by Ashe Barker
The water reached her breasts when she was fully seated.
“Lower. I want your shoulders under too.”
“I c-c-cannot. The tub is not big enough…”
“Maybe you need more water. Shall I have more brought in?”
Fiona shook her head as her teeth started to chatter. Gingerly she managed to prop first one foot then the other over the rim of the tub and eased her shivering torso lower until her shoulders were submerged. There was a sudden splash as Brynhild tossed a rough flannel into the water. She offered no soap.
“Wash.” The command was curt and uncompromising, Fiona did her best to comply. The sooner she satisfied the Norsewoman’s demands, the sooner she might be permitted to get out of this numbing cold.
Fiona rubbed the flannel over her thighs, her belly, her breasts, and her shoulders, then each arm in turn. The fabric was abrasive against her goose-pimpled skin but she persevered, desperate for this ordeal to be over. Finished, she dropped the flannel into the depths.
“Your hair is dirty too. Wet it.”
“How? I cannot—”
“Harald, more water. Now. With ice if there is any.” Brynhild marched just beyond the curtain, Fiona’s clothing still bundled in her arms. “And you may see to it that these are burnt.” The woman returned, her arms empty now, to be followed moments later by one of the lads from before. He carried two more pails of water, the contents splashing onto the earthen floor.
“Put them down there,” commanded Brynhild, pointing to a spot behind Fiona. The young man did as he was instructed and fled from the room.
“Sit up now,” ordered Brynhild.
Fiona did so, even knowing what was to come. She bowed her head, and waited.
Brynhild took her time. First one bucket, then the other, each was poured slowly over Fiona’s head and shoulders, the chunks of ice slithering over her soaked locks to float on the surface of the water. Only when the last drops had trickled from the pails did Brynhild stand back to survey her work.
“You may get out now.” She turned on her heel and strode from the room. The curtain swayed where she had brushed it aside.
Despite the biting chill, it still took Fiona several moments to get to her feet and ease herself from the tub. She sank to her knees beside it and managed to crawl across the floor to the sleeping platform. Brynhild had left her no cloth upon which to dry herself so Fiona just dragged herself back onto Ulfric’s bed and did her best to pull rugs and furs over her shivering body. She curled into a ball of abject misery, quite convinced that she would never, ever feel warm again.
Chapter Six
Ulfric strode along the rough track that led from the slave sheds back into the heart of his settlement. He was satisfied that all was in order and that Brynhild had done her work well in his absence. The new quarters were basic but would serve. The shelters were set at a distance from the main habitation but were weathertight and secure so he had every confidence the captives from this most recent raid would survive the coming winter. It would be a waste to permit otherwise since he had gone to such trouble to acquire them, and good slaves were a valuable commodity. He might sell a few in the spring if his granary was ready by then.
He nodded to several of his karls as he passed, asking a question here, offering a comment there. Whip-thin hounds trailed after him in anticipation of a morsel or two, but he ignored them.
He had a morsel of his own awaiting him in his longhouse.
His inspection of the new buildings had been quick, but he had lingered over his assessment of his son’s progress with the short sword. Njal had worked hard and craved his father’s praise. Ulfric did not disappoint him. He was proud of his son and looked forward to the day the lad would accompany him on a Viking raid. Ulfric left the boy, his small chest puffed with pride, to continue his practice with the other youngsters.
By now his latest acquisition would be fed and washed, and ready for his attention. He wasted no more time in making his way back to his house.
Brynhild was not there when he entered. Only the young man, Harald, was present, tending the fire. He glanced up as Ulfric entered then leapt to his feet. The thrall appeared nervous, and Ulfric’s instincts were at once on alert.
“Is there a problem, Harald?”
The youth shook his head but did not meet Ulfric’s eyes.
“Where is my sister?” She would usually be at her loom at this time of day, but the apparatus stood idle beside the door.
“I am not sure, Jarl. I believe she may be purchasing grain…”
“Go. Find her. Wait.” The boy paused, already halfway to the door. “Where is the Celtic wench?”
“In your sleeping place, Jarl. Where you left her.”
Ulfric nodded and dismissed the servant. He strode across the room and swept aside the curtain separating his private quarters from the rest.
All looked to be in order. The bath was still there, near enough brim-full of water, and his slave lay on her side in his bed, huddling under a pile of furs.
“Celt?”
She started at the sound of his voice so he knew she heard him, but she did not turn to look at him.
Ulfric approached and sat on the bed beside her. He stretched out his hand to draw the covers from her shoulder. She shivered as his fingers made contact with her skin. She was freezing cold.
By Odin, what is this?
He saw now that there was no fire in this room, but the wench had plenty of bedding in which to wrap herself so should not be in such a state. Her hair was dripping wet, and when he touched the dark locks they were, if anything, colder than her quivering flesh.
“Fiona?” He reached for her now and took her in his arms to pull her close. She was as cold as ice, and as stiff as he drew her to his chest. “What has happened?”
She did not reply, but he could hear her teeth chattering. Her whole body shook against him.
“Harald! Get in here.” He bellowed the summons, but the thrall did not appear by the curtain. Ulfric recalled he had sent him in search of Brynhild. “Anyone. In here. Now.”
A smaller youth scuttled into view. Boyd? He was not great at recalling the names of all his thralls.
“What has been going on here?” demanded Ulfric as the lad shrank before him.
“It… We… The lady commanded it.”
“Commanded what? Tell me.”
“The water… For the bath, Jarl…”
“What about it?” He glared at the slave who shifted from one foot to the other, his features plainly terrified. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Ulfric extricated himself from Fiona’s frigid form and strode to the foot of the bed. As he peered into the tub he saw slivers of ice still floating on the surface of the water.
“By Thor’s balls,” he breathed, incredulous. “Why did she do that?”
“It was the lady’s wish, Jarl. She told us we would be whipped if—”
Ulfric silenced the miserable slave with a wave of his arm. “Get that shifted and a new tub brought in. A large one, the one I use. Then fill it with hot water. Get others to help, as many as you can find. And send someone in to light a fire in here. Quick, or I shall take a whip to you myself.”
The boy shot past Ulfric to grasp the handle on the side of the tub but with the weight of the water he was unable to lift it. Neither could he drag it unaided. With another curse Ulfric grabbed the other handle and helped the boy to heft the icy bath from his quarters. He left the lad to run for the new tub and summon such assistance as he might. Ulfric returned to Fiona, dragging his leather tunic over his head as he did so.
Back in his bed Fiona still lay, shivering, her eyes open and wary. Ulfric flung himself beside her and gathered her in his arms again. This time her chilled torso was in direct contact with his bare skin. It was like hugging a block of ice, but he wrapped his arms around her to share his warmth as he had the previous night. He dragged a blanket over the pair of them when Harald scuttled in with an armful of kindling and started to set a
fire in the cold grate. The servant worked quickly, clearly anxious to be out of the furious Viking’s immediate orbit, and soon a small blaze crackled in the corner of the chamber. Harald scurried away.
“She… She…”
“Hush. I know. It is over now. I am here.”
“The water, so c-cold. She made me…”
“I am sorry. I should have…” What? What should he have done?
“She said I w-would be whipped if I did not do as she instructed. And you t-told me I must obey her, as well as y-you.” It was all his little Celt could do to get the words past her chattering teeth.
“I know. It was not your fault.”
“I… I hate the cold. And I am terrified of the whip.” She was weeping now, her sobs soft and low and heartrending in her misery. Ulfric cursed his own stupidity; he should not have left her here alone.
He held her in his arms as Boyd, Harald, and two other youths trooped in and out. First they delivered the large bathtub normally reserved for him and others of his immediate kin, then they staggered back and forth bearing a succession of buckets brimming with water. He was gratified to see the steam rising from each one as they passed him, their heads bowed.
None was prepared to meet his furious gaze or to face his wrath, though Ulfric knew it would be futile to heap the blame upon helpless servants. They did as they were told. They had no choice, just like Fiona.
When the water level was within a few inches of the brim Ulfric dismissed the servants with instructions that he was not to be disturbed again, for any reason. If—when—Brynhild returned they were to inform her that he wished his sister to await him in the longhouse. He had much to say to her.
“Time for another bath, little Celt. A hot one this time.”
She actually whimpered, as though she did not trust his words. Ulfric wasted no more time. She needed to be warmed up. He cradled her in his arms, her nude body still trembling though he believed she was already thawing a little. The fire had helped, the warm water would speed the process. He stood and carried her to the tub, then bent to allow her to dip her shackled foot in the steaming water.
“How does that feel?”
“It is hot…”
“Too hot? I can have them bring—”
“No! No, it is good. Thank you.”
Ulfric supported her as she slowly lowered herself into the warmth, then as she sank back against the edge of the tub. Her eyelids lowered and her lips curled in an expression of utter contentment. She would be all right. This time.
He knelt beside the tub and for the first time allowed his gaze to drift over her nakedness. This was his first glimpse of her breasts, though he had known the plump curves would be quite breath-taking when he finally bared them. He had been right. Her nipples were hard, swollen, and he promised himself he would ensure they remained so even after the effects of the frigid bath were gone.
He ventured further, admired her softly rounded belly. Under the water he could make out the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. He longed to touch her, to explore her thoroughly now he had her here, but first he must see to her comfort. He stood and fetched a lump of soap made of the kernels of horse chestnuts, and found a rough flannel on the floor. He assumed the latter had been previously supplied by Brynhild, but it would do for his purposes. He dipped the cloth in the hot water and rubbed the soap in to create a lather, then went to work.
Kneeling behind Fiona, he started on her shoulders. He drew the soaped flannel across them, first the left, then the right. He kept his touch light initially, then increased the pressure as he sensed that she was starting to relax. He lifted each arm in turn and soaped those, then dropped the flannel into the water and continued with just his hands. He stroked her slender limbs, then urged her to lean forward as he turned his attention to her back.
He caressed her shoulders, then worked his way down her spine, noting each ridge and hollow as he went. He reached the indent at the base of her spine and paused to admire the swell of her bottom as it shimmered beneath the water. He chose to ignore her gasp when he slid his fingers down the deep groove between her buttocks, but did not insist that she lift her body up to allow him full access. Instead he worked his way back up to her shoulders and held the delicate curves in his palms for several moments. Then he commenced his descent once more, this time reaching around to cup her delectable breasts.
She stiffened, but did not resist. That would be futile in any case. She was his, and though he had sworn not to rape her and he would keep his word, otherwise she was his to explore as he chose. Still, he had no wish to cause her any unnecessary distress.
“Fiona, you know I will not harm you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I am coming to believe that.”
“But…?”
“But I… I do not know. This is so strange. I should fight you.” She lowered her head, her chin tucked in to her chest.
“Do not,” he warned her softly.
“I will not, Viking.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of her damp head before continuing his quest. Her breasts were not large, but filled his hands nicely. Ulfric tested the soft weight, the gently rounded lower curves and the up-tilted nipples, the deep pink of her pebbled buds ringed by the softer hue of her aureole.
He took the tips between his thumbs and forefingers and squeezed, though not hard. He had no desire to frighten her yet more, though still she let out a soft squeal.
“Did I hurt you?” His voice was deliberately softened, the question murmured into her ear.
She shook her head.
“Would you like me to hurt you? Perhaps, just a little?”
Now she turned her face to regard him over her wet shoulder. Her gaze was perplexed, as though she could not entirely comprehend the meaning of his question. Ulfric tightened his grip on her nipples, the added pressure so slight as to be almost imperceptible. But it was enough. She blinked, her lips parted… and she whispered, “Yes.”
He smiled and leaned forward to brush her mouth with his. “That is a good choice, little one.”
He squeezed harder and tugged on her swollen buds. They lengthened between his fingers and her head dropped back to rest on the edge of the tub. This had the effect of arching her back to better present her breasts above the surface of the water, and Ulfric took advantage by shifting around to the side of the bath. He cupped her left breast in his hand and lifted the peak up, then took it between his lips.
Fiona jerked and let out another sharp cry, though not of pain, he was certain. Now he circled her right nipple with his fingers as he sucked on her left, pressing the hard tip against the roof of his mouth.
“Oh! Oh, Ulfric… please…”
He relaxed the suction, but scraped his teeth across her sensitive bud, then he held it between his teeth as he flicked the tip with his tongue. Fiona writhed in the water causing small waves to splash over the edges, her soft moans and gasps utterly intoxicating. Ulfric released her left nipple and moved across to treat the other one in similar fashion. His little Celt was squirming in the bathtub, her fingers tunnelling through his hair as she grabbed his head and pressed it to her sensitive breasts.
“Ulfric… Oh, oh, dear Lord…”
He slipped his free hand down her body and cupped her mound briefly before continuing on to stroke between her folds. Her thighs parted for him as far as she was able within the confines of the tub and she lifted her hips. She may protest, though less vociferously now, but her body was on fire for this and he would fan the flames.
“I wish to cleanse your lower body. Can you stand, do you think, if you lean on me?”
“I… I am not certain. Perhaps…”
“Shall we find out?”
He stood and offered her both his hands. She took them, and slowly rose to stand in the water.
“Warm enough now?”
“Yes, Ulfric. Thank you.”
“Rest your hands on my shoulders.” He lowered himself to his knees and started to dra
w the flannel up first one leg, then the other. Fiona leaned forward to rest her weight on him and he noted that she was holding her left foot off the bottom of the tub. And that the binding was gone. Why had he not spotted that earlier?
“Your bandage?”
“She ordered me to remove it.”
“Then we should replace it at once. I assume it was helping?”
“Yes, very much. Though I suppose it would have needed to be changed once it became wet.”
“Even so, I will say when it is to come off. And now, my little Celt, since my exploration of your body has barely begun, I shall require you to spread your legs wide for me. I fear I must return you to my bed where you will be more comfortable as your ankle will not bear the strain.”
She made no comment, which Ulfric took to be an encouraging sign. He rose to his feet and lifted her from the tub, and was gratified when she looped her hands about his neck and pressed her body against his naked chest.
“You are very beautiful.”
Had he heard her correctly? “I beg your pardon, little Celt.”
“I said that you are beautiful. I had not known that a man could be so… so… perfect.”
He would not have described himself thus, but saw no sense in disputing her assessment at this precise moment. Ulfric laid her on the bed and stood over her to appraise her nude body, now glowing a healthy shade of pink and no longer shivering.
“And you are quite lovely also, Fiona. I thought so the moment I first saw you.”
“Yet you bound me, threatened me, and abducted me.”
“As for the first two, it was a somewhat heated moment and you had just felled two of my warriors with your sling. As to the third, I have no regrets. I want you. I wanted you from the start, so I took you. Because I could.”
She looked up at him and held his gaze. Even yesterday she would have berated him about his treatment of her and her people, but today something had shifted. Maybe he had his sister to thank for this change in attitude, though she would receive no fair words from him for her ill treatment of his helpless captive. Ulfric glanced about the chamber but could not see the bandage he had fashioned yesterday. No matter, he could replace it. He lifted the lid of a storage chest and groped within for a length of linen. He tore the fabric into strips and sat on the edge of the bed close to Fiona’s feet and gently lifted her injured ankle to lay it across his thighs. He wrapped the bandage around it again, pulling it tight to provide the support she needed. The first time he had done this she had lain fearful on the ground, but now she relaxed in his bed, her eyes closed and her mouth curling in a hint of a smile.
