Viking Passion by Flora Speer Page B

similar to Lenora’s own, hung on
her tiny frame like a shroud. Her honey-blond hair was pulled back
and knotted, the ends hanging free down her back. The hairstyle
emphasized her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.
    “Oh, my poor Edwina. Have you been ill?”
Lenora tenderly stroked the girl’s cheek.
    “Not ill. Only unhappy.”
    “Is Thorkell cruel to you? Has he hurt
you?”
    “No, but I must share his bed each night. You
know about that. Thorkell told me he gave you to his son. You know
how it is for a slave.”
    Lenora had her mouth open to tell Edwina that
she was more fortunate when she remembered Erik’s threat to kill
her if she told anyone he had not lain with her. She shut her mouth
firmly.
    Edwina wiped her eyes. “Thorkell is not
unkind,” she went on. “It’s just that he is so old. He’s almost
fifty.”
    Lenora nodded sympathetically. In an age in
which boys were considered adults at twelve and most men were dead
before their thirtieth birthday, Thorkell was old indeed.
    “Perhaps that is a good thing,” Lenora said,
hoping to provide some comfort.
    “Yes. The first night was bad, but now he
seems to want me just to lie beside him. He puts his hands on me. I
do not like it, but it is all he does.” She sighed deeply. “It
really doesn’t matter, with my beloved Wilfred gone. I don’t care
what happens to me now.”
    Appalled at the change in her friend, Lenora
forgot discretion in a rush of anger.
    “Edwina, I can’t bear to see you like this.
You were always so cheerful, always calming me when I was upset. I
wish I could help you now. How I long to take revenge on them for
what they have done to us. Especially Snorri.”
    “Hush, Lenora, don’t say that. If anyone
heard you, they would kill us both.” Edwina looked frightened.
“Think about your eternal soul. Vengeance is the Lord’s. Father
Egbert always said that. We must accept what has happened to us and
trust in the Lord to give us strength to bear our misfortune.”
    “Trust in the Lord?” Lenora asked in
exasperation. “These people are heathens. They don’t know or care
anything about the Lord. All they know is the law of the sword.
Plunder and rape and burn and kill.”
    “They are not all violent and cruel. Thorkell
is a learned man. So is Erik. I have seen them working together,
how they love and trust each other. They both know how to read and
write, and count, too.” Edwina’s eyes widened at the thought of
these accomplishments.
    “Are you defending them? How can you?”
    “Because they are not as bad as you
think.”
    “Snorri—”
    “Snorri is a beast. Snorri is the worst of
the Vikings. But they are not all like Snorri. Did you know Erik
came to me and told me you were well and safe? Did you know he told
Thorkell my betrothed had been killed, and to treat me kindly?”
    “I did not know. He could have told me that
you were well, but he never did. And what Erik told him did not
keep Thorkell from taking you to his bed, did it?”
    “No, that is true. He is an old man and
settled in his ways. Owners bed with their female slaves. Thorkell
would not change such things, but he is kind to me.”
    “I don’t know how you can accept this misery
so easily. I have tried so hard, but I will never be able to accept
it. I hate them all. I wish I could find a way to make Snorri pay
for killing our family.” Lenora’s eyes blazed with her desire for
vengeance, her cheeks flamed.
    “You will drive yourself mad thinking such
thoughts.” Edwina shook her head sadly. “There is nothing you or I
can do to change what is. Accept it and make the best of it. And
now let me help you at the loom. You never could weave properly,
Lenora.”
    With this firm change in subject, Edwina went
to work, quickly untangling the warp threads and setting their
stone weights aright. She passed the skein of wool back and forth a
few times, straightening the weft with the whalebone batten,
producing a stretch of smooth, even fabric.
    “You