Emboldened, she ran her hands over his golden skin, enjoying the contours of his body. He reached for her tunic and then raised it above her head. He cupped her breasts and sucked hard on one aching nipple. She groaned at the sweet pull of his mouth and the gentle graze of his teeth. The scent of her arousal filled the air.
Her sore rear end added to the lust she felt, and she was desperate to have his shaft plunged deep inside her. Shifting, she placed her palm over the enormous bulge in his trousers and squeezed. It was his turn to shudder and groan. With a grunt of need, Thorolf gently removed her hand from him, and shed his lower garments.
He stood before her. Their gazes locked, she noticed his lip quirk. He nodded as if satisfied by something. Uncertainty fluttered in her belly. His hand moved so fast she didn’t see it coming. With a tug, he pulled her head back by her hair, exposing her throat. Lowering his mouth, his teeth grazed her flesh, the bite gentle and affectionate. The nuzzling that followed turned her knees to water.
The words he muttered meant nothing to her, yet they sounded gentle. Then his hands landed heavily on her shoulders, pushing her down. She resisted, unsure of his intent, finally acquiescing, and slid down the hardened planes of his body, his manhood, which stood tall and proud, at face level. Thrusting his shaft at her, Ailsa grasped it, stroking him.
“Sjuga,” he uttered.
She looked at him quizzically, a frown creasing her forehead. With a wicked grin, he brought her hand to his lips. Selecting her thumb, he drew it into the warmth of his mouth. He winked at her and sucked harder.
“Sjuga!” he repeated, this time with emphasis.
Ailsa’s face heated with understanding. “Suck?” He wanted her to suck his manhood. Despite the oddity of his request, a thrilling spark shot through her. Her attention returned to his cock, and she immediately took it between her lips.
“Sjuga, suck, gut,” he rumbled.
She opened wide and allowed him to push his thick shaft farther down her throat.
Listening to his husky sounds of gratification excited her and filled her with a sensation of power. It was wonderful to be the giver of such pleasure. She was thoroughly enjoying her dominion over his manhood when suddenly, he tugged her away from his straining cock, rolling her onto her back, facing him. She gulped as she met his gaze. With a wink, he thrust between her legs, impaling her in one long stroke. She gasped at the sensation of being stretched so tightly. The walls of her womanhood hugged his girth greedily. Ye Gods, how she wanted him… And…this.
She couldn’t get enough of the wondrous things he taught her, savouring and anticipating his next move. Was this the way of it for the other women, too?
That was her last thought. It was as though a summer storm wracked her. Her body was engulfed with sensations, too much emotion, and ultimately, bliss. She screamed a sudden release. The intense feeling left her dazed and overwhelmed.
Afterward, Thorolf held her as she shook with emotion, muttering softly in his own tongue.
She had no idea where her deep feelings came from or what they signified. Lying exhausted in his arms, she accepted his comfort, relishing the fact this powerful, god-like man was her husband and capable of bestowing such pleasure.
The following morn, Ailsa helped Thorolf mend their door. She watched him carve strange symbols around the entrance of their home. Fascinated, she asked what they were for. He called them runes and explained they would bring protection. After a time, she realised she was wasting the day mooning over her new husband. Taking up a bundle of dirty clothing, she wandered away to wash the clothes in the nearby stream, careful this time to inform Thorolf of her intended destination.
While she scrubbed, Ailsa mused about the thrashing she’d received from her husband and the pleasure he’d given her afterward. Strangely, she did not resent him for punishing her. Irb had never forgiven easily, sulking and snapping at her for days, and often over some imagined slight. He was overly sensitive to all forms of criticism. Ailsa carried a deep bitterness for her first husband.
Being the son of a Nechtain woman and a man of the Katanes, he had been treated as an outsider and teased as a boy. Ailsa, too, had been held in a position of suspicion and mistrust after Ytha had been denounced as a changeling and banished. She and Irb often found themselves thrown together as the only outcasts.
It was inevitable they should have married, but Ailsa soon realised her mistake. However, the deed was done, and she had learned to live with the consequences of her marriage. Her experience in the marriage bed had been void of pleasure.
She had never enjoyed Irb’s caresses the way she did her new husband’s. She shook her head in wonder at her lack of experience and at how desirable Thorolf made her feel.
Reaching for her water skin, Ailsa drank thirstily. There was movement behind her, she spun about, raising her bow, but it was only Shadow watching her. She hunkered down beside him.
“Hello,” she greeted the wolf.
He rubbed against her. Ailsa scratched his ears, his familiar warmth comforting.
“I cannot go hunting with you today, I am sorry.”
He whined, regarding her with a solemn stare.
“I still love you, my wild thing.”
Unusual for a wolf, he held her gaze before disappearing. Ailsa seated herself where she was and ate some of yesterday’s bread. Then, taking up the willow basket full of wet clothes, she headed back to the settlement. As she walked, she thought more about Irb and the possibility that he still lived.
6
He’d noticed the anxious looks Ailsa had cast his way when he’d spoken of the man who’d attacked him using a curved blade. Thorolf knew she suspected the man to be her first husband.
He’d read the fear in the man’s gaze the day he had fought him. Thorolf knew he had bested a coward. If the man was his wife’s previous husband, then perhaps he had abandoned Ailsa for another woman? What a fool! Thorolf snarled, if he ever saw him again he vowed he’d kill Irb. He would permit no man or woman to hurt or betray his little cat, Ailsa.
When Domnall, the tribe’s elderly chieftain, died, the people were sad, yet the Vikings secretly rejoiced because the old chieftain had named Brandr as his successor. The Norsemen already knew this would be the case, but this assured the rest of the tribe’s acceptance. The old man’s blessing meant something, and silenced anyone who might have considered rebellion against the Norsemen.
It was a good day for the Vikings, when Brandr and Bjorn were well enough to join their men. There was much mead drank to celebrate their return to health. Discussion centred on expectation over what would happen to the woman, Rhiannon. They had thought the jarl would punish her severely, but they were wrong. Astonishingly, Bjorn demanded the girl’s chastisement was his responsibility. The jarl granted his brother permission to decide her fate and left the problem in his brother’s capable hands. The women chattered excitedly over the turnabout, and although Thorolf did not catch Ailsa tattling, he was fairly certain that she, too, enjoyed gossiping, at least with her sister, about the change in situation.
One morning, Thorolf called his wife to come out from inside their dwelling. He had finally finished carving runes into the blocks of stone around the entrance of their house.
“Look, elskan, see, we are protected against evil spirits entering,” he said proudly, gesturing to where his final carving was located. He relaxed, feeling a great sense of relief.
“Are they spells?” she asked, looking at the strange markings.
“More powerful, gud protection,” he informed her, pleased by her nod and smile of approval.
Ailsa decided now might be a good time to raise the subject of studying Norse with Ragnar. She was so afeared of the formidable Viking, she simply could not concentrate on learning. It was pointless continuing the lessons.
“Thorolf, I cannot learn from Ragnar. I am afraid of him. Alarik has kindly offered to take over teaching me your language. He is kind and more encouraging. Do you mind?” she as
ked.
He frowned, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse her request.
“I do not care which Viking teaches you my tongue. There is no need for you to be afeared of Ragnar, he would never hurt you, elskan.”
“I would prefer to learn from Alarik,” she said, “if you think it will not offend Ragnar.”
“I will go now and speak with both men.” Handing her his chistle, he strode away.
Soon, Alarik had most of the women in the village joining his lessons. It was good for him since his wife and family remained back home. He confided in Thorolf, mentioning that he hoped to return to Skalanes before winter set in. He said he missed his family.
Ailsa noticed that building additional homes and other important structures continued at a slow rate, yet the villagers praised the Norsemen and how hard they worked. They had no idea how much these Vikings achieved under usual circumstances.
New stockades were built, but enlarging the new homes was ongoing. The main priority became ensuring a goodly supply of food was stored in order to see the people through the winter. The men provided the meat and fish while the women concentrated on drying the meat and pickling the vegetables.
While the main garden had been expanded, it took much work to keep the insects and small animals from eating their food. No one was left without a chore. Women caught slacking by their Nordic husbands were punished, thus the sound of a firm hand striking a fleshy bottom became almost common place.
Now that Bjorn was healing, Alarik no longer needed to spend so much time guarding Rhiannon. Instead, he organised regular combat training. They had to perfect their battle tactics in order to be ready for their enemies.
It amused the men to watch the two shield maidens, Rhiannon and Rinda, as they circled one another and honed their skills. Men would shout good-natured but ribald comments or offer the women unwanted advice, until Alarik chased them off.
Bjorn arrived one day and stayed to watch Rhiannon at her practice, his men welcomed him enthusiastically, which he acknowledged cheerfully. Studying the girl who’d stabbed him; it was evident to Thorolf that Bjorn observed Rhiannon with admiration. The other Norsemen teased, making suggestive comments about Bjorn and the pretty Pict shield maiden. From that day on, Bjorn made it clear to his men that they were unwelcome. He banned them all from coming to watch the women as they sparred.
One day, a few weeks into their marriage, Thorolf’s new wife surprised him. She led him into the forest and showed him the location of Shadow’s lair.
He understood the trust she placed in him. This was an important occasion, one that proved to him that Ailsa now trusted him fully. His heart sang with the knowledge. Stepping lightly, they made their way through the forest. Finally, she confirmed their arrival at the right location, and doing as she did, he dropped to all fours. They edged carefully along the forest floor, crawling to the bushy rim of a glade. He could see that this was a good hiding place for them to watch the wolves’ lair in secret. Barely breathing, he watched as Ailsa licked her finger and then held it above her head to ascertain the direction of the wind. The breeze was in their favour, ensuring their scent would not carry to the wolves.
Young pups romped in the grass near the cave while their older siblings kept a careful watch for predators.
There was no sign of the pack leaders, not until they appeared behind them. A low, resonating growl alerted them to their presence. Turning their heads at the sound, Thorolf and Ailsa found Mani standing behind them, hackles raised, teeth bared. Shadow stood back, simply watching. He appeared at ease, tongue lolling and his yellow gaze quizzical.
Thorolf rose slowly to his feet, halting every so often as Mani’s snarls grew louder.
“Do not move, Thorolf. I think Mani is going to approach you. Maintain eye contact with her, but do…not…move,” she whispered.
He’d had been less afraid in battle. At least on the field, he could defend himself. But facing a wolf poised for attack was not for the fainthearted. She moved toward Thorolf, and he braced himself, remembering to hold her gaze. Without warning, the she-wolf rose onto her haunches, her front paws placed on his shoulders.
“Grin!” Ailsa ordered softly.
Thorolf bared his teeth. Mani swiped her tongue across his mouth in a wet but welcoming kiss which he found disgusting, but it was over in seconds. The wolf dropped to all fours and turned away. She crossed to Shadow, licking him, too. Shadow returned her affection, then trotted playfully over to Ailsa. She welcomed him with open arms. Mani approached Thorolf again, this time with more caution. He stretched out his hand. She did not growl but allowed him to briefly rub her head. He watched as both wolves slunk into the undergrowth.
It was one of the most terrifying moments of his life, and yet, one of the most magical. He was in awe; the feeling connected him to Ailsa. He felt empowered by the gods. It was a memory he would treasure forever. How often did a man get to touch such a majestic wild creature? The experience was so utterly different to the raising of his father’s wolves which were domesticated creatures.
From then on, when Shadow came to visit them, Mani occasionally accompanied him. Her pups were less reliant on her now that they were eating meat. However, on the rare occasions she did visit, she never ventured inside their dwelling, remaining in the shadows of the doorway, obviously still unsure of humans.
A few weeks later, Thorolf was at the edge of the forest helping cut down a large oak tree. The unearthly cry of a wolf rent the air. He thought nothing of it, yet the sound caused an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ytha approached. He gave her what he hoped was a welcoming smile. He knew the women of the village were comfortable with their own Norse partners, but they were still nervous around the other Norsemen. He wanted Ytha to know she could trust him, especially now they were of one family.
“Good morrow, Thorolf,” she began. “Where is my sister?”
He frowned. “Is she not in the village?”
Ytha shook her head. “No, we were grinding rye when we heard a wolf’s cry. Ailsa looked worried. She dashed away soon after.”
“This was recent?” A sense of urgency struck him. He reached for his fur cape.
“Not long ago. She entered the forest over there.” She pointed. “I-I sense that all is not well.” She said hesitantly, no doubt concerned he might brand her as a witch, but he knew full well that her premonitions were not evil.
“I sense the same thing. I, too, feel that all is not as it should be.” He hoped to reassure her that he understood her foreboding.
The relief that flashed across her face rendered her so like Ailsa in that moment. Thorolf reached out and hugged her affectionately, then strode off in the direction she’d indicated.
As he was about to enter the forest, a man shouted his name. Impatient to be gone, he chose to ignore it until the pounding of feet forced him to acknowledge the presence of his insistent pursuer. It was Alarik.
“Thorolf, what is wrong?” he asked.
Relaying the facts quickly, Thorolf made to walk away but Alarik stopped him, settling a hand upon his shoulder.
“If the bow is weak, the arrow will fly wild and undirected. Ailsa has disobeyed you prior to this, has she not?”
Thorolf nodded tersely, annoyed that his friend should offer advice on the handling of his wife. Alarik appeared to sense his irritation because he removed his hand and stepped aside. Thorolf nodded briefly, continuing into the forest.
“Fight your foes in the field, nor be burnt in your house,” Alarik shouted after him.
Thorolf chuckled, recognising the familiar Norse homily. He raised his arm, making a rude gesture with his hand, he pressed onwards.
7
Shocked by the awful howl, Ailsa lifted her hand from the millstone she was rotating. There it was again, the distant cry of a wolf in despair. She stepped back from her shared chore of milling grain. The rye was dropped between the millstones which the women took turns to grind, first one way, then the other. T
he resulting flour was gathered and mixed with water to make dough which was kneaded into small wooden trugs that were set inside the large clay oven to bake. Sometimes, Ailsa placed hers on a flat iron resting in the embers of the fire to make flatbread.
Ytha, who was working opposite her sister, stilled when she, too, heard the cry. She met Ailsa’s troubled gaze, concerned and all knowing. The sympathy Ailsa read in her eyes told her all she needed to know. The darkness Ytha had seen clouding Ailsa’s spirit was closing in, and her prophesy was about to come true. Grasping her bow and quiver, she ran off, leaving the village far behind.
She recognized the song as the wolves bade farewell to one of their own. Her heart thudded. Which wolf? Oh, please do not let it be shy, silvery Mani. Her feet scrabbled over loose brush, sticks crunching underfoot, branches snagged at her clothes. Ailsa pressed onward, drawn by the haunting sound of the desolate wailing.
Out of breath, she entered the clearing and saw the pack standing around the prone body of a large wolf.
A gale of emotion ripped through her. She took a shaky step toward the pack. The wolves parted to let her through. A few snarled, yet none challenged Ailsa.
Her knees trembled so violently she buckled, falling to the ground. Mani stared at her, then threw her head back and howled so piteously it broke her heart. But what pierced her heart and brought bitter tears to her eyes was the sight of Shadow on the ground. Unmoving. Slain.
Agony filled her; it was as though a knife sliced into her heart. His beautiful golden eyes now dull, stared lifelessly at some distant point. His grey fur, smeared with blood. She tore her gaze away from the terrible wound, unable to look again. She crawled over and embraced him. Mani surprisingly licked her face and placed her head on Shadow’s, next to Ailsa’s. She had no idea how much time passed as they laid together on Shadow’s body.
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