She was silent, wondering what to do. The men were all looking at her expectantly. She could tell nothing from Merrik’s closed expression. Taby was drowsing in his arms, his head against Merrik’s chest. The men all nodded at her now, some telling her to begin again, aye, tell them about Parma and what Selina did to him. She continued to look back at Merrik. Finally, he nodded at her. She smiled. She rose. She opened her mouth to speak, the words brimming in her mind. She saw his arm rise but she didn’t move back quickly enough. Deglin hit her cheek hard with his fist, knocking her sideways to the ground, and into the fire.
7
MERRIK DUMPEDTABYonto the ground and leapt to his feet, but Cleve was faster. He raced to Laren and dragged her from the fire. She was still senseless from the blow Deglin had struck her. Her right trouser leg was burning, sluggish flames that were seeping into the dry wool, seeking better purchase, billowing up black smoke from the material. He knocked her onto her face and dug dirt up with his fingers, flinging it onto her leg. Then he pressed the dirt into the trousers, rubbing furiously. Merrik pulled Cleve aside, jerked off his own tunic, and flattened it against her leg. He raised it and looked down at the burned wool, peeling back, now gaping about her flesh. She turned slowly onto her side and he looked at her face.
“Are you all right?”
She stared at him a moment, her face without color, her fingers digging into the earth, spasmodically, with no reason, just digging and digging. She winced, lightly touching her fingertips to her cheek where Deglin had struck her. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it. The blood pounded deep and hard, fear clogging her brain, and she smiled and said, “I wasn’t fast enough.”
Merrik just stared at her, shaking his head. “Is your jaw broken?” Even as he spoke, he touched her cheek, his fingers light and gentle, then nodded. “No, but there will be a bruise.” He looked at her leg again. “Sit up,” he said. He was aware of the men’s angry voices all around them. Good, they wouldn’t stand behind Deglin, not that it mattered to Merrik.
She did, saying nothing.
He ripped back the wool, baring her leg. Her leg wasn’t too badly burned, but the flesh from her ankle to her knee was dark red. He imagined the pain must be great, but when he looked at her face again, he saw only blankness, and realized she hadn’t yet given over to it, hadn’t yet realized fully what had happened and what the consequences were going to be. “Stay still,” he said and rose. He turned. Oleg was holding Deglin.
The skald was panting, struggling against Oleg, but Oleg was strong, as strong as Merrik, and he was very angry.
Merrik walked to him slowly. He stood there in front of him, saying nothing, merely stared down at him. Deglin stopped struggling. He said, “I did not mean to harm her, just to punish her. She deserved the blow to her face, but she tripped into the fire, it wasn’t my fault. She is a slave, my lord, there can be no retribution.”
Cleve snarled behind Merrik, his hands fisted, his body tensed, ready to leap. The men were all on their feet, their shock at what had happened quickly changed to fury. But they were willing to wait to see what Merrik would do. It was his decision, not theirs.
Merrik heard Taby crying and turned to see the child crawling toward his sister.
He said calmly, “Cleve, take the child to his sister. Oleg, bring our skald here, to the fire. He is doubtless cold, at least he’s proved his brain is cold and without reason or sense. I will warm him, as he did Laren.”
Oleg smiled and dragged Deglin to the fire. The men all drew near, making a circle about them, saying nothing now, waiting.
“Give him to me,” Merrik said. Oleg shoved Deglin to Merrik. Merrik grabbed him about his neck and forced him to the ground. Without warning, he grabbed Deglin’s right leg and shoved it into the flames, holding it there.
Deglin stared in horror at the flames lashing upward around and through his leg. He felt the awful scalding heat, felt the material burn from his leg, felt the flames go into his flesh. He screamed and thrashed, struggling wildly against Merrik.
Merrik released him only after the cloth had burst into flames and turned to ashes. He watched him dispassionately as he scrambled away, rolling in the dirt, screaming, gasping for breath, choking.
He just looked at him, then said, “You have less sense than a snail, Deglin. Your lack of control is offensive. I won’t kill you this time. But heed me, never again harm another without my permission. Do you understand me?”
Deglin was filled with pain, filled with the shock of the pain, the disbelief of what had happened, of what Merrik had done to him simply because he’d struck a slave. He smelled his own burned flesh. His craw filled with vomit and loathing. He said on a gasp, “Aye, my lord, I understand you.”
“Good,” Merrik said, then turned away from him. He saw that Laren was sitting up now and staring down at her burned leg. Her fingers were hovering above the reddened flesh. She was afraid to touch herself. Cleve was beside her, holding Taby, who was gulping down tears, speaking quietly to both of them. Merrik said to Eller, “Fetch me the healing cream my mother sent along in the herb pouch in my tent. Quickly.”
Merrik came down on his haunches. He grasped her chin between his fingers and lifted her face. “The cream will leach out the heat and pain. It is the same cream I put on your back, and it eased you, did it not?”
She nodded, words stuck in her craw. She couldn’t keep from staring at her burned leg.
“You are doing well.”
And he expected her to continue doing well, she thought, and knew that she would. She smiled again, more difficult than she would have thought, and said, “I should have been faster. During the past two years I’ve learned to duck quick as a flea and dodge blows with the spryness of a horse about to be gelded.” She sighed, and he saw color come back into her face, too much color on her cheek. It was now turning a pale purple. He knew that she was calming, that her mind would tell her quickly enough that there was a goodly amount of pain to come.
It wasn’t fair. She’d suffered too much already, and now this.
Eller handed him the cream. “I have only one other pair of trousers, Merrik.”
“Bring them. She cannot be naked around an army of men.”
Merrik saw that she was just staring at that cream and she was afraid of his touching her burned flesh, afraid of the pain, and he didn’t blame her. When he’d rubbed it into her back, it had hurt, and she remembered that, too well.
He said nothing, merely took the cream in one hand and grasped her beneath her arm with the other. He half carried her to the tent. When he laid her onto her back, he said, “I’m going to pull these trousers off you.”
She didn’t want him to for she was naked beneath the trousers. But her leg was hurting now, throbbing, the pain deep and becoming deeper and stronger by the moment. What did it matter? He’d already seen her body, already tended to her back, bathed her. She said nothing, merely turned her head away. He was kneeling over her now, his expression intent. She couldn’t look at him. She closed her eyes as she felt his hands at her waist, unknotting the rope that was holding up Eller’s trousers. She felt the cool night air on her bare flesh as he pulled them down. He was very careful, she’d give him that, but when a bit of charred wool clung to her leg, she lurched up, crying out with the sharp pain of it.
