Viking Passion by Flora Speer

serving him in the
little house they shared or sitting with him at each evening’s
feast, did he allow any physical contact between them.
    He was gone most of each day, practicing with
his sword and spear and battle-ax in the enclosed yard reserved for
such activities. When he was not practicing battle skills he often
rode out on horseback with Thorkell to inspect some part of his
father’s lands or spent time closeted with Thorkell in his private
chambers, where, Freydis had told her, Erik kept Thorkell’s
business accounts.
    Only at night, when at last he slept rolled
snugly in his own blanket, did he occasionally move near her, and
she would often wake in the dark to find his warm length pressed
against her back as she lay near the wall. Once or twice his arm
had slipped around her. Each morning he was gone before she
woke.
    Fearful that after a time he would give her
to someone else, she had at first tried to find ways to bind him to
her, but he remained indifferent.
    Two halfhearted attempts to seduce him had
failed miserably. She did not really know how to go about it and
she was frightened. Finally, convinced Erik would never want her,
she gave up.
    As she pondered her situation, Lenora became
aware that Halfdan had sat down beside her. He greeted her with a
smile. Lenora’s eyes widened at the red-splotched bandage on his
right arm.
    “What happened?” she asked. “You’re
bleeding.”
    “Only a little wound-dew. A small accident
practicing with swords. It will be better soon.”
    Lenora thought she recognized the cloth of
Halfdan’s bandage.
    “Did Freydis bind it up for you?”
    The burly Viking’s eyes met hers, and in
their blue depths Lenora saw a world of anguish.
    “Freydis has been good to me,” Lenora said
kindly. “She has been teaching me my duties here.”
    “She manages Thorkell’s household very well,”
Halfdan said in a noncommittal tone. His eyes strayed across the
room toward Freydis.
    Lenora saw her chance to learn more about
Thorkell’s family, but she knew she must be very careful or Halfdan
would not talk to her. She had noticed he seldom spoke to women at
all. She decided to approach the subject in a roundabout way. She
hoped her scanty Norse would be adequate. Fortunately, Halfdan,
like many Danes, had some command of English.
    “You are Erik’s good friend,” she began,
looking at him with what she hoped was an innocent expression.
    “For many years,” Halfdan told her
solemnly.
    “Do you live on Thorkell’s lands?”
    “No.” Halfdan looked down at her with
amusement. “My father is a king’s jarl, like Erik’s father. They
are friends from their youth, when they went a-viking together to
distant lands. Thorkell sent Erik to live at my father’s hall when
Erik was very small.”
    “Why did he do that?”
    Halfdan glanced at Erik before answering, but
Erik was apparently entranced by the song being sung by the skald.
He seemed unaware of the existence of either his friend or his
slave.
    “Thorkell sent Erik to my father for safety
after Ragnhilde killed Erik’s mother. My father lives in the far
north of Denmark, by the Limfjord. It is many days’ travel from
here, and Thorkell thought Erik would be safe there, with my father
to guard him, and he was.”
    Lenora remembered the story Erik had told her
on her first night at Thorkellshavn.
    “Who is Ragnhilde?” she asked. “And why did
she kill Erik’s mother?”
    “Ragnhilde was Thorkell’s wife,” Halfdan
replied, confirming Lenora’s suspicion. “Thorkell brought Erik’s
mother back from a voyage to the land of the Franks. Soon after
Snorri was born to Ragnhilde, the Frankish slave gave birth to
Erik. Thorkell was overjoyed to have two sons. Ragnhilde was
jealous. One day Erik’s mother was walking alone by the river, and
she fell in and drowned.”
    “It could have been an accident.”
    “No one who knew Ragnhilde would ever believe
that.”
    “Wasn’t Ragnhilde punished?”
    “Why should she