Read Online Maidensong by Mia Marlowe - Free Book Online

small room, she’d protested that she wouldn’t stay with him. She’d be no man’s bed-slave. He pointed out that her only other recourse as a thrall was to sleep in the main hall with all of Gunnar’s retainers. When she realized that her choice was fighting off fifty men or just one, Bjorn won the argument.
      “ A drink would help,” she said, massaging the soft skin at her throat. Rika pushed back the bedclothes and started to get up, feeling her way.
      “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Bjorn swung his long legs over the side. Rika heard him grope for his fire-steel, flint and tinder. He struck a spark and lit the wick of a small clay lamp. The faint light glowed on his face as he turned back to her. “Not dressed as you are now, anyway.”
      The scratchy tunic Astryd had forced on her made her skin miserable, so he’d given her one of his own. It was soft and spacious, and even though the cloth re tained a bit of his scent, she was grateful to have it. But it hung only to her mid-thigh. Rika caught him eyeing her bare calves, so she pulled her long legs up under the fabric and hugged her knees to her chest. Bjorn was right. If she ventured into the hall where the men were sleeping dressed like this, no one would be lieve her if she cried rape.
      “I’ll fetch you some ale,” Bjorn offered as he tugged up his leggings. He took the lamp to light his way and slipped out of the small room.
      Huddled in the dark, she tried to puzzle out this be wildering man. Bjorn was a contradiction with feet. He was gruff and tender, fearsome and frightened, swag gering bully and willing servant. How was she to make sense of someone who blew so hot and cold? She never knew from one moment to the next which face he’d present to her. He made her feel strangely off-balance.
      It was easy for her to hate the hardened warrior. The small frightened boy was something else altogether.
      He came back with a long horn, brimming with the dark liquid that Rika thought tasted like warm bread.
      “Oh, you’ve brought far too much,” she protested. There was a small clay night jar in the corner of his room, but she couldn’t bring herself to use it, and a trip to the privy was out for the same reason that she couldn’t get her own ale. She’d have to wait till morn ing.
      “Drink what you can, and I’ll finish the rest. Maybe the ale will help me sleep.” He held the horn out to her. “Please gods, a sleep without dreams,” he said under his breath.
      She took a small sip and let the familiar bite of the ale steal down her throat. It soothed her inflamed vocal cords and warmed her belly.
      “Thank you. That helps.” She sipped once more and handed the horn back to him.
    He took a large gulp, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “We’re both wide awake,” he said, lifting the horn slightly. “We need to finish this before I can lay it down. How shall we pass the time, I wonder?” He arched a brow at her as he sipped the ale this time .
    Rika slid over and leaned against the wall, tucking her legs under her. Whatever he had in mind, she was sure she wouldn’t like it.
    “I know.” His voice was a soft rumble that reminded her of a great cat’s purr. “You can tell me more about your travels with Magnus Silver-Throat.”
    “You wouldn’t believe me when I did try to tell you.”
      “ I’m inclined to believe you now. I’ve never heard a more powerful skald than you, Rika.”
      “Maybe I don’t want you to know any more about me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’d just use the knowledge for your own ends.”
      “ You’re probably right about that.” He chuckled. “How about a story, then?”
      “Another story?” Her shoulders sagged with weariness.
      “ Not as a skald, Rika. You’ve performed enough for one night.” Bjorn offered her the horn again, but this time she declined with a shake of her head, “Just a sim ple tale told between friends