Viking Beast: Viking Warriors Series

by de Maupassant, Emmanuelle

  He told her nothing, knowing she would tell herself far more.

  * * *

  Eldberg had offered up daily sacrifices to the gods, and they’d looked favourably upon him. The scarring would remain, but he’d kept all the fingers on his left hand. The rest was superficial. Even where his hair and beard had been scorched, there was regrowth.

  Still, the pain tested him—strange prickles where the tissue was knitting together; a sign of his healing. Only the eye on that side truly troubled him. The eyelashes were gone, replaced by blistered skin. Some vision remained but, with the eye half-closed, it was difficult to judge distance. When he grew tired, even his own hands refused to come into focus.

  If the others knew, none had spoken of it, and if Sweyn or any other had thought to usurp him, they’d waited too long to act upon that ambition. Those closest to Eldberg served through fear but also respect. Who among them would dare claim themselves his rival, fit to take his place?

  They hadn’t expected him to pick up his weapons. Not yet. Nor had they expected him to lead the attack on Svolvaen. He’d pushed himself to do both—to show them that he was tenacious, a man whose life-force burned stronger than the flames sent to consume him.

  This evening, Eldberg was plagued with sparks of pain down his side. In answer, he drank more mead than sat well in his stomach and let the carousing continue longer than he’d intended.

  Fiske and Hakon tried to draw him into conversation, avoiding any questions about the woman, though their curiosity was evident.

  Sweyn said nothing, sitting apart, unable to hide his scowl.

  Eldberg let it pass. The man was entitled to nurse his discontent—as long as he didn’t show outright disrespect.

  It was a trial to sit so long, knowing she lay in his chamber, but the waiting would do his work for him. Only when most of the men had passed out on the long benches did he return.

  The wick had burnt low, but the light was sufficient for him to see her slender body, pale as moonlight, stretched out on the sheepskins, occupying the bed he would have thrown himself into had he been alone.

  Jerking at the sound of his footstep, she twisted against the restraining silk, straining to identify who was in the chamber.

  He stood beside her, letting her feel his presence. She would know the smell of his body and the rhythm with which he breathed.

  She raised her head, and he thought for a moment she would say something, but she lay back again.

  His cock grew hard. His body remembered the satisfaction of entering a woman.

  In the hours that had passed, he’d had time to plan. From the trunk, he drew out the smaller of the marble columns and the harness that went with it. The leather straps were stiff, being new. Another gift for Bretta—one she’d never seen. He rubbed his thumb over the stone.

  A strange thing, he’d thought it, but the merchant who’d sold him the device assured him that the noblewomen of the southern Mediterranean all used them. There were five pieces of marble, each slightly wider and longer than the last, chiseled, then polished smooth. Only the final rod bore any resemblance to his own organ, but the trader had explained the thinking behind the progression.

  Something about it had aroused him—the idea of watching Bretta touch the thing against that part of her that was designed for his pleasure. Watching her push the cold stone inside her warmth—moving it in and out and thinking all the while of what she really wanted instead.

  That she’d desired him, Eldberg had never doubted. He’d served Beornwold for over ten years before the old man had settled the contract. In that time, Eldberg had watched Bretta grow from a child to a woman, and he’d seen how she admired him. Shyly at first, for she’d been innocent. Later, with an intensity that spoke of the passion she would bring to her husband’s bed.

  He’d waited, taking no other in marriage, making himself indispensable to the old man. There was no one stronger, no one more formidable, no one better able to take command of Skálavík. Once Beornwold had realised that, the settlement had been straightforward.

  And Bretta—so beautiful, so eager, and so in love—had been his.

  Eldberg frowned. Always, it came back to this—what had been his, and what had been taken from him.

  Moving to the bed, he brought his hand directly to her—his palm against soft curls, his fingers pressed to the opening of her sex.

  She jolted, attempting to avoid his touch. Her belly, softly rounded, moved rapidly with her breaths. Against the fat pad of his thumb, her skin was cool. But not so for the flesh between her legs. There, it was hot.

  How would it have felt for her—to lie here, exposed, all this time?

  No doubt her shoulders were aching, though he’d tied her flat and given enough slack to allow her to flex her elbows.

  What had she most feared?

  A subtle shift located her swollen nub.

  Just like this, he’d given Bretta pleasure—with his fingers and his tongue. There was a way to stimulate a woman, just as there was a man.

  Dipping inside, he brought out her cream and rubbed lightly upon that part she would be incapable of controlling. She wrenched away, but then her hips pushed forward, meeting the caress again.

  His captive.

  He played the game patiently, letting her resist with murmured protest, withdrawing, then bucking toward him until the wetness covered not just his fingers but her thighs.

  Something inside him tightened.

  Splaying her with one hand, he touched the marble rod against her slickness.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s what you agreed to, slave. Nothing more.”

  With a single push, he slid the column inside her.

  “I don’t want it.” She thrashed her hips, then bore down, trying to expel the thing that filled her.

  “An ungrateful way to behave when you’ve been given a gift.”

  As she raised herself again, attempting to shake away the rod, Eldberg slipped the leather harness under her back. His fingers were not as nimble as they had been, and the wick had all but burnt away, but he didn’t need his vision to fasten the strap around her waist.

  “What are you doing?”

  In the near dark, he wedged the rod into its leather cup and brought the holding straps over her lower abdomen, knotting them onto the front of the belt. These, he pulled tight, so that the marble shaft was drawn fully into her body, held securely in place.

  “I don’t want it!” she hissed again and thrashed, then made another angry sound and went still. “When I move…”

  Satisfied, he pulled one of the sheepskins from the bed and tossed it on the floor. She’d have all night to simmer.

  In the morning, he’d ease her discomfort—at least for a little while.

  “Take it out,” she said quietly. “Please.”

  He smiled.

  “Pleading already?”

  8

  Elswyth

  August 1st, 960AD

  I imagined all the ways I might kill him. A blade through the heart or sliced across his neck. Perhaps an axe through his skull, or a swift-acting poison. Even beating him to death with the thing he’d left inside me.

  When I tilted my hips, it sent an ache of yearning through my sex. It was provoking and demeaning in a way I couldn’t put into words.

  And how long was I to be tied?

  The restraints only chafed when I struggled, so I lay still and tried to divert my thoughts.

  I’d agreed to obey him for the sake of the babe I carried, and for my sake, too, since I didn’t wish to die, but my blood grew feverish.

  I’d have my revenge—not just for myself but for Eirik and all Svolvaen.

  He was an ugly brute, who’d murdered the man I loved, and, whatever he thought, I’d never belong to him.

  In his madness, Gunnolf had sentenced Svolvaen to its cruel fate, and we had all paid the price. Eldberg had been wronged, but we weren’t to blame, and there was no justice in the retribution he’d br
ought upon us.

  The beast had bedded down on the floor, the smell of mead strong on his breath. While I lay awake, he snored.

  At last, I must have dozed, for I woke to the dim light of dawn filtering through the smoke hole in the rafters, and the man I loathed standing above me, holding the sash that had covered my eyes.

  “I need to pass water.” I made no effort to hide my scowl. “And drink some,” I added with less abruptness. I wasn’t in a position to show my temper.

  He’d been fearsome and brutal the day before, but he appeared subdued this morning, his face grey. He said nothing and moved as if he were in discomfort.

  A bad head, I hoped, from too much drink. Perhaps his back was stiff from his night on the floor.

  He unfastened the belt and straps about my waist first, drawing his hand down my belly, letting his fingers brush my damp curls before pulling out what had tormented me. I couldn’t help but gasp as it left my body.

  Thank the gods!

  Relief, and something else.

  I was slightly sore from being stretched, but also very wet. Having held the thing inside me for so long, it felt strange for it to be gone.

  With the untying of my wrists, my impulse was to claw at his face, but I wasn’t a fool. Whatever state he was in, he remained stronger than me. If I wanted to inflict pain upon him, it would have to wait until I’d better knowledge of this place and an ally to help me escape.

  Even with all four limbs free, I couldn’t right myself. My immobility had left me stiff, my hands and feet full of pinpricks. I rubbed at my wrists, shook them, rotated my shoulders, then my ankles. Everything hurt.

  With a grunt, Eldberg raised me to a sitting position and fetched a bowl from the corner.

  More humiliation!

  A prisoner in this room, tied to the bed, impaled, and made to piss in a pot.

  I gritted my teeth, bringing myself to the edge of the bed. Gingerly, I squatted over the bowl.

  “Turn away, can’t you!” I cast him a black look.

  He grunted again and called out for Ragerta. She must have been waiting, for she appeared promptly.

  “Food and ale for both of us.” He passed his hand through his dishevelled hair. “Hot water and a cloth.”

  As I pushed myself back onto the bed, he picked up the pot and passed it to her.

  “Get rid of this.”

  She glanced at me, showing no surprise at my naked state. Of course, she would not. Everyone would know my purpose in the jarl’s chamber.

  There were voices and movement in the main part of the hall already.

  Damn the lot of you, I thought. They were the men who’d burnt Svolvaen. The men who’d carried me away to this place. I hoped the rich food they’d eaten the night before turned their bowels liquid. I hoped they felt as bad as Eldberg looked.

  Curling my feet under me, and my arms about my body, I shrank to the corner. Thanks to the season, I felt no great chill, but I wished to cover myself and regain some dignity.

  He sat heavily on the mattress edge, his head in his hands, and I thought again about caving in his skull. But I had no weapon—nothing of sufficient weight. The harness and the stone thing were upon the trunk, out of reach.

  On Ragerta’s return, he took the mug from her and drank it down, wiping his mouth, and nodding for her to refill it. Being thirsty, I did the same.

  There was porridge—just like the grøt Sylvi used to make, sweetened with honey. I ate hungrily, scraping round with my spoon.

  “You don’t need to tie me again,” I ventured. “You have my oath that I’ll do your bidding.”

  Eldberg glanced over his shoulder, wiped his mouth again, then tossed his bowl away.

  “I’ll do what pleases you.” Let him think it! I glowered behind his back but, kneeling forward, touched his hair, gently raising it above his left ear, revealing the scars that ran across his neck.

  He moved quicker than I’d imagined him capable, grasping my wrist, twisting it away.

  I cried out, but he only pushed back harder, rendering me flat upon the bed again, his bulk bearing down on me.

  “I can’t b-breathe!”

  His other hand came to my throat. “Think not to seduce me with lies, thrall.” His thigh came between mine. “I shall know when you truly desire to please me.” Releasing his hold on my neck, he brought his hand lower, squeezing my nipple hard—making me gasp with the suddenness of it.

  “When that time comes, you’ll take me into your body and plead for my seed. You’ll fuck in all the ways a woman can take a man and the viper in you will writhe for more. You’ll ride me until your cunt aches, and still you’ll beg.”

  Pinned beneath him, I seethed. I’d never beg.

  He was growing aroused. Through his clothing, he was hard against my stomach. I was all too aware of my nakedness—leather and chain links against my breast and belly, woolen serge between my legs.

  Before I had the chance to reply, he flipped me onto my front. With my cheek pressed to the covers, I faced the wall.

  “Fuck you!” I couldn’t help myself. The man was an animal. Again, he was tying my wrist—looping the silk and knotting it, pulling me forward to secure the sash to the far bedpost.

  I could do nothing to prevent him from tying the other hand.

  “Please.” I couldn’t let him do this again. “You don’t need to—”

  “Quiet, thrall.” He dragged my legs apart.

  Though none of the bonds were drawn tight and the sheepskins were soft to lie upon, I could not bear the thought of being made to remain still again.

  “Don’t do this.”

  And then I felt the dampened cloth, drawn gently up my inner thigh. Hot and then cool, along both sides. Eldberg dipped it into the water again, then wrung out the excess. He held the cloth to my sex then eased apart my cheeks, drawing it along the crease, pressing to my anus.

  A trembling fear was taking hold of me—that he would enter me there. I’d felt the size of him when he’d been pressed to my stomach.

  He put aside the cloth and rested his palm upon my behind.

  “You won’t hurt me.” My voice sounded so small.

  The bed creaked, and I heard the chest lid open. I caught a glimpse of what he withdrew. Another of the stone columns, though larger and carved differently—its head more bulbous, the shaft slightly curved, and studded with protruding nobbles.

  “No!” I protested, fighting my tears.

  “You agreed to all.” He sat again and parted me.

  I could offer no resistance and awaited a cruel thrust to the hilt, but he eased it inside me. With each nobble sliding into me, I could not help but gasp.

  “Bastard!” I hissed, but he said nothing, only holding the thing still. My own will counted for nothing.

  After some moments, he withdrew it—just as slowly, until it left me altogether. It was to be a slower torture, and one that amused him regardless of his ill night’s sleep. He rubbed the rounded head where I was swollen—nudging, teasing, before penetrating me again haltingly with its full length.

  I kept my eyes on the wall and bit my lip.

  It would soon be over. Soon.

  Next, he twisted it, so that it touched in new ways, and moved his other hand low beneath my belly, palm hot. I drew breath sharply as he extended his thumb to press against my most sensitive place.

  I was unable to move or resist as he simulated the act between a man and woman, using the shaft of stone to slide into me, back and forth, and the pad of his thumb to taunt me.

  I pushed into the bed, but he raised me on his palm so that his impalement became deeper. I buried my face in the sheepskins, refusing to let him hear me moan. Despite all I felt—my hatred and humiliation, anger and disgust—I knew what he was coaxing from me. A burning warmth was overtaking all thought. Pain and piercing pleasure were building. When it broke, the wave sent me tumbling, rending a cry that tore from my throat and had me straining against the bonds that held me.

&nb
sp; Eldberg’s voice was almost weary. “Mine already, thrall.”

  * * *

  He left me tied all day, but without the harness—without the invasion of his toy. Twice, Ragerta came to hold a cup to my lips, helping me to drink. For my other needs, she slid the pot beneath me.

  My chest was tight with refusal to weep.

  I’d crossed a threshold, betrayed by my body. Though the secrets of my heart were my own, Eldberg had won some small part of me, and so easily.

  I listened to the working sounds of the hall—hushed chatter, and a woman’s voice giving orders. From outside, there was the sound of cows and the bleating of ewes. There was hammering, the thud of butter churning, flapping wings, and sudden squawking.

  Ragerta brought me the nattmal of vegetable broth, spooning it into my mouth with swift efficiency. I asked her if Eldberg had done this before and what had happened, but she merely shook her head without answering, as if worried who might hear her.

  Afterward, I lay quietly, knowing he would come soon.

  By the time he did, the room was full dark, and he lit the wick in a dish of oil, as he had that first night.

  He did not come near me at first, and I remained turned away as he undressed. I did not wish to look on him as he removed his clothing, though I had no doubt his eyes were upon me. I heard the clink of his weapons and the soft fall of his tunic and leggings to the floor. Much time passed before he said, “Do you wish me to touch you?”

  I kept my face turned. “I’ve agreed to serve you, but I’m your unwilling whore. Whatever happens is your wish, not mine.”

  It was an insolent answer and ill-advised, but he spoke no threat of punishment. Instead, he untied the sash about one of my ankles and rubbed the skin, his calloused hands firm in their kneading, restoring the flow of blood.

  Climbing upon the bed, he removed the restraint from my other leg and caressed me in the same manner.