Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

the best lover I have ever known, and I’ve known many. I was not so fortunate in my first union.” Her voice trailed off, her mind momentarily far away, but then she recovered and smiled. “Then when you escape and marry some Dor brute with hands like clubs, you will always have your first to go back to in your mind.”

“But what of the gods? Won’t this anger them? I would be taking their choice from them,” Nena whispered. Even as she said the words, she wondered if it were possible.

“Do not speak to me of the gods. Where were the gods when my first union was sold to a fat old man in Anbai? Or do you think he was the gods’ choice for me? The gods are nothing more than a bitter joke,” Altene spat.

“Do not say such things. The gods had a purpose—even with you.”

“Then your decision should be easy. When you choose Jarl, it will have been the gods’ choice all along. You can even tell yourself that is why the gods’ saved your choosing for so long—knowing this was coming and you would need it to free yourself.” She could see Nena struggling with that. “You can’t have it both ways, Princess.” With that she turned and called for the other women to return.

Jarl watched Nena pick at her food. She had eaten this way and had few words for him since the incident with the slaver. She’d seemed truly terrified of the man, but he wasn’t sure that was what was upsetting her now. The more he thought about it, her demeanor had truly changed when she returned from the baths with Altene. He swore under his breath. The deal with Altene had been a mistake. He should have never listened to Tryggr. And for what? They had certainly seen no gain from the sacrifice.

He had offered Altene another choice of jewels, which she’d accepted, but with none of the enthusiasm of when she had chosen the ruby for her bruised cheek. That time, Altene had seemed as if the reward had far exceeded her efforts. This time, though she bore no visible injury that he could see, she acted as though the gem was nowhere near worth the price.

What had the women discussed in the baths? Had Altene horrified Nena with tales of the slaver’s twisted appetites? He wished he could have taken Nena for a horseback ride. That always seemed to make things better between them, but there had been no time for it. They were to attack the last target within reach of their current camp in the morning and the planning had taken up every minute of the day.

“You don’t like the food?” he asked her.

“Hmm?” she responded, so lost in thought she had not heard the question.

“The food,” he repeated. “Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.”

“Are you ill?”

“No, I am well.” She took another bite to show him but did not meet his eyes.

When they were finished eating, she stood and returned to the pole, waiting there for him to come and reattach her cuffs and chain. Jarl shook his head. She never fought having them put on anymore, but she was never in a hurry. He tried to catch her gaze while he clipped the cuffs around her wrists, but she did not look up.

When it was done, she sat cross-legged, absently running a loop of chain between her fingers. Jarl felt bad as he watched her, but had no time to root out the true source of her reticence. He would only get a few hours of sleep now, as it was, before he needed to be up coordinating the pre-dawn attack. Nena would have to wait until he got back.

IT WAS LATE when Nena heard Jarl’s stallion approaching. That meant the latest village had put up a fight. His battle fever would be strong.

Her mouth went dry.

Jarl entered the tent and shed his bloody battle armor in a heap in the corner. She had tried to prepare for this moment since Altene had first suggested it—what she would say, what she would do. And today, since the moment he’d left for battle this morning, she had thought of nothing else. He seemed poised to return to the tent flap, but then turned and looked at her, his eyes filled with longing.

Do it now. Say the words.

She faltered.

He had not been with Altene in many weeks. He would not be gentle, Altene had warned. Perfect. She did not want him to be gentle. It was now or never. If he called for Altene, she would miss her chance. He reached for the flap.

Do it now! Say something!

“Wait,” she called out to him, her voice shaky.

“What is it?” He dropped his hand and turned back to face her.

“Don’t call for Altene.” It was only part of what she needed to say, but the next words stuck on her lips, refusing to pass. She forced them out. “I will pleasure you tonight. I will take the battle fever from your blood.”

Jarl raised his eyebrows in disbelief and suspicion, but Nena also saw the hope flash in his eyes and knew Altene was right.

“And why would you do that?” he asked.

Nena chose her words carefully. “The truth?” she asked.

“Yes, the truth.”

“Finally captivity has become even less desirable than you.” It was partially the truth and she hoped enough of it would carry in her voice to be convincing.

Jarl moved closer to her, so close that they were almost touching. Nena could feel the heat emanating from his body. She could smell the salt of his sweat and the coppery tang of blood from the battle. He reached a hand up and traced his thumb across her breast through the soft leather material of her warrior dress. She gasped involuntarily, but did not pull away.

“And you will be willing?” he asked, his now green eyes so intense they were almost frightening—almost.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Is this