Her Viking Slave The fire burned low. Harald sat at the long table in the old farmhouse, his face expressionless as his mother counted out the meager pile of coins. Freydis came to the end, and sat wordless, her eyes dull and blank as she gazed at the small mound of silver. “Well?” he asked, and then blushed as his voice broke. Odin curse it, he was a man now, not a boy! He had nineteen years! When would he sound like a man, rather than a stripling? “It’s not enough.” Her voice was hopeless. “Not even close to enough. The crop was too scanty last autumn. If we are to eat until the spring wheat ripens, we must have more.” He swallowed. “I thought as much.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, though inside, his belly roiled with fear. “Einar Blood-Axe is putting a crew together for a