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

Chapter Eleven

Clare awoke to a warm body pressed against her back, arms holding her tightly as if she were caged within Roald's grasp. She opened her eyes to a burnt out candle, and the suns light coming in through the windows that made the room bright. The rays from the sun's beams gave a similar appeal as if she were holding a crystal towards the sky, its light shimmering through each ridge of its fixed state. Like every morning, Clare let out a long, drawn-out yawn that she could not find herself to muffle. It was when she was done yawning that Roald's arms loosened and she could feel him shift from behind her.

"I see that you are awake," He said calmly, "How are you feeling?

Clare rolled over so that she was on her side facing him, "I feel," but she did not answer for a long time, only to find the right word, "Revived."

"That is a good thing for my ears to hear. Tell me, do you remember last night?"

She did not budge for a long time, as she searched through her memories of the night following the morning. It was when she remembered their passionate moment of kissing that her cheeks turned as red as her hair, and she nodded awkwardly before replying, "I do."

He chuckled lowly at her reaction before replying, "Why do you turn red at the thought of me kissing you, if you are so insistent that you have no physical or emotional feelings towards me?"

"Because," her gaze hardened once more as she paled again, "I find myself embarrassed for kissing someone who splutters like a guppy, rather than someone who is skilled in the motion."

His eyebrows raised at her words, "Are you saying that I kiss like a fish?"

Clare smirked briefly, "Yes, that is exactly what I am saying."

As soon as Roald was about to reply, he was cut off by the door being abruptly opened and a familiar blonde with glaring eyes and firm lips came barging towards them, "So, I see that you have found the wretched witch. But," she hummed with more interest, "I have heard that you have made her a petty slave. Does this mean that you rather have a woman who comes to your calls rather than defies them?"

"Birla," Roald groaned, sitting up so that he could face her, "Get out!"

"Why?" She sputtered through a lowered lip, "So that you can fuck what will only be yours through the level of physical intimacy?"

"Oh, I am sorry." Roald retorted with a mocking tone, "Is that not all that I do with you?"

"Why, no." she hummed, stalking towards them to close the distance between her and Roald. She put a hand to his cheek in an almost endearing type of way, "Because I am not forced."

Clare found her voice then, "forced?"

"Yes," Birla answered before Roald could say anything, "Have you not heard of what slaves are best for?"

"I mean," Clare hesitated briefly, "I have but I-"

Birla interrupted her in an instant, "And you do not believe that a jarl would fuck the most slaves for his own pleasure?"

With a petrified look, Clare looked between Birla and Jarl who was raging with a tight mouth and hard eyes. Then, headstrong Clare said to Birla, "He is all yours." And, Clare stormed out of the bed and from the room.

By the time she had made it into the hallway, she took off running towards the slave's cooking quarters to where she found Onora and her few other acquaintances making breakfast for the Vikings. She flew into the room in a flurry of unease, and said loudly, "I cannot stand this man any longer, for he is infuriating and lewd. He takes what he wants, but he will not take me!"

Onora dropped what she was doing and came towards her new friend, "Why do you speak as if you are regretful?"

Before Clare could say anything more, she breathlessly answered, "I kissed him."

Onora raised her eyebrows at that, "More than once?"

"Yes!" She raged stomping towards the dishes, "More than once! And I hate him for it!" It happened so fast but Clare acted on unnerved instinct. She picked up a bowl from the counter and threw it towards the door, "And I will never kiss him again!" She yelled aloud, only for the door to open as soon as the bowl made contact with the wall next to it.

Roald stood, looked to the shattered material on the ground, and then his hardened gaze met Clare's heated one. And, with five curt words, he seared the fire burning inside of her all the more, "We will see about that."

Before she could speak, he walked forcefully towards her, grasped her wrist, and pulled her against him. He took her lips into his own and hungrily took what she did not willingly give him. When he pulled away, she pushed him even further. She pointed a shaky finger to the door and screamed on the top of her lungs, "How many times have you been with Birla?" Then she motioned towards the slaves in the room, "And how many times have you taken their bodies without their consent?"

He glared at her, but said nothing. Without saying a word, he slowly turned around and retreated, but not before saying, "You better learn my ways before another's wrongful teachings gets into your head." Then, he exited the room as calmly as he could.

Clare screamed out after him, "What does that even mean!"

Onora, who had been watching hesitantly with the other slaves stepped forward and put a hand to Clare's shoulder. She caught the red-head's attention and answered for her, "The Jarl has only been with one other woman, whom you already know. He is a kind Jarl, and unlike the many others, has not harmed us in the ways that you may think."

"What do you mean?" She turned around shocked by Onora's response.

"He may punish us," she said, "but never sexually. This is not to say that other men have in this town, but the Jarl, he is different. He feels that he can only love one person at a time, and has only ever been with Birla. Though, in my opinion, he has never truly loved Birla."

"You lie!" Clare snapped at Onora who faltered at her accusing words.

Onora gave a faint hint of a smile but said more sternly, "I do not."

"Then why is it that he is so forceful with me?" Clare asked, once again unnerved.

"Is it not obvious?" she retorted, only for Clare to shake her head in denial. She feared Onora's next words, but they were said anyway.

"Because the Jarl loves you."

Clare rolled her eyes and stormed away from Onora and the other slaves, but it did not prevent the guilt that crept within the back of her conscious, as ice would on a morning's dew. And like the ice that froze, it also thickened.