The men caught that bit and seized it, offering her story after story of his courage and strength in battle. In each, he triumphed against great odds and she wondered how much was true and how much they embellished the story each time ’twas told. Margriet watched as he laughed at their words, never correcting and never adding to the stories, but nodding in recognition of some parts.
“Is battle like today’s fight?” she asked him. She’d never seen a true battle, only read of them in books or heard stories told of them. Here was someone who had been in the fiery heat of them and lived to tell.
“Nay, Sister,” he began. She noted that he called her that smoothly now, as though he finally believed it her calling. “Today was simply some exercise and training long overdue because of our journey.” He turned and met the gaze of every one of their men before speaking again. “Training that will begin daily from here on. We will not arrive in the north as weaklings who have lost their ability to hold a sword. You teach them words and I will remind them of the sword.”
His challenge was met with cheers. Obviously men cannot pass too many days without their weapons drawn and aimed at each other. Another thing about men she would simply not understand.
Rurik stood now and held out his hand to assist her to her feet. He also took a step to the side, successfully blocking Sven from approaching Elspeth to do the same. He did understand. They allowed, or forced, Elspeth ahead of them, so there was no possibility of her speaking directly to Sven. They entered the room and he stopped at the door. Not certain if he would come in or not, he then began to pull it closed. He stopped for a moment and widened it so that he could say something.
“Sister Elspeth,” he whispered. “Sister Margriet would offer you some good counsel and I would urge you to think on her words.”
Then, he did leave; the latch fell into place as the door closed tightly. Margriet turned to Elspeth, whose expression turned angry.
“Elspeth, you must understand….”
“That this is all a lie, lady? I do understand that,” Elspeth interrupted. “Done for your benefit.”
“And yours as well,” she added. “I promised you a place in my father’s house and a good match for a husband.”
Elspeth tore the wimple and veil off and tossed it against the wall. Never had she seen the girl react like this—showing boldness where before had been only acquiescence. Now, she stood with hands on hips, and her chin thrusted out, looking like someone who would not accept what before had been acceptable.
“I have found a suitable man for husband.”
Margriet gasped at her words. “Elspeth, you cannot think to marry him.”
“He has spoken of his love for me.”
Margriet did not know which pain felt worse within her—the one that said her young servant was going to be destroyed by the worthless words of a man promising love, or the one that spoke of her own destruction in the very same manner. Still, she could do something to prevent this young girl from the same downfall. She removed her own head coverings, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. She folded the items on the chair and began unbuttoning the tunic.
“Has he touched you?” she asked, comprehending the danger in that.
“He kissed my hand,” Elspeth answered on a sigh.
“You are of common blood, Elspeth, and he, of noble. Think you his parents would allow a marriage between you?”
She said it plainly, for she knew that passion was already engaged between them. She did not wish to hurt the girl’s feelings, but a servant girl, born and raised all her life in a small secluded convent, was more suitable a bride to the local farmer than to this nobleman’s son who walked at the highest levels of court.
“We must continue this masquerade until we reach my father’s house. Then, if you still want him and he will have you after finding out the truth, it can be sorted out then.”
“But, lady…” Elspeth began.
“I will hear no more of this,” Margriet said calmly and sternly. “You know the reason I must wear this nun’s habit, for protection against them—” she nodded at the door where the sounds of the men still carousing could be heard “—but also to protect this from disclosure.” She placed her hand on her rounding belly. “I, too, was promised love, Elspeth. You would be wise to see if a man’s promises in the heat of passion are kept to me, before losing all you have to give to someone else.”
Tears streamed down the girl’s face as she stared at Margriet’s belly and the proof of her sin. Margriet’s throat tightened as she waited for Elspeth to accept or reject her words and their agreement of reward at the end. The only acknowledgment she received was a curt nod, before the girl turned away to prepare for bed.
Thora had provided a jug of water and a basin, so they each took a turn, washing their face and hands. Margriet longed for a steamy, hot bath that she could soak in for hours and it was the first thing she would ask for at her father’s house. For now, the small comfort was a welcomed thing. The air was heavy between them now—not a word was spoken through the rest of the time it took to ready for sleep. As she lifted the blankets to climb in, Elspeth approached with a cup.
“Lady, I forgot that Thora left this for you. She said it will help you regain your strength for the journey ahead.”
“But you were the one who became ill, Elspeth, you should have it.”
The girl shook her head and held it out to her. When Margriet would have argued, Elspeth whispered, “Probably best for the bairn as well.”
She sniffed at the cup and was surprised by its pleasant aroma—not like the medicinal potions brewed at the convent. This smelled of cloves and honey and something else she could not name. Margriet sipped a small taste and it washed smoothly over her tongue and down her throat. So smoothly, that she took another and another until she’d finished it.
She would ask Thora for her recipe and for what uses this brew worked, for it was tasty and easy to drink, two that couldn’t be said of curative brews. Margriet thanked Elspeth for it and climbed into the bed, planning to enjoy her last night on its soft surface. They would spend about five more days riding north before reaching any village or town that offered such comforts. Five or six nights of sleeping on the hard—and growing cold—ground. She shivered as she thought of it.
Soon, the men downstairs grew quiet and a deep warmth seeped into Margriet, pulling her, pushing her toward sleep much faster than was her custom. With so many concerns and worries, sleep usually came upon her slowly. This night, she felt it dragging her down into its dark fog.
Chapter Thirteen
The Earl’s Hall
Kirkvaw
The interruption came at a very bad time for Thorfinn, but Sigurd’s timing was never good. The success of his work, however, was indisputable and so the man stayed alive and in his employ. Not wanting to delay the news from Caithness, he called out permission to enter. If Sigurd was surprised by the sight before him, he did not reveal it.
Good man.
Smart man.
The whore knelt between his legs, her naked body blocking the sight of her mouth on his cock, but Sigurd did not need to see the particulars to understand the situation. When she tried to lift away from him, apparently believing that Sigurd’s presence meant an end to hers, he lifted the cane and let it land on her bare back. A hand in her hair told her that the bite of her teeth at this moment of pain would simply bring more of it. The bitch was in heat and, wisely, dove down, taking him in deeper as she knew he liked.
His minion bowed and waited for permission to continue. Thorfinn did not grant it just yet, as he let the whore work on his cockstand for now, wanting it to be hard and large and near to exploding in her mouth when he heard good news about his enemies’ journey. She added some noises that made it sound as though she was enjoying her work, but he knew it was only for show. Again, he struck her with the cane, this time on her bottom where the marks of his previous attention bloomed red and bloodied. Pain and pleasure were such a heady
and intoxicating mix when delivered just right.
He knew it stung—he’d made sure of it when he aimed for just a certain spot on the torn skin of her arse—and he knew that she wanted to cry out. Now Thorfinn waited, almost hoping that she would.
Delivering pain excited him and her newness under his hand was more thrilling to him than using someone broken in to his varied tastes. He caught Sigurd’s gaze at that moment as he, too, waited to see her response. When her mouth moved down and up on him again, Thorfinn was partly disappointed, but the pleasure of her tight mouth and throat made up for it.
Now, on to business.
“Well, Sigurd. You have news for me? If you finish quickly and it is good news, mayhap you could join me?”
He stroked the cane down the whore’s back, sliding the piece of wood between the mounds of her arse, offering a reminder of something they’d done before when sharing a woman.
Sigurd’s face went blank for a moment, a sign of his unwillingness to share in his lord’s largesse. Well, this one would be used up soon enough without his help. Thorfinn petted her head as she continued, much as he would pet an animal. Sigurd gave his report.
“My lord, they will be delayed by four more days due to illness.”
Thorfinn laughed then, enjoying the news and the pressure that built in his testicles. “Anyone die of it?”
“Nay, my lord. I did not think you wanted anyone killed.” Sigurd paused now and gestured to the woman. “I would prefer to deliver this in private, my lord.”
“Unless you want to suck my cock in her place, that is not your choice to make, Sigurd.” Thorfinn leaned down and whispered loudly to the slut. “And if she wants her skillful little tongue to not be cut out at its root, she will use it only as I order and say nothing to no one.”
The whore was a quick learner, for there was almost no hesitation in her efforts now as he delivered that warning. With his free hand, he motioned for Sigurd to go on. “What was the cause of this sickness?”
“Tainted meat, my lord.”
Thorfinn laughed out loud now at his man’s resourcefulness. “Your idea, Sigurd? I commend you on it.”
“Not mine to take credit for, my lord, but I will pass on your praise to the one who did.” When Sigurd would have spoken again, he held up his hand.
The whore’s tricks were working and his sac and rod tightened as his release approached. He took in a slow breath, trying to draw it out, but he felt his seed begin to flow. Pulling her by the hair off his cock, he watched as the pearly liquid sprayed over her face and neck. A few moments and he emptied all that had built up within him.
Tossing her aside, he ordered, “Wash your mouth and your arse, I want it clean for the next time.” When she backed away and reached for her garments that lay next to his chair, he used the cane on her outstretched hand. “I said nothing about covering yourself, bitch.” Without raising her head or eyes to him, she crawled back and away, toward the corner where a basin sat waiting.
Thorfinn tugged his breeches and tunic back into place and stood, accepting the cup that Sigurd knew he would want. Drinking deeply from it, he waited for the rest of the news.
“So, four days more that my father will fret over,” he said. “How wonderful! Anything else, Sigurd?” He emptied the wine in one more mouthful, anxious to return to more pleasurable pursuits.
“It may be more than that, my lord. There seems to be some kind of distraction growing that may stop them for a bit.”
“A distraction, Sigurd? That sounds interesting. What kind of distraction?”
Sigurd glanced over at the corner of the chamber, where the slut washed herself in the shadows. “One of the feminine kind, my lord.”
Thorfinn smiled. Women held such promise, for sexual pleasure, as weapons and pawns, even as whores and slaves. Gunnar’s daughter had provided him several evenings of pleasure, though of the dullest sort, but would, if his plans succeeded, be an outlet for his more creative efforts soon.
“Make it so, Sigurd. Any delay is a good one.” Thorfinn put the cup on the table as he walked with Sigurd to the chamber’s door. His man was holding something back from him, waiting until the last to reveal it. He could tell by the nervous way Sigurd’s eyes kept darting to the door. “Something else?”
“She is a nun.”
Of all the things he expected to hear, that was not one of them. And it was truly a shock. “A nun? Gunnar said nothing about her taking vows.”
Thorfinn thought back to his encounters with her those months ago and did not remember that particular detail ever being mentioned. Well, would someone sneaking out to seek pleasure from a stranger even reveal such a thing? Not that it would have stopped him from taking her maidenhead, for—nun or not—she had all the bodily openings and crevices any woman should have to see to his needs.
Any differences from one slut to the next were inconsequential as long as they did not interfere in his plans or his pleasure. Now though, the thought of her being a nun when he ruined her aroused him. Damn, he wished he’d known at the time!
“Gunnar does not know,” Sigurd added.
Thorfinn chortled at this news. Could it get any better? His day brightened and his ire at being interrupted disappeared now in light of this. One more humiliation for Gunnar. Sigurd had earned a reward for this parcel of information.
“You are dismissed, with my praise for work well done. Unless you have changed your mind and wish to stay? I have not broken her yet in either place. You can have your choice and I’ll watch,” he offered, in such good spirits that he felt a generosity that was not usual for him. He gestured to the woman who walked toward them, head bowed, blood and seed cleaned from her naked body, and ready to begin anew.
“I have much to do, my lord,” Sigurd offered as he pulled the door opened and left. The man was too dour for his own good.
Pushing the door closed, Thorfinn turned to find the whore kneeling at his feet. If she thought his change in mood, now much lighter for the news Sigurd brought, would mitigate his attentions toward her, she was wrong. Thorfinn left her and walked to the wooden cabinet that held his assortment of implements of discipline.
Lifting one of the whips, his favorite for the exquisite torment it gave when lashed with it, he let it unroll and drag at his side, the metal tips on each strand scraping along the floor as he walked back to her. She stared at it and then at him as he cracked it over her head and then on the floor where she knelt. The third time it bit her on the shoulder. Real fear entered her eyes then and she shook her head when she met his gaze.
Ah, he thought, his cock hardening once more, there was always much to be done and so many ways to enjoy it.
Chapter Fourteen
“Margriet? You must wake up.”
She heard it, had heard it the several others times it tried to pierce the darkness that held her, but again, she could not answer.
“Margriet!” he called louder, making her head throb. Or did her head already throb and his voice made it worse.
Finally when she could fight it no more, she opened her eyes to find four faces staring down at her—Rurik, Thora, Harald and Donald. Donald? She looked around to find the missing person who should be there—Elspeth.
“Elspeth?” She pushed up on her elbows and searched for some sign of the girl.
The silence that greeted her told Margriet that something was wrong. Rurik ordered the others from the room and waited for Donald to escort Harald and his wife to the main floor. Then he turned back to her.
“Why did you ask for Elspeth?”
Margriet slid back, drawing the blankets to her neck as she moved and righting the kerchief now in place on her head. Thora, it seemed, always watched out for her modesty.
“She was very upset last evening, Rurik.” She noticed the light streaming in and knew it was morning. “What hour is it?”
“Almost noon.”
“Nay, it cannot be,” she said, shaking her head. “You said we were to leave just after d
awn.” He sat on the edge of the bed now and she shifted to give him room.
“Elspeth has disappeared.”
It could not be so. They’d slept in the same bed. She would have known because she was the one who did not fall deeply asleep; she was the one who woke at any noise.
Unless something had caused her to do otherwise? Margriet looked around the room and saw the cup on the small table next to the bed.
“When did you see her last, Sister?”
“Last night. After you left, I spoke to her about Sven and…Did you ask Sven about her?”
The stern expression warned her of his answer before he spoke the words. “He is missing as well.”
“Rurik! We must find them,” she cried out. Grabbing the end of the blankets, she needed to get out of bed and dress so they could search. “I beg you to move so I can rise.”
He did not heed her, but stayed where he was. “Did you hear anything? Anyone else in the room? Anything amiss.”
Margriet sat back and thought about Elspeth’s behavior. “She was crying when I finished speaking to her, but then she offered me a draught that Thora sent up. To make me stronger.”
“A sleeping draught, I fear, so that you would miss her departure,” he offered. “I suspect that Thora knows not of it.”
He stood then, and pointed to the gown thrown over the chair. “Dress and come down and we can decide what to do next.”
She did not know which surprised her more—that he did not question her involvement or that he was about to include her in his decisions about how to proceed. “We?”
“I learned at our first encounter that it is better to work with you than against. And, truth be told, you demonstrated that you can think clearly when everyone was taken ill. I could not have managed all of them without your knowledge and hard work.”
Speechless for the first time in so long, Margriet fell back against the headboard and just looked at him. The good sisters complimented her occasionally, but the thrill of this one, that he thought highly of her abilities, warmed her heart. ’Twas only sad that it came at such a time as this.
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