by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)
Her honesty encouraged him, converting his bombastic approach to one that was almost pleading. ‘Then what would you really like? You may speak as freely as you wish for the moment.’
Una could have laughed. ‘And that’s the nub! I do not wish to speak freely just for this moment, but forever and ay.’
Sigurd readopted his demanding tone. ‘You want that I should make an ass of myself in front of everyone just so that I might lie with you, when I could do that any time I like? You think you are that special?’
Una turned sullen, paying all her attention to the dye now, mixing and stirring. ‘’Tis not I who ask ye to lie in my bed, finn-gall. All I desire is my freedom.’
‘All! You ask a great deal.’ After the burst of thunder, Sigurd prevaricated, watching her red-stained fingers do their work. ‘If I freed you… then you would come to me willingly?’
Una suppressed the excitement that rose in her breast. ‘If you also free my child.’
Her master’s response was sardonic. ‘Your child? You mean the one gotten by the man you profess to have hated? What is this bairn to you?’ Jealousy began to gnaw again.
The stick paused in its rotation, Una’s face wistful. ‘Before he was born I thought I’d hate him too… but I don’t. He is the most precious thing in the world to me. I could never accept my freedom and abandon him to slavery.’
Sigurd burst into laughter that had a tinge of resentment at this ‘precious’ child. ‘I see where this leads us! If I agree to free the two of you, then you will say “but you must also free Mary, for I could not go without her…” and so on and so forth until I had no slaves left at all.’
Una shook her head, partly in wonder that he could be so unobservant of the animosity between the two women. ‘’Tis for you to do what ye choose with the others.’
‘It is most kind of you to grant me this!’ Sigurd bent from the waist to bring his head closer to her squatting figure. ‘Well, let me tell you that it is for me to do as I choose with any of you!’ Her rash admittance of love for the child had provided him with new grist. ‘And now it is my turn to barter.’ His fingers picked the wet hair from her cheeks and tucked it behind her ear so that she might better heed him. ‘If you do not yield then I will sell your son and you shall never hold him again. What have you to say on that?’
Her plan scuttled, Una gulped and fixed her eyes to the bubbling dye. Oh, the devil! How could she have hoped to bargain with such a one? Tapping the stick against the cauldron to remove the drips of red, she laid it aside, pulse racing. ‘I cannot stop ye.’
‘That is right!’ Elevated now, he nodded down at her.
Mouth dry, Una raised her body in sacrificial pose. ‘Then I pray ye, master, take what ye want and get it over with.’
‘I do not want it that way!’ Sigurd gave a violent kick at the door, plunging the hovel into darkness but for the firelight. At the slamming of the flimsy piece of wattle, Mary looked up from tending the earth, her nostrils pinched in disgust. Inside, Sigurd took hold of the girl and shook her. ‘Look at me! Even in defeat you rule me! What is wrong with me, woman? Am I so ugly? Why cannot you even call me by my name, Sigurd?’
Una was moved by his emotion but would not give in, saying calmly, ‘I call ye by the name you’ve taught me, Master. I submit to ye. What more can you ask?’
‘I ask that you love me!’
‘By force?’
‘Nei!’ Sigurd shook his head with the hasty reply. ‘I retract what I said about the brat. I promise I will never sell him.’
Still, this was not enough for Una. ‘Will ye free him?’
‘Ja, ja!’ His lower half was now a-blaze.
‘You lie, master.’ What had dared her to say it!
Frustration made him bellow at her, ‘Ja, I lie! I shall not free him because if I did I would have to free his mother and then she would leave me!’ He bent his knees in order to bring his face level, squashed her cheeks between his palms. ‘Una,’ he crooned her name, ‘doest not know I love thee?’ Passion seethed in eye and loin, his whole body engorged with blood. Whilst Una trembled he slid his fingers up into her hair and dragged her skull towards his mouth, leaving her just time to catch her breath before his mouth pressed down on hers.
Una hated her body for the way it responded to his kiss, hated the way her arms held him when she told them not to, hated the way her belly thrilled and her groin pressed itself eagerly at his… Such irony that she who had never known desire now found it in her captor.
Sigurd had imagined her body through her clothes. Unbound, her breasts were heavier than he had assumed. Excited, he fell on them, crushing his face between them, rubbing his mouth and tongue around their globes. Una’s head fell back, eyes half-closed, palms on either side of his head, raking her fingers through his hair, pressing down onto his shoulders, sweeping the muscles of his back, pulling him closer, bringing her head forward now to lay against his moist perfumed skin. Why do you let him treat you like this, running his hands over you as if he is buying a horse? She wrenched herself away to confront him with anger, breathing heavily.
Sigurd withdrew his fervid lips only to pant, ‘Do not stop, oh mercy, do not stop me,’ then pressed them back into the curve of her neck to suck and nibble. Una shivered and gave up all resistance as his face moved around her body. There were no rough bristles as there had been on her husband’s jaw, just a soft, youthful beard. Oh, that such a cruel mouth could glide so tenderly on her skin…
Then, what little control he might have had vanished and so did Una’s. He writhed and squirmed and ground himself right up into her whilst his mouth bit and kissed and ate her and Una moaned and locked her heels around his back, shouted arousal into his hair, tried to get closer and closer to stop him slipping out of her for his movements had become so frantic, clung and kissed and plunged together, two gripping beasts…
Sigurd gave one almighty heave, she heaved with him, he left her, came back, filled her with his seed, Una arched in one last gigantic thrust of passion, lifting his body… then fell back. Both sore and soothed, their panting bodies cleaved together, rising, falling with each breath till passion waned to sweat-drenched languor and neither one was slave nor master but both were one.
Without disengagement of their union, merely a short rest, Sigurd began to move again, less hurriedly this time. He hoisted his body onto his elbows and tried to read her face while his belly caressed her. Una lay beneath him, limbs spreadeagled. No longer did her arms embrace him. Sigurd paused, looked into her eyes. ‘You have grown bored of me already?’
With languid murmur, she draped her wrists around his back. ‘You are so lusty ye’ve sapped me of strength.’
He made a joke. ‘Ah, this is so you can get out of work afterwards.’ When she laughed, he told her, ‘Then hang’ onto me and I will do all the work.’ He scooped his arms beneath her, buried his face in her hair and began to glide towards another climax.
And afterwards he proved to her by shows of tenderness that his words of love had not been simply to deceive, touched gentle lips upon her shoulder, eased wisps of hair from brow and neck, adorning each with kisses, laid his palm upon her chest to feel each rib, traced gentle fingertips around a breast, raising goosebumps. Una shivered. Thinking she was cold, he reached around their bodies seeking the ends of his cloak which he tugged up to cover both of them. Abruptly, she started to cry.
Sigurd beheld the display with mild horror. ‘Do you hate me so much?’
She hid her face. ‘I do not hate you at all, that is why I weep!’
He laughed his gratitude and snuggled his belly into her side.
God, I should hate him, she agonized. Why don’t I? Her tear-stained face warned him, ‘I must not lie like this all day.’
He grinned, licked the salt from her cheek and massaged her shin with his foot. ‘Why, will your master beat you?’
Plunged back to loathsome earth, she did not return the humour. ‘There are other slaves who live here, and it will make life very d
ifficult for me if they find us like this.’
Oh, we will make life difficult for you, whore. Black Mary took her ear from the chink in the timbers and hurried to intercept Murtagh, who was eating soil. You can be sure of that.
Chapter Nine
Hunting, carving, swimming, carousing – all took second place to that which he had found with Una. Dawn saw him loitering once more at her threshold. Any fears of wrecked fantasies had been dispelled; love with her was as marvellous as he had imagined – better. Even when his body was apart from Una his mind was inside her; he loved her thirty, forty, fifty times a day! Only one hurdle remained: even those two days of intimacy could not persuade her to react to him as a lover. She lay there now, smiling yes, but as distant as ever.
After enjoying a sensual moment or two, he fell on to his back and muttered rebuke. ‘You do not touch me.’
Previously engaged in thought, Una wore a look of confusion, then brought a palm up to his chest, avoiding the heathen amulet that dangled there. ‘I touch ye now.’
Looking down at those almost male hands against his body, he received a weird thrill. Swallowing his passion, he murmured, ‘I did not mean there.’
Offence withdrew her fingers, remembering how Eoghan would force her hand between his legs. She could never touch the neck of a plucked goose but that she thought of him. ‘Tis not right!’
He turned his head and kissed her shoulder. ‘Not right for lovers to touch?’
‘You are not my lover but my master.’
‘Oh fie! I thought that we had dealt with all that.’
Una turned on to her side to entreat him. ‘If you free us I swear, I swear we’ll not leave. How could we when I have no barter?’
‘No barter save your body.’ Sigurd was not to be duped. ‘Methinks you use me.’
She became wheedling, appealing to his status. ‘Would my lord not rather make love to a free woman?’
‘The instant you were free you would go back from whence you came, by whatever method.’ In one quick jerk he was sitting in a posture of aggression.
Una’s eyes picked out the muscles on his naked back for a while, as confused in her emotions as Sigurd was about his own. In two days she had received more tenderness from this savage than from a whole year with Eoghan. She did have feeling for him, but how could it be termed love when this man had robbed her of everything, including liberty? Was it just the sense of danger that produced this thrill? One moment he could be so fond, yet Una knew he was capable of great violence. Despite his oaths of love she could never be quite sure…
Her locks had wrapped themselves around her arms. Disentangling herself, she rose to her knees, put her hands over his shoulders and began to pick the blond hair from his face, combing it behind his neck and gathering it into a pony’s tail. Holding it thus, she kissed his nape and pushed her breasts into his shoulder-blades, her left hand sneaking under his arm, round his waist and pressing itself into his belly. Sigurd closed his eyes to her ministrations, leaning back on the cushion of her mounds. Her warm breath whispered Irish endearments in his ear. He made a noise of pleasure in his throat and rubbed the back of his head against her shoulder. ‘I sit here tame as a hound whilst you may call me all the loathsome names you can think of.’
‘I call you only loved one.’ Was it just to trick her master that she said it? Una did not know. Perhaps the deception was working too well.
‘I shall have to believe you, for I love you also.’ A large hand came up to stroke her hair and in doing so caught her nose with an elbow.
She laughed, ‘Indeed, ’tis only a lover would break a girl’s nose,’ and forgave him with a kiss.
‘You must teach me this tongue of yours so that I might know if the others plot against me.’
Una moved her chin on his shoulder. ‘’Twill be hard for a Norseman to master.’
He gave a playful jerk of his shoulder, clattering her teeth together. ‘This Norseman can master ought.’
‘Ye think so?’ Una’s hands became teasing; fingers crept down his belly then fluttered away just as he expected touch. He growled. Una laughed and tickled him again. Sigurd drew his knees up, pinning the tormenting hand between his belly and thigh. Letting go of his hair she used her free hand to grope under his buttocks.
‘Ow! Take care, wench.’ He sucked in his breath.
‘Did ye not want me to touch ye!’ Una gave a lilting laugh. ‘Begged me.’
In a trice she was on her back and being tickled to the point of hysteria. They rolled around like puppies, biting and grasping any appendage that came into reach, ending in tears of laughter. Their union was rudely broken by the jingle of harness from the yard. Sigurd groaned into her chest. ‘The Lady Ragnhild returns. I am to be robbed of my pleasure so soon.’ Already he could hear his name being called.
Outside, Eric was trying to protect his young friend. ‘Er, Ragnhild, will you not come into the house and taste this fruit wine? It is very good.’
She looked inside the house then shoved the darkhaired obstacle aside. ‘Out of my way, pisspot! I can tell without tasting it that it’s good, just by looking at your face. Now, where is that son of mine? Sigurd!’
Eric collared Ulf, hissing, ‘He’s in there with the slavegirl! Try to divert Ragnhild.’
Ulf refused. ‘I owe that little bastard a favour for his disrespect. Ragnhild – he is in there!’ He wagged a finger at the slave hut.
Una heard the woman’s approach and threw the tattooed dragon off her waist. ‘Do not let her catch us, I beg you!’
Sigurd was undaunted, but released her body from his, reaching between his shoulder-blades to brush off irritating fragments of refuse from contact with the floor.
Una showed more expedience, grabbing her clothes, but before either had the chance to dress they were framed in a shaft of light.
Ragnhild stood in the doorway with a wise nodding of head. ‘Did I not guess I would find you here?’ There was a disgusted interval during which Sigurd awaited more rebuke; it came beneath a thin veil of sarcasm. ‘If you intend to keep the wench from her work could you perchance lay some grain beneath her back so that we might at least have benefit of flour from your grindings? Come! I have matters of import to discuss – and you!’ She jabbed a thumb at Una. ‘To work. We have much to prepare.’
‘Prepare for what?’ Sigurd hopped into his breeches.
‘For your wedding.’ Ragnhild enjoyed the jolt it gave them both. ‘That is what I have been doing these past days, negotiating your bonding settlements – and a task it was, too. I had to promise all manner of things. No matter, you shall consider all well worth it when you see her.’ She turned and went outside.
An anguished Una turned to Sigurd, but the attentive lover had vanished. ‘Mother!’ Blind to Una’s distress, he grabbed his shirt and with his other hand grasping the waistband of his breeches, followed Ragnhild. The sun’s warmth had lured the honey bees out to look for water. Clumsy from its winter idleness one of the black creatures hummed around Sigurd’s ear; a testy hand swiped it.
‘She is absolutely beautiful!’ laughed his mother in glee. ‘And her family very wealthy.’ Both these things had been important factors, but Ragnhild also liked the girl’s persona; she looked strong, and Sigurd needed a strong wife.
‘Did you have to announce it thus?’ Voice waspish, Sigurd gripped the shirt under his chin whilst fumbling for the belt of his trousers.
‘Why so?’ Ragnhild began to walk towards the big house.
‘Because… because I would like a say in the type of woman I wed before you have told it to the world!’
‘Nonsense!’ The beekeeper was knelt preparing a new skep in which to rear this year’s swarm; instead of walking round him Ragnhild kicked him out of the way. ‘You have no idea of what makes a good wife, you are too busy nosing around that Irish slut. Well, wait until the morrow and you will praise my wisdom.’
‘Tomorrow!’ Sigurd tugged the belt through its buckle.
‘Ja!’ Ragnhild stopped, whipped the shirt from under his chin and gave it a flourish before draping it over his head. ‘That is why we must make haste. Oh, not for the wedding.’ She laughed as his panicked face emerged through the neck of the garment and helped him to insert his arms as if he were still a baby. ‘Tomorrow is just for Estorhild and her family to come and meet you, but we must waste no time in arranging the union. When you see her I know you will agree.’
Contrary to his dislike of being manipulated, Sigurd did agree: he could not help but do so. Only a fool would throw away the chance of attaining such a breathtaking wife. Estorhild was sixteen. Topped by a silken snood, her hair fell to her waist and was so blonde as to be almost white. Every feature of her face was perfect, her complexion clear and healthy. She had tiny hands and feet but the rest of her body looked stout enough to accomplish a wife’s daily tasks. She was high-breasted, elegant of limb and sleek of hip. ‘Mannish hips,’ Ragnhild had termed them, her only cause for concern – they might spell trouble in childbirth – but if this was her only quibble then it was a job well done. Estorhild’s family was of Anglo-Norse descent, very well-placed in society, owning several ploughlands in the North Riding of Eoforwicshire, and from the manner in which her parents addressed Sigurd they must be equally pleased with him.
Fighting shyness, Estorhild inched forth to meet her prospective husband. In movement she lost a little of her grace, rolling from side to side like a peasant woman, but it was not a thing Sigurd would notice when his current female waddled like a duck, thought Ragnhild, and was delighted by the way her son looked upon her choice. It had not been so difficult to take his mind from the slave. The other men present were equally impressed. Everyone, including the slaves, had been assembled in the yard to greet the bride and her entourage. Estorhild felt like a cow being offered for sale under the examining eye of the groom’s friends and decided she did not care for them. The one with the heavy fringe looked surly whilst his shaggy black partner was almost licking his lips.
‘Where did my lady find such a beauty?’ Eric murmured. ‘And can she find one for me?’
