Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

Jarl laughed openly at her expression. “Yes, he is. I picked him out myself.”

Nena pursed her lips, fighting a smile of her own. He hadn’t really trusted her. He suspected her first thoughts would be to escape, even with the child in the camp. Only Nena knew that concern was unfounded. Escape beckoned her, but she would remain bound by her word. Though from what she now knew of Jarl, she doubted he would actually kill the girl. If Nena had already escaped, the child’s death would serve no purpose other than spite. And spite was not Jarl—Altene perhaps, but not Jarl. Even believing that, Nena would never leave the girl behind. She could never be sure, and she couldn’t live with the shame of knowing that she’d been able to escape by counting on a Northman’s honor to be greater than her own.

Nena squirmed in the uncomfortable saddle, hating the bind and pinch of it, but refusing to complain; she never wanted the ride to end.

“Are you alright? Would you like to go back?” Jarl asked, noticing her discomfort.

“No,” she answered quickly. “It’s just…your saddles…your saddles are very uncomfortable.” Jarl watched as she again tried to reposition herself.

“Then take it off, if you want.”

Nena looked at him sharply. “May I? Really? But how will we carry it?”

“Just lay it in the grass. We’ll get it on the way back.” The hope in her face was so sincere, Jarl would have been willing to throw the saddle and ten more just like it off a cliff. The idea of removing it had not only made her extremely happy—she seemed happy with him.

Nena was off in a flash, pulling at the unfamiliar straps but making little progress.

“Here, let me help you.” Jarl dismounted and moved to her side to demonstrate how the saddle rigging was secured. For a moment they were close, with Nena’s horse broadside in front of them and Jarl’s stallion standing right behind. The earthy smells of leather and horse mingled around them in the small area. His arm brushed hers. Even though the straps were disconnected, Jarl delayed removing the saddle. Nena felt the now familiar response of her body to his nearness.

“Gratitude,” she murmured as she moved a half a step away.

“Will you need help getting back on?” Jarl asked, hoping to have feel of her calf as he helped her to mount, but instead she frowned, indignant at the idea.

“I would not be much of a warrior if I required assistance to mount a horse, would I?” With that, Nena grabbed a handful of mane and swung aboard the sorrel’s bare back in a single fluid move. She took a deep breath and sighed as she settled into the living softness of the animal beneath her.

“Better?” Jarl asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Much better,” she replied.

They rode for hours, meandering through the plains. When they came to a stream, they stopped and dismounted to allow the horses to drink and graze. Jarl watched her pull her horse’s head up out of the deep grass. Long stems hung from both sides of the animal’s mouth as it chewed. Nena stroked the sorrel’s nose and adjusted his forelock. “You do not have to eat every blade of grass in sight,” she admonished the little horse gently. “That is why you cannot run with the wind, my friend. You could be a great warrior’s horse if you ate a little less.” The placid little horse looked at her affectionately, appreciating her soft touch, then pulled his head down to take another mouthful. Nena laughed and allowed him to pull away, though he soon returned his head to her hands for more stroking as he chewed.

Jarl couldn’t help but think of her fingers so gentle, so tender, on him. He felt his gut tighten. This was the side of her he had seen reassuring the child who was bloodsworn to her. This was the side he could only imagine being the recipient of.

“This horse is a lost cause,” Nena laughed, totally at ease. “He has no shame and doesn’t care to ever be a warrior’s horse.” She shook her head, unaware of how much the shared relaxed moment was affecting him. When she did finally look over at him, the intensity in his eyes startled her, but he recovered quickly and smiled.

“We need to get back,” he announced unwillingly.

Nena nodded and swung aboard her horse. Though there was no tension between them, they did not speak on the return ride, not even when they reached the saddle and he reattached it for her. When they arrived back at his tent and dismounted, Jarl sent one of his guards for Altene. He saw Nena frown. Would that Gunnar was right. Would that she disapproved because she was jealous, though he knew that was not the case.

“You are dirty from the ride. Altene will take you to the baths,” he explained and saw comprehension smooth her brow.

Altene arrived and took in the scene with barely concealed anger. Word had spread through the entire camp like wildfire; Jarl had taken his Dor captive for a ride, and they had been gone for hours. Altene had scarcely believed it, but here was the evidence right before her. With great effort she smiled a tight smile at Jarl and asked, “My lord?”

“Please take Nena to the baths,” he instructed.

“Yes, my lord.” She nodded, then hesitated. “Um, shall I still use the other women and the rope harness?” she asked, referring to her rival’s new freedoms, not sure how far they were to be extended.

“Yes. I’ll have her shackles replaced before you return.” He turned to Nena. “Come.”

Nena followed him inside the tent to the center pole and waited while he bent over to retrieve the cuffs from the floor and remove them from the chain. He turned back to her, and she held up her hands in silence. As he closed the second cuff around her wrist, Nena studied him