Maidensong by Mia Marlowe

her chest.
      Gooseflesh rippled over the darker skin on the bag of his seed and she was startled out of her study of him. Guiltily, she drew the blankets up to his chin and folded back the bottom edge to soap and doctor the hurts on his well- muscled legs.
      Tend to his needs, Astryd had said. Rika soon dis covered the needs of an unconscious man were few. She held a wet cloth to his temple, willing the lump to subside. She rearranged the blankets over him and tucked them around his feet. When she could think of nothing else to do, she perched quietly at his side on the bedding, with one of his hands in hers.
      He had strong hands, broad fingered and lightly peppered with dark hair. A little bit of dirt had col lected under his nails and she used a knifepoint to clean it out.
      She searched his face. The hard lines around his eyes etched by years at the steering oar battling the wind and waves had relaxed and he looked years younger. His skin was so pale, with an unhealthy un dertone, almost gray. She put a hand on his chest to feel the great muscle of his heart constricting under her palm. The rhythm seemed steady, if a little fast.
      “ Open your eyes, Bjorn,” she whispered. Her stom ach twisted like raw wool on a spindle. Why should she care what happened to this man? Wasn’t he the en emy? The blood of Magnus Silver-Throat might just as well drip from his hand. The hand she held gently, even now. As she willed him to wake, part of her heart damned her for a traitor.
      “ Poor little brother.” The voice behind her made her jump to her feet. She was so intent on Bjorn, she wasn’t aware when Gunnar slipped into the room, silent as a cat. “He must be dying. If you sat on my bed, I’m sure I’d rouse.”
      Gunnar’s voice was greasy, like a slick of whale oil on the waves. She didn’t like the way his gaze traveled over her body.
      “He hasn’t wakened?”
      “ No, lord.” Rika folded her hands before her, keep ing her eyes cast down. When he took a step toward her, crowding closer than he should, she reflexively moved back. Before she knew it, he had her cornered.
      “ Nowhere else to run, my little skald,” Gunnar said, his pupils enlarging to make his pale eyes nearly as dark as Bjorn’s, black holes ringed with icy gray.
      “ I’m not your skald,” she said. “I belong to your brother.”
      The words sounded strange to her ears, yet if it would protect her from the jarl, she would readily admit to being Bjorn's property.
      “That’s an odd turn now, isn’t it?” he said, still crowding close. “Ever since we were boys, Bjorn has always wanted what I have. He wants the land, you know. Always, he’s wanted the land.”
      Rika remained silent. She didn’t dare meet Gunnar's gaze, so she studied the plank floor trying to con trol the tremble that threatened to take her.
      “ He’s always been eaten up with envy,” Gunnar con tinued. “Seems strange that now I’m envious of him.” The jarl leaned toward her and inhaled deeply, nuz zling along her neck, where the wisps of her shorn hair curled around her ears. Her breakfast of cheese and bread curdled in her stomach.
      Gunnar placed a possessive hand on her waist. “But of course, even though Bjorn can never have what’s mine, there’s nothing of his that didn’t come to him through my good graces. You were mine by right. I think I may just decide to take you back, Rika.”
      “ Bjorn might have something to say about that.” She schooled her face not to show her rising panic . Bjorn the Black may have had compunctions that guarded her against rape, but she doubted that his older brother was troubled by any pangs of conscience in that regard.
      Gunnar tossed a dismissive look over his shoulder at his brother, who lay pale and drawn and still as death. “I don’t hear him objecting.”
      She tried a new tack. Ducking under his arm, Rika managed to get away from the corner. “Have you con sidered