Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Cherine,” Marc called out for me. He grasped my wrist delicately and pulled me toward him. I sucked in a sharp breath as I found myself pressed against his chest, which was how all of this started.
“Cherine,” he repeated, his voice low. “We have time to do this again.”
I looked up at him wryly. “I know we do. That only took a few minutes.”
He grinned sheepishly as his neck flushed once more. His grip on my wrist tightened. “I promise, I’ll be…longer. I only need more practice.”
“And I need to go,” I said, deftly pulling my wrist free from his. “You know I’ll get in trouble if I don’t make supper.”
“Are you afraid of your mother? Or are you afraid of me?”
I smirked at his audacity. “You’ve never beaten me with a switch.”
He raised his brow. “No, but I can if you want. Your bottom was begging for it earlier.”
“No part of me will beg for anything from you,” I retorted, gently pushing him back. “You’re my friend, Marc. That’s all you are and all you can be.”
A darkness settled in his eyes. I wasn’t used to seeing that in his normally jovial face, and it made me hesitate. It seemed sex had already changed so many things.
“Of course. Because you must marry my brother,” he said, spitting the words like bile.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know I have no choice. We are serfs, Marc. Peasants. We don’t have a choice in life.”
He shook his head slowly, as if considering something. His gaze drifted to the tiny, shuttered window, the view of the muddy beach and distant white cliffs poking through the broken slats. “But you like me, don’t you? You could even love me. You at least loved me a few moments ago.”
“Sex is not love,” I said, surprised at the lack of emotion in my tone.
Marc laughed bitterly. “How quickly you sound like a heathen. And to think, I was going to ask you to run away with me.”
I swallowed hard, my throat feeling thick. Marc wanted to run away with me? I had entertained that thought for years, the idea of escaping the Lord and finding life on my own. Marc had always humored my idea, only to bring me back to Earth, reminding me that no matter where I went, my future would stay the same. I was the lowest of the low class. Short of becoming a whore, there wasn’t much I could do to live a better life elsewhere.
I was beginning to feel a bit like a whore too, and what scared me even more was that a part of me felt like that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“I have to go,” I said, my voice breaking. I couldn’t stay in the boathouse a minute longer, or I’d agree to something I’d probably regret.
I flung the rickety wood door open and burst out into the grey light. My shoes sank into the thick mud of the beach, but I pulled them out with a sucking noise and hurried onto more solid ground. In the distance, where the long, slick tidal flats disappeared into October’s waning sun, I could see the dark figures of the Lord’s fishermen coming home. Pierre would be among them, dragging along his collection of clams, oysters, and mussels, all to serve Bouchon.
I swallowed my disgust at the hopelessness of it all and hiked up my tattered dress, running all the way to the two-room shack I called home.
Chapter 2
Erik
The dragon-headed longship sliced through the dreary water like a monstrous wooden duck, its white cloth mast straining at the seams. The wind was strong for the time being, so there was no need to paddle. Each of the 20 oarsmen had drawn their oars in and sat back on the chests containing their belongings. The narrow slit of the English Channel appeared on the horizon as a faint shadow, and though it was much warmer here than the North Sea, the men pulled their animal skins and woolen blankets tight around them.
Erik the Axe stood at the front of the ship and observed the men out of the corner of his eye, amused to see how alert they were, a sure sign they were ready to do battle. He and Rolf the Walker had been part of the fleet that commandeered the Seine River five years before, leading them all the way to Paris, where they laid siege to the land with little resistance. He wasn’t sure if it would so easy this time. The rumor was, the armies in the north of France were growing, and many of the feudal lords had plucked their men away from laboring on the farms to force them into the army.
Erik brushed back his ash blond hair behind his ears, one of his few nervous ticks, and tried to bury the seed of doubt he felt growing inside. Rolf was so confident that they could claim more land for themselves and start a new colony for the people of Møre, it was almost foolish for Erik to doubt him. Still, as powerful and bloodthirsty as Rolf was, he was still young and impatient to a fault. This would be the first time Rolf led an attack so far away from home, with only Erik to lend genuine counsel and support.