The Vikings' Thrall by Ava Sinclair

The Vikings' Thrall by Ava Sinclair

Author:Ava Sinclair [Sinclair, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2016-12-16T05:00:00+00:00


Chapter Eight

Her name was Betty, but Dagmar had changed her name to Bett, so that’s what she went by. She was older than Morgan by a few years, and taller, with a long, horse-like face and a straight, almost boyish figure. But she was kind, and showed up with a gift, which took Morgan by surprise.

It was a comb, carved of whalebone. “Dagmar Arneson believes a thrall is a reflection on her master’s house,” Bett explained. “She said Erik and Bjorn are well regarded, and you must be mindful never to dishonor them.”

Morgan thanked her for the gift, which she tucked in the small box Bjorn had given her to keep her clothing and other belongings.

Bett was efficient and skilled in household responsibilities, and Morgan proved to be a quick study. She already knew how to card wool and to weave, but the plants the Norsemen used for dye was different than what she used at home. The indigo so favored by her mother was shunned here in favor of the woad plant, which lent the wool a more greenish blue cast. The madder plant imparted a red dye favored for cloaks, while weld—plucked flowering but still green—was used to dye fabrics and wool varying shades of yellow.

Bett showed Morgan how much of the ground, dried flowers to add to the heated cauldrons, and how long to stir the fabric or strands of wool. It was hot, tedious work, and Morgan returned at the end of the first day exhausted with her hands stained yellow and her face flushed pink from standing over hot water and stirring. But neither Bjorn nor Erik seemed to mind; that night Erik took her in the bath and then Bjorn took her again as his friend slept.

And by day, Morgan continued to work, although at first she was a bit disappointed that conversation with Bett was confined to the tasks at hand. But as they milked goats one morning, Bett opened up to Morgan, telling her how she’d been taken in a raid by another Norse colony, sold, and then sold again—the final time to Dagmar Arneson who’d personally bought her.

“She doesn’t want anyone prettier than she is in her house,” Bett said, and cocked an eyebrow at Morgan. “She wanted to buy you from Erik and Bjorn.” She paused. “To sell you far from here.”

The news unsettled Morgan. She thought of the earl’s daughter, so coldly beautiful and imperious. To think she was jealous of a mere thrall seemed untenable. And it frightened her to think on it. But at night when she lay in the arms of the two men who she now thought of as her masters, the fears faded and she felt protected.

When the storms that preceded cold weather came, Bett and Morgan worked indoors, grinding stored grain into flour as Bjorn and Erik tended the flocks.

“You must miss your husband,” Bett said, looking up at Morgan before glancing back down at her bowl. “I feel bad, having told you so much about myself without ever asking about you.



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