A Viking's Catch (Book One of the Sogn Series)

Chapter Nine

When Clare, Roald, and his men had finally arrived back to the city of Sogn, Roald had dragged Clare away from the scrutinizing gazes of people. He grasped her upper arm tightly as he guided her through many buildings, but they did not stop at his home. Instead, he stopped in front of a short building made of mud and wood. It looked more like a barn, but it was something much worse. It was the slave's quarters.

He gave her one final smirk and said to her, "If you will not be my wife, if you insist on talking back to me, and if you continue thinking that I am lower than you, then I will prove you wrong." He shoved her into the building and she almost tripped over the hay-covered floor with manmade beds on the ground, "You are to be treated as a slave until you realize that I am above you, but not just any slave, my slave."

A glare hardened on her face and she spat down at his feet, "If you think so lowly of me then you are wrong."

He quickly replied, "Ah, but I do not think lowly of you, remember?"

She glared harder because of his mocking tone, and he finished by saying shortly, "And it is why you will serve me and only me. Since I am unable to gain your respect, I will require it."

"Are you forcing me to respect you?" She asked appalled but he shook his head. Then he replied almost humorously, "I am not forcing you, I am requiring you. I cannot force you to do anything, my dear, but if you choose not to show some respect then you will bring the consequences down upon yourself."

She breathed in the strong scent of mold and dirt from the old building that she stood in. Then, she said through gritted teeth, "Consequences?"

"Yes, but I will not tell you what consequences may occur for you, as you will just have to find out yourself." A dreaded silence greeted their ears after he had said that, with their equally hard glares gazing back at one another. Clare was flustered, frustrated, and raging with such anger that it fueled her to say what she dreaded most, "Challenge. Accepted."

A wide grin plastered itself on Roald's face, "Good." His accent was thick which gave him a bit of an alluring appeal, but this did not deter Clare from loosening her balled fists and if anything, it only made her tighten them all the more.

"Now," Roald began again, "Let us begin by dressing you as a slave." He picked up an old, tattered rag from the corner of the room and threw it at her. She barely had enough time to catch it, but when she did, she grimaced at the mildewed piece of cloth "Put that on and then meet me in my chambers."

Clare glared at the Viking, and spat at his feet once more, "I will not dress in this."

His twisted grin widened at that, "Then you will wear nothing." When Roald reached for the garment in her hands, she pulled it back and spat, "Fine."

Disappointment crossed his face for a bare instant, "I was afraid you would give into that one, but I will let you have it your way this one time. Only because I do not want other men laying their eyes on what is mine."

"I am not yours." She insisted, but he just shook his head without giving a verbal reply. Then, he walked away and repeated; "Do not forget to meet me in my chambers."

Clare hissed out a line of curses, but did as she was told. When he finally left, she took off the nice gown that had been given to her, despite it being ripped from her earlier adventures. Then, she pulled the rough, itchy rag over her head. She found herself sickened by the feel of the fabric, and the stench of it was much worse. It made her nose wrinkle and her eyes water from how disgusting it was, but nevertheless, she left to go towards Roald's home to where he sat upon his chair.