“You were there?”
“Not at the formal ceremony.” Onetooth grinned. “But I remember the celebration, the first time I ever got pissed.”
She chuckled. When he smiled, the scar that forever marred his otherwise handsome face faded. Thinking on that more, she didn’t like the name Onetooth very much. He deserved a more dignified title. Rewarding his humor with a grin, she asked, “What’s your given name?”
His bushy brows lifted.
“I promise never to tell anyone.”
He broke eye contact and shrugged. “Skari.”
It had a pleasant enough ring. “Why do you dislike your name so much?”
“My mother named me after the seagulls.”
Rachelle couldn’t contain her laughter. “Aren’t they ruthless predators?”
He gaped at her as if she’d lost her mind. “No, they’re cursed scavengers.” For such a formidable man, he possessed a child’s manner.
“Thank you for confiding in me. I shall always address you as Onetooth in public.” She returned the weapon.
He hung it up, then faced her again. “Now, we must discuss my real purpose for seeking you out.”
Her heart dropped in her chest. “Has something happened?”
“No, but I have implicit instructions. You may disagree with them, but you must swear to obey them.”
She didn’t like the look on his face.
“My master has his reasons and I believe they are to protect you. You will be quartered in a room on the third floor of this house. No one else stays there. I’ll move into the chamber across from yours. Never leave your suite unless accompanied by Tyr or myself. You will eat and speak only with me. A maid, who has been instructed not to discuss private affairs with you, will attend you in the morning and before bed.”
Just as she had forespoken—imprisonment. She clenched and unclenched her hands rapidly. “You expect me to accept this? Doomed to never see the light of day while I’m here?”
Onetooth wrinkled his nose. “That’s not what I said. Hostilities will increase against the Saxons in the days to follow. Your king devastated our army. Once the ships carrying the survivors return, stories of the massacre will take on a life of their own. Bloodletting will be the only way to appease the men and women who mourn their loved ones. Northmen don’t embrace humiliation, Rachelle, they abhor it. Thousands of Saxons dwell in the lands between Oslo and this steading. Slaves and freemen alike. If Tyr wasn’t thinking of your welfare, he’d allow you to roam wherever you pleased. Anyone who claims your beleaguered island as their birthplace is in danger right now.”
“Oh…” was all she could say. He was right. If their native pride measured even half of hers, his people would resent her mere presence, woman or not.
“As for Aaron McNally, I remind you to stay away from him. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
Chapter Seven
Comfort
Rachelle snorted atthe extravagance of her bedchamber. A feather-stuffed mattress and furs, embroidered pillows, cushioned chairs, a high-arched window allowing sunshine to bathe the room in golden warmth, and a stone hearth with a pleasing fire. In the far corner, she found a wardrobe complete with gowns and even slippers that looked small enough to fit her feet. Her eyebrows knitted together. Who did these dresses belong to? A bone and silver handled brush, comb, looking glass, and adornments for her hair were in the drawer inside the wardrobe, too. Apparently she wasn’t the first female visitor in this house.
By late evening, the expected celebration erupted. Lute music and laughter filtered upstairs. Deeply resenting the isolation, she decided being cosseted in luxury didn’t make imprisonment any more comfortable. She missed home. And more than ever, she wanted to ride her favorite mare and feel the wind whipping her hair. Huddled on the bed, she prepared to face a long, lonely night.
Much to her delight, minutes later, someone knocked. Jumping up, she ran to the door, then opened it.
A sweaty Onetooth looked her over. He smelled of smoke and ale. “Why haven’t you changed out of that tattered dress?”
“I’ll changeaftermy bath.” She retrieved a pile of clothes and a pair of boots she’d set aside earlier.
The old Norseman placed her hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her to the second floor. Passing through a sizable bedchamber with a balcony, they descended stairs leading to the rear of the house.
“Ashamed to be seen with me?” she asked. Why were they slinking around in the shadows like thieves? Where was he taking her?
“I’ve already explained myself.” He spoke through closed teeth. “Tyr is very protective.”
