shuddered at the thought of being burned alive—a type of execution reserved for witches. Just above the devastated area, the hillside bloomed with life. Green grass and colorful wildflowers dotted the landscape. Even the sunshine seemed unusually healing this morning, warming her bone deep.
“Thank you again,” she said sincerely. “If you hadn’t carried me away, I’m afraid I would have died in my sleep.”
“Nothing will touch you as long as you stay with me, Silvia.” He wrapped one powerful arm about her waist, then gently tapped his heels against the horse’s sides. “Barbarian or not, I will protect what is mine to my very last breath.”
Did he know how potent his words were? How deeply they affected her? That she was starting to believe in everything he said and did? That she admired him for not being like the other invaders?
She suspected the heart of a true champion existed somewhere beneath his rough exterior. At least she hoped so, because someday in the near future, she would appeal to the gentler side of this warrior and ask for her freedom.
Chapter Twelve
C oncerned for their safety, Konal elected to take a less traveled route to Filey. It meant an extra day of riding through the vale, but it seemed worth it, for any time alone with Silvia would get her closer to his bed. He could see it in her fathomless, blue eyes and in the way she carried herself now. Still cautious, but no longer terrified.
As the sun set, he returned to the camp in the woods with two ducks he’d snared. Eating dried fish and hard bread for more than a couple days did not appeal to him. A hearty fire awaited and Silvia greeted him with a skin filled with water.
“We’ll have fresh meat tonight,” he said, handing her the birds. “Do you know how to pluck feathers, little thrall ? Or shall I teach you?”
She sat down on a flat rock near the fire and held one of the birds up by its feet. “Once I finish with this,” she said with authority. “You may clip the wings and necks off.”
A short time later, Konal chose a couple sturdy tree branches, and with his knife, split them into quarters to construct a spit and skewers. Once both birds were cleaned and cut properly, he shoved a thick branch through each carcass, following the spine, then fit the notched ends of the sticks onto the spit.
“Turn the birds as often as possible so the meat cooks evenly,” he advised. “Now if you no longer require my assistance, I am going to take a bath.”
“A bath?” She looked about. “Here?”
“In the river.” Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Tis only a short distance away, Silvia. If you need me, call my name.” The wench had never said it before, only milord and master, or other vulgar words no girl should know. He longed to hear his name slip from her lips—preferably while he pumped inside her.
Standing on the riverbank now, he breathed in the fresh air and appreciated how the frothy water tumbled over the moss-covered boulders. He’d braved the rapids of many waterways in Norway as a boy, learning to swim and control a small boat that way. A rite of passage any boy faced in order to become a man. And if he walked away without broken bones or a crushed skull, all the better.
He stripped, then waded out. Not as frigid as the glacial rivers back home, but very satisfying. Scrubbing his face and body first, he paid careful attention to his underarms and between his legs. Saxons weren’t known for their cleanliness and it had taken the Danes a long time to teach them how to build a functional bathhouse. Another reason he longed for home.
Just as he emerged from the depths, he caught a flash of blue fabric from the corner of his eye. He grinned, knowing it was Silvia hiding in the trees. Though she pretended to not be interested in his body, he’d caught her on more than one occasion studying his physique. A natural instinct for any woman her age. But once again, the monks had destroyed what the gods had
“Thank you again,” she said sincerely. “If you hadn’t carried me away, I’m afraid I would have died in my sleep.”
“Nothing will touch you as long as you stay with me, Silvia.” He wrapped one powerful arm about her waist, then gently tapped his heels against the horse’s sides. “Barbarian or not, I will protect what is mine to my very last breath.”
Did he know how potent his words were? How deeply they affected her? That she was starting to believe in everything he said and did? That she admired him for not being like the other invaders?
She suspected the heart of a true champion existed somewhere beneath his rough exterior. At least she hoped so, because someday in the near future, she would appeal to the gentler side of this warrior and ask for her freedom.
Chapter Twelve
C oncerned for their safety, Konal elected to take a less traveled route to Filey. It meant an extra day of riding through the vale, but it seemed worth it, for any time alone with Silvia would get her closer to his bed. He could see it in her fathomless, blue eyes and in the way she carried herself now. Still cautious, but no longer terrified.
As the sun set, he returned to the camp in the woods with two ducks he’d snared. Eating dried fish and hard bread for more than a couple days did not appeal to him. A hearty fire awaited and Silvia greeted him with a skin filled with water.
“We’ll have fresh meat tonight,” he said, handing her the birds. “Do you know how to pluck feathers, little thrall ? Or shall I teach you?”
She sat down on a flat rock near the fire and held one of the birds up by its feet. “Once I finish with this,” she said with authority. “You may clip the wings and necks off.”
A short time later, Konal chose a couple sturdy tree branches, and with his knife, split them into quarters to construct a spit and skewers. Once both birds were cleaned and cut properly, he shoved a thick branch through each carcass, following the spine, then fit the notched ends of the sticks onto the spit.
“Turn the birds as often as possible so the meat cooks evenly,” he advised. “Now if you no longer require my assistance, I am going to take a bath.”
“A bath?” She looked about. “Here?”
“In the river.” Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Tis only a short distance away, Silvia. If you need me, call my name.” The wench had never said it before, only milord and master, or other vulgar words no girl should know. He longed to hear his name slip from her lips—preferably while he pumped inside her.
Standing on the riverbank now, he breathed in the fresh air and appreciated how the frothy water tumbled over the moss-covered boulders. He’d braved the rapids of many waterways in Norway as a boy, learning to swim and control a small boat that way. A rite of passage any boy faced in order to become a man. And if he walked away without broken bones or a crushed skull, all the better.
He stripped, then waded out. Not as frigid as the glacial rivers back home, but very satisfying. Scrubbing his face and body first, he paid careful attention to his underarms and between his legs. Saxons weren’t known for their cleanliness and it had taken the Danes a long time to teach them how to build a functional bathhouse. Another reason he longed for home.
Just as he emerged from the depths, he caught a flash of blue fabric from the corner of his eye. He grinned, knowing it was Silvia hiding in the trees. Though she pretended to not be interested in his body, he’d caught her on more than one occasion studying his physique. A natural instinct for any woman her age. But once again, the monks had destroyed what the gods had
Similar Books
