The implication was clear. Even though no one referred to her as a thrall, they all considered her one . . . a favored thrall, but a thrall nonetheless. And if she should get pregnant with Brandr’s child, that baby would be a slave.
What kind of society had she landed in?
Sensing her distress, Kelda displayed a kindness Joy had never expected and changed the subject. “Inga, I seen ya go off with Baldr the Braggart these last few nights. Mayhap there will be a weddin’ come winter solstice?”
Inga—the woman Brandr had been talking to on several occasions, the one Liv said was widowed during the Sigurdsson assault—fidgeted, apparently uncomfortable with the question. “Baldr is a good man. And brave, too. He served with Brandr in the Jomsvikings afore coming to Bear’s Lair. Still . . .”
“What holds ye back?” Kelda persisted.
Inga blushed and mumbled, “He is not very big . . . down there.”
The rest of them frowned with confusion until Gran Olssen, who had appeared to be snoozing in her corner chair, cackled and said, “She means his manroot is more of a man stub.”
They all burst out laughing, including Inga, who quickly added, “ ’Tis not that bad.”
Of course Joy had to open her big mouth and say, “You know, size isn’t everything.”
To which Gran Olssen added, “It ain’t the size of the stick, ’tis the magic in the wand.”
They all laughed some more but then launched into a detailed discussion of exactly what could be done in a situation like that. Which led to a discussion of orgasms, which the Vikings referred to as peakings, and enthusiasm, which was arousal, as in “his enthusiasm was high.” Joy had to smile at that, wondering if she had been “enthusing” Brandr much lately.
The women were particularly interested when Joy mentioned multiple orgasms and women’s right to demand as much pleasure from sex as the men. And then she told them about their clitorises, which was probably a big mistake. She suspected there would be some spread legs before brass mirrors that night.
Oh, well! Joy had bigger problems to worry about.
Not only was she fighting a battle with Brandr over the class system here, which would preclude him from any really committed relationship, but now she found that if she ever got pregnant, the baby would be a slave.
A deal breaker, if there ever was one.
Okay, she told herself, she had a birth control implant that had been put in last June, which meant she had roughly six months or so to engage in sex without any consequences. So she could make an agreement with Brandr. Lovers for now, but an end in sight next spring when the fjords were open and she could leave for Hedeby, where she might be able to return to the future. If not that, freedom so she could make a life for herself here with someone else.
Let’s see how enthused he is now.
Chapter 19
Let’s make a deal . . . or not . . .
The wench trapped him on the way back from the below stairs garderobe that evening. He had been washing his hands at the pitcher and bowl set on a bench out in the corridor, another of her “improvements” to his keep.
“I have to talk to you.”
“Is that aught like the talk you gave me against the wall in my bedchamber?” He was in a teasing sort of mood. Good sex does that to a man betimes. Mellows him, despite his best intentions.
“Talk. I mean T-A-L-K.”
Apparently she was not like-mooded. In fact, the seriousness of her expression and the nervous wringing of her hands alarmed him.
What now?
He led her over to a trestle table at the far end of the hall and motioned for a maid to bring them mead. Once it was poured and set before them, he said, “Well?”
“I have a question for you.”
When women said that, it usually meant that they had some grievance. After a heavy sigh and a long draw on his cup of mead, he flicked his finger. “Proceed.”
“I haven’t been wearing that slave amulet for some time, and you haven’t mentioned my garments. Does that mean I am free?”
Whoa! Talk about laying right into a man!
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Spit it out, wench. Exactly what do you want to know?”
“Come spring, when the weather clears, am I free to leave here?”
His skin went clammy, and blood drained from his head, making him dizzy of a sudden. He wanted to explode with anger at her question, and he wanted to ask, more softly, why she wanted to be free of him. “Why do you want to know?”
“I found out today that if I were to become pregnant with your child, it might be . . . it
would be
. . . a slave.”
“Are you breeding my babe?” Pleasure welled in him in the oddest way. He should be appalled. Instead, he found that he liked the idea.
“No! Of course not.”
Well, ’twas for the best, he supposed.
“But is it true? Would any child of mine be a thrall?”
Thrall, thrall, thrall. Here we go again.
“I would treat any babe you bore as my son . . . or daughter.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. And, yes, I know it would be illegitimate since we aren’t married. That’s not what I mean. Would it be a slave?”
Not if I could help it.
“Mayhap.”
She flinched as if he had hit her.
“ ’Tis not so bad.” He reached across the table to take her hand in his.
She slapped it away.
Now she was starting to irritate him.
“Free me. Today. Let’s end this whole problem once and for all. Clear the air.”
And what then? You will leave me?
“ ’Tis not so simple.”
“Make it simple.”
“You do not give me orders.”
“I beg you then.”
“In all ways that matter, you are already free.”
“Make it official.”
“Then what?”
“I will make a deal with you.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Another deal? Pfff! When have I benefited thus far from any of your deals?”
She ignored his question and went on her own merry way. “My birth control implant will work until next June, roughly six months. I’m willing to be your partner, in all ways, until then.”
All ways?
“Well, not until June, just until the ice breaks in the spring and the first ships sail to Hedeby.”
All ways?
Her offer held appeal, he had to admit. Swive her silly for months on end. By then he would no doubt be bored with her anyway. Then send her away. He cared not about the loss of coin, her wergild, but for some reason, he cared about the loss of her. “What would you do in Hedeby?”
“It’s where this whole nightmare began, and—
Nightmare? She considers her time with me a nightmare?
“—if I am ever going to be able to return to the future, I suspect it will be from there.”
He did not believe in her time travel theories, but he did not
not
believe either. If he sent her there, he would be taking the chance of never seeing her again. “And if the reverse time travel does not work?”
“I would find a way to live in this time.”
“With another man?”
“Maybe. Later.”
“Nay!”
“What do you mean, nay?”
“Nay, nay, nay! That is what I mean. I will not release you. That is my final answer.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why?”
“Because”—
I love you—
“ I have plans for you.”
“What plans?”
I have no idea.
“Big plans.”
“I better be free in these big plans.”
Talk, talk, talk, that is all she ever does.
“Dost want to go tup a bit?”
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind.
He had. That and his heart.
Where would this all end?
Joy to the world, really . . .
Another sennight passed in which Brandr evaded the wench’s attempts to seduce him. In truth, he was enjoying her efforts and could not wait to see what she would try next. He was not fool enough to think he could resist forever, but it was fun trying.
He and Tork were riding horses side by side on the way back to the keep. They had been searching, to no avail, for the pack of wolves that had been harassing the henhouse at night. They would have to leave guards out that night.
It was a mild day for winter, but a light snow was beginning to fall. Pleasant, he realized. For a long time, he had not thought such days would exist for him again. Was it due to the maddening wench?
“You are smiling again,” Tork pointed out
“And?”
“You are either in love, or you know of some jest of which you are not sharing, or you are gone barmy.”
“None of those. I was merely thinking of that saga Joy told last night about her jumping out of the sky in a cloud of linen.”
“It
was
an amazing story. Dost think there is any truth in it?”
“Hah! We would have to be daft to think so.”
They both looked at each other and shrugged.
“Didst know she has been telling the women to demand their equal rights in the bedplay?”
“Yea. What is wrong with that?”
“Brandr! When a man is deep in the alehead, does he want to waste endless time bringing a woman to her peak afore diving in for his own satisfaction?”
“ ’Tis only fair.”
“You have been around the wench too long. Since when do Vikings care about fair play in sex?”
“I always have.”
“Me, too, but that is beside the point. It should be up to us, not something deemed a necessity. I wonder what she will come up with next?”
In the distance, they saw a sledge being dragged toward the keep carrying a huge evergreen tree the size of three grown men, one atop the other.
What was even odder was the sight they beheld once they rode across the motte and into the bailey. The tree was being dragged inside, intact. It had not been chopped into firewood, not that evergreens were good for the hearth; they burned too fast. And especially unsuitable were green, fresh-cut trees whose wood had not been seasoned.
Tork chuckled.
“What?” he asked.
“Wouldst dare to make a wager with me that your bed thrall has something to do with this?”
“Firstly, she is no longer my bed thrall.”
“Not for lack of her trying. Or your wanting.”
“I repeat. She does not share my bed. And, nay, I will not bet with you. The odds are in your favor.”
When they entered the great hall, the wench was directing his men—
his
men, not hers—where to place the tree in a huge wooden tub of rocks and water, and how to anchor it to the wall so it would not fall over.
“What in bloody hell is this?” he said when he approached. “Who in their right mind plants a tree indoors?”
She smiled at him, an open, warm, loving smile . . . the first she had graced him with in many a sennight, certainly since he had refused her offer of a deal.
And his foolish heart twisted with joy.
“Not just any tree,” she said. “A Christmas tree.”
“A Christ tree? In a Viking hall?”
“Yes. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“I can think of other words to describe it. That is not one of them.”
“Really, Brandr,” she put a hand on his arm, “it’s what we all need at this time of year when so many people are suffering from SAD.”
At first he could not think for the pleasure that shot through him at her mere touch. But then her words sank in. “I take offense, milady. My people are sad? Why? We have not been attacked in a long time. We have a roof over our heads, a warm fire, and food to fill our bellies.”
“Not that kind of sad.” She squeezed his arm and smiled.
He wished she would not touch him and smile and jabber on at the same time. He could not concentrate. He blinked through his confusion. “There are different kinds of sad?”
“I meant seasonal affective disorder SAD. That’s where the long winter days with little sunshine make people get depressed. You have no idea how much sunlight affects people’s moods.”
“We cannot have depressed Vikings, can we?”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“And what has all this to do with trees shedding all over my keep?”