Free Silk Dreams - Songs of the North 3 by Mia Marlowe Page A

longer than necessary. Her chest constricted strangely when he leaned close enough for Valdis to breathe in his distinctive masculine scent.
    Damian hurried back to grasp Valdis's hand with a pointed glare at Erik.
    “Perhaps he’s right to mistrust Northmen," she said.
    “And maybe I just want to irritate your master.”
    Damian led her from the growing heat of the day into the dim coolness of the interior of his villa. In the grand entrance, an amazing mosaic left Valdis wide-eyed. It was a life-sized portrait of a handsome Greek man, his dark hair and eyes gleaming, an enigmatic smile lifting the corners of his sensual mouth and an erection as long as his arm protruding baldly from under his short tunic. Valdis was reminded of the statue of Frey in the great Temple of Uppsala, his outsized phallus proudly erect. She had no idea the god of increase was worshipped here in the south as well.
    “Your master apologizes if the mosaic shocks you,” Erik translated. “He recently acquired this property and hasn't had time to redecorate. Apparently the previous owner commissioned it as a portrait of himself. I can only guess the artist intended to flatter him.”
    “I'm not shocked,” Valdis said. “I assume that's the way all men see their own member.”
    Erik laughed again, the deep rumbling sound sending shivers of pleasure over her. Damian frowned at him and barked an order.
    “Greek only from now on,” Erik said.
    Valdis nodded and followed Damian down one of the long corridors of green stone. Thessalian marble, Damian explained. Arches opened on either side—to the open air courtyard on her left and into sumptuously appointed rooms on the right. When they came to an angle in the hall, Damian pushed open a door and held it for Valdis to enter.
    The polished floor gleamed in shades of pink-veined stone and one wall glittered in a mosaic of nymphs and dryads capering about a vat-sized wine bowl. A sleeping couch occupied the center of the large room. White silk draped round the bower, fluttering like butterfly wings. But as luxurious as the appointments were, the row of long windows paned with delicate green glass and the open door leading to the shaded portico made Valdis suck in her breath in surprise. Not only was she given a heart-stopping view of the Empress City, glittering in the distance against the deep azure of the sea, but there was no guard at her door for the first time since she was named a slave.
    She still had no place to run, no way to take advantage of this new development, but the mere appearance of freedom set her heart dancing.
    “Thank you,” she said, turning to smile at Damian.
    “I'm glad this room pleases you. But do not imagine we are here to enjoy ourselves. Your training will commence immediately and you will work hard every day.”
    “I earn freedom if learn?” she said in what she knew was less than fluid Greek.
    Damian nodded. “That is my promise. Varangian, take her into the courtyard for her lesson.”
    The two Nordics glide away in their long-legged gaits. The courtyard would be perfect. Erik Heimdalsson would have the quiet needed to tutor the girl and the eyes of the whole household might be upon them at any time, so no untoward behavior would go unnoticed.
    “Yes, Valdis, you may earn your freedom,” Damian said under his breath as his gaze followed the graceful curve of her retreating spine. “But it will be more difficult than you think.”

 
    “Regret, like any other emotion, is a monumental waste of time."
    —from the secret journal of Damian Aristarchus
     

Chapter 7
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    “The boy's broken arm seems to have healed cleanly with no lasting ill effects,” Damian's informant told him. “He still rides that stallion of his as recklessly as ever, much to his mother's sorrow.”
    “That doesn't trouble me, Onesimus. It only proves his spirit was not broken along with the bone,” Damian said with a satisfied nod. “And what of his studies? He still has