“Do you want more?” Jarl waved toward the platter on the table, but she shook her head. “Then give me the plate,” he said.
She hesitated.
“Not that I think you can make a fair weapon from a plate, but I’m not taking any chances. Hand it to me,” he insisted.
Nena set the plate on the floor and pushed it with her foot to the edge of her circle of restraint.
“Now the waterskin.”
Nena lifted the bag to her lips and drained the last of the water before tossing it at him.
“Very good,” Jarl said, then carried the plate and bag back to the table. He returned to the bed and his sleeping furs with his back to her. He pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it to the floor, then bent his head while he unlaced the front of his trousers. When his trousers joined the tunic, Nena eyed his muscular buttocks and back warily, watching his every move lest he come in her direction. But Jarl never looked at her again. After briefly rearranging his furs, he crawled beneath them. Within minutes he was asleep, snoring softly.
As soon as she was sure it was not a trick and that he was actually asleep, Nena began to gnaw at the hardened leather bindings on her wrists. The new braided leather was thick and strong, and tied so tightly to her skin, it was difficult to get a good angle to bite. Forcing herself to be patient, she chose one small section at a time, wet it with her tongue and lips to soften it, then worked at it with her front teeth. For the longest time she seemed to make no progress. Eventually though, the leather would give and she would remove a tiny piece, then start the process over.
Nena lamented the first rays of gray light that filtered through a thin crack in the tent wall. She was out of time, exhausted, and only halfway through one binding. She knew she would not get another chance. If he awoke and called for Altene, the other woman would see the chew marks immediately—of that Nena had no doubt. That was, if he himself did not notice it first; he did not seem to miss much. She needed to make an attempt now. She stood up silently and carefully placed one foot on the end of the chain to keep it from rattling. Using her second hand to support the wrist with the chewed binding, she pulled upward against the weakened leather with all of her might. She thought she felt the leather give slightly, but couldn’t be sure. She renewed her grip, took a deep breath, and pulled again.
Nothing.
Her wrist on fire, Nena frantically calculated her next move. The quiet sounds of his breathing changed behind her. She turned. He was staring at her, his expression intense and lustful. It was too late.
Nena had more than once overheard the women of her village laughing about a man’s desire when he first awoke, but couldn’t recall their words exactly. Was it stronger than a man’s night desire? She wished now she had paid more attention to the gossip, but had always assumed she would find out for herself one day. She did not want that day to be now.
Jarl threw back the furs and swung his legs out sideways to the short drop to the floor. His erection was clear for her to see, but he seemed not to care. He stood and walked naked to the tent flap. Holding it open just a few inches, he spoke to one of the guards stationed outside. “Send for Altene.”
As much as Nena did not wish to see the other woman, or be forced to witness what she was sure they were about to do again, she was relieved for his having an outlet other than her. Though it made no sense for him to have brought her here if not to force himself upon her. He hadn’t known her identity then, so it had not been for the ransom, and he made no attempt to hide the fact that he found her desirable.
Jarl returned to the edge of the furs and picked up his trousers. Nena looked away as he pulled them up over his erection, more concerned by her own body’s issues at that moment, than his. The water she had consumed the night before was threatening to burst within her, and she wondered where they relieved themselves. She had seen nothing in the tent.
Altene arrived in a flash, immaculate and scantily dressed, as if she’d been waiting for his summons. Nena realized she probably had. The other Dor woman did not appear to have slept any more than she had—probably fretted all night about her chastising and what Nena and the Northman were doing in her absence. Altene carried a leather warrior dress, though not the same soft doeskin Nena had been wearing when she was captured. This one was made from a poorly-tanned, thick, coarse hide. Altene draped the dress over a chair, then smiled at Jarl. “Shall I pleasure you this morning, my lord?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.
“Not today. Get your women and take her to the latrine,” he commanded, but his voice was softer and carried none of the bite from the previous evening.
“Yes, my lord,” Altene said. Her half smile and deep exhale as she turned away revealed her relief that his anger had abated. She exited and returned again quickly with four women. Two Nena recognized from the night before, but the other two were new.
“My lord, she has chewed her bonds,” Altene reported as the other women secured Nena with the rope harness. Her eyes were wide, pretending to be shocked, but Nena could see the hard glint within them.
Klarta bitch.
“Yes, but only halfway,” Jarl
