chest. “Aye. Should the other bits of sea filth ask, you have deflowered me … against me will.”
“They will not ask. I am the only Nordmann here who understands the Picttish tongue. Behave as if we are lovers. Allow me to kiss you. I will not have the men believe I spared you. Understand?”
“Aye,” she grumbled.
“ Gut .” He pulled his tunic over his head and strapped the silver dagger to his waist. “And I expect you to prepare me a large morning meal. I’m starved.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wretched Norseman.”
Odaria stomped down the short flight of stairs ahead of Rothgar and entered the main room. More than a dozen Norsemen were seated around the table, eating and talking. They fell silent and exchanged glances as they caught sight of her.
One of the men looked her up and down, then said something to Rothgar. She recognized the ugly bearded man as one of her attackers from last night. Instinctively, she took a step back and bumped into Rothgar. “What did he say?”
Rothgar draped an arm around her shoulders. “He asked for his turn now that I had finished with you.”
She shuddered and closed her eyes.
Rothgar spoke to the man, then translated for her. “I told him you are very accommodating and I have not yet taken my fill of your pleasures.” He gave her a light push toward the cookroom. “Now fetch your lover something to eat.”
She folded her arms over her chest to shield herself. It was degrading to walk around in nothing but her linen chemise. The men could see right through it. She ignored the harsh stares of the men and went into the cookroom. “What in the blazes happened in here?”
The cookroom was destroyed. The hungry raiders had slit open sacks of oats and flour, spilled milk on the table, and left empty eggshells scattered on the floor. Did they behave like this at home? She rested her hands on her hips and frowned. The mess could be cleaned up easily, but she had another problem. What did Rothgar like to eat in the morning? Cheese? Fish? She knew nothing about him, and yet she trusted him to take her away from Stronsay forever.
She scooped a large portion of oats into a wooden bowl and carried it into the main room. Rothgar had seated himself at the head of the table and was talking to two men. She sneered as she dumped the oats into a pot of water and set it over the fire. How could he sit there and act friendly to them after what they had tried to do to her?
Her mind wandered as she stirred the oats with a wooden spoon. So far today, nothing had gone according to her plan. How could she have let Rothgar get the better of her this morning? She’d had the dagger in his ribs. Her idea to force Rothgar to take her away on her terms had failed. He was not the least bit intimidated by her, even when she brandished a weapon. He didn’t believe she truly was a witch, and he certainly wasn’t tricked as easily as most people she knew.
If anything, she was falling under Rothgar’s spell. His powerful kisses had weakened her and made her vulnerable. Last night she had kissed him and stroked his chest … and this morning … the moment his lips had touched hers, a burning heat had flared deep inside her private places. Part of her wanted Rothgar to reach up beneath her chemise and …
She shook her head and stared into the fire. Despite the lustful urges Rothgar had awakened in her body, she had to resist him. It was the only way she could regain control of the situation. She would never let Rothgar kiss her again—at least not until she was safely off the isle.
The group of Norsemen burst out laughing behind her. She ignored them as she spooned the cooked oats into the bowl. It was obvious that they were talking about her and Rothgar was joining in on the fun. Was he telling them how he’d carried her upstairs and ravaged her all night? Although she didn’t understand their Norse words, the way they looked at her told her plenty.
She carried the bowl of steaming
“They will not ask. I am the only Nordmann here who understands the Picttish tongue. Behave as if we are lovers. Allow me to kiss you. I will not have the men believe I spared you. Understand?”
“Aye,” she grumbled.
“ Gut .” He pulled his tunic over his head and strapped the silver dagger to his waist. “And I expect you to prepare me a large morning meal. I’m starved.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wretched Norseman.”
Odaria stomped down the short flight of stairs ahead of Rothgar and entered the main room. More than a dozen Norsemen were seated around the table, eating and talking. They fell silent and exchanged glances as they caught sight of her.
One of the men looked her up and down, then said something to Rothgar. She recognized the ugly bearded man as one of her attackers from last night. Instinctively, she took a step back and bumped into Rothgar. “What did he say?”
Rothgar draped an arm around her shoulders. “He asked for his turn now that I had finished with you.”
She shuddered and closed her eyes.
Rothgar spoke to the man, then translated for her. “I told him you are very accommodating and I have not yet taken my fill of your pleasures.” He gave her a light push toward the cookroom. “Now fetch your lover something to eat.”
She folded her arms over her chest to shield herself. It was degrading to walk around in nothing but her linen chemise. The men could see right through it. She ignored the harsh stares of the men and went into the cookroom. “What in the blazes happened in here?”
The cookroom was destroyed. The hungry raiders had slit open sacks of oats and flour, spilled milk on the table, and left empty eggshells scattered on the floor. Did they behave like this at home? She rested her hands on her hips and frowned. The mess could be cleaned up easily, but she had another problem. What did Rothgar like to eat in the morning? Cheese? Fish? She knew nothing about him, and yet she trusted him to take her away from Stronsay forever.
She scooped a large portion of oats into a wooden bowl and carried it into the main room. Rothgar had seated himself at the head of the table and was talking to two men. She sneered as she dumped the oats into a pot of water and set it over the fire. How could he sit there and act friendly to them after what they had tried to do to her?
Her mind wandered as she stirred the oats with a wooden spoon. So far today, nothing had gone according to her plan. How could she have let Rothgar get the better of her this morning? She’d had the dagger in his ribs. Her idea to force Rothgar to take her away on her terms had failed. He was not the least bit intimidated by her, even when she brandished a weapon. He didn’t believe she truly was a witch, and he certainly wasn’t tricked as easily as most people she knew.
If anything, she was falling under Rothgar’s spell. His powerful kisses had weakened her and made her vulnerable. Last night she had kissed him and stroked his chest … and this morning … the moment his lips had touched hers, a burning heat had flared deep inside her private places. Part of her wanted Rothgar to reach up beneath her chemise and …
She shook her head and stared into the fire. Despite the lustful urges Rothgar had awakened in her body, she had to resist him. It was the only way she could regain control of the situation. She would never let Rothgar kiss her again—at least not until she was safely off the isle.
The group of Norsemen burst out laughing behind her. She ignored them as she spooned the cooked oats into the bowl. It was obvious that they were talking about her and Rothgar was joining in on the fun. Was he telling them how he’d carried her upstairs and ravaged her all night? Although she didn’t understand their Norse words, the way they looked at her told her plenty.
She carried the bowl of steaming
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