“Smell,” she said, holding out the mushroom for Ailsa to sniff.
She saw in the way her sister screwed up her nose that she had detected the distinctly unpleasant odour coming from it. She pressed upon the cap of the mushroom, and a pungent, yellow substance oozed out.
“This one is toxic.” Ytha threw it to the ground. The downcast expression on Ailsa’s face had her wondering if her tone had been too harsh, so she softened it. “The rest are good.”
She smiled broadly and was relieved to see Ailsa returning the gesture. Ytha’s manner could be brusque at times, the result of being alone so much, and she hated to think her words might hurt her sister.
“I think we have enough for our Viking husbands’ natmal,” Ailsa said. “Come, I’ll race you up to the waterfall.”
With a roar of pure fury, Garth swung his axe and landed a heavy blow across the neck of a cowardly Pict who had used a catapult to try to bring Brandr down. There was nothing he hated more than a man who skulked about on the fringes of battle, doing what harm he could without being drawn into close combat. As the wretched cur’s body fell, Garth stood back and surveyed the scene before him. Their mission here was complete. They had come to send a message to the Nechtain that the village of Achnaryrie was now under Norse protection and that no further assaults upon their lands or people would be tolerated. That goal had been achieved. They had dealt with their enemy with swift brutality. All the women and children had been rounded up, but they would not harm them. Nor would they pursue those who had chosen to run rather than stand and fight. Such men were not worth the effort of the chase.
With the few brave men defeated, they took measures to ensure they would pose no future threat. Brandr ordered that they have the fingers of their right hands severed so they could never again wield weapons against their neighbours. It was a harsh punishment, but just. The men would still be able to farm the land and feed their wives and children. They would have a few less cows to tend, however, as they’d agreed to send cattle to Achnaryrie as reparation for those they had stolen.
With matters settled between them, Brandr and his men continued on their mission to vanquish their enemies. Heading southeast along a forest trail, they soon tracked down the temporary encampment of the band of outlaws led by Eanfrith. Living outside of society, these were the very worst of men—dishonourable bandits who preyed on defenceless women. Garth snorted disdainfully. His people had a reputation as savages, but they were nothing compared with these Pictish thugs. Norsemen might be the most fearsome warriors, but at least they lived under the rule of law.
On Brandr’s orders, Garth and the other men spread out through the trees to surround the camp. From what Garth could see, their numbers were evenly matched. Not that it mattered. One of his fellow warriors was worth ten of those worthless dogs. With surprise on their side, the outlaws would be dealt with swiftly. At the jarl’s signal, the men let out a bloodcurdling cry and fell upon the enemy. They put up little fight. Garth charged at one man who had barely drawn his dagger before his head was cleaved in two. Such easy slaughter left a bad taste in Garth’s mouth. There was less honour in killing an enemy who barely tried to defend himself. Swinging around, he deflected a blow from another man’s blade and drove his axe into his torso. The man was dead by the time he hit the ground.
The battle over, Garth stooped to wipe the blood from his axe in the long grass. His blood was still pumping, and he wanted nothing more than to get home and fuck his beautiful wife until all this excess energy was spent. He rose to his feet and looked around. Some of the men were injured, but none so gravely that they would die of their injuries. That they had lost none of their warriors made their victory all the sweeter.
He joined the other men to make their way back along the forest path towards home. They had walked less than half a mile from the devastation they’d wrought, when Brandr raised his hand to silence them. It seemed he’d heard something in the forest. Garth listened intently, expecting to hear the soft tread of some animal as Brandr readied his bow and arrow. His jarl stepped forward and suddenly gave a fearful cry. He shot an arrow into the trees, striking his target through the neck. It was not an animal he’d fired upon, but a man, who dropped instantly. Before Garth could congratulate him on a perfect shot, Brandr swayed unsteadily on his feet. Time seemed to stand still as the man Garth admired so greatly stumbled forward and fell to the ground.
Magnus was first to react, crouching next to their jarl who clutched at a dagger driven deep between his ribs.
“One of Eanfrith’s men,” Brandr said as Garth approached. “Hiding.”
“Don’t speak, my jarl,” Garth said as he got on his knees beside his fallen leader. A dagger had been driven deep into his ribs and each word he uttered seemed to cause him pain. “You slayed him. Now, breathe shallow and try not to move.”
He exchanged a helpless look with Magnus as Ragnar and Thorolf, who’d set off in pursuit of the lowly swine who’d ambushed their jarl, returned.
“The cur must have been emptying his bowels when he heard our attack,” Ragnar growled. “We’d never have known he was there if Brandr hadn’t struck upon him. By Odin, ’tis the worst of luck!”
Ill fortune it was indeed. Garth could only hope the blow would not prove fatal. Their jarl was a good man, a strong leader. Without him, they would survive, but life wouldn’t be the same. They had to get him back to the village and find him aid.
By the time they made it up the hillside to the bathing pool, Ytha was completely out of breath. It was a difficult place to get to but worth it for the sheer beauty of the waterfall cascading down over the rocks on the far side of the pool. She watched Ailsa stripping off her tunic and gasped in surprise at her sister’s reddened bottom. It seemed that Garth was not the only husband who enjoyed disciplining his wife.
“Oh…uhm…” Ailsa said, her cheeks reddening.
Ytha held up a hand to silence her. She gave her a shrug she hoped would convey understanding and then removed her clothing. Spinning around, she presented her own reddened backside to Ailsa. Both women immediately giggled, and Ytha couldn’t help but wonder how many of the others who’d taken Vikings as their husbands were nursing sore bottoms on a regular basis.
With a whoop of joy, Ailsa ran past her and leapt into the water. Ytha quickly followed. The water was cool, refreshing. Ytha lay back and wet her hair. It had been too long since she’d come up here to bathe. She closed her eyes and floated for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet. Then she twisted around and dived under the surface, coming up behind Ailsa to playfully pull her under the water. Taken by surprise, her sister flapped her arms furiously as she came back up, spluttering and coughing. She turned and shoved Ytha’s shoulder, sending her flying back into the water. There was no anger in Ailsa’s actions, and the two women splashed about together, playing like children. It was good that they were so at ease with one another. Ytha had grown up without her sister and was pleased they were able to make up for it now.
When the skin at her fingertips wrinkled, Ytha knew it was time to get out of the water. She clambered out of the pool, and Ailsa did the same. As Ytha stopped to pick up her tunic, a strange feeling came over her. She straightened up, and a loud whooshing assaulted her ears. Her body tensed. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. Her gaze fixed on a spot in the distance, and the world around her slowly disappeared.
The countryside faded, and an image came to her. It made no sense. A man she’d thought was dead entered her thoughts. Her fingers twitched by her sides. She pictured herself reaching out to touch him, just to see if he was real. The man was Ailsa’s first husband, Irb. Although Ailsa had never made any complaints about him, Ytha had never liked the man, perhaps because he had not warmed to her. When he’d gone missing, she’d been thankful. Frankly, she hoped to never see him again, in this life or the next. He was locked in deadly combat with Thorolf. In his hand, he grasped a vicious-looking blade. He swung it back, and the image changed. Now,
she saw Ailsa, an air of sorrow about her. Her sister was in so much pain, Ytha felt it in her own chest. Then she saw something else, closer at hand. Their husbands were almost home. Suddenly, the spell was broken, and the vision cleared. Ytha blinked furiously to bring herself back into the here and now. She glanced at Ailsa and recognised the concern in her eyes.
“I saw Garth and Thorolf. They’re returning.” She tried to keep her tone light. “We must hurry.”
Ailsa reached to pick up her tunic for her, and Ytha’s eyes moistened with tears. She caught her sister’s wrist and opened her mouth to say…what? She couldn’t tell her all of what she’d seen. It would scare her to think that Irb was still out there somewhere.
“Thorolf?” Ailsa asked, panic in her voice.
“No, no, our husbands are safe,” Ytha assured her. At least, they were for now.
Ailsa gave her a searching look, and Ytha had to say something that would prepare her for whatever troubles lay ahead. “However, there is much suffering in your future. I saw pain and sadness that you, alone, will bear. I am so sorry, my sister, that I cannot tell you more.”
Understanding passed over Alisa’s face, and she pulled her into a fierce hug.
Ytha found it hard to relax into the embrace when she was keeping vital information from the other woman. She gave Ailsa a quick pat on the back and stepped away from her.
In silence, the two women dressed. They made their way down the hillside, jumping from rock to rock, as sure-footed as the goats that dwelled in the mountains to the south-west. Wasting no time, once they reached flatter ground, they sprinted back to the village. When they got there, all was quiet but Ytha knew something was going to happen. She bid Ailsa a quick farewell and ran to the humble little dwelling she now shared with Garth.
It was several hours before she heard the first shouts outside as the Vikings returned. She raced from her home, towards the centre of the village. She got there to find a crowd had gathered outside Eithne’s house. It was a worrying sign that at least one of her recent visions had come to pass. Her heart sank but quickly lifted again when she caught sight of Garth. She ran to him, arms outstretched. He swept her up in his arms and squeezed tightly.
“What has happened?” Ytha asked as Eithne came towards them.
“Brandr is injured.” Garth’s tone was grave.
“He is dying,” muttered Gladys, one of the villagers who stood nearby.
Ytha wished her vision had been clearer. She knew Eithne would soon suffer a terrible loss but, somehow, she didn’t think Brandr was about to die.
“What if he does not survive?” Ytha asked. “What will happen to us then?”
Seeing Eithne’s body stiffen, Ytha realised she had overheard their words. She took a step towards her, to apologise or offer comfort, she wasn’t sure which. A strong arm around her waist dragged her back.
“Leave it be,” Garth murmured in her ear. “The woman needs peace to tend to her husband.”
Ytha thought to protest. Were women not supposed to band together at moments like this? She could offer help to tend to Brandr’s wounds but, seeing Eithne summoning Myrna to her, she suspected she would only be underfoot. Still, she could not simply walk away and leave them to it. Wriggling free of Garth’s grasp, she went to sit outside Eithne’s house in case she was needed.
As the night faded and morning came, it became clear to her that her skills were not required. She got up from her seat, smoothed down her skirts, and tried not to let her wounded pride bother her. Myrna obviously had everything under control, and that was a good thing. She nodded a polite goodbye to some of the Viking warriors who had gathered to await news of their leader, and headed for home.
The moment she walked through the door of their cottage, Garth took her by the shoulders and backed her towards the wall. He kissed her with a passion so intense it burned into the very heart of her. His tongue played with hers while he leaned into her, the evidence of his arousal hard against her belly. A relentless pulse throbbed at that place between her legs when he ripped her pinafore and tunic off over her head in one swift movement. It did not escape her notice that he was still fully dressed while she stood before him completely naked. He was master here, and the thought that she was his to do with as he pleased thrilled her more than ever before.
Sinking to his knees, he parted her thighs and slowly trailed kisses along the inside of her leg. He reached the apex and opened her to him. He blew gently, sending a tantalising tingle across her pussy. Ytha gasped with pleasure as he pressed his lips to her mound and then slowly ran his tongue along her feminine cleft. Garth put his hands on the back of her thighs and pulled her closer to him. He pushed his tongue inside, and Ytha danced on her toes. This was torture of the most exquisite kind. He sucked her nub into his mouth and gently nipped it with his teeth, and she thought her legs would give way. She tangled her hands in his hair, a wave of pleasure crashing over her. She threw back her head and moaned softly.
Garth rose to his feet and freed his swollen cock from his trousers. He lifted Ytha’s leg up over his hip and entered her with a single, brutal thrust. He brought her hands up high, forcing her onto the tips of her toes. He fucked his little Pict mercilessly, hitting a spot deep inside that sent shock waves through her. The pleasurable sensations grew until, finally, she reached the pinnacle. Letting go, she hurtled into the abyss. Garth followed her a moment later, spilling his seed with a shout of triumph.
“That was quite a welcome home,” Ytha said, recovering her breath as Garth carried her to the bed.
“I didn’t hurt you?” he checked.
Ytha shook her head. He hadn’t hurt her, but it had been a long night and an emotional morning so far and she was tired. As she’d headed home from her vigil outside Eithne’s house, she’d run into Feidelm who’d asked her to come and speak with her husband, Domnall. Surprised by the request, she’d accepted the invitation. The chieftain was dying and, it seemed, he had wanted to put a few things right before he passed from this life.
He apologised to Ytha for not stopping her parents from leaving her out in the forest to die all those years ago. He was a kind and noble man, but he’d not wanted to interfere in a family matter. Knowing the man had little time left, she’d assured him she held no grudges. Feidelm who also wanted to make amends for the past and they’d exchanged kinds words. It was the first time they’d done so, as far as Ytha could recall.
Putting past hurts to rest had given her a sense that all was right with the world. She looked at Garth, and that feeling intensified.
“You have given me quite an appetite, though.”
Almost as if she’d been summoned by magic, the door opened, and Ailsa entered. Garth quickly adjusted his trousers, tucking his manhood away, while Ytha wrapped a fur around her shoulders. There was no need for such modesty in front of her sister, but she felt a bit shy all the same. Ailsa was no fool, and her smile told Ytha she knew she and Garth had been making love.
“Perhaps I should have knocked,” Ailsa said apologetically as Ytha blushed furiously. “I have brought your share of the soup.”
“Soup?” Ytha’s brow furrowed. “Oh, yes, the soup.”
Had it only been yesterday that she and Ailsa had gathered the mushrooms and herbs to make the meal for their husbands?
“Is there word of Brandr?” Ailsa asked, laying the pot down on the table.
“Not yet, but he is in good hands. They didn’t really need me there.”
Ailsa nodded, a gesture that was laden with understanding. Ytha knew her sister was aware of how hard it had been to find her place here.
“But I spoke to Domnall and to Feidelm, and it was nice. I will tell you about it when I see you next.”
Her sister was undoubtedly curious about her conversations with the chieftain and his wife, but she seemed to take the hint that she should leave.
“I need to get back to Thorolf. Enjoy your dagmal.”
The moment the door closed behind Ailsa, Ytha mo
ved closer to Garth and wound her arms around his neck.
“Do you want some soup, husband, or would you prefer something sweeter.”
“Sweeter.” Garth looked at her with undisguised lust.
As Ytha lay back on the bed, stretching her arms up over her head and opening her legs for him, he came down over her.
“Something much, much sweeter.”
5
The sand was soft beneath her feet, warm from the mid-morning sun. The sky was a perfect blue, punctuated with wisps of pure-white cloud. The sea was calm today, yet Ytha could not find the peace she usually did when she went there. She’d come down to the shore early, when the tide was low, to gather some shellfish. Razor clams were abundant but weren’t particularly easy to harvest. They only emerged from the sand briefly, and the trick was to spot where they might show up. It had taken hours to get enough to make a beautiful seafood broth, and her fingers had been cut more than once as she pulled the sharp shells from the sand. The effort, though, was worth it. She wanted to fulfil her promise to her husband that she would be a good wife to him. No other woman in the village would take better care of her man.
As she walked back up towards the dunes, she sensed eyes upon her. Usually, she enjoyed coming down to the water, but today she’d found it unsettling. Dozens of Vikings were currently camped on the beach, the ones who had not been chosen to marry one of the women of Achnaryrie but had yet to move on. She didn’t like being down here with so many unattached men milling around. Although none approached her, either because they knew she was Garth’s, or because they thought her to be cursed, their interest in her was unwelcome.
Garth Page 5
