Knowing nobody would dare to steal from him, Garth left his possessions where they were and hurried back towards the centre of the village to seek out Brandr. His jarl was a strong man, fierce in battle. Their enemies trembled at the mere mention of his name, yet he was also one of the wisest people Garth knew and would give him good counsel.
On his way into the village, Garth passed several of the other men and couldn’t help a pang of envy that nobody else looked as miserable as he felt. They were going about life as usual while he wondered if his could ever be the same again. Approaching the house where Brandr had settled with his new bride, he realised he had chosen a bad time. Before he could bang upon the door to announce his presence, the unmistakable sound of a woman crying out in pleasure came from within. The jarl, it seemed, was occupied.
As Garth walked away, a familiar voice called out to him. He turned to see Thorolf striding towards him, frowning in concern.
“You look terrible, my friend. Does your head pain you?”
Garth hated that others knew about the debilitating headaches he’d suffered since he was child. It laid him open to anyone who might wish to challenge him. Thorolf, of course, would never do such a thing. He was too honourable to exploit a friend’s weakness.
“’Tis not my head.”
“Another part of your anatomy, then?” Thorolf grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “You torture yourself, my friend. Just take her and be done with it.”
“They say she is cursed—a witch even.”
His friend assessed him carefully. “You believe that?”
“I do not know. She consorts with some old crone from the forest, and there is something ill-favoured about her. I cannot put my finger on it.”
Each time he looked at Ytha, he experienced strange stirrings of emotion, unlike anything he’d known before. He wanted her body, that much was clear to him, but as to the churning feelings of lust, dread, anger, and longing inside him, he had no idea how he was supposed to untangle those. All he knew was that this woman could easily gain power over him if he let her, and the thought of being held hostage to her whims terrified him.
“Do you wish to set the marriage aside?”
Thorolf was too damned perceptive. Garth shrugged. To break an oath so solemnly made was no small matter. To do so would be to sully his reputation beyond redemption. He felt the other man’s scrutiny as a pressing on his chest. After a protracted pause, Thorolf sighed.
“You must do as you see fit, Garth, but for what it is worth, I do not believe she is a witch. If you cast her off, I will watch out for her. She is my sister-by-marriage, after all.”
Garth could barely conceal his surprise.
“You care for your wife so much already that you would take on the burden of her sister’s welfare?”
“She grows on me,” Thorolf admitted, “but regardless of that, she is mine to protect. If need be, I will take care of her family as well. Decide what you want soon. It does neither of you any good to delay.”
Nodding in acknowledgement of his friend’s words, Garth strode away. Thorolf’s commitment to the bonds of kinship made him feel even worse about his own situation. Could he really fob off his new bride onto someone else without giving her a chance to prove she could be a good wife? He wasn’t sure that he could, and not just because of the dishonour it would bring.
As he returned to his makeshift camp, he noticed immediately that his axe and shield were not where he had left them. He scanned his surroundings for some evidence that a thief had passed this way, but there was nothing. The sound of the door closing over told him all he needed to know. The little minx had graduated from spying to theft.
Enraged, he stormed to the small, circular dwelling and flung open the door. Ytha stood at the centre of the room, a knowing smirk on her face. Without entering the house, he glanced around to see where his most prized possessions might be hidden.
“My battle-axe and shield,” he said, working hard to hold on to his temper. “Where are they?”
His wife, if he could really call her that, shrugged indolently.
“Such things are symbols of masculine power. What would I, a mere woman, want with them?” Having no apparent sense of self-preservation, she fixed him with a challenging stare and moved closer. “Perhaps you think I might use them to place a curse upon your manhood?”
Garth clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait.
“Do you have my things or not, woman?”
“I might.”
The infuriating smugness on her face was the final straw.
Whether she had the power to place a hex upon him or not, she was not going to get away with such impudence. Garth crossed the threshold quickly and stormed into the house. In one fluid motion, he swept Ytha up off her feet and dropped down onto a low stool, bringing her over his knee as he sat. Ytha twisted around to look up at him, her eyes wide with fear and something he had not expected—arousal. So, she liked to play rough. He stored that information away for another time.
“What are you doing?” she demanded with equal parts indignation and curiosity. Her eyes narrowed when he used his free hand to remove the thick leather belt from around his waist.
“I am teaching you a lesson you will not soon forget,” he said, whipping her skirt up to reveal the pale white skin of her bottom. “You, little Pict, are about to receive a thrashing.”
Ytha looked up at her husband’s implacable face and furrowed her brow. He was serious. He intended to beat her with his belt while she was draped over his knee like some naughty child. Well, there was no way she was going to just lie there and take it. With the grip he had on her waist while he held her steady, there was almost no room to move but, somehow, she managed to pull her arm back. She swung it sharply and drove her elbow into his ribs with as much force as she could muster. The blow was not hard enough to hurt Garth, but it must have surprised him because he loosened his grip on her. It gave her the freedom to wriggle off his lap. Leaping to her feet, she ran straight out of the door and headed for the trees. If she made it deep into the forest, she would be able to evade him until she got it into that thick head of his that she would not be treated that way.
Unfortunately, with his long, powerful legs, the Viking was much quicker than she was. Before she knew what was happening, she was lifted from her feet and hoisted over that broad shoulder of his. She kicked and screamed, but her protests seemed to have absolutely no effect on Garth. She hammered at his back. In response, he muttered something she didn’t quite catch and headed back towards the house.
“Put me down, you son of a goatherd!”
Garth snorted derisively at her attempt to insult him.
“Thank your stars, Pict, that I am in a generous mood, otherwise I would cut a switch from one of those trees and lay a hundred lashes across your cheeky little arse, right here where anyone might see.”
Ytha huffed at the overblown threat but said nothing. No doubt if she provoked him any further, he would punish her more harshly. As much as it pained her to remain silent, she kept her mouth shut, hung her head, and allowed him to carry her back into the house. Rather than sitting and pulling her down over his knee as she expected him to, he dropped her to her feet. She stood perfectly still and watched him warily, waiting for him to make a move.
“Turn around and bend over the table.”
“I…what?”
Ytha frowned deeply, wondering what his game was.
“I would have you submit to your husband’s authority, woman,” he said before adding, “willingly.”
Ytha was not sure she could do that. If she followed his command, then she would be admitting she deserved to be spanked and that he—a man who had so far shown no interest in being a proper husband to her—had a right to punish her. Even though she suspected it was the key to finally getting this marriage off the ground, it would set a dangerous precedent for the future. Would he want to thrash her every time she displeased him? She would spend their
entire marriage with a chastised bottom.
As she tried to decide what to do, she glanced up at Garth. The expression he wore suggested he was amused by her apparent uncertainty.
“Take your time, Pict,” he said with an infuriating grin. “I can wait.”
2
Hesitation screamed from her every pore. Garth watched Ytha step towards the table and come to an abrupt stop. She cast him a sideways glance as he stooped to pick up the belt he’d dropped when he’d chased her outside. He could almost smell the fear she was trying to mask. Rocking back on her heels, she wrung her hands. This was a big moment for her. Garth understood that. It was why he’d given her control of the situation. Well, the illusion of control, in any case. No matter what choice she made right now, he was going to redden that delightfully rounded bottom of hers. If she made the correct decision and gave in to him, he would get the punishment over with quickly. If she made the wrong decision and tried to fight him, he would ensure she didn’t sit easily for a week.
Garth was still unsure what powers of witchcraft she might possess and would only make her his wife in every sense if he was certain he could hold her in check. Almost able to hear the warring thoughts churning through her mind, he wondered if she had it within her to bow to his command. Undoubtedly, she was worried about the implications her acquiescence would have for the future. He was certain, though, that she understood her refusal to obey would mean an end to the marriage before it had even begun. The struggle played out vividly across her face. Then, right before his eyes, he saw the moment of surrender. Her shoulders sagged. She took a deep breath, moved closer to the table, and bent over, gripping the edge of the wooden surface tightly. The whiteness of her knuckles told him she feared the pain that was to come.
“I did not think you would do it,” Garth murmured, stepping up behind her and lifting her skirts.
“You meant to test me?”
“Yes, and it will not be the last time,” he replied, running a hand over the soft, smooth skin of her bottom. He enjoyed the wiggle of her hips as she accustomed herself to his touch. “I will test you often, push you hard.”
“Why?”
“Because it will give me pleasure to see you yield to me,” he said, “and because I will be master in my own home.”
“I expect nothing less.”
“Is that so, Pict? You will agree to abide by my commands?”
“I will.” Ytha spoke as solemnly as she had during the exchange of their marriage vows, and he really wanted to believe she meant what she’d said.
“We will see.”
Ytha’s breath hitched when he squeezed the luscious flesh of her rump. Her gasp sent a jolt of lust through him. He imagined using his tongue, his cock, to elicit similar sounds of pleasure from her. It was all he could do to hold himself back from taking her now. He had to get this punishment underway before his desires overwhelmed him.
“Spread your legs a little farther apart,” he instructed. He was pleasantly surprised that she complied straight away, widening her stance so he just caught a glimpse of her pretty pink pussy. “Now, brace yourself, woman. This will hurt.”
Drawing his arm back, he brought the belt down with a crack, across the roundest part of her bottom. Ytha screeched, and the impact propelled her forwards. While he admired the pink hue that bloomed in a single stripe across her pale skin, she got herself back into position.
“That is good, Pict,” he praised when she presented her bottom to him once more. “There are five more to go. You can take it.”
Could she take five more lashes of the belt? She wasn’t sure. Fire streaked across her bottom for the second time, and Ytha regretted her earlier taunt to Garth that he would end up with a lightning bolt up his arse, because that was just what this felt like. It was different to anything she’d ever felt before. There were just so many sensations hitting her all at once, and none of them were pleasant.
“Hold still,” Garth instructed, placing his hand at the small of her back for good measure.
The belt landed on her tender flesh for the third time, and she let out a shriek. Tears that had pooled at the corners of her eyes trickled down her cheeks. The punishment was only halfway through, and she wanted to be brave, to show Garth she could accept his discipline, but this was harder than she’d thought it would be.
Another stroke of the belt lit up her flesh. Yelping loudly, she let go of the table and stood bolt upright.
“Back in position.”
Although Garth’s tone held a hint of command, there was no harshness in it. In fact, she could almost convince herself he was sorry he was hurting her. The note of sympathy she detected in his voice confused her already jumbled thoughts even further, and she cried in earnest.
“I am sorry,” she wailed, bending over and thrusting her bottom out towards him once more. She was sure her skin must be glowing crimson by now. It certainly felt like it was on fire. “I will be a good wife to you, I promise.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will be,” Garth agreed, “but first we need to get the last two strokes out of the way.”
The next blow fell at the top of her thighs, and Ytha cried out. A sharp, unpleasant prickling radiated out from the point of impact. Every part of her seemed to ache, her limbs were so tense. Her lungs burned with the effort of holding her breathing steady. The delicate skin beneath her eyes was completely raw from the saltiness of her tears. She should hate Garth for doing this to her but, somehow, she felt for the first time as though there was a chance of growing closer to him. How could that be?
She had no time to ponder the question. Almost immediately, the belt cracked across her buttocks once more. Crying out, she collapsed onto the table, burying her face in the crook of her elbow to weep. Completely wrung out, she was left quivering silently as her sobs faded. Garth laid a hand on her shoulder. It was intended as comfort, she was sure of that, but she turned and batted him away. She was embarrassed by her weakness. She’d wanted to take the punishment well, to show him she was worthy to be the wife of a Viking warrior. The last thing she’d wanted was for him to see her reduced to a snivelling wreck. But, Garth, it seemed, would not be rebuffed. With a gentleness that threatened to undo her completely, he lifted her into his arms and brought her to the bed. He placed her almost reverently on the furs that lay upon the straw-covered wooden pallet, he came down beside her. Propping himself up on his elbows, he stared into her eyes.
“You took your punishment well.”
“Hah!” Ytha scoffed.
They both knew that was not true. She had wailed like a banshee.
“No,” Garth scolded gently, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from her face. “You did not protest and you did not try to bargain your way out of it.”
“I didn’t turn you into a beetle and squash you beneath my feet either.”
“No,” Garth agreed, smiling while she sniffed away the last of her sobs. “You did not do that either.”
He stroked the hair back from her face, and Ytha tried to read the look in his eyes. There was desire burning in those deep-brown orbs, but there was something else as well. Pity? Perhaps it was. She really couldn’t tell, and that discomfited her.
“I can’t actually turn people into insects,” Ytha felt a sudden need to explain, “or anything else for that matter. And I could not have used your weapons to curse your manhood, even if I’d wanted to.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Garth said solemnly. “But tell me, how it is that people come to have such fear of you?”
“Some of the older villagers are superstitious,” Ytha said. Actually, many of the younger ones were as well, but they were generally less hostile towards her. “In the year that I was born, the crops failed, and many died of hunger.”
“They blamed you for this?”
“They said I was a strange child. I cried very little, and my mother feared there was something unnatural about me. She came to believe I was a changeling.”
“Because you did n
ot cry? Some might see that as a blessing.”
“Perhaps, but there is also a mark upon my flesh.” She gestured towards her shoulder where the vivid purple-hued blemish lay. “It did not appear until seven days after my birth. They say it is the sign of a curse. I was left out in the open to die, but Nessa, the woman who was here earlier, found me and took me in.”
A deep frown formed on Garth’s face, and the sympathy in his eyes was almost too much to bear. She doubted this Viking was given to expressing his feelings, but she could tell he found her story worthy of his pity.
“Of course, I do have visions,” she confessed, “but there is no real harm in that, is there?”
“No, there isn’t.”
Whether he was agreeing because he believed what he was saying or because he wanted her to feel better in that moment, Ytha was not sure.
“So you can see, I am not a threat to you.” There was a pleading tone in her voice. She really wanted him to accept their marriage. “I could not harm you.”
“That is where you are wrong, little Pict,” Garth said, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I fear that given the chance, you could do me more harm than any other person alive.”
Garth Page 2
