a Wicked Conquest

by Valerie Saxon

  ‘Whoever it was won’t find it so easy again,’ Sigurd vowed. ‘You’ll be guarded at all times.’ She was about to protest but he held up a hand to silence her. ‘The matter is settled. Now I have to see about the damage to the shieling.’

  She was able to feel the extent of his anger, almost palpable, and he was appalled at what had happened. But the facts could not be ignored – someone wanted her dead.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rowena could not have chosen between the shieling and the homefarm if her life depended on it. It was as large as Gunnhild had said, the beautiful ocean was but a beat away and the hillsides were covered with trees. The sloping beaches were ideal for Sigurd’s ships and a nearby valley protected natural hot springs.

  She thought of it now as she stirred the large pot over the fire in the shieling. There was still much work to be done before they moved to the homefarm but, when she viewed it with Gunnhild a few days before, she found it very much to her taste. Sigurd was true to his word; wherever Rowena went she was accompanied by one of the Berserks. She was amused at first, but then she fast tired of being followed everywhere. Thorolf, the Berserk assigned to her, sat a little way away from her in the fire-hall whittling as she attended to the meal. He looked so miserable she felt sorry for him.

  ‘I won’t be straying far from the fire-hall today, Thorolf,’ she said with a smile. ‘Why don’t you get some air?’ He looked dubious and she persuaded him some more. ‘I have far too much to do indoors, so feel free.’

  That seemed to do the trick, and she sighed with relief when he went about his business. An hour or so later she was outside the fire-hall herself, shaking out some linen, when she saw Sigurd in the distance. She immediately went looking for Thorolf, for if Sigurd knew he’d left her, no matter what the excuse, the warrior would be severely punished.

  She looked everywhere she could think of, until the only place she hadn’t searched was the stable, so lifting her skirts she scurried towards them as though her life depended on it. When she arrived at the entrance Syn perked up and whinnied at her. Rowena patted her fondly, but she didn’t have the time for Sigurd would be upon them all too soon.

  Turning her nose up at the malodorous, hay-strewn building, she cast her eyes about but was unable to see any signs of human occupation; even the stable man was missing. She put her hands on her hips, wondering what to do next. It was all her fault! Why hadn’t she left well alone? Thorolf would be with her now if she hadn’t persuaded him to go off.

  Suddenly she heard scraping noises and heavy breathing coming from one of the stalls at the far end. She stood rooted to the spot, wondering what it was. There were no horses in that stall. The noise came again and she scolded herself for being such a coward. Stiffening her back she marched over to the end stall, and almost fainted at what she saw.

  Two men were fellating each other, their hungry mouths swallowing their lover’s cock! Rowena was lost for words, and quite unable to move or speak. While she watched they altered their position, and she was able to recognise them as Thorolf and the stable man Njal. They were lost in their own little world, quite oblivious to the knowledge that they were being observed.

  They began kissing passionately and Rowena was shocked at the male on male display of affection, until she realised it was no different to what she’d shared with Algitha, immediately ashamed of her hypocrisy, though she was at a loss as to what to do next.

  Thorolf caressed the other man’s stiff cock, feeling between his legs for his hairy balls, which he gently squeezed. Njal sighed his pleasure and allowed the much larger man to turn him over onto his front. He lifted his bottom in the air and Thorolf spat on a finger and wormed it into his bottom hole. Njal wiggled, gasping at the delightful invasion of his rectum. Thorolf fingered him for a while, and then took his large staff and mounted him. Rowena didn’t want to watch them but she was completely lost in the moment. As Thorolf fucked his lover well, so Njal grabbed his own cock and masturbated.

  The air was filled with the odour of sex and horse. Thorolf was like a bull and Rowena watched in awe as his cock drove in and out of Njal, his balls dancing against his bottom. They reached a climax together, Thorolf roaring like the bull he favoured, Njal exclaiming his pleasure more quietly. They kissed tenderly and Rowena knew she had to make them aware of her presence.

  She coughed delicately and the men broke apart. ‘Sigurd is on the way, Thorolf,’ she warned, then while she turned her back they quickly dressed, their faces red with embarrassment. Thorolf, head down and shoulders bent, then followed her from the stable.

  ‘Thorolf,’ she began gently, ‘please don’t feel embarrassed. I am a married woman and know all about love.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he replied gruffly. ‘Not my kind of loving, anyway.’

  Rowena touched his arm kindly. ‘We females have varied appetites too, you know.’ Thorolf stared at her, disbelief in his eyes, and Rowena blushed. ‘You’d be surprised.’

  Thorolf blushed too, and Rowena hid a smile.

  ‘Thank you, mistress,’ he said, his eyes saying a thousand words. ‘Anyone else would have reported me to the chieftain, and his wrath would have been mighty.’

  ‘Your secret is safe with me,’ she said with a warm smile, which made him her willing slave forever.

  Leif was in the hall when she walked in, laughing and talking with another. Rowena saw the tall, broad-shouldered man in a red mantle, his golden hair and dark-blue eyes making him by far the handsomest there, and she wanted to run into his arms and tell him how much she’d missed him. But although her husband was able to parade his affairs in front of her, she had to pretend to be a faithful wife. She was suddenly very angry. He was a cruel man and an adulterer, but she had to toe the line when all she wanted was to let the world know she loved Leif.

  He saw her then, and she knew by the emotions that shone from those blue eyes that he felt the same as she did. They made polite conversation, but when the evening meal was over and her husband sought Maeve, she took him to the barn where they found a quiet corner.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she cried, as he took her into his arms.

  ‘And I you,’ he said, kissing her passionately. ‘But as you probably know my father died and I had urgent matters to attend to.’

  She nodded. ‘I am sorry for your loss, Leif.’

  He took her hands in his and kissed her fingertips one by one. ‘He was a wonderful man and there will never be another like him,’ he said sadly. ‘But we all have to die, and do I have some good news. I am the oldest son, and my father’s demise means that I am now a jarl with a large inheritance.’

  ‘A jarl?’ She looked at him blankly, wondering what that had to do with her.

  ‘Don’t you see, Rowena?’ he said excitedly. ‘It means I have plenty to offer you now. A beautiful home and anything your heart desires.’

  ‘Have you not forgotten that I am married to your cousin?’ she reminded him sadly, thinking of the wonderful life he was offering her, the life she could never have. The dreams she’d woven around being with him permanently and having children with him were nothing but fantasy. It was time to face reality.

  ‘He doesn’t treat you like a wife should be treated. If you divorce him for his cruelty and adultery you will be free to marry me.’

  ‘Marry you?’ Her eyes lit up, it sounded so good. If only it were possible.

  ‘Say yes, my love,’ he urged, ‘and I will seek Sigurd out and tell him about us. It is time he learned of our love and my commitment to you.’

  Rowena felt as though she’d been slapped. Sigurd would never let her go, he was far too twisted and hateful to allow that. And he would make Leif pay for loving her. He might even kill him. Her heart thumped in her chest. She had to stop Leif speaking to him; if anything happened to him she would want to die herself.

  She got to her feet and brushed the hay fr
om her skirt, forcing a light laugh to leave her lips. ‘I can’t possibly marry you, Leif. What we had was fun, but I love Sigurd. He has his dalliances, but he always comes back to me in the end.’

  As soon as the words were spoken she wanted to rush back into his arms and tell him it was all lies, but she couldn’t. She had to let him go to keep him safe.

  His eyes dulled with pain, a tic played at the side of his jaw. ‘Is that the truth, Rowena?’ he asked raggedly. ‘Or is this some sick game you’re playing?’

  Her heart wasn’t in it but she had to persuade him that she was no better than his cousin. ‘My husband won me the minute he dragged me across the floor of the burh and beat me.’

  ‘This isn’t you talking,’ he insisted, taking her hand. ‘There is something wrong here. Tell me what it is.’

  She shook him off, tossing her flowing hair back from her face. ‘Yes,’ she admitted coldly, ‘there is something wrong. The day we married Sigurd did treat me as I said. He dragged me by my hair, and beat me sorely, and then he dumped me in the filth near the byre.’ She watched the blood drain from his face, but she wasn’t finished. He had to be convinced by her act. ‘Then he took me in a barn very much like this one.’ She paused for effect. ‘But his loving wasn’t gentle. He ripped off my clothes and took me like an animal. And when my virgin blood soaked the hay he laughed and called me a whore.’

  His eyes pleaded with her. ‘Rowena, please…’

  He was taking the bait but she had to go further, to make him hate her. ‘And he took me with his men watching. We rutted like wild bores, his cock boring into me so hard I thought I would die.’ She laughed. ‘There is much more I could relate, filth and depravity like you’ve never heard, and I loved every minute. You see, Leif, you are not man enough for me. I love the excitement my husband gives me. He is the only one who can truly satisfy the whore in me.’

  His brave warrior eyes were brimming with tears. ‘You are not the woman I thought you were. I will not come to this place again.’

  Then he was gone. She had convinced the only good and decent man in her life that she was a depraved creature whom he now despised, and she cried until she thought her heart would break.

  Sigurd brought Sleipner to a halt in the valley of the hot springs, and jumping lightly from the stallion he lifted Rowena down beside him. She was so nervous her mouth was dry, and when she asked him what they were doing there it came out as a croak. He appeared to be larger than ever as he stood looking down at her, his mouth twisted in a secretive smile.

  ‘Why are we here?’ she demanded. Sigurd never did anything without a reason and she did not trust him.

  ‘Relax, wife.’ He smiled again, but it never quite reached his eyes. ‘Gunnhild has chastised me for failing in my duty to you, so I’ve decided something must be done about it.’

  Rowena trembled beneath his regard. She hadn’t been eating or sleeping well since her confrontation with Leif, and Gunnhild was worried about her. ‘Gunnhild’s not happy unless she’s worrying about someone,’ she said flippantly. ‘I do not feel neglected.’ She gazed around at the rich green valley. The slopes were covered with birch trees, and plumes of vapour from the hot springs wafted around her feet. Sigurd was in a strange mood, and one she did not appreciate.

  He tethered Sleipner and led her to a strange pool, constructed of hewn blocks of stone. ‘This is my private place,’ he said whimsically.

  ‘What’s it for?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘To bathe in, of course, or did you have other ideas for its use?’

  There was the usual edge to his voice and she swallowed uncomfortably. ‘Nay, Sigurd.’

  ‘See, it is filled with hot water from the springs through an underground conduit. The temperature of the water can be altered by the addition of cold water from the brook.’ He pointed to a stone slotted into the conduit.

  Her eyes widened. ‘‘Tis a wonderful thing!’

  A brow rose in derision. ‘Flattery, Rowena?’

  She ignored his sarcasm, noting that the low hillocks sheltered the pool from the northerly winds. ‘Do you use the pool often?’

  ‘Aye. It’s my favourite place. I find it very relaxing.’

  The blue eyes held a hint of mirth and she knew why; it was his favourite place, but one he used with Maeve. She could almost see them frolicking in the steaming water, Maeve’s full breasts bolstered by the liquid, floating invitingly on the surface. She could see Sigurd in her mind’s eye reaching out for her, enjoying the feel of her satin skin in the sensual environment. Yes, she imagined it was a good place for them both to be.

  ‘It must be an interesting experience,’ she said hurriedly, realising he was waiting for her to speak.

  Their conversation was innocuous enough, but the tension was building between them, and when Sigurd began to unwind her hair from its confining braid she jumped. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘The action speaks for itself,’ he said calmly. ‘I am merely loosening your braid. You have beautiful hair I prefer to see worn loose.’

  ‘You… you do?’ What was he up to? He had never sought her out before, or offered to take her anywhere of interest. It worried her. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Helping you disrobe,’ he said calmly.

  ‘I’m cold,’ she lied.

  ‘The pool is hot,’ he reminded her. ‘When you’re in the water you will not be cold.’

  He sounded a little terse now and she knew better than to cross him. She disrobed completely and dipped a toe in the pool. ‘Ooh, it’s too hot,’ she complained.

  Sigurd had stripped naked too. ‘That’s easily remedied.’ He strode to the conduit and lifted the stone to let in some cold water. ‘Try that.’

  Shivering, she stepped gratefully into the steaming water and sank into its silken depths. Sigurd was right, it lapped around her body making her forget the cold. She longed to relax, to let herself float freely, but it was something she could never allow herself to do when her husband was near.

  He stepped in beside her. ‘I tend to agree with Gunnhild; you haven’t been yourself.’ He viewed her suspiciously. ‘You’ve not been eating properly, and your sleep is often restless.’

  She splashed about in the water, trying to think of an answer that would satisfy him. ‘I have had a slight malaise,’ she admitted. ‘A woman’s complaint, but I am over it now.’

  ‘Can it have anything to do with my cousin’s absence?’ His face was blank but his eyes spoke of his mood.

  Rowena coloured and a dart of fear shot through her. ‘I can’t imagine what you mean.’

  Sigurd swam from one side of the pool to the other, his strokes strong and purposeful. Water splashed off his wide shoulders, his muscular arms, and Rowena had a nasty feeling of foreboding. Worse was to come, but he had to set the scene first, make her wait until he was ready to tell her the rest.

  He swam close to her, while she tried to appear nonchalant. She wasn’t a strong swimmer but she was able to do a few strokes. ‘You’ve been deceiving me with my own kin,’ he accused.

  The hate in his face was all too apparent now and she trembled, even the hot water unable to thaw the ice from her bones. ‘Nay, husband,’ she lied. She had managed to save Leif from his wrath, but would she be able to save herself?

  ‘Like all woman you are nothing but a trull and a liar,’ he snapped. ‘Leif was happy when he journeyed here, but when I saw him after your tryst he was dejected.’

  ‘Tryst?’ Things weren’t looking good. She should have known Sigurd would have her followed.

  ‘Do you think I don’t know what goes on in my own farm?’ He had the mad look in his eyes and she longed to flee. ‘What happened, Rowena?’ he taunted. ‘Did he not satisfy you as much as I do?’

  She turned away from him. ‘It’s no good trying to talk to you when you’re in this mood.’ She could hear the une
ven sound of her heart thudding in her chest and she shook all over, but she knew it was no use arguing, it would only inflame him.

  As she began to swim away, her hair drifting out on the water like red seaweed, Sigurd caught it and wound it around his fist, hauling her to him. ‘Do not try to escape me, bitch. I know you’ve been fucking him. I just wonder how many more you’ve been allowing access to your cunt.’

  Rowena struggled, almost choking as water splashed into her eyes and mouth. ‘No,’ she managed to spit out, ‘you’ve got it all wrong!’ She didn’t care what he thought of her but she must protect Leif at all costs. ‘Leif is innocent!’

  ‘Innocent? How sweet.’ He laughed. ‘You’ve just condemned the both of you by your pathetic attempts to save your lover.’ He ducked her head beneath the water and she expected to drown, but just as her lungs expelled the last of her breath he wrenched her back to the surface. ‘I will not be cuckolded in my own household, bitch!’

  As she spluttered and fought for air he dragged her to the side of the pool, and for the first time she noticed the chains attached to a ring set in one of the huge stones at its edge. Then with a cruel tug of her arms he pinned them behind her back and chained her wrists to the stone.

  As she watched fearfully he climbed out of the pool, water dripping from his massive physique, and moved the stone in the conduit so that more water poured in. ‘That would be too quick a death,’ he said with an evil grin. ‘I want you to suffer.’ He adjusted the stone so that the water just trickled in. ‘That’s better. Now, whore, you will have longer to contemplate your fate, and that of your lover. He will feel the chill of my sword soon enough.’

  Shrugging into his clothes he jumped onto Sleipner and rode off without a backward glance, as Rowena watched the water slowly trickle into the pool, wondering how long it would take to cover her head. She struggled against her restraints; she had to free herself somehow, for if she were to die it must be in trying to protect her love. She had to escape, to try to warn Leif that Sigurd was after him.