I checked once more on our son, who was soundly asleep in his basket-like crib, and Brynjulf brought me to our camp bed, stripping my gown off of me and running his hands all over my body. Since I had come to live with the Vikings, I wore much less—particularly in this warmer climate. There was only my gown and my underclothes, and I was suddenly naked in front of my husband, my whole body exposed to his gaze in the light of the fire. I felt strangely excited at the prospect of lying with my husband in the open air, the stars and animals witness to the heat between us. I was just as eager to get Brynjulf naked, and I pulled away his armor, carefully discarding it by the camp bed and reaching for his shirt. Brynjulf chuckled at my enthusiasm, running his hands over my naked body and reaching up between my legs to cup my pussy. I was already becoming slick with desire, and the slightly chill air caressed my skin and made my nipples harden. Brynjulf began to stroke me, slipping his fingers in between my labia and finding my clit quickly, teasing it with slow circles of his fingers that drove me almost mad with lust in the space of only a few moments. I was already panting, rocking my hips down into his touches—I wouldn’t last long, I knew. Brynjulf grinned at me, knowing the truth without my even having to tell him.
I untied my husband’s trousers and pulled them down off of his hips, letting them fall to the ground and immediately wrapping my hand tightly around his hard cock. “Mmm, husband,” I murmured, kissing the tip of his cock and lapping at the fluids that had already begun to form. I knelt in front of him among the rushes and boughs of our rough bed, looking up into his eyes with my desiring gaze. I could still smell the clean sweat clinging to his skin, the deep perfume of leather and linen and woods that I loved about him. Brynjulf ran his fingers through my hair as I slowly took him into my mouth, running my tongue all over the hot flesh of his cock and tasting his arousal. The velvety flesh was so familiar, so wonderful against my lips, and I could feel myself becoming more aroused by the moment. My husband groaned, his hands tightening against my scalp, sending a sharp pain that mingled with the pleasure of being naked in front of my husband, my breasts aching for attention, my pussy throbbing with need. I knew I would have to be careful not to push him too hard—though my husband was wise and careful, he was still a Viking, and no doubt he was experiencing the odd after-battle lust more powerfully than I even was. His normal ability to push me away before he came might not apply.
I sucked and licked on my husband’s cock as if it were a confection, just barely letting him feel the presence of my teeth grazing his skin as I moved my mouth up and down his shaft. Brynjulf’s hips bucked as I pleasured him and he moaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes in enjoyment of my attentions. “Ah, wife,” he sighed as he thrust into my mouth carefully—he was always gentle even when he was driven by lust for me, and did not want to hurt me. I loved the taste of his precum coating my mouth, and would never have stopped—I suddenly wanted to feel him climax inside of my mouth and let me taste his cum—but Brynjulf withdrew before he reached orgasm, smiling down at me. He pulled me up to stand in front of him and reached between my legs, parting my labia to the air and rubbing me slowly all over with his fingers. I rocked on my feet, leaning into his touches and moaning, already so aroused that I needed nothing more than his bare touch to be on the verge of orgasm already. With his other hand, Brynjulf tweaked one of my nipples carefully, rolling it so that it sent jolts of pleasure like electricity straight down to my sex. I was gasping and panting, pushing my hips down and riding his hand as I would his cock as he pushed his fingers into me, brushing my inner walls as he thrust and withdrew. After weeks of sex I was no longer virgin-tight but could take two of his fingers at once, and their thickness was delicious as he probed me deeper and deeper, seeking my pleasure. I reached out and gripped my husband tightly in my hands, taking hold of his shoulders and letting my fingernails dig into him from the impulse of pleasure.
Brynjulf kissed and bit at my neck, torturing first one and then the other of my nipples as I reeled from his touches. “Do you desire me, my little Hilda?” he asked lowly, his voice hoarse with his own need. I nodded, briefly unable to form words.
“Yes, husband, I need you,” I managed to say, my toes curling around his cape beneath me. “Oh Brynjulf,” I moaned, arching up onto the balls of my feet as he plunged his fingers deep, deep inside of me. Brynjulf smiled down on me, withdrawing his fingers and cupping by breasts in both of his hands, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“I love your high, full breasts, little wife,” he told me, giving them a few quick, sharp slaps that felt oddly wonderful. “Motherhood becomes you.” I smiled at my husband and he played with my breasts even more, careful not to make my milk come as he teased my nipples with his fingers and mouth, even nipping the tender undersides of my bosom. My legs were like jelly underneath me as my husband attacked my body, hungry tasting and biting and licking me all over. “I can taste the battle on your skin,” he murmured against my neck, lifting my face up so that he could claim my mouth, sealing it with his own and kissing me hungrily and deeply.
I couldn’t stand the devouring assault for very long, and as Brynjulf’s fingers played against my clit again, his mouth all over me, I reached climax, crying out over and over again as the spasms of pleasure racked my body. I was not even concerned with the possible presence of wandering pillagers, or even of waking our son; I was made so mindless by the orgasm that thundered through me. Brynjulf’s hands soothed me as I trembled afterwards, equally working towards a new arousal. I realized that my poor husband had not had his release as I recovered, and I reached down to take him in hand. Somehow, although I had been exhausted when we had arrived at our camp site, I was full of energy now, not a single muscle in my body aching anymore—except for the sweet stretching ache in my pussy from Brynjulf’s thick fingers inside of me. I wanted more—needed more. I stroked my husband’s hard cock for several strokes before he pushed my hand aside. “I think you’re ready for more, little wife,” he said lazily. I smiled at him and prepared to lay back on our rough bed—but Brynjulf had a different idea. Instead of laying me down, he lifted me up, settling me about his hips and wrapping one arm around my waist to hold me in place. I wrapped my legs around his muscular body, spread as wide as I needed to be to take his cock.
I felt him position the tip of his cock against my wet pussy and Brynjulf pushed me down even as he thrust up into me, filling me swiftly with the heat of his cock. I immediately began moving my hips in counterpoint to his thrusts, needing the fast, hard penetration just as much as I had needed the food we had eaten. I felt the muscles in my thighs protest but I didn’t care; I rode my husband’s thick, hard cock, my arms tight around his shoulders, my legs coiled around his hips to support me on his body. We had never made love standing like this, though we had already tried so many different variations I wondered why we hadn’t found time for standing up. The position made it feel like Brynjulf was deeper inside of me than ever before, and I loved feeling him brushing against the deep, secret spot inside of me that seemed to hold all of the pleasure in the world. His hands were tight on my buttocks as he lifted me up and let me down, squeezing and kneading my flesh. “Oh, oh my love,” I whispered, crying out with pleasure.
“My beautiful little wife,” Brynjulf replied, kissing me hard on the lips as he pounded up into me. I was moaning out loud, twisting my hips as much as I could as I rode him; I gasped at the sensation of his muscled chest against my sensitive breasts, the feeling of his hands all over me. In only a few moments I was reaching orgasm again, my clit stimulated by the friction between our bodies in this new position, Brynjulf’s cock driving up against the pleasure spot inside my pussy with every thrust of his hips. I ached with the sweet soreness of his cock filling me up, but I could not have cared less about the pain; the pleasure was too great. I was panting, shaking against him as he continued to pound me, arching his back to find even deeper recesses of my body. I could feel him almost up against my heart, I thought, not willing to
let go of him as he approached his climax.
I felt Brynjulf’s cock twitching, and felt the hot, sticky sensation of his cum filling me as he groaned out his pleasure, clutching my body flush against his for his last few thrusts. His lips were all over my face, finishing on my mouth as he sighed, spent. He sank down onto the camp bed, carrying me down with him and carefully positioning me as he lay down. “Pretty little wife,” he murmured, sitting up long enough to find my cloak and cover me with it. He drew me close and slipped his thick arm underneath my head, giving me his body for a pillow. I would be awakened soon by the hungry cries of our son, but for the moment I was so sated, so at peace, that I almost immediately dozed into a contented sleep.
Chapter Eight
I awoke in the night when Brandt began crying; Brynjulf stirred, but seeing that I had matters in hand, subsided back into sleep. As uncaring as I would have been in my own home, I took the few steps to where my son slept naked, and picked him up, bringing him to my breast and letting him nurse as I moved back to the pallet my husband had made. I sank down and cradled my son, dozing as he took his fill of milk and comforted by my husband’s closeness. As Brandt began to nurse himself to sleep, however, I felt a little unnerved—I thought I heard a slight rustling in the nearby woods. I told myself I was mistaken, but the thought nagged at me. I sat up and brought my sword close to hand and positioned Brynjulf’s sword where he could readily reach for it, in case of an attack in the night. I worried still, but I was so tired that I couldn’t remain restless for long. I tucked my cloak around myself and my son, curled up into my husband, and fell back asleep.
I must have slept through the night—and Brandt too, because when I woke up, it was morning. As I laid with my husband and son both close I smiled to myself, realizing that we all must have been tired; it was not quite full night when Brynjulf and I had fallen asleep, and apart from Brandt’s feeding, we had all had extra hours of rest.
I remembered my disquiet from the night before suddenly. “Brynjulf,” I whispered, shaking my husband carefully. He mumbled something, waking slowly. After another attempt, he was fully awake, finding me and smiling down at the sight of me naked next to him, our son in my arms. “I got up to nurse Brandt in the night and I thought I heard something,” I told my husband. The smile left his face.
“Let’s get dressed and see if there’s anyone skulking in the woods.” He sat up and gathered his clothes to him and I found my gown as well. I wrinkled my nose at the blood and dirt, but there was nothing to be done until we returned home. I got dressed, glancing over at my husband from time to time to take in his delicious body as he clothed it. I picked up Brandt and cradled him while I picked up my sword.
Before we could turn to enter the woods, Brynjulf and I both heard the crash of heavy feet approaching us. I looked at my husband, and he gave me a short nod. We would see what it was, and react as needed. I could feel my heart speed up in anticipation; I tried to tell myself that it could be nothing more than a boar, or some other large animal, but my instinct was that it was an enemy. My grip on Brandt tightened and he gave a startled and indignant cry, but I had to ignore him for the moment. There would be time enough to comfort him when we found out what this new threat might be.
There were more crashing noises and the men appeared; the man who had led the mob, along with four of his comrades, wielding swords they had stolen from the fallen Vikings. I lifted my sword right behind my husband.
“We’ve searched for you, Viking scum,” the leader said, stepping into the clearing and holding his sword up as a threat. “Your settlement has been ransacked, as you pillaged our village. Your servants have all been freed. Your comrades are either dead or enslaved themselves by us.” I shuddered. How was this justice? To enslave people because your own people had been enslaved was madness.
“We had no slaves,” my husband said, “my wife and I had servants who loved us—they were free to go at any time.” The leader, dirty with blood all over him, his face dripping sweat from his pursuit, laughed.
“You brought them to a wilderness without people and told them they could go free—of course they would stay with you then. And I can tell that your wife, for all her cunning skill with a sword, is no Viking—is she even your true wife?” I felt my grip tighten on my sword. “Just because you keep a woman as your whore and she bears your child does not make her your wife.” Brynjulf stepped closer to the man.
“This woman was married in sight of my community. Her child is recognized as my son.” The men were all looking at me, almost leering. I held my peace, even though the man’s words had stung my pride. I had made my own marriage, and it was a true marriage—not the life of some vassal. My son was a true-born son of a Jarl of the Vikings, not a bastard.
“She is not of your people. How did you get her for a wife?” I scowled. I could hold my peace no longer.
“I made a marriage deal with one under his command! I took this sword from him and threatened his life if he did not take me to his Jarl.” The leader raised an eyebrow at this.
“And why were you in a position to take a man’s sword? What was this chieftain’s soldier doing in your village?” I bit my lip at that. “You made an enormous sacrifice to marry a man your parents had not even met, I am sure.” I could feel my cheeks heating up. “Your village was being raided just like ours had been. You consented to be this one’s slave to stop it, didn’t you?”
“Not his slave. His wife.” The other men laughed at my distinguishing between the two states.
“And now you are here. You should be glad—we come to free you.” I shook my head. I wasn’t glad. I loved Brynjulf, I loved my son. “Take him, men.” Two of the men came forward and squared off against my husband. Brynjulf leapt on them, slashing with his sword, and quickly took one out, stabbing him in an open moment; these men did not have the experience of my husband when it came to their swords.
But the rest of the men, save the leader, jumped into the fray to replace their fallen comrade. I moved forward, trying to save my husband from their trick, but with Brandt held tightly to me, I couldn’t move as quickly, couldn’t react the way I had the day before. One of the men knocked me down as I tried to defend my husband, and I had to adjust Brandt in my arms, almost losing my sword as I hit the ground. The leader grabbed me, wrenching my sword arm behind my back swiftly. “Your duty is to keep your son safe,” he hissed at me. “Your husband has to answer for his actions.” My arm ached from the position and I fought the urge to scream, to cry. I could not distract my husband at a time like this—he had to focus on the men attacking him.
One of the men got under his guard and injured his sword arm. Brynjulf roared, still not quite willing to yield to these ruffians, but the injury hampered him. He killed the man who had injured him, but in doing so the other men drew in tight around him, and in moments he was captured. I felt my cheeks wet—though I did not know when I started crying.
“Just let us go, please,” I cried out, sobbing heavily. “My son needs a father, I need my husband.” The leader pushed me onto the ground, and I cushioned Brandt against me. He looked at me sternly.
“You are fortunate that we will not be killing your half-Viking child,” he told me. “It is not your fault that you were raped and made pregnant by such as this.” He kicked dirt toward my husband. “Come, men.”
They led us through the woods, a much more direct route than Brynjulf and I had taken the day before in escaping them. I looked at my husband from time to time; his head was low, the wound to his arm left to bleed as two men held him between them, dragging us along back toward the settlement that had been our home. At one point they finally stopped to rest, and I felt the relief of the leader letting go of me, his sword no longer pointed at me to ensure my obedience in walking with them. They had taken my sword from me before we started back, and I scowled at the leader who held it, rendering me helpless to try and free my husband, my child, and myself.
“You say I’m freed, but you d
on’t treat me any more freely than any Viking I have ever met,” I spat at the man, impotent in my fury. The leader laughed.
“I am keeping you safe. Once we return to my people, you’ll be separated from your master and then you will come with us and start a life as a free woman.” The leader told one of his men to watch me while he relieved himself in the bushes. I scowled around me generally until my gaze fell on my husband, who was pale from the blood he had lost. None of these men cared if he lived or died. I shoved Brandt into the arms of one of the guards.
“If you hurt him, I will do whatever it takes to kill you with my bare hands,” I told him, looking up into his eyes so that he could see the seriousness in my face. I reached down to the hem of my gown and found the seam, ripping and tearing until I had the length of a bandage. I stepped close to my husband, my expression daring any of the men to interfere. “My love,” I murmured in my husband’s Viking tongue—the one that was becoming my own, or one of my own. Brynjulf looked up at me and gave me a wan, defeated smile.
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