Far After Gold by Jen Black Page A

stitched. It was obvious that if he married Katla, the gold hidden away in the family quarters would become his on Skuli Grey Cloak’s death. With that and the leadership of the settlement, most men would see Katla as bride worth acquiring.
    Yet Flane was Emer’s only protection here in the steading. If she didn’t escape soon, her prospects would be bleak once he married Katla. Slaves always did the hard, physical work of any community, tilling the land in the harshest of weather, chopping and hauling wood for fires and building. They carried water, cleared slops and night-soil. Half-starved, kicked and beaten, she might be offered as plaything to any visiting lord, married man or clumsy, bumbling youth anxious to prove his manhood.
    If a child resulted, it might be sold away or brought up in the same household, depending on the whim of the master.
    If she knew Flane better, she might be able to gauge what he would do. Could she persuade him that he should not marry Katla? But that would mean becoming his bed slave.
    Perspiration dampened her palms and she wiped them on the mattress before she resumed her stitching. She was drawn to Flane. But sometimes she was scared of him, too. He could break her neck like snapping a twig if the thought took him. She remembered telling him he must marry her, and the sheer audacity of it made her hands clammy once more.
    As far as she could calculate, nine days had passed since she was seized from Pabaigh. She was well fed and reasonably comfortable. No one had raped her, though she feared it may happen before long. Would it be so awful if it was Flane who—who bedded her? A thrill rippled through her belly at the thought, and heat flamed through her skin.
    It might not be the worst thing that could happen to her. Emer broke the thread, put the needle carefully back on the shelf, stiffened her spine and walked into the hall.
    ***
    Flane and other young men vanished from the hall after they had eaten and roared back in a long time later. They were all in a jovial mood, and Flane came directly to his sleeping place. “We’ve been teaching each other wrestling holds,” he said, throwing himself down on the mattress. He rolled over and almost squashed Grendel, who let out a sharp yip of complaint. Oli sat up in alarm. Flane peered over his shoulder at the dog, which wagged its tail hopefully.
    “This bed space is crowded,” Flane said. “Oli, go to your own space. Take that flea-bitten dog with you.”
    Oli did not move except to push out his bottom lip. “Can’t I stay here?”
    Emer could smell ale on Flane’s breath, and twinges of alarm raced through her. “Let him stay, Flane.”
    Flane looked at the two anxious faces and shook his head. “I’m tired of being squashed in my own bed space. It wasn’t built for three.” His glance flicked to Grendel. “Or four.”
    “But I don’t—”
    “Please, Flane, let Oli stay—”
    “No!”
    Flane was adamant. Oli stuck out his lip even further and trudged across the hall to his own space. Grendel leapt lightly off the mattress and followed his master. Before Oli reached his small corner, he turned and gave them a cheery wave.
    Flane turned to Emer. “He doesn’t mind, you know. I kick him out whenever I want some privacy, and he knows it.”
    “Privacy? What do you want…?” Emer’s voice faded away as she looked at Flane’s grinning face. “Oh.”
    “Oh? Can you not summon a little more enthusiasm than that?” He patted the mattress. “Come and lie beside me. I have a fancy to kiss you.”
    Emer looked out across the hall and tried to hide her flutter of panic. Already the hall settled down for the night. The slaves stacked the fire so it would last until morning and even the noisy young men had subsided. People snuffed candles and others drew the curtain across their sleeping space. Her stomach roiled and curled, and she turned back to find Flane watching her.
    “I thought we had a bargain?” she said