
"What do mine say, then?"
He grinned. "Same thing they've said all along, mey."
I want you, she admitted to herself.
"You can say it out loud, you know," he told her, as if he could read her thoughts.
It was hard to be frustrated with him when he was looking at her like that. She let her eyes slide down the contours of his chest. Simply seeing the line of muscle that disappeared down into the waist of his trousers made her hunger in a way dinner had not satisfied.
She stood up from the table and placed her hands to his chest.
He raised his eyebrows and took a step back as she gently pushed. "Or not."
Step by step, he let her back him up to the bed. When his knees hit the side, he fell back onto his elbows, staring up at her with naked desire.
It was curious, she thought as she looked down at him. Unlike most men, he seemed to like a woman bold. Wild, even. All of this teasing, this waiting, this toying with her, it was meant to bring out the wildness in her.
So she undid the laces of her dress and slipped it off before him. The feral light in his eyes told her that if she meant to win him, this was the way to do it.
Yet she ran out of ideas once she was naked before him. What now? She had no experience other than what he had shown her. She crawled onto the bed. He dragged her down gently by her hair. This, then. The heat of his bare skin beneath her, the warmth of his lips.
