Page 3 of Merciful Salvation

Aaron rolled his eyes. “No woman can resist your pretty face...”

Agni grinned, revealing white teeth, then rubbed his chin while eyeing the girl with a predatory stare.

“So why choose to be a soldier if your natural charms could provide a life of comfort?” Aaron asked.

“Perhaps our friend missed his true calling,” Varinn added. “Maybe we should abandon the horses and sail forMiklagardwhere we can auction him off to the wealthy women of the empire.”

“How long do you think you’d last in the emperor’s court?” Aaron teased.

“If given proper care, I’m sure I’d die a happy man at any age.” Agni’s gaze didn’t leave the thrall’s arse.

“Keep yourbrokfastened,” Aaron cautioned. He wanted no conflicts between his soldiers and thralls. “We’ll frequent villages where you can have your pick of women.”

He wasn’t the sort of leader to begrudge his men bedsport. But he always heeded the advice of his father—never shite where you sleep.Most female slaves willingly shared their beds. That’s what concerned him. Veneriske sykdommer,harrowing diseases that could rot a man’s prick off, had killed his childhood friend. He would never forget thebloodcurdling screams he heard while aspaewifeshoved a hot iron rod inside the man to sear the infection. Now, Aaron only bedded less experienced women and encouraged his inferiors to do the same.

He sighed. Every man has his own needs.

Finished eating, the women extinguished the fire and reloaded the cart. Aaron refused to make camp until nightfall. At least five hours of daylight remained, enough time to put more distance between them and Oslo.

Chapter Two

Discovery

Kara Dalgaard spitblood on the ground. Her latest mistake, dropping her shield too soon. Marteinn clipped her in the chin with his fist, causing her to bite her tongue. She growled fiercely and attacked, slamming her sword into his wooden shield, then pushed with all her strength. Marteinn laughed as he stumbled backward.

“Follow through, Kara,” her brother urged from the side. “One push isn’t enough, use the edge of your shield. Clap him over the head and kick him in the balls, now.”

“Leave my future children alone,” Marteinn countered as he covered his ballocks with his left hand.

She took advantage of her opponent’s fear, kicking him savagely in the shin.

The six and a half foot warrior dropped his weapon and hopped on one foot. “You little cretin. That hurt.”

“It’s supposed to.” She raised the visor on her helmet, then stared at her target. “Do you yield?”

Before Marteinn replied, Geilir inserted himself between them. “I think you’ve practiced enough today. For the love of Odin, sister, I’ve never seen a woman love swordplay so much.”

“Perhaps the proper parts would heat in my bed.” Marteinn grinned ear to ear.

“Your fantasies are unattainable,” Kara said, thumping the back ofhis head. She rejected him nearly every day, but her adopted brother only heard what he wanted to hear. She would know the right man when she saw him. She’d believed that all her life. Whether she’d accept him, depended on what her heart told her. Although she dreamed of love, giving up her freedom scared her more than anything.

She steered her thoughts back to Marteinn. Raised in her father’s household, he enjoyed the same privileges as her own brothers and teased her as ruthlessly as they did. He baited her constantly, a favorite pastime of all the men in her family. Only now, she was no longer a weak, grubby child. Father wanted her to learn how to fight to protect herself and had appointed Marteinn and Geilir to teach her.

Kara removed her helmet and leather gloves, then dropped them on the ground. A basket of food waited under a nearby tree where the horses were tethered. All three headed in that direction. She arrived first and reached inside the basket—fruit, cheese, bread, and several skins of mead. Her stomach growled as she shoved a hunk of bread in her mouth.

“Give me the bread.” Her brother grabbed the loaf.

“Animal,” she called.

“Ill-mannered wench.”

Laughing, she sat cross-legged on the mossy ground and emptied a skin of mead in minutes.

“Where does it all go?” Marteinn gazed at her in wonderment. “Do you have a hollow leg?”

“No.” She smiled. “But you have a hollow head.”

Truly, it wasn’t. Her father appointed Marteinn as captain of the guard three years ago because he was a talented strategist. Since then, their home had survived four attacks. Christian rebels often targeted the pagan lords in Lagenheim. But with fearless men like Marteinn to defend them, none had succeeded.