but I do know the ending, and it is a happy one. In his own good time the Viking will come to value you, aye, even to love you. But you must be patient. Teach him by example that you are a woman like no other. Now eat your supper and lie down on the bench. These past weeks have not been easy for you. And theywill grow more difficult before they get better,” he added cryptically.
Fiona couldn’t imagine an arrogant barbarian like the Viking loving any woman, let alone her. Could she learn to love him? she asked herself. He’d made her feel things she was sure were sinful. She had never pictured herself as a wanton, but she could find no other description for her behavior. Thorne had manipulated her body with an expertise that had left her needful and wanting. With her woman’s heart she knew there was more than what she’d been given in the bathhouse. There was pleasure, certainly, but there was also a meeting of souls, something she doubted Thorne would ever give her. God forgive her, she wanted everything.
Thorne finished his meal and lingered behind with his father, his brother and Rolo after Bretta retired to her small quarters and the karls and thralls stretched out to sleep on the benches and shelves in the hall. He had seen Fiona and Brann speaking in hushed tones earlier and then watched avidly as she lay down on the bench and fell asleep with Brann watching over her.
“You cannot take your eyes off Fiona,” Olaf charged. “I watched you during the meal and you had eyes for no one else.”
“Bretta is a jealous woman,” Rolo contended. “I do not envy you should you decide to keep Fiona. I’m inclined to believe you truly are bewitched. Perhaps you should listen to your father and kill Fiona.”
“Killing Fiona will not end her spell,” Thorne pointed out. “I must convince her to remove it of her own free will. I grow weary; sleep well,” he said, rising. Then he strode from the hall, averting his eyes from Fiona when he passed the bench where she lay sleeping.
Fiona awoke with a start. She had no idea what had awakened her. She listened to the various night sounds of men snoring and muttering in their sleep and decided nothing was amiss. The bench was uncomfortable and she was cold. The fire in the hearth had burned down to coals and she hadn’t been given a blanket. She looked for Brann and saw that he was sleeping soundly a short distance away, apparently oblivious to the cold. Suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth, frightening her out of her wits.
“Do not be afraid,” a voice whispered into her ear. “Come outside with me, I wish to speak with you.”
Fiona shook her head and tried to bite the hand stifling her cries. She recognized Rolo’s voice and wanted to go nowhere with him.
Rolo ignored her wishes as he scooped her up from the bench and carried her past the sleeping thralls and karls and out the door. He didn’t set her down or remove his hand from her mouth until they were safely away from the house.
“What do you want?” Fiona sputtered angrily. “You have no right to take me from my bed.”
“Why aren’t you in Thorne’s bed?”
“Why? Why would I be in his bed?”
“If you were my thrall you’d be in mine. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of you. You but lay across the room and I could hear the whisper of your gown across your limbs as you turned in your sleep. I knew I would not rest until I had you.”
He dragged her against him. She was like a toy in his massive arms, powerless against his immense strength. Fiona fought and lost. Black despair settled over her as he bore her to the ground. She prayed for deliverance but feared none would be forthcoming. She was alone in this foreign world of giants and barbarians.
Thorne couldn’t sleep. His mind kept straying to Fiona, asleep in the hall with the thralls and karls … and Rolo. He remembered that she hadn’t been given a cloak or robe to keep her warm and sought to remedy the lack. Throwing his own
Fiona couldn’t imagine an arrogant barbarian like the Viking loving any woman, let alone her. Could she learn to love him? she asked herself. He’d made her feel things she was sure were sinful. She had never pictured herself as a wanton, but she could find no other description for her behavior. Thorne had manipulated her body with an expertise that had left her needful and wanting. With her woman’s heart she knew there was more than what she’d been given in the bathhouse. There was pleasure, certainly, but there was also a meeting of souls, something she doubted Thorne would ever give her. God forgive her, she wanted everything.
Thorne finished his meal and lingered behind with his father, his brother and Rolo after Bretta retired to her small quarters and the karls and thralls stretched out to sleep on the benches and shelves in the hall. He had seen Fiona and Brann speaking in hushed tones earlier and then watched avidly as she lay down on the bench and fell asleep with Brann watching over her.
“You cannot take your eyes off Fiona,” Olaf charged. “I watched you during the meal and you had eyes for no one else.”
“Bretta is a jealous woman,” Rolo contended. “I do not envy you should you decide to keep Fiona. I’m inclined to believe you truly are bewitched. Perhaps you should listen to your father and kill Fiona.”
“Killing Fiona will not end her spell,” Thorne pointed out. “I must convince her to remove it of her own free will. I grow weary; sleep well,” he said, rising. Then he strode from the hall, averting his eyes from Fiona when he passed the bench where she lay sleeping.
Fiona awoke with a start. She had no idea what had awakened her. She listened to the various night sounds of men snoring and muttering in their sleep and decided nothing was amiss. The bench was uncomfortable and she was cold. The fire in the hearth had burned down to coals and she hadn’t been given a blanket. She looked for Brann and saw that he was sleeping soundly a short distance away, apparently oblivious to the cold. Suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth, frightening her out of her wits.
“Do not be afraid,” a voice whispered into her ear. “Come outside with me, I wish to speak with you.”
Fiona shook her head and tried to bite the hand stifling her cries. She recognized Rolo’s voice and wanted to go nowhere with him.
Rolo ignored her wishes as he scooped her up from the bench and carried her past the sleeping thralls and karls and out the door. He didn’t set her down or remove his hand from her mouth until they were safely away from the house.
“What do you want?” Fiona sputtered angrily. “You have no right to take me from my bed.”
“Why aren’t you in Thorne’s bed?”
“Why? Why would I be in his bed?”
“If you were my thrall you’d be in mine. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of you. You but lay across the room and I could hear the whisper of your gown across your limbs as you turned in your sleep. I knew I would not rest until I had you.”
He dragged her against him. She was like a toy in his massive arms, powerless against his immense strength. Fiona fought and lost. Black despair settled over her as he bore her to the ground. She prayed for deliverance but feared none would be forthcoming. She was alone in this foreign world of giants and barbarians.
Thorne couldn’t sleep. His mind kept straying to Fiona, asleep in the hall with the thralls and karls … and Rolo. He remembered that she hadn’t been given a cloak or robe to keep her warm and sought to remedy the lack. Throwing his own
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