“That day will never come,” she seethed.
“Perhaps.” Jarl acknowledged with a smile and shrug. “In the meantime, I cannot be forever worried that you have chewed yourself free when I am busy or preoccupied. Believe it or not, I do have other things to worry about besides you.” He took another small step toward her. “This is going to happen now, but I’m giving you a choice. You can accept them willingly, or I will put them on you like I did the first ones, rolling in the furs—which I quite enjoyed,” he added. “You decide.”
Nena rapidly evaluated her limited options. The shackles, though delicate in appearance, would be extremely effective. If she allowed him to place them on her, she would not be able to get free of them without a key. If she tried to fight, already bound as she was, she would be no match for him, and any injury she would be able to inflict would be minimal. The end result would be the same, but she would have endured being manhandled and groped by him again.
Her heart raced as she fought back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to remain calm. Panic served no purpose. She had no choice. She would not be able to chew free, but she would find another way. Later. Secure the key. Something. Like being bloodsworn to the child, this was another setback, but it would be overcome. They said the camp would move in a week. In that certain chaos could be opportunity. Making no attempt to hide her hatred of him, Nena offered up her wrists.
The guard bringing dinner, entered with another heaping tray of food. After he set the tray on the table and left, Jarl picked up his set of utensils and a second set, Nena assumed were for her, and placed them on a smaller table behind his chair, near the chest where Altene had chosen her ruby. He poured himself an oxhorn cup of wine and took a long swallow, wiping the excess from his lips with the back of his hand while he studied her.
Seeming to come to some decision, he leaned the horn against its short wooden stand, walked across the tent and stood in front of her, his body tense. “It’s time to eat, Princess. Let’s try to play nice, alright?” he asked, though Nena could tell he was not really expecting a response. He started to unhook the long chain from her cuffs, then paused and looked her straight in the eye. “Know this. If you make a move on me, you’d better be certain you can finish it, and kill me. Am I clear?”
She stared back at him in silence.
“Here goes nothing,” he murmured, as he unhooked the chain. Leaving her hands bound together with the cuffs, he led her to a chair across from his, and sat her at an empty plate. She eyed the utensils behind him. The Northmen utensils, other than the knife, were strange to her, so she did not need them to eat, but had hoped to have access to the pronged one. Perhaps he would give her an oxhorn cup like his. The intricate silver decoration around the top rim would not make it heavy enough to kill him with a blow to the head, but the sharp silver-tipped curved point on the bottom could surely be driven into his eye—maybe even his ear.
Tonight’s feast was a roasted shoulder of wild pig. Jarl cut off two large slabs of the steaming meat, placing one on his plate and one on the plate in front of her. He returned his knife to its sheath when he noticed her eyes on it, then added a large scoop of tender grains boiled with small wild onions to each plate. He poured wine into a shallow silver cup, slid it in front of her, and nodded for her to drink.
Nena frowned, disappointed that he’d had the foresight to not provide her with one of the oxhorn cups. She took a small sip. She was thirsty, but did not want to dim her wits around him. She picked up the piece of hot meat and bit off an edge. When she finished that piece, he cut her another. She had to scoop the onions and grains up to her mouth with her hands, but she didn’t mind. They were delicious—heavily salted and seasoned with some other spice that was unknown to her.
Jarl sat watching her, his full plate of food untouched, though he did continue to drink his wine and soon had refilled his oxhorn several times.
“What were the Teclan doing out on the plains?” he asked. “Altene said earlier, in hopes you would choose. What did she mean by that?”
“Ask your whore,” Nena responded between mouthfuls.
Jarl sat back and smiled, seeming to be relaxed, but Nena could feel the tense awareness emanating from him. She could tell that even with the wine he had consumed, he was poised to react within a split second to any move on her part.
“How many of you were there? Who is left guarding the Teclan mountain stronghold?”
“Ask your whore that, too.”
“Perhaps I will, but that will have to wait until later. I do not wish for Altene to disturb us now.”
What did he mean by that? What was he planning to do now? Altene had said he would not force her—had that been a lie? Deceitful Klarta bitch couldn’t be trusted. Nena delayed eating her last few bites to postpone as long as possible what was to come after the meal.
As he led her away from the table, Nena planned her defense strategy. If he ventured past the pole toward his furs, her best bet with her hands cuffed was to go for his eyes.
Jarl
