Ragnar the Just (Ragnar the Dane #3)

by Byrne, Lily

“Where have you been?” asked a red-eyed Mildrith when her husband walked in. “I was worried sick. The baby was kicking me all night too and I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Now I have to get up and do all the work.”

  “I’m sorry, ketta. I went out drinking with my friends and fell asleep.” He hugged her, feeling the difference between her curvy, round body and Lini’s lean, hard one. He couldn’t stay out all night again like that. He must be careful. “Why don’t you go to bed and sleep? I’ll tidy up.”

  “You don’t know what to do. It’s a woman’s job.”

  “Go to bed. I’ll work it out.” He wanted to be alone to think.

  When she’d settled down under the covers, snoring, he flopped down on the chair. His head was still spinning from the night before. Lini was - he couldn’t even think of the right words - beautiful, handsome, attractive, hard, lean, muscly: all of those. He’d never felt like this about a man before, or had he? Bjarni’s good looks had always disturbed him, but he’d just assumed he felt jealous, and there wasn’t time to think about his emotions. Bjarni was just one of those attractive people everyone noticed and admired.

  Had he just been ignoring thoughts like that because they were unacceptable, embarrassing, even dangerous? It seemed Lini felt the same way about him, though.

  He sighed and began folding the pile of clothes on the table. No good would come of this, but everything he’d ever done in life had been questionable, and it hadn’t stopped him before.

  *

  Lini was greeted at home by his children, Thora and Kori, who were one and two winters old respectively.

  “Daddy!” shrieked Kori, flinging himself against the kneeling figure, nearly knocking him over, while Thora tottered on unsteady legs, falling on her father.

  “Dada dada,” she burbled, making Lini smile broadly.

  “And where have you been?” demanded Halldora, arms akimbo.

  Lini thought again what enormous breasts she had. Her body was very wide, and the apron tied round the middle made her look even wider. He’d always been aware what a strange couple they made: she round and curvaceous, he tall and thin. But she’d taken a liking to him three years ago at Jolablot and they’d been married within six months. He’d been flattered to be pursued so enthusiastically after Brodir had left.

  Halldora’s broad womanly curves had been envied by his friends who’d encouraged him to see the advantages of a relationship with her, nudging him and making suggestive remarks. He’d let her take the lead in everything, immersing himself in her ample flesh and their married life. And when their children had come along, his life had been complete. But when Kjartan, the rule breaker, the fighter who’d always intrigued him, had settled down nearby after all his misdemeanours, Lini had realised that it wasn’t complete after all. The only body he could think of now was the blond, muscly warrior’s.

  “You haven’t answered me yet,” Halldora reminded him. “Where have you been all night?”

  “Oh – I - met some friends. We got talking and I slept over.”

  “Hm,” said his wife. “Meanwhile I dealt with the children. Don’t do it again. It isn’t fair. If it wasn’t for Ndulu, I wouldn’t have known what to do.” She picked up Thora and began breastfeeding her.

  *

  Lini whistled cheerily as he made the glass and amber beads.

  “Hallo!” said a jolly voice and Lini looked up to see his wife’s brother, Finn, a broad, red-faced man.

  “You’ve been busy.” He looked at the rows and rows of Lini’s beads: gold, silver, purple, green, red, orange, every colour of the rainbow, and more. “Don’t you normally like making bowls and glasses?”

  “Yes, but the Harvest Blot’s coming up. Everyone wants to look their best, so I’m running to keep up.” He grinned.

  “Oh, I don’t want to take up your time. I’ll come back later.”

  “No, no, it doesn’t matter. What is it?”

  “I wondered if you’d mind if I stayed with you and Halldora for a while. My wife’s not happy with me.”

  Lini considered for a long time.

  “If - if it’s not convenient …”

  “No, it’s alright. But one night would be enough, wouldn’t it, to give her a shock and make her realise she misses you. Two at the most, yes?”

  “Alright. Thanks. I thought you’d say no.”

  “Well, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” He grinned. He’d never tell the reason for his happiness.

  *

  Kjartan worked in the fields, harvesting the golden stalks of hay grass as they whispered to each other in the wind, keeping the secret of his love for another man.

  The hay had grown well due to the spring rain and so had the other crops. When the time came for the cereals, fruit and vegetable harvest in a few weeks’ time, there would be plenty of food. The winter this year would surely be comfortable, with no concerns about hunger. He smiled to think of this, working rhythmically with his sickle.

  Raised voices made him turn to see two farm labourers arguing, fighting over another sickle.

  “I left mine just here!”

  “No, I left mine just here!”

  “But it’s got that mark on the blade where it hit a stone!”

  “That mark is where I dropped it!”

  Kjartan shook his head and turned back to his work. One of the farm labourers staggered into him, having lost the tussle. He knocked him over but fortunately the warrior’s reactions were fast and he threw his sickle away to avoid landing on the blade.

  “I - I’m sorry!” stuttered the man, getting up and backing away, his mouth open and eyes wide.

  Kjartan eased himself up from the ground.

  “It - it was an accident. It was his fault!” The labourer pointed to his opponent, who was clenching his fists, ready for a fight.

  A crowd of onlookers gathered, expecting bloodshed.

  “Be more careful next time.” Kjartan brushed the hay off his clothes and hair.

  “I - I will, I’m so sorry, I -” The fool clumsily joined in the brushing.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  The man leapt back.

  “Sorry, sir. Sorry.” He walked away backwards, still not believing he’d escaped punishment.

  “What are you staring at?” Kjartan turned to the crowd, who hastily resumed their work.

  Kjartan smiled to himself. He was too happy to even think of starting fights these days. He knew well, however, that if people found out the reason for his happiness they’d turn on him, exclude him, and think nothing of injuring or even killing him.

  *

  Every evening, the lovers met at the fighting school, exchanging secret smiles and looks, trying not to be too affectionate. Their play fights became huge productions, with storylines invented by Lini, frequently involving many combatants, especially as some of the students’ sisters came to watch and got roped in to play damsels in distress.

  Any other times they met had to be carefully planned to avoid accusations. Sometimes Kjartan would go to the forge at a quiet time of day, and sometimes they would hide in the woods or spend the occasional precious night together, forgetting the time and their responsibilities, not seeing their wives until the next lunch time.

  *

  “Steinar and I have been talking about you,” said Ragnar to Kjartan one day in the field. Weeding was a constant job, because if the unrelenting weeds strangled the precious cereal plants, the Danes would go hungry over the winter, so everyone had to help out, even warriors.

  “Why?” Kjartan bit his lip.

  “You handled those fools with the sickle well the other day. Steinar and I thought, as Bjarni is away, you could come and help train the new Huskarls. They are pretty unruly this year so you’d be a great help. Want to?”

  “Er – yeah - alright.” He exhaled with relief. “Will you pay me?”

  “Of course. Half your old wage?”

  “Sounds right.”

  They worked out the details of fitting in
Huskarl duties with farming ones.

  *

  One night, when the lovers met, Kjartan wasn’t talkative.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “We can’t keep doing this.”

  Lini’s heart missed a beat. “Why? Don’t you like me? What have I done?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Kjartan held him with an arm under his back and kissed him, his tongue exploring every corner of his mouth. He tasted smoky somehow, as if the fire in his forge had entered his blood. The other hand slid slowly down his body, feeling his hard muscles, undoing his belt, down over his stomach muscles and into his trousers, making him gasp.

  Lini relaxed in his arms, the twin pleasures of a hot tongue in his mouth and a hand squeezing him at the same time overwhelming him. He just let it happen, giving up control, shuddering with satisfaction until his seed shot out in a great rush. He panted, gazing up at Kjartan’s silhouette admiringly.

  “You’re so …” Lini couldn’t find the right word, his heart pounding and head swimming.

  “I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t like you, would I?” Kjartan said, wiping his hand on nearby grass on which the dew was already forming. “What was I saying?”

  “You don’t want to keep doing this anymore.”

  “What I meant was we should find somewhere we can go all the time, build a shelter in the woods or something. You know what’ll happen if other people find out about us.”

  “Yes,” mused Lini. “I don’t want anyone hurting you.”

  They kissed gently.

  “I’m more worried about you, tregul. I can look after myself. I’m used to being beaten up, but you’re not.”

  “Oh, I’ll be alright.” Lini was full of carelessness, a weight off his mind, and his balls. “Anyway, it’s your turn now.” He abruptly pushed Kjartan onto his back and yanked his tunic up over his head.

  He kissed him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, tasting his bitterness, then his neck, his throat and down to his chest. His muscles were perfect, fighting man’s muscles, and he ran his tongue over them, through the pale blond hair. Kjartan moaned; the tongue was like liquid fire teasing his skin as it found his nipples, pressing into them.

  He traced his tongue and kissed slowly, deliberately, down his ribs, stomach, to his navel and lower, making him groan as his erection grew almost unbearable. Lini, however, edged round to his balls and put his lips on them, probing into them with his tongue. The warrior’s groans intensified and he arched his back, overcome by this exquisite torture. Then Lini moved his mouth slowly up and took him gently in his mouth, the unfamiliar taste exciting. Kjartan moaned with pleasure, clenching his fists.

  “I haven’t done this before, so you’ll have to tell me,” said Lini in a muffled voice.

  Kjartan was torn between laughter and frustration.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Remember you’re not blowing glass.”

  So Lini put his mouth down again and improvised, based on the sounds Kjartan made as he arched his back even more, stretched out his arms, his fingernails clawing at the grass. When the molten liquid surged into Lini’s mouth, he felt like smiling as his lover shuddered and gasped in satisfaction.

  He sat up and spat, then grinned.

  Kjartan smiled, his breathing faster than before. He held out his arm and Lini wriggled up under it.

  “So you enjoyed that, uh?”

  “You’re such a bad boy.”

  Lini paused. No one had ever called him that. He liked it.

  “Me? A bad boy?” He tried to sound offended. “You can talk!”

  They kissed, laughing, then snuggled up together, content.

  *

  Kjartan felt uncomfortable his first day back in Huskarl uniform, although it made a pleasant change to be free of farming duties. The novices stood in an untidy line on the parched grass.

  “This morning, we will practise single combat,” announced Ragnar. “Where are Styrkar and Hedin?”

  The other youths shuffled uneasily.

  “They are on water duty. Why, are they late?”

  Ragnar strode up and down impatiently, then stopped next to Kjartan. “This happens all the time. Some of them are always late,” he muttered to him.

  Just then, two young men hurried in to the training area.

  “Well?” Ragnar inquired.

  “Sorry we’re late,” they chorused, “but we met some girls at the well -”

  The others burst into laughter and clapped them on the back.

  Ragnar knew that was how he’d met his own wife, but couldn’t be lenient.

  “That is no excuse! Duty comes first, not sex!”

  The novices giggled and muttered crude remarks under their breaths. Kjartan felt a pang of guilt, thinking how he spent all his time with Lini and not his pregnant wife.

  “Quiet! This is Kjartan, he’s taking the place of Bjarni while he’s away.”

  Kjartan nodded at them.

  “You must be really old. You’ve got white hair!” said one of the latecomers, a heavily-built young man with coarse, sandy-blond hair. He looked a bit older than the others, perhaps eighteen.

  Kjartan regarded him for a second, then sprang forward, his sword at the lad’s throat. The lad stumbled back, eyes wide in fear.

  “Still young enough to kill you, though.”

  Ragnar coughed, hiding a laugh. “Styrkar, you shouldn’t be taken by surprise like that. What did I tell you yesterday?”

  “But -”

  Kjartan released him and stepped back.

  “Enough talking! Get into pairs!” snapped Ragnar.

  The young men set on each other eagerly, and soon, shouts and insults rang out. Styrkar fought the most violently, his sword clanging on his opponent’s until he forced him to slip over on the dry summer grass. Styrkar stood over him, his sword at his throat.

  “Oi!” Kjartan intervened. “The idea is to practise, not kill him!”

  Styrkar snarled with aggression, his face screwed up like a beast.

  “You have to keep your head. If you get too angry, you lose.”

  “That’s a load of shit! You don’t know anything!”

  Kjartan glanced at Ragnar who indicated for him to go ahead. So he beckoned Styrkar towards him and slashed at his sleeve with the faithful Verrdrepa. Styrkar attacked, stamping forward, but Kjartan moved much too fast, darting about nimbly.

  Some of the others laughed as Styrkar struggled, then Kjartan took pity on him and stopped.

  “You’re no good, Boar!” chuckled another novice, provoking Styrkar to leap towards him.

  “Don’t make fun of me!” he growled, pressing his sword at his tormentor’s throat, until it drew blood.

  “Oi!” Kjartan dragged him off. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Styrkar glared at him, eyebrows low with hatred.

  “Control yourself!”

  Everyone watched nervously. Styrkar shrugged Kjartan off, straightened his clothes, and re-joined the group.

  *

  Later, the company took a break. The younger ones sat down, talking and cleaning their weapons.

  “That Styrkar’s a bit – er - ” Kjartan tried to find the right word.

  “Aggressive? Crazy?” suggested Ragnar. “He reminds me of you.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “A few years ago, I mean. You’re a lot calmer these days.”

  “Well, marriage does that to you. I’m too exhausted to fight anymore.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean.”

  They laughed. Kjartan knew there was no way Ragnar would understand if he told him the truth.

  *

  The next afternoon, Lini and Kjartan went off into the woods near the bathing lake.

  “We could make a shelter, like I said. Cut some branches and stuff. It would be safer here than near the stream.” Kjartan looked appraisingly at the hazel trees, then there was a crash and a sudden exclamation.

  “Lini? Where
are you?”

  “In here. Follow my voice.”

  So Kjartan did so and found himself in an already-made shelter. It was less than half the size of his home, and the walls and roof were made of wattle hurdles. Dead leaves were gathered on the floor and a heap of bearskins lay in one corner as a makeshift bed. Tallow candles, cups stained with dark wine, and cloths which had obviously been used for tying, lay around.

  “Have you just made this?” Kjartan laughed. “Quick work.”

  “Yes, that’s right! No, you fool, it was here already.”

  “Looks unused now.” The branches making up the shelter were covered in moss and lichen, and everything was damp.

  “Good. We can use it, then.” Lini grinned mischievously. “That’ll stop your worries about people finding us.” He pushed some of the crisp leaves on the floor out of the way with his foot. “We can hide out here whenever we want.”

  *

  “This is how you’d use your spear against a sword and shield,” said Ragnar, demonstrating with Kjartan at Huskarl practice. He jabbed at the shield, faster and faster, keeping well out of reach of the sword. After a while he hooked the spear over the shield, wrenched it away, pulled the sword away and pretended to stab him.

  “Now, do that to me,” he instructed. Kjartan did exactly the same as he’d done, only faster. Just as he hooked the shield away, however, a man of lean build passed by the training area. He’d been watching for a while, unable to tear his eyes away from the blond warrior, but had an appointment with the Jarl so was forced to emerge.

  Lini always enjoyed seeing Kjartan fighting; he looked so spirited when he took off his tunic, showing his arm and chest muscles working perfectly. Lini was lucky he got to see them close up nearly every day.

  He caught Kjartan’s eye and winked, making him lose his balance and allowing Ragnar to bring his sword over to ‘kill’ him.

  “What are you doing?” laughed the auburn-haired Huskarl. “You were supposed to kill me, you fool.”

  The novices laughed at Kjartan sprawling on the ground, but he was gazing at Lini, who mouthed ‘sorry’ and hastened past. Styrkar observed this exchange and frowned.

  “You have legs of a new-born lamb,” said Ragnar, helping his friend up. “You need practice.”

  The others paired up to fight.