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

Chapter Ten

Clare had eaten the water-based soup that had been given to her, and the moldy bread that was left over from the week before. She gagged at the taste of her meal, but nevertheless, she downed a glass of ale with it to make the taste less bitter. After she had eaten, she followed Roald's earlier demands and made an appearance by his side.

"Come closer," he had insisted, eyeing her warily. She did not obey his orders though, and being as stubborn and rebellious as she was, she took a step away from him. Then she said, "I rather not come so close to a killer of innocent people."

"I am not a killer of innocent people," he said but then frowned in thought, "Your town will overcome its tragedy."

She grunted, crossing her arms across her chest and saying, "What is left of it, that is."

He watched her for a long time and then leaned towards her from his high chair, "Come closer, Clare."

She refused, and he reached out abruptly, grasping her hand and pulling her so close to him that she had tripped and fell against him, "I said come closer." He repeated, "But this will do just fine." Then, Roald placed a hand to each of her hips and turned her around so that she was sitting on his lap. She squirmed from atop of him, and this only fueled his desire all the more.

"Let me go." She said, surprised that her words held more than just its simple meaning have him letting her go physically.

He snickered, bringing his lips close to her ear. People had begun to watch them now but she ignored them, "Do you not know what we do with our slaves?" He nibbled her neck, but she pushed him away, "We pleasure ourselves to them." He said with a stern tone, and then Roald trailed wet kisses down her neck to her shoulder.

Clare both, enjoyed and hated, the feeling of his touch against her soft skin. She was quick to deny her small enjoyment to it, though, and jumped off of Roald. He was wittier than her, and saw the move coming. He was quick to wrap his arms around her waist and bring her back onto him.

"The more you struggle to listen to me, the more I will constrain you. Now, hold still so that I might let that beautiful hair down." She had forgotten that Onora had made her tie her hair up, and was unnerved when she felt Roald's hand graze her head until he had untied the knot from which it was tied up. In an instant, she felt the wave of red curls flow down her back. Clare tried to push him away from her again but Roald's grasp on her waist only became tighter, "Remember my words, my dear."

"I cannot stand you." She said through clench teeth, and he only snickered once more. She sat awkwardly against him for a long time, trying to be as patient as possible, and after several minutes she felt his hands loosen slightly. Before she knew it, he had them down by his side and he whispered, "You may go now, if you would like."

She took her chance, and was grateful to get away from the man. She did not look back to see the disappointment written on his face, and instead pushed passed many people until she had come back to the slave's quarters to find Onora and some other females still cooking.

"Do the Vikings feast every night?" She asked, finding her tone breaking. Her stomach burned from the food she had eaten earlier and she felt dizzy.

"Yes, for the most part. They have gatherings in the eve, a coming together to eat in the great halls."

Clare nodded her head in understanding, but the nausea she felt became too much and before she could think, she was running outside the back door of the slave's quarters, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the cool grass.

She lost track of time, kneeling down on the ground and hunching over for the longest of time. She felt sore all over, her limbs dragging with a dull achiness as she stood from the ground, only to fall back down onto it.

Then, she felt a cool hand to her forehead as someone approached her from behind, "Onora," Clare said slowly, "I do not feel so well."

A low chuckle reached her ears, "I am not that slave from whom you speak." It was Roald, and he easily picked Clare up into his arms, "You are sick." He said very observantly, "For you are running a fever."

"I thought it would have been obvious from my vomiting." She snapped, and it left them both surprised that she could still give such curt replies, even with being so sick.

"Come now," he said, still carrying her, "You must not try so hard to retort when you are so ill. Let us get you into bed."

She did not respond at first, but when Roald began carrying her towards his own chambers she broke the silence, "You are going the wrong way. I am to sleep in the slave's quarters, remember?"

"No," he said abruptly, "Not when you are in such a terrible condition. Now be quiet before I make you." He opened his door and took long strides to his bed to where he lay her down upon the soft furs, "I hope you have learned to respect me a bit more."

"What are you talking about? You are the one who made me eat moldy bread!" She said, but her voice was cracked and hoarse, as she lay her head down on his pillows.

"But I did not force you." He retorted, and then walked over to a table to where he poured a cup of water for her. He handed it to her and said, "But I will force you to drink this water, so that you might feel better by the morn."

She could not resist, for her throat became tight and dry. Roald helped her up into a sitting position just enough for her to down the cup. Droplets of water fell down her chin, but she did not care. Then, she collapsed against the furs once more and closed her eyes. Roald stripped his shirt and lay down next to her, taking her into his burly arms and resting his chin atop of her head.

vvv

Clare found herself in Roald's arms when she awoke in the middle of the night. Nausea overwhelmed her though, and she abruptly pulled away from him to dry heave over the side of the bed. She was sick, and there was no denying it.

A heavy hand rested on her back until she realized that she would not try to vomit again. She lay back down, uncaring that her back was pressed firmly against Roald's chest.

He was not as lenient with her though, and did not let her sleep. Instead, Roald sat her up against him and called for a slave. When a brunette came through the door, he demanded that she bring him herbal tea. When she came back the next time, she had a cup of tea with herbal leaves floating atop of the hot liquid. Clare graciously took it form her hands, and she left without another word.

"Drink." Roald pushed, motioning to the steaming cup. She looked down at it and then back up at him, saying, "If this is poisoned, I will haunt you for the rest of eternity."

He laughed loudly at that, and she watched as his stomach rippled with muscle until he regained his composure, "I am glad that you never change, even when you are ill with a fever and stomach ache."

She smiled wryly at his comment, and then brought he liquid to her mouth. She choked on the tea that was scorching, for she had burned her tongue upon drinking her fist sip. Roald instantly noticed and leaned forward to take the cup from her hands and put it on a side table, "Here," he whispered, "Let me make the pain go away."

She was unsure as to what he was talking about, but when he cupped the side of her face and brought his lips down onto hers, she knew that he was trying to kiss her better.

She did not have the energy to pull away, and greedily gave into the kiss.