Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 Read Free

course there was the constant
scratch of her rough woolen dress.
    Laurel had to suppress
another foul thought as she crossed through the refectory and toward the
kitchens. She had it better than some. Aye, she had to labor in the most menial
tasks at the monastery. And aye, Abbess Hilda and the other nuns and monks who
lived at Whitby Abbey never let her forget that she was an orphan, born in sin.
But she got to eat twice a day, she slept with a roof over her head, and she had a straw-filled mattress to lay her weary
body upon each night.
    She crossed the
kitchens, which were quiet at this time of night, and stepped through the back
door toward the river. The cool grass tickled her ankles as she strode down the
sloping hillside to where the River Esk flowed. The moon was nigh full and
glinted off the slow-moving water.
    She should be grateful.
Why did she rankle so much at life in the Abbey? She had known naught else. She
wasn’t owed anything. She was no one.
    And yet, was there
naught else to life than back-breaking work from sun-up to sundown? Was there
naught else than the feel of coarse wool against one’s skin? Was there naught
else than to feel like an outsider, a burden, that one’s mere existence was a sin?
    Laurel approached the
river cautiously so as not to slip on its shoreline and tumble in. If she fell
and drowned, no one would notice her absence until the morning. She shivered at
the thought and carefully dipped the bucket into the river. ’Twould be enough
to finish scrubbing the refectory floor, she thought with relief. She wouldn’t
have to come back to the dark, flowing waters tonight.
    As she straightened and
turned back toward the Abbey, a shadowy figure moved in front of her. A
strangled noise of surprise came from her throat.
    “Hush, girl, unless you
want to wake everyone in the Abbey.”
    She recognized the
voice, but instead of feeling relief, her stomach dropped in fear.
    “Brother Egbert, what
are you doing here?” she asked flatly.
    “I was making the rounds,
extinguishing the last of the candles, when I saw you,” he said lowly, stepping
toward her. She took a half step back and suddenly halted. She was already
standing in the mud of the riverbank. Another step or two and she would be
swept off to the North Sea, which she could hear even over the rush of the
river behind her.
    “Let me pass,” she
grated out.
    “And waste the privacy
and the moonlight?” he whispered. “I think not.” He closed the distance between
them and took her in a rough embrace. Laurel tried to scream, but his mouth
crushed hers, muffling the sound. Panic rose in her throat. They were too far away from the monastery. The noise of the
river and the ocean bordering the Abbey on the north and east sides would drown
out her cries for help.
    She swung the
still-full bucket at Brother Egbert’s head and heard the thunk of the wood
connecting with his skull. The bucket’s water splashed over both of them.
    Brother Egbert groaned
and tore his mouth from hers, yet his grip on her arms tightened so that she
was immobilized.
    “Wicked girl,” he
hissed under his breath. He pressed her down to the muddy bank, using his body
weight to pin her.
    Laurel thrashed wildly,
realizing that the monk intended to do more than steal a kiss or
inconspicuously grope her in passing, as he had done for months now.
    “You are a man of God!”
she choked out. “Let me go!”
    One of his hands
released her arm to find the hem of her gown. “I am only a man. And you have
been tempting me for years.”
    Laurel squeezed her
eyes shut, nausea sweeping her. Then she realized one of her arms was free. She
jerked her hand from underneath her and raked her nails down Brother Egbert’s
face. He howled in pain, falling to her side and clutching his face.
    She scrambled to her
feet and bolted uphill toward the Abbey. Though her simple leather boots were
slathered with mud, she reached the top of the hill faster than she ever had.
Behind her,