He slapped her hard between her shoulders one last time, then turned her onto her back once again. She stared up at him, her lips blue, her face whiter than her very white belly that he didn’t want to look at, that he refused to look at.
“Why didn’t you just let me drown?”
“You sound like a wet rag that’s been trod upon by a dozen men.”
“Why?”
“I should have,” he said, then pulled the blanket up to her throat. He looked at the thick black hair, sopping and matted and filthy, and quickly fetched a drying cloth of soft white cotton. He spread it beneath her head then fanned her hair out like a halo around her head to dry.
“Are you through puking?”
She nodded, so tired, so beaten, she had no more words. She wished he’d let her drown. She wished she’d let herself drown, but even though she’d wanted an easy death, something in her had rebelled and she’d fought her way to the surface, only to realize that she had no more strength. He’d saved her life, damn him. If he’d just walked away, it would be over. She thought of the past three days, the endless humiliation of it, ignored after a while even by his men, kept bound unless she had to relieve herself or eat. Aye, she wished he’d let her drown. And now there was this massive ugly dog sitting there, staring at her. She wondered if the dog were as vicious and unpredictable as his master.
“Stay here and keep quiet. I’ll bring you some food.”
He left her. Mirana immediately sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The dog didn’t move. She eyed him, then moved some more. The dog still didn’t move or growl, just sat there, looking at her. She whistled, then sang a verse from a child’s song her mother used to sing to her, but he still just sat there on his raw-boned haunches, looking. The chamber was dim. She was cold, shivering, despite the warmth of the room, despite the warmth of the sun that shone so brightly upon the thatched roof above.
She wrapped the blanket around her and rose. She stumbled and sat down again. She drew a deep breath and stood again. Her legs were stronger now, but she was so weak, so very weak. Kerzog didn’t move.
What should she do?
5
SHE WAS STANDING when he came into the room again, a wooden bowl of stew in his hand. He stared at her as she was bent forward like an old woman, wrapped in a blanket, her hair streaming down her back and over her shoulders, staring at him, her eyes dull, her face too pale. He saw a brief spark of anger, of defiance perhaps, in her eyes, but it was quickly gone. As for Kerzog, he was being watchful, but nothing more. It appeared he’d made no move to stop the woman from rising from the box bed.
He said to her, “I told you that my men really have no interest in you. You’re skinny, not at all appetizing. A man would have to be starving for a woman before he would turn his eyes to you. Although the dousing in the sea relieved you of the worst of your smell, you still look like a wet scrap. You will not go into the main chamber. Get back into bed. I won’t tell you again. Kerzog, watch her. Keep her here.”
She didn’t move. His dog, raised by him from a tiny pup, merely kept looking at the woman.
He frowned at his dog, then at her and took a step toward her. She still didn’t move.
“Where were you going?”
“I must relieve myself,” she said, and hated him for forcing her to say it aloud, though it shouldn’t have mattered, not after the three days on his warship.
He cursed, plowing his fingers through his hair. “Come along.” He set the bowl of stew on the end of the bed, told his dog to keep away from it, then turned and left the chamber. She trailed behind him, wrapped in the now-damp blanket, half of it dragging behind her on the beaten earth floor. Kerzog slowly followed.
She followed him from the longhouse, aware of the boisterous conversation that quieted when she appeared. He took her to a small shed and said, “This is the privy. Hurry. I will wait for you here.”
When she emerged from the small shed a few minutes later he simply looked at her, just like his damned dog was still looking, then motioned for her to follow him again. This time he led her into a large stone and wood building. Inside there was an outer chamber with benches along the sides of the wall. It was the bathing hut, and she felt a spurt of hope. Surely he wouldn’t bring her here just to watch him bathe. She followed him into the inner chamber, small and square, filled with heat and steam drawn from the pile of burning embers filling the fire pit in the center of the chamber. Wooden planks covered the floor and more wooden benches lined the walls. He stood her in the middle of the room, pulled the blanket off her, and said, “Stand still. If you move, I’ll toss you in the sea again. I’ll have my dog kill you. He’s vicious. He protects me and my island that you have so freely scorned.”
She stood there, shivering despite the billowing heat and the thick steam, trying to cover herself, and knowing that she failed and knowing too that he was looking at her, but that he didn’t care, that she repulsed him. She should be grateful for that, she thought, watching him coming into the chamber again, a bucket in each hand. She knew what was coming and nearly yelled with the anticipation of it. He threw a bucket of hot water on her. He handed her a piece of soap carved into the shape of a small bird. A tern, if she wasn’t mistaken. She was going mad, she knew it. A tern!
“Bathe, all over, and hurry.”
She did. She didn’t even notice that he’d left her alone. She’d never before in her life realized the luxury of a bath with soap. It was wonderful. He’d left another bucket on the wooden plank beside her. She rinsed her hair and soaped it again. Once clean, she had nothing to do but wait. She couldn’t fetch her own water, not naked.
When he appeared, he looked at her, his expression grim. “Hold still.” He poured the water slowly over her head as she rinsed herself. Then he backed up several feet. She looked at him even as he raised the bucket and threw ice-cold water on her.
She shuddered and heaved and yelled even though she’d known what was coming.
He laughed. She reacted just as he always did. Evidently Einar had a bathing hut on Clontarf like this one.
Once she was dry, he handed her the damp blanket again, and motioned her to follow him.
Conversation became muted once again. Mirana looked neither to the right nor to the left. She followed him into his sleeping chamber and sat down on the edge of the bed. He tossed an antler comb onto her lap. Kerzog hadn’t come into the sleeping chamber this time.
“Eat first else you might collapse again. I don’t wish to have to untangle that witches’ nest on your head.”