VIKING THRALL (Historical Romance, Medieval, Viking) Read Online Free PDF Page A

dressed again.
                  Oh god, her dress was practically in shreds after the pat few days… what was she going to wear???
                  She jumped when his hand landed softly on her cheek.
                  And stroked her.
                  "Be still."
                  The Viking's voice sounded gruff, huskier than usual. She fought the urge to bolt as his hand make circles on her flesh. She glanced over her shoulder at him. The man seem transfixed.
                  "So soft and pleasing…"
                  "Are you going to apply the salve or just continue to maul me?"
                  He grunted but didn't stop what he was doing. He ignored her completely. His touch was doing strange things to her… making her feel warm and squirmy inside.
                  Magnus used two hands now, kneading her flesh with vigor.
                  "Ouch!"
                  She glared at him over her shoulder. He stopped immediately, having the grace to flush.
                  "I didn't mean to bruise you, sweeting."
                  Sweeting?
                  It was the first time he'd called her anything but thrall since they'd come here. Before it was 'woman' or a few times 'Esme.' Sweeting was something else entirely.
                  She watched him pick up the bowl of salve and faced downward again.
                  This time his touch was delicate as he
                  "Ohhhhh…"
                  He chuckled above her.
                  "'Tis good?"
                  Esme nodded, unsure if she should thank him. After all, twas his fault her bottom was sore in the first place! She decided to remain silent as he tended to her backside. He was done after a few minutes. He lifted her gently and set her on her feet.
                  She felt her face redden, embarrassed by the intimacy of the act. He'd kissed her, bathed with her and now he'd tended to her. Being a thrall seemed to mean more than just having to serve someone.
                  It meant that your body was theirs as well.
                  The realization came crashing down on her with a suddenness that took her breath away.
                  He owned her. Well and truly owned her. He could do what he pleased with her and no one would gainsay him.
                  She was a slave. A non entity, without rights of her own. Not even the right to exact a promise from her master.
                  Esme pulled the blanket closer around her and stood by the fire. The world had shifted, flipped upside down and she needed time to acclimate herself to it. She watched as Magnus dressed himself and then went to the curtained entrance.
                  She was so curious about him suddenly. This man who would control her fate for the rest of her days… Unless she could escape him eventually. But how?
                  "Bring something for my new slave to wear!"
                  He looked awfully pleased with himself as he held out the coarse white kirtle one of the servants brought. She took it, unable to meet his eyes. This was the best she could expect now that her circumstances had changed.
                  She slipped it over her head, the shredded under shift still clinging to her damp skin.
                  "Remove that first, slaves do not wear undergarments."
                  She swallowed and did as he asked, trying to shield herself from his hungry eyes. She pulled the plain gown over her head. It started to itch immediately.
                  She looked up to see that he was frowning.
                  Esme raised her chin proudly. She would not ask for anything from this man. Not kindness, not a