by Byrne, Lily
“I’m Ordulf and Hild’s daughter. Both my parents are dead, and I have nowhere to go.”
“If you can cook, clean and help with our children, you can live with us.”
“Oh, I will! My mother taught me well. I’ll help all I can.” She wept out loud and Aelfwyn beckoned her over, patting her arm.
“What is your name?”
“Bebbe.”
“Welcome to our family.”
*
“Kjartan …” whispered Bjarni, nudging him as they sat caring for the women they had rescued. “You’ve got an admirer.”
The white-blond Dane turned to see Mildrith eyeing him coyly as she drank water from the flask of another Huskarl.
“Aha!” he said, and stumbled over to her, tripping on a tree root as the drugs hadn’t quite worn off.
“He’s changed,” observed Bjarni to Ragnar, who sat nearby feeding a starving woman with bread.
“I suppose when you kill a man, lose one woman and save another, it changes you.”
“And all the other things he’s done in his life.”
They paused, watching their former enemy help Mildrith.
“So you’re divorced now?” asked Ragnar. “Free to get another wife?”
“Yes. A strange ending to a marriage.”
“So, who will you call your woman now?” Ragnar grinned, knowing all too well.
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Anyway, how did you know where to find us?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, I’ve got time. We’ll clear up the dead bodies later.”
*
“I’ll take over,” said Kjartan to the Huskarl looking after Mildrith and her group. He nodded and turned to other women.
Kjartan took the flask and helped Mildrith drink from it, then handed her some bread and meat from the cavern, which she devoured.
“Thanks for saving me and keeping my secret,” she said when she finished. She was so weak she had to lean on him. All the women had been tended to by now, and sat or lay around, recovering.
“Why don’t you come and stay with me?” she asked. “You’ve been in the wars.”
“Thanks. So have you. How long did they keep you in there?”
She shrugged. “I-I don’t know. I d-don’t want to think about it.”
Kjartan nodded, an idea forming. “What will you do now your husband’s dead?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do about anything anymore.”
“I’ve got money, you know.”
“Have you?”
“I mean, things I can sell to get money for food or whatever.”
“Food. That’s all I want.”
“Yes. I’ll sell what I’ve got and you’ll eat like a queen.”
“What have you got?”
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I hid some treasure somewhere safe. I just need to get it.”
She smiled and he squeezed her hand.
*
“Oh, you are back!” Ifay threw herself into Bjarni’s arms, the most demonstrative she’d ever been.
He didn’t waste time replying, just kissed her. She didn’t seem to mind his sweaty smell after the fight. He walked backwards to the bed, pressing her thin body against him, lifting her off the ground as her mouth yielded to his tongue.
He sat down on the bed and she stood between his legs.
“I want you so badly.” This time, he didn’t mean to presume.
“A slave has to submit to her master.”
“Is that all this is?” His shoulders slumped. “Am I just your master?” He took her hands, so soft against his weapon-calloused skin.
She paused, torturing him. She had always held part of herself back from men - from everyone - to protect her soul, as she learned from the minute she became a slave to trust no one; they never had her best interests at heart.
This gentle blond giant, however, with his pale skin and hard muscles seemed different. Kind. Genuine. Apart from the time he’d taken her carelessly as his right, he’d always been compassionate and gentle. So she could trust him.
“No. You are kinder. You treat me well.”
“But am I more than your master?” If she didn’t like him, he couldn’t bear it and would have to sell her.
Another pause.
“Yes. You are more.” She smiled, flicking her glance to him and away.
He couldn’t resist any longer and kissed her soft lips, like heaven after the pain and fury of the fight.
Between kisses, she lifted his tunics over his head one at a time, noticing the scar on his shield arm had healed so much more since the last time she’d seen it. But she didn’t say anything, not wanting to put off the pleasure she hoped was imminent. She’d known it was witchcraft and now it was gone. He’d tell her all about it later.
Despite the tiredness after the battle, he felt full of vigour, as if a weight had been lifted from him. His arm was healed, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stood before him and she allowed him to carefully lift off her dress. The fabric brushed her nipples as it rose up and made her breasts bounce a little, so he lay back and drew her with him, exhaling with contentment.
As he lay beside her on the bed, he ran his hand down her shoulder to her waist, her hip, her thigh. He slipped it to the front of her thigh and towards the tight black curls where her legs met.
She trembled. His fingers probed in her most private place again, so gently and carefully, pushing a bit further in and she bucked against him, yearning for more. So he put his finger right inside her and thrust back and forth, making her groan and gasp.
He lay on his side, pressed against her as she lay on her back, spreading her legs wider. His erect cock pushed at her leg, thrusting against her with a life of its own, so she rolled towards him, pushing herself against it, then back again, pulling him on top. He plunged into her, making a squelching noise as he thrust, making them both giggle.
“I want you – so - badly,” he said again between thrusts.
Ifay giggled even more. Every man who’d ever done this to her said the same. But this one meant it.
A loud bubbling noise made her wonder how much wetter she could get, then she remembered the stew she’d been cooking over the fire. Her nostrils were always full of the smell of chicken and vegetables, but it had been overcome by the musky scent of the warrior on top of her.
“I must go to it or the food will be wasted.”
“Thor’s belt!” complained Bjarni. “There’s always some interruption.”
He carefully eased out of her and flung himself on his back, sighing. She slid off the bed and grabbed the nearest item of clothing, which was his over-tunic.
Shuffling over to the stew, the tunic flapping round her knees, she could not stop giggling as she rolled the sleeves up to stop them from dipping in the cooking pot.
Taking the opportunity, Bjarni hauled the clothes chest from its usual place and put it against the door.
“Just making sure we aren’t interrupted again,” he explained, standing by the door, watching her.
She hadn’t seen him completely naked before, and the firelight showed off his best assets. Broad in stature, almost twice her width, the sparse hair on his chest was blond enough to reveal his perfectly developed muscles, and her gaze moved irresistibly to the hair lower down. No amount of it could have hidden his erection and he smiled to see her looking.
Slamming the cooking pot down, she ran to him and kissed him, wanting to feel the rough spikiness of his whiskers against her face, all uncertainty gone. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, tugging his tunic off her with no hesitation. She threw herself down, pulling him on top and he thrust inside her, forgetting to be gentle, forgetting everything as she curled her legs up over his back to draw him in deeper and deeper.
After they’d trembled to a halt, she felt as if a burden had been lifted from her. Weakened but not scare
d, she at last controlled a man. Her throat tightened and a sob escaped her lips, taking her by surprise.
“What’s the matter?” Bjarni moved off her and lay on his side, anxiously peering into her face, his hair tickling her cheek. “Did I hurt you? Was it -?”
“No, you fool. I’m crying because I liked it.”
“Are you sure?” The last time he’d seen her cry was when he’d hurt her, so had he done it again, by accident this time?
She turned to face him, pushing his hair back behind his ear. “Yes, I’m sure. I thought sex was just some rough thing men did. I didn’t know women could enjoy it, too.”
He smiled.
“I forgot to tell you, Saehild isn’t coming back. Ever. So do you want to stay with me and enjoy this all the time?”
She giggled and cuddled up to him, her moist, hot skin sticking to his. So he took that as a yes and wrapped his arms round her, squeezing her tight.
The End
Pronunciation Guide
Ragnar= Rag-nuh
Aelfwyn= Alf-win
Bjarni= Bee-yar-nee (Bee-yar said as one syllable-byar)
Saehild= Sarhild
Kjartan= Kee-yar-ten (Kee-yar said as one syllable-kyar)
Ljotr= Lee-ott-er (Lee-ott said as one syllable-lyot)
Mildrith= Mill-drith (soft th as in ‘the’)
Ifeyinwa (Ifay)= Eye-fay-ee-nwa (Eye-fay)
A big thank you to author Jessica L. Degarmo for editing this book.
