Chapter 1 #3
Nodding, he went to the firepit and set about stoking it with the pieces of wood he had brought in with him to set it alight.
Merewen watched on, fascinated. His gestures were precise and surprisingly elegant for a man of his stature.
But then everything he did betrayed the same grace.
His gait was supple, his words measured, even his voice was soft as velvet, nothing like the gravel you expected to come from his mouth.
Before long, a welcome fire was roaring in the middle of the room.
Wolf hid his grin when the girl came closer, as timid as a wild animal refusing to be tamed but unable to resist the lure of man.
Now that she was dressed, his little guest seemed to have lost some of her diffidence.
Once she had been fed she might even be amiable.
He shook his head, amused. He would no doubt have to wait a little longer for that to happen.
“Are you hungry? I am,” he said without waiting for her answer. He guessed she would be, but would never admit to it.
She was standing on unsteady legs, and though she didn’t want to betray the fact, it was obvious that she was not feeling well. Her eyes were still unfocused, her lips had yet to lose their blue tinge and she was shivering violently.
For all that, she was unutterably beautiful, and nothing like the women he was used to meeting. Her shift, damaged as it was, appeared to be of the best quality. It was doubtful the slave trader had provided it for her. No. This was no farmer’s daughter.
So who was she, how had she ended up being sold—and what in the name of Odin was he to do with her?
He had no intention of owning a slave, be it a man or a woman.
All he knew was that he had seen red when he had seen her treated so appallingly by the scoundrel who had exposed her to the lust of the men present.
He could no more have walked away than offer himself up as a slave.
He could not regret the impulse but the fact remained.
He was now saddled with a woman who was nothing to him and did not seem in the least disposed to be grateful.
Oh, well, finding a role for her could wait. For now, they would eat.
In the bag Ingegard had given him he found some smoked eel, half a loaf of bread, a piece of cheese and a flagon of ale.
At least this feast had not cost him anything.
The woman had been only too happy to provide ‘her savior’, as she always called him, with everything he needed to feed him and a woman half his size.
This was one of the most rewarding aspects of offering his help to the villagers.
Everywhere he went he was sure to meet with a grateful friend who remembered the assistance he had given them and wanted to repay him for the favor.
Tonight it was more welcome than ever. He and the girl would be warm and fed.
Merewen’s stomach started to rumble at the sight of the food. She had no idea when she had last eaten. It could be days, depending on how long ago she had been given the sleeping potion. Eating might help her clear her head.
Without looking her way, as if he trusted her to ask for food if she needed it, Wolf placed everything on the table and started to eat.
After a brief hesitation she reached out for the bread, daring him to comment on her surrender.
He smiled faintly but said nothing. Instead he handed her the flagon of ale.
“Would you prefer to drink first? I have no cup, I’m afraid.”
She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her for what he assumed were delicate manners or he was just being thoughtful because that was what came naturally to him.
It amazed her that she should even entertain that second possibility, but she had to own that he was being very attentive to her needs.
He had clothed her and was now feeding her when she had neither asked for it nor expected it.
“Thank you.” She took the flagon and drank deep, knowing she would not dare drink again once he had placed his lips on it.
“Get yourself settled for the night,” Wolf instructed once they had finished the last of the cheese. “I will be back shortly.”
Alone again, Merewen wondered once more if she had not dreamed the whole episode.
Had she really been offered for sale to a crowd of leering men earlier that afternoon and afraid of being killed?
It all seemed like a lifetime away. Now that she was properly dressed, not hungry or cold anymore, now that her indignation had melted away she could feel herself falling back into a delicious torpor.
She could not detach her eyes from the fire burning in the pit as it spread its warmth throughout her body.
Clumsily, she reached out for the flagon of ale and took such a big swig that she poured the rest of the contents all over the front of her dress.
“Oh, no!” she mumbled. Now this dress would reek too!
Refusing to sleep in wet clothes smelling of ale, she hastily disrobed and rinsed it off with the water Wolf had placed into a bowl on the table, presumably for her to wash with.
Finally she draped the dress on the stool in front of the fire to dry and went to bed.
Now that the fire was warming the room, she would not be cold in her shift.
It was not long before Merewen succumbed to a deep sleep.