Of course, it would be completely unreasonable to blame her for that, but could one really count on a savage being reasonable?

He set her on her feet once they reached his suite of rooms.

If he’d stood her on a block of ice, she didn’t think it would’ve been colder than the stone floor! Sucking in a sharp breath at the shock, she looked around for any source of heat.

There was a fireplace across the room but no fire burning. And nothing to burn that she could see, for that matter.

Realizing there was no escaping the torture by chasing the numbing cold with heat, she hobbled over to a fur rug on the floor and stepped on the poor dead beast. It was a relief, she discovered with gratitude, even to put something between her bare feet and the floor.

Trying not to think about the far more comfortable and practical—warmer—clothing and boots she’d had before her encounter with the Amazon women and then the Barbarians from Space, she looked around the room as the Prince bolted the door.

There was a very large bed not far from the fireplace with thick, heavy bed hangings all around—no doubt to cut the gales blasting through the room!

Her goose bumps had goose bumps! Her skin was so tight and pebbled from the cold that it hurt.

The Prince crouched in front of the cold hearth and began clearing the ash by scooping it into a bucket near the hearth.

Well that was a relief! Here she’d thought the bucket must have water in it for heating!

There was a pile of–something that looked a lot like dung—because it was!—by the hearth. The Prince tossed a handful of dried dung in and pulled something from his pocket that he used to make sparks. The shit caught fire!

Noelle was stunned.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know there were flammable components to excrement! But she’d never thought to see anyone burn it to make fire—to heat their habitat!

Were they cooking over shit fires?

She thrust that thought aside as being too squeamish and absurd! Fossil fuels were from rotted vegetation—and animals—and those fuels had been used on Earth until they pretty much got used up and people had to figure out something else. She supposed people—humans—had probably made dung fires, too, but it was one thing to think of what had been done or might have been done in the distant past. It was … just plain horrifying to face living with that sort of thing!

There was a knock on the door that distracted her.

Drak straightened and strode to the door. A trio of young boys trooped in—two loaded down with short pieces of log and the third carrying a tray that looked like it had food and drink on it.

All three glanced curiously at her and then focused on their tasks. The two carrying wood, dropped the pieces beside the hearth. The one carrying the tray set it on a rough hewn table between the bed and the hearth.

The three boys then bowed to the Prince in a quaintly formal way. “I am glad to see your raid was successful, Father, and that you have returned without injury!” the eldest said.

“We thought you wouldn’t be back for hours, Father,” the middle child said, “or we would have had the fire burning on the hearth and been there to welcome you back.”

“Who’s that, Father?” the youngest asked, pointing at Noelle. “You gonna breed her? She looks kinda scrawny. And kinda weird. What’s wrong with her skin …?”

Very likely he would have said more except the eldest clamped a hand firmly over his mouth.

Drak gave the youngest a stern, tight lipped glare that made the child turn pale. “Terl, take Kadin and Jules down to the great hall to eat with the men.”

Noelle felt her throat close at the expression in the little one’s eyes, but she didn’t see that either of the other two boys seemed frightened of their father. Was he harder on the little one? Or was the youngest just not used to his father’s ways?

He didn’t appear to be very old—maybe five or six—although, truthfully, she wasn’t used to being around small children and it was hard for her to judge.

She couldn’t imagine the Prince spending a great deal of time around such a young child, though, and maybe that was why he was uneasy? His father was an unknown entity to him that seemed intimidating for that reason and also because he was a giant of a man and towered over the child.

Or was she just making excuses for him because she didn’t want to think she’d been captured by a monster?

On the other hand, the child hadn’t seemed to be intimidated until he’d earned a glare of displeasure. So maybe he wasn’t actually afraid of his father because he had no reason to worry unless he displeased his father?

When the boys had left, Drak returned his attention to the fireplace. Carefully adding wood to the fire he’d started until it was blazing and the heat began to compete with the frigid air of the room, he straightened, studied his work for a moment, and then abruptly turned and headed straight toward her.

Noelle stood her ground, mostly because she was too startled by the sudden move to command her feet to move in any direction. She stiffened as he grasped her arm above the elbow and led her toward the bed, but she fought the urge to struggle, wrestled with her reluctance, and when he urged her to sit on the bed, she sat.

He knelt, felt around the floor for something and brought out a manacle. He’d cuffed it around her ankle and straightened before she even fully assimilated his intention.

She gaped at the manacle while he turned away with a complete air of unconcern and strode toward the door.

“There is food and brew on the tray. The latrine is through that small door and,” he paused and turned to look at her as he reached the door, “I would not advise you to attempt to leave the room. There were more men who did not capture a female than those who did. And my men are not above filching the spoils of another if they find them wandering the palace alone.”

Noelle turned to gape at him, but his words barely registered.

He was gone before she’d fully assimilated what he’d said—the warning.

And just how was she supposed to escape when he’d chained her to the fucking bed!

As conscious as Drak was of his position and his obligations to his men—even to social obligations—he was not especially in the mood to mingle and celebrate with his men when he left his room. After a brief hesitation, he turned toward the tower stairs rather than the stairs leading down to the gathering room.

A great gust of wind ripped the door from his hold as he stepped out onto the ramparts, slamming the heavy wooden panel back against the stone wall. He grabbed it and leaned his weight against it to shove it shut again.

Not but what the place could use a little airing out, he thought irritably!

He did not think he had ever really paid a great deal of attention to the smells that accumulated in the fortress during the frigid winter months. Either that or the stench was particularly bad at the moment for some reason that escaped him.

Unfortunately, there was not a lot that could be done to remedy the situation—nor did anything come to mind that might prevent the problem at the outset. Once the winter closed in and the snow began to fall, they faced a seasonal battle to the death with the elements that did not let up until spring thaw. It was not fit outside for man or beast and therefore all of them stayed inside unless they absolutely had to go out. And, once they were closed up tight for the winter, the smells produced by so many warm bodies in close proximity began to mount.

Bathing was not a high priority for any of them, even in the warmer months, because it invited pneumonia and added to the work load—carrying in water and fuel to heat it—when it took every able bodied man they had to lay in the supplies they needed to survive the long winters.