“I won’t say I don’t care about status,” she continued. “Being Jarl’s only chosen elevates me far above the other prisoners. It even earns me a certain level of respect among his men. But I would lay with Jarl any time he asked, even if he were a lowly camp cook; he is that skilled.” Her voice faded off temporarily as she reminisced, then her lips widened in a malicious grin. “Though I don’t need to explain it to you. You’ll soon get an eyeful of anything I could possibly describe if he keeps you chained to the pole for very long. Prepare to see unimaginable pleasures and to see them often, Princess; Jarl has a healthy appetite.” Altene laughed out loud at the shocked expression on Nena’s face as her words sank in.
“You are disgusting,” Nena spat.
“And you are a fool,” Altene answered. “Teclan—so fierce in battle, yet so naive as to the true ways of the world.”
Their arrival back at Jarl’s tent ended their discussion. The guards nodded them past, and Altene pressed on a well worn spot on the side of the tent near the door. Nena heard the thin boards rattle within, and Jarl’s voice bid them enter. He was seated at the table with maps in front of him. He looked up, saw it was them, and went back to studying.
“Change her dress,” he said to Altene, without looking up again.
“As you wish, my lord.” Altene retrieved the stiff leather dress from the chair where she had laid it earlier and returned to stand just out of Nena’s reach. “Remove your dress,” she ordered.
Nena did not move.
“Are you deaf? Or would you like some assistance?” Altene taunted, then leaned in close to Nena’s ear and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Perhaps from my lord, Jarl?”
Nena’s fierce gaze met the other woman’s triumphant, laughing eyes and held them. She would kill this woman one day, she vowed. She would see the smirk fade from her face as she choked the life from her. She prayed for the gods to give her that pleasure before she escaped. Keeping her mind filled with image of Altene’s’ bloodshot eyes bugging from her head, Nena reached up over one shoulder with both bound hands in a slow resolute move, and untied the knot of the dress behind her neck. The thin gauzy material floated down her body like a cloud, pooling on the floor around her feet. She stood with her chin raised, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on Altene, waiting for her to hand her the new dress, but Altene delayed, leaving her to stand naked in front of him.
Jarl hadn’t given it any thought when he gave the order. He had assumed Altene would change the dress once she had resecured Nena to the pole. When it became clear Altene intended to do it there in front of him and use the opportunity to humiliate her, he almost intervened. Almost. The challenge had been issued, and he, like Altene, watched and waited to see what Nena would do.
Jarl sucked in his breath as the soft material slid down her body, caressing every inch of her golden skin on its journey to the floor. For a brief moment he had an unadulterated view of what he had only imagined before. Her perfect firm breasts. Her trim waist flaring to the curve of her hips. The dark patch of her womanhood. Altene handed her the baggy leather replacement and Nena donned it in a flash. The sight was lost, but the image still burned clearly in his mind. Jarl took a deep breath and reached for the jug of wine even though it was early.
“Shall I also replace her chewed binding for you now, my lord?” Altene asked.
“No. I’ve made other arrangements for her. That one will hold until then.”
Nena’s mind raced at Jarl’s words and their implication. Had Altene been right? Had he already grown tired of her presence and given her away? Would it be Tryggr? She’d bested him before, but she’d had her hands free to fight. Or would it be the fair-colored one, Gunnar? By his own words, he had no reservations about lying with an unwilling woman. And he shared Jarl’s physique; he would be a difficult fight in the best of circumstances.
She could tell Altene was barely able to contain her excitement, and knew she was thinking the same. Nena prayed she would ask what his ‘other arrangements’ for her were, but Altene had learned her lesson from the night before and did not question him. After she verified Nena was firmly reattached to the chain on the pole, Altene instructed the other women to leave and turned to Jarl.
“I’ve asked among the new prisoners and have information about the tribe you attacked,” she said.
“Give voice to it,” Jarl said, looking up.
“They are the Eastern Plains tribe, and the celebration your scouts described was a tournament of warriors. The Teclan chief, Meln, and his daughter, her,” she thumbed in Nena’s direction, “were attending as guests of honor. The Plains tribe had hopes that she would choose one of their warriors, and an alliance with the Teclans could be secured. It’s highly unusual for a Teclan woman to be present at a lesser tribe’s tournament, but she had grown so old without choosing, her father must have been desperate and feared the gods had forsaken her.”
The recent image of the dress sliding down Nena’s firm young body flashed to the forefront of Jarl’s mind. There was nothing about it he would describe as old. He fought it aside and asked, “So there were other Teclan there? How many?”
“I do not know, my lord,” Altene said.
“But you are certain Meln, himself, was there?”
“Yes.”
“Are there any other Teclan among the
