Chapter Ten
The dwelling was quiet when Mathios entered. His warriors were in the barn and settled for the night, and Connell slept peacefully in his cot close to the fire pit. Olav’s ministrations appeared to have been successful and the angry redness was already fading from the child’s flesh. Mathios thought it unlikely that any lasting damage had been done.
He shed his clothing quickly and slipped into the bed in the corner, Merewyn was already snuggled within the furs and blankets, her back turned to him.
“Little Celt?” He reached for her and she rolled over to face him. In the dim lamplight he could see she had been crying. She had barely ceased weeping since the baby’s accident. “He will be fine,” Mathios assured her. “You will see.”
“I know,” sniffled Merewyn. “His arm seems to barely pain him at all, not more than a few hours after the scalding.”
“So, why the tears then?”
“If Olav had not been there…”
“Then Hakon would have done what was required. Or even Vikarr.”
“What if no one but me was present? I would not have known what to do. What if there had not been snow outside?”
“And now you do know. Cold spring water would have worked almost as well and you have an abundance of that in all seasons. You will remember, for next time.”
“I will remember, I shall never forget…”
“Maybe I can find a way to help put this day’s unpleasantness from your mind.”
“I am not sure…”
He stemmed her protest by slanting his mouth across hers. Merewyn parted her lips and accepted his questing tongue. Mathios tasted her, savoured the sensual play of his tongue against hers, the sweet taste that was unique to his Celtic lover. She permitted his exploration, compliant as always, but he sensed he did not have her wholehearted participation.
“Merewyn?” He broke the kiss. “You do not want this?”
“I… I do not intend to… I mean, of course, if you wish…”
“What do you wish?” He propped himself up on one elbow and scrutinised her features with care. Even in the dim light her indecision, her uncertainty, were writ plain across her face. “Tell me what you want. Or do not want.”
“I… I want to be forgiven.”
“Forgiven?” This he had not expected. “Forgiven for what?”
“I swore to my mother as she lay dying in my arms that I would take care of Connell. I failed her.”
Mathios frowned and shook his head. “You have not failed anyone. You mother would have been proud of what you have achieved, of the care you have given your brother.”
“It is my fault that he was hurt. I should have protected him.”
“It was not your fault,” Mathios argued. “There was nothing you could have done.”
Merewyn grasped his arm. “I was distracted, too busy to play with him. I should have been watching Connell, I should have seen him get too close to the pot.”
“As should Olav, and Hakon. Even Vikarr. All bear equal responsibility, but however careful we are, the young are vulnerable. We will all be more vigilant in future. We do our best, and can offer no more. Even you, little Celt.”
“You do not understand…”
Mathios sighed. She was correct, he did not understand all this self-blame.
“I deserve to be punished for failing to keep my promise.”
“Merewyn, I do not think—”
“Please.” She grasped his arm even tighter. “Please, you can help me.”
“In what way?” He regarded her earnest features, the distress and guilt evident in her brown eyes.
“You could spank me. It is what I deserve.”
“I do not believe that it is. No one here thinks that.”
“I think it. I cannot forgive myself.”
“Ah, now that is different,” he agreed, “but even so I consider your judgement to be over-harsh.”
“Please. It… it worked before… in the barn. I felt guilty, deeply ashamed of my foolishness, the danger I created for all. You punished me, then forgave me. So, I thought…”
He raised one eyebrow. “You want me to take you out to the barn for a switching? Do I understand you correctly?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”
“That would have to wait until tomorrow, since my men are asleep and I expect your caterwauling would disturb them. We would have an audience, for sure.”
“I… I know that.”
“Can you wait?”
“I suppose so, if we must.”
“There is an alternative, if you prefer.”
“What?”
“My belt, and you bent over yonder table, your bottom bared. I would need to gag you, I daresay, because you would likely wake everyone with your din.”
She gazed up at him, her lips parted. “Your belt? Would that hurt? As much as the switch did?”
“Yes, it could. If I chose to make it so.”
“It has to hurt. You do understand…?”
“Oh, yes, I understand. I do not agree that today’s incident merits this, but I do understand. If you are bent on this course I will do my part to aid you. And after, when your head is again clear and your guilt assuaged, I intend to fuck you until you forget your own name. Do I make myself plain?
“You do, sir. Shall I… shall I remove my nightshirt now?”
Mathios sighed again. “Yes. If we must do this then let us be getting on with it.”
He rolled from the bed and reached for his clothes, which he had discarded scant minutes before. Mathios dragged his own trousers back on and picked up the stout leather belt that usually held his dagger and often enough his sword. He set his weapons aside though, and doubled the strap in his hands. It made a formidable implement of discipline and his little Celt would remember this night for a long time.
She slipped from the bed also, and tugged the long woollen shirt that she usually wore to sleep in over her head. Merewyn was naked beneath, a sight he never tired of, but on this occasion, he would not make her wait while he enjoyed the view. He tilted his head in the direction of the table.
Displaying obedience that bordered on eagerness, she stepped past him and draped herself over the rough oak board. Mathios was reasonably certain that her enthusiasm for this endeavour would evaporate by the third stroke of his belt, but he admired her fortitude. First, though, he needed to see to her safety and to ensure that the rest of their household were not unduly disturbed.
He pulled a chair in front of Connell’s cot and draped a blanket over it to obstruct the boy’s view of the rest of the cottage. The child would not see what was happening, even if he did awaken. Mathios thought that unlikely, the child slept like the dead, but the precaution seemed necessary.
Next, he returned to their bed and used his dagger to slice a narrow strip of fabric from one of the blankets, which he then cut in half again. He returned to where Merewyn awaited him.
“I will tie your hands behind you to keep them out of the way.”
She nodded and allowed him to draw her hands into the small of her back, and to bind her wrists.
“And now, the gag. Open your mouth, if you would, Merewyn.”
She obeyed, and he balled the other fabric strip up and stuffed it between her lips.
“Ten strokes,” he announced.
She turned her head to look at him, and he wondered if she might argue had she been free to do so. He rather suspected she might have tried to make the case for more, certainly he had delivered many more than ten strokes with the switch before he considered her suitably chastened, but then he had believed her to be culpable. Whatever she might wish to say, it would have availed her nothing. His mind was made up, and although she had requested this punishment, the doing of it was up to him. He would determine what was needed. Ten strokes would be concluded quickly, Connell would likely sleep through it, and Merewyn would achieve the suitably throbbing backside she deemed necessary. And, he hoped, a wet and needy cunny.
“Ready?”
She nodded, and clenched her delectable bottom. He laid his palm on her left cheek and squeezed hard.
“Keep this soft and relaxed for me or I might be minded to insert a piece of ginger into your arse to remind you not to clench.”
Her eyes widened, her shock at the lewd suggestion apparent. She shook her head vigorously and made inarticulate sounds behind the gag.
Mathios chuckled. “Not on this occasion, but perhaps the next time I have cause to take issue with your behaviour. It will be an educative experience for you.”
She continued to regard him over her shoulder as he positioned himself behind her. Mathios met her gaze once more, offered her a brief nod to signal that he was about to start, and he picked his spot on her arse.
The first stroke landed on her right cheek. Merewyn jerked hard and grunted into the gag. It had been a relatively benign introduction to his belt, and Mathios followed it up with three more strokes in rapid succession. Merewyn danced on the balls of her feet, her muffled squeals echoing around the dwelling. Mathios cast a glance across to Connell’s cot, relieved to see that the little lad still slept peacefully. Even with his view blocked, Mathios would not continue if the child was disturbed.
“Spread your legs for me, Merewyn,” he commanded.
She turned to look at him, panic in her tear-filled eyes.
“Fear not, I do not intend to hit you there. I merely wish you to show me how wet you are.”
Seemingly mollified, slowly she inched her thighs apart.
“Wider,” he instructed. “And lift your bottom up so that I can see.”
She obeyed, treating him to a beautiful view of her swollen cunny, her sweet little clitty already peeping out from beneath its hood. Her juices glistened, dampening her inner thighs and threatening to leave a pool on the earthen floor before much longer.
“Ah, I see you are enjoying yourself, my Celt.” He swiped his palm along the length of her slit, pausing to dip two fingers into her entrance. The sounds of her wetness now filled the dwelling, decadent and dirty and wondrously erotic. Mathios’ cock leapt within the confines of his trousers. “So eager. I look forward to burying my rod deep in here. Do you think you might like that too, little wench?”
Merewyn nodded, her hips writhing as he thrust his fingers in and out of her tight, slick channel. Her punished bottom glowed in the meagre light cast by the oil lamp and Mathios admired his work so far. Four bright crimson welts bloomed on her creamy skin.
“Ah, but we have work to finish, do we not? The matter of your suitable chastisement remains. Six more strokes, I believe. Do you agree?”
He continued to drive his fingers in and out of her cunny, adding a third digit when she failed to respond to his question. Then, as suddenly as he had started, he stopped and withdrew.
“Settle down, girl and lift your bottom for my belt.” He hardened his voice, injecting a note of stern authority. “I do not believe you are suitably punished yet.”
She panted through the gag as she waited for the next stroke but this time Mathios took his time. It would do her no harm to reflect on the reason they were here. She wanted to be absolved of her guilt over Connell’s misadventure and he intended to achieve exactly that.
The fifth and sixth strokes were harder than the ones that had preceded them. Livid welts blossomed at once, and Mathios paused to draw his fingers along the length of each new stripe. Merewyn sobbed quietly. He believed they were making progress.
The next two were harder still. She let out a muffled yelp as each fell, her body lurching forward against the unrelenting oak of the table. Tears flowed across her cheeks and her slender form shuddered as she struggled to absorb the pain. She did well, he acknowledged. The wench had courage and resilience.
He laid the final two stripes across the backs of her thighs. Merewyn screamed soundlessly behind the gag but she lay still, her surrender absolute.
They were done.
Mathios released her hands, then pulled the rag from her mouth. Her jaw worked and she hollowed her cheeks as she peered up at him through her tears. Mathios bent to kiss her forehead, then returned to his position behind her. Merewyn’s legs were still spread wide, her readiness and arousal if anything more apparent and framed by her beautifully punished bottom.
He parted her buttocks with his fingers and admired her swollen nether lips before using the fingers of one hand to spread her entrance open. Her clitty was plump and pink but he ignored the quivering nub for now. Instead he plunged three fingers deep into her cunny and relished the way her inner muscles convulsed around his digits. She moaned, rolled her hips, and squeezed him hard.
He unfastened his trousers to release his engorged cock, the solid length jutting forward to nudge her bottom. Clear liquid seeped from the end, the head swollen and smooth and aching to be driven deep inside her. His balls throbbed, his rod twitched. This would not take long.
He continued to fuck her with his fingers, building her arousal. She thrust back against his hand, her incoherent moans and pleas signalling her need.
Mathios withdrew his fingers and placed the crown of his cock against her entrance. He drove it forward, at the same time taking her clit between his finger and thumb and tugging hard. He squeezed the sensitive bud as he impaled her on his wide cock, then held still, his rod buried balls-deep inside her, as she convulsed around him.
Merewyn’s release was swift and powerful. He treated her to several rapid, shallow thrusts to help prolong the climax, then succumbed to his own. Mathios let out a guttural growl and buried himself to the hilt as his balls contracted and his semen filled her hot, tight channel.
He took a few moments to collect his wits, then withdrew his now softening cock. Merewyn lay boneless across the table. He kissed the sensitive spot between her shoulder blades.
“Tell me, my Celt, are you quite satisfied now? In every way?”
She nodded, a small smile curling her lips.
“Might we get some sleep now, do you imagine?”
“Yes, sir, I think we could.”
Mathios lifted her and carried her back to the bed. When she would have reached for her nightshirt, he shook his head.
“You will not require that. I believe I may not be quite finished with you yet.”