He whispered something in his rough guttural tongue, then lifted her and sat her astride his muscular thighs. Trails of perspiration were running down his pale flesh and she touched the salty droplets. Gently he guided her hand to his cock, groaning as she shyly rubbed her fingers up and down its length until it was taut and shiny, the purple bulb at its end increasing even more in size.
With a hungry grunt, Ragnor pulled her forwards, spearing her on his cock, forcing it inside her until it filled her completely. Rianna clutched hold of his shoulders, threw back her head and closed her eyes. It felt good, so deliriously good, that she couldn’t resist working her hips, lifting her body, then ramming it down on to his prick until he groaned with pleasure.
His hands grasped her waist, and his pelvis started to move in unison with hers. Rianna became immune to the sticky trails of sweat on her skin, the musky scent of Ragnor, and his harsh, laboured breaths. She just lost herself in the sheer joy of fucking a man again. The fire rose swiftly, her essence mingling with her sweat and drenching the folds of her sex. She gave one last thrust and the draining pleasure erupted, coming with a swift uncomplicated violence that took her breath away.
She leaned against Ragnor’s hot slippery flesh, feeling the rough hairs round his nipples tickle her breasts, as he lovingly stroked her hair. Suddenly and without saying a word, he lifted her and carried her into a much colder room. Rianna shivered as he set her down on the cold floor and made her stand there as he sponged her body with warm water. Then he wrapped her in a blanket and sat her down on a bench. Feeling tired and drained, she watched Ragnor rub handfuls of snow into his skin, then rinse it off with ice-cold water. He then scoured his flesh with a rough cloth until it glowed redly.
Without bothering to dress, he lifted Rianna into his arms and walked out of the hut into the chill darkness. He made for his longhouse, taking her straight to his private chamber, where he laid her gently in his large comfortable bed.
Tarn looked down at Leon’s grey drawn face as he finished another bout of coughing which left him gasping for breath.
‘He’ll recover,’ Jentius said confidently as he covered Leon’s shaking form with yet another blanket.
‘Are you certain?’ Tarn asked, feeling no pity for Leon, just a strange tightness in his chest as he looked down at the man who had betrayed him and placed the woman he loved in such peril.
‘Only the gods can be certain,’ Jentius said as he followed Tarn from the small tent.
‘The gods,’ Tarn said thoughtfully as he looked up at the leaden sky, ‘are not on our side today.’ The snow was still falling but it was lighter now. They had endured a raging blizzard for the last fifteen hours which had forced them to stop and make camp. Every moment they spent here frustrated Tarn because he felt they were moving further and further away from Rianna.
‘Leon was lucky that he came upon us, alone for much longer without supplies he would have surely perished. He was exhausted, but insisted on accompanying us and even then I feared he would not be able to keep up this relentless pace. He has fallen victim to his own determination.’ Jentius shrugged his shoulders. ‘Also Leon is consumed by guilt.’
‘So he should be,’ Tarn said with a coldness he rarely displayed. He had tried but he couldn’t even begin to forgive Leon. Perhaps once Rianna was safe in his arms he could look at things differently. At present he preferred to keep as far away from Leon as possible.
‘I’ve not seen you like this before, sire,’ Jentius said. ‘During the war you kept up the men’s spirits with your determination to win. Now I wish I could say something to help ease your concern . . .’
‘You cannot. No one can.’ Tarn gave a deep sigh as he entered his tent.
He rubbed his hands together and shook the snow from his heavy cloak. It was a little warmer in the tent than it was outside, but it was still freezing. Sarin, Zene and Faros were huddled around a small table playing cards. When the weather had deteriorated Tarn had insisted that every soldier slept under cover. As there were not enough tents to go around, Sarin and Zene as well as Faros and Jentius had been obliged to share Tarn’s large tent. With so many inside it was a crush.
‘The snow has all but stopped,’ Tarn announced. ‘We should send out a man to scout ahead. We cannot be far from Ragnor’s lands now. I want to know his stronghold’s strengths and weaknesses and the size of the force we will be facing.’
He glanced at Zene. Even she was huddled in her cloak, and she was also wearing a spare pair of Faros’s breeches.
‘I’ll go,’ Faros offered. ‘I know a little of Vestfold. My father purchased a slave who had been born in Ragnor’s jarldom. Although his brother Sven had been lawspeaker then.’
‘What would a slave know that could be of use?’ Sarin said scathingly.
‘More than you no doubt, my lord,’ Faros said a little too boldly even for Tarn’s liking.
Sarin glared at Faros. ‘How dare you!’
‘The cold and snow are affecting us all, making tempers short,’ Tarn interjected appeasingly. ‘Faros and I could both go. Jentius can remain here and organise the men.’
‘Watch me you mean,’ Sarin said with a cold smile. ‘You still don’t trust me do you, Tarn?’
‘Or you me,’ Tarn said. ‘As I have said before, we are enemies drawn together by circumstance.’
‘Then we’ll be drawn even closer.’ Sarin rose to his feet and pulled on a pair of gloves that Tarn had magnanimously given him. ‘I will accompany you and Faros can remain here with Jentius. We are both strategists. Once we have surveyed the place, together we should be able to come up with a feasible plan to gain entry to Ragnor’s stronghold.’
Tarn was in no mood for a long argument, and he knew Sarin well enough to be certain that his mind was set and he would not be dissuaded. ‘If you insist,’ he said curtly. ‘But if Ragnor’s men should find this camp in the meantime and attack . . .’
‘Do you not trust Captain Jentius?’ Sarin enquired cuttingly.
‘You know that I do.’ Tarn glanced at Jentius. ‘While we are away, send a couple of the men out to try and find some game. We could do with some fresh meat. And ensure that the rest are ready to depart just as soon as we return.’
He pulled on his heavy leather gauntlets and took up his sword, sliding the blade into the gilded scabbard attached to his belt. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, Tarn stepped out of the tent.
‘Tis a pity we have no tracks to follow,’ Sarin said as he followed Tarn.
‘We’ll just make our way straight down the mountain. I’m more than certain we’ll be headed in the right direction,’ Tarn said confidently. ‘We will just have to be very cautious. If we were both captured what a fine prize that would be for Ragnor.’
‘Then we must ensure we are not captured,’ Sarin said cheerfully as they reached their horses.
Chapter Nine
RAGNOR SMILED INDULGENTLY at Rianna as he watched her put on the white woollen gown he’d just given her, which was far more elaborately cut than the simple gowns most thralls wore. She had spent the last two nights in his bed, and his lovemaking had been surprisingly gentle. Perhaps it was because she was a noblewoman in her own right that he afforded her far more respect than the other female slaves who served him.
The gown was held in place by two heavy silver brooches decorated with intertwining leaves. A finely wrought silver filet was worn across her brow to hold back her long hair, which Ragnor insisted she always wore loose. She sat on the bed to pull on a pair of long, deerskin boots, still conscious of his pale-blue eyes watching her every move.
‘This is for you.’ He held out his hand. The heavy amulet covered almost his entire palm and was affixed to a heavy plaited gold chain. Shaped like a half cross with a scrolled eagle’s head at its top, the amulet appeared to be made of solid gold.
‘You are too kind to me,’ she said awkwardly, as he lifted her hair and reverently fastened it around her neck. ‘It is beautiful.’
‘I am honoured,’ she exclaimed, feeling the weight of the amulet pulling at her neck.
Rianna had arrived here expecting to live every day in fear, but she was protected by Ragnor’s desire for her. She felt safe even in this enclave of barbarians, as long as she remained Ragnor’s favourite, but when that would end she had no idea.
She often thought that it might have been easier to bear if he had been cruel to her. Then she wouldn’t have felt such lust for him, wouldn’t have found pleasure in sharing his bed, and wouldn’t have been forced to endure the constant guilty feeling that she was betraying Tarn. Ragnor had a strong sexual appetite, and when he wasn’t with her he was probably rutting with another willing slave. That didn’t trouble Rianna. Her relationship with Ragnor was simple and uncomplicated, fuelled only by lust and self-preservation on her part.
She tried not to think of Tarn. If she were brutally honest with herself she knew it was doubtful she would ever see him again. Even if he did discover where she was, it would take an army to free her. If Tarn did attempt to attack Ragnor it would probably start a war between Kabra and Vestfold, and she couldn’t expect him to do that even for her.
‘Thor must be a strong god,’ she said, touching the amulet.
‘He protects me, my men, and now you.’ Ragnor pulled her close, kissing her passionately. As he thrust his tongue into her mouth, he pulled up her skirt and cupped her pussy. One thick finger slid inside her.
‘You told me that we must not be late for the celebration, my lord,’ she reminded him, far preferring to remain here and have sex with him, than join Ragnor’s warriors in the hall. She still didn’t feel altogether comfortable in their presence and found it difficult to accept their rough uncivilised ways.
‘I would stay here, with you,’ Ragnor groaned. ‘Yet I have to attend.’ He pulled away from her. ‘You’ve cast a spell over me, Rianna.’
She smiled. ‘I know nothing of spells,’ she added awkwardly, not wanting to be associated with such a dangerous thing as witchcraft.
Rianna was surprised at how superstitious these people were. Their lives revolved around the worship of the great ash tree, Yggdrasil, and their powerful gods. They cast stones, covered with strange symbols, in an effort to foretell the future. Runic symbols were carved in propitious places in their dwellings, and tattooed on their bodies. Not only did Ragnor have a number of these tattoos on his arms, he also had scars in the same strange shapes. He’d used his dagger to cut one into his flesh every time he’d been about to do battle, in the belief that the symbol would help ensure his victory.
‘I know.’ He smiled. ‘But I would swear that Freya led you to me.’
‘Perhaps she did,’ Rianna replied. ‘Freya protects the land of my birth as well as Vestfold.’
‘We spring from the same earthforce. That is why your people are warriors like mine.’ Ragnor pulled open the heavy wooden door. ‘Come,’ he ordered.
He strode towards the hall, his scarlet silk cloak billowing out behind him. Rianna was obliged to almost run to keep up with his massive strides. Even from a distance she was able to hear the raucous din coming from the chamber where the celebration was being held.
Judging by the spectacle that confronted them – the overpowering noise and pungent odours – the mourning feast had been going on for some time. Perhaps it had never ceased from the previous night. Ragnor’s uncle, Hjor, had died before Rianna arrived here. During the ten days of mourning it was expected that the grieving friends and relatives would keep drinking themselves into a near permanent stupor.
Ragnor sat down on his throne and Rianna perched beside him on a low stool, while thralls hurried to place a table in front of them. Soon it was laden with food and drink. Rianna had little appetite and nibbled at some wheaten bread, refusing the disgusting drink of fermented milk they called skyr. Ragnor, however, stuffed meat into his mouth and quaffed a large goblet of thick sweet mead.
Many of the men lay across the tables snoring loudly, others had vomited where they sat and had begun drinking again. The sour smell tainted the warm close atmosphere, making Rianna’s stomach lurch in disgust. The majority of Ragnor’s men were mere warriors; others were jarls or lords in their own right who had prospered under his leadership. He was respected by all of them and was fortunately a little more cultured and well educated than those who served him. Rianna glanced at Ragnor, trying to ignore his lack of good table manners as he crammed meat into his mouth and laughed at the capering antics of a jester. In a corner sat a blind lute player but his music could not be heard above the raucous din.
Suddenly two warriors dressed in fine garments brought forward a blonde-haired buxom slave. She was smiling as if she had been afforded a great honour as they bowed to Ragnor. He dropped his food, wiped his hands on a square of linen and spoke in a loud booming voice. ‘Who among you will die with Hjor?’
Ragnor bent his head to whisper in Rianna’s ear, translating the words as the thrall said, ‘I will,’ in a slurred voice.
Turning to look at her companions, the thrall unfastened the iron brooch that held her tunic together and let it drop to the floor. Her skin was pale and covered in freckles, her thighs dimpled and her breasts so large that they hung down, elongated by their weight.
She sank to the ground, pulling the taller of the two men with her. Her mound was only sparsely covered by pale-blonde hair and when she opened her thighs the red slit of her sex was easily visible. Her inner thighs were shiny as if smeared with the remains of many men, and even from a few feet away Rianna could detect the powerful odour of spent sex clinging to the woman’s flesh.
‘She shares herself with the warriors closest to Hjor before she accompanies her master,’ Ragnor told Rianna as the man on his knees between the thrall’s thighs, opened his trousers and freed his prick.
The man thrust into the slave, just as Ragnor slid his hand in the front of Rianna’s gown to fondle her breasts. Rianna shivered, watching the man publicly fucking the thrall with a rough vigour that made the woman moan with pleasure, while Ragnor played with her nipples. He pulled and squeezed them roughly and she felt the familiar warmth grow between her thighs.
The man in front of her gave a loud grunt as he climaxed. He stood up, his shiny cock still exposed for all to see, and grinned as if he’d just completed a great feat. ‘I will tell Lord Hjor that you have done this out of love for him,’ he said to the thrall, still lying on the floor with her legs splayed open lewdly. He strode off to rejoin his friends while his companion kneeled and prepared to copulate with the slave.
‘At other times I would also have publicly taken her,’ Ragnor confided as he pulled Rianna on to his lap. ‘But I choose you instead.’ He slid his hand under her full skirt to stroke her pussy.
He pushed three bunched fingers deep into her cunt and Rianna gave a soft moan of bliss, unable to tear her gaze from the rutting figures only a few feet away from her. The ceremony was barbaric, yet crudely erotic. The smell of sweat, mingled with the stale odour of former sexual encounters, wafted towards her, exciting her even more.
The second man finished, rose to his feet and spoke the words required of him. Then, to Rianna’s amazement, a third man stepped forwards to possess the thrall. The tall, rangy, brown-haired warrior was Jorvik, Ragnor’s second in command. How many more men would the slave accommodate, Rianna wondered, wriggling excitedly on Ragnor’s lap as he fingerfucked her in a smooth compelling rhythm. She watched Jorvik pull open his breeches, take his place between the thrall’s thighs and thrust roughly into her.
Rianna was getting close to her orgasm when suddenly Ragnor withdrew his fingers and fumbled with his trousers. Gently he eased her back until he could slide his cock inside her. She coloured in embarrassment, certain that everyone could see what he was doing to her as he moved his hips, making
her bounce up and down on his straining prick. But all eyes were on Jorvik and the thrall. Rianna gave a soft moan as Ragnor’s callused finger stimulated her clit. She was only half aware of the thrall’s shrill scream of pleasure, and Jorvik’s accompanying grunt as Ragnor pumped harder. As he spilled his seed inside Rianna, her internal muscles contracted and her guilt-filled climax washed over her.
Niska pulled her fur-lined cloak tighter around her body. She had forgotten how cold it could be in Vestfold even on a clear morning such as this. It had been snowing hard for two days, but today the sun shone weakly down from an azure sky as Ragnor’s followers stumbled drunkenly from the longhouse.
There were many things she had forgotten about Vestfold, she thought, as she watched the men lurch unsteadily towards their horses which the slaves held ready for them. The warriors could be uncouth and rude, even Ragnor displayed a lack of gentility at times, despite the nobility of his line. But he had grown from an attractive youth to a handsome man. He was her half-brother but she still had a mind to fuck him if the opportunity arose. The sight of the thrall rutting with three of Ragnor’s most loyal jarls had aroused Niska. Now she was ready for the taste of hot, hard cock herself. But first she had a ceremony to attend.
She had seen Rianna sitting on Ragnor’s lap, her cheeks afire, and Niska had known exactly what her half-brother was doing under her skirts, and she envied the bitch. Rianna seemed to enjoy being fucked just as much as the thrall lying on the floor in front of her. She was a whore pure and simple, Niska decided, as she saw Rianna climb into one of the sleighs. She was far too regally clad for a thrall, and the heavy gold pendant around her neck must be a gift from Ragnor. Her brother was a fool, just like most men.
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