James by L.L. Muir

Author:L.L. Muir [Muir, L.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Green Toed Fairy
Published: 2018-09-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Speaking of Vikings…

The longhouse was a lot like a Viking hall she’d glimpsed on TV, which made sense considering how close Scotland was to the Nordic countries. Three fire pits were spaced evenly down the center of the building, but only the farthest away had much activity going on around it. Small groups of people clustered in the shadows, but compared to the outside, the place was pretty empty. Of course, more came in to watch after she and Laird Stephan entered.

Another throne-like chair waited on a raised platform along the side of the left wall. Two women already occupied the seats to either side of it, one about forty, the other about twenty. Both were dressed as she was, but even in the dim light, she could tell they wore pretty colors. The older one in blue, the younger one in a paler tone.

The laird pulled his hand out from under Phoebe’s and climbed up to take his seat. Then he pointed to a bench behind her. “Grets, Spa, this is our new guest.” He frowned. “Yer name, woman?”

“Phoebe…Jones.”

“Phoebe Mac Jones, this is my wife, Grets, and another of my guests, Spa. She’s visiting us from the north. I have vowed to help her find a husband.”

Grets sneered. “Taking yer time about it, ye are.”

The man laughed and took a goblet from another woman who made no eye contact with anyone. Her dark gown would have made her practically invisible if it weren’t for a face so pale it glowed.

Stephan noticed Phoebe noticing. “Marta is a slave taken from the English,” he said. The expression on his face suggested what sordid things he did with his slaves, but his wife didn’t seem to care, even though she’d seen the same smirk. Either that, or she didn’t dare complain.

Phoebe’s chest tightened. This dangerous man she’d been joking with had a firm grasp on his community. There was no one standing at his shoulder, waiting to advise him. In the shadowy hall, he seemed even more menacing than he had outside. And she realized that if he wanted Phoebe Jones to be his next slave, she was it.

She suspected there were no Muirs tuning in to her new reality TV show, either. They’d left her defenseless in the middle of a barbaric point in history—they’d pushed her into the deepest part of the pool, and expected her to swim. And, idiot that she was, she’d essentially signed on the dotted line.

But just in case Loretta and Lorraine were waiting for some sign from her—in case they could read her mind over time and space as easily as they’d done in person—she had to let them know she was done. She wanted out. And no matter how wonderful a man was, out roaming the uncivilized world, or sailing his brains out looking for her, they’d both have to settle for someone else, because she didn’t think she’d be able to survive long enough for him to find her.

With a very clear, firm voice in her head, she sent the Muir witches a message.

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