Chapter Four
Ulfric extricated himself from the determined grip of his raven-haired captive and eased her down onto the soft bracken that would serve as her mattress this night. He left his cloak wrapped around her, along with the furs and blanket from the fallen tree. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully so he slipped from the makeshift bed and left in search of food.
His men had managed to take a couple of rabbits, and had satisfied their own hunger. They had kept enough back for their leader and the Celtic girl so Ulfric gathered up their portions and returned to the nest beside the fire. Fiona did not wake when he settled himself beside her, and he considered allowing her to sleep now.
No. She had not eaten well in days, he knew that. Utter fatigue might have felled her this evening, aided by a decent switching, which would drain the energy from more robust constitutions than he believed she might lay claim to. She possessed the most delightful curvy bottom, now beautifully adorned by the stripes he had laid there, but otherwise the Celt was so slender she might be blown away by the merest breath of a Nordic wind. There was little enough weight to her as it was and he could not help but note the fragility of her wrists and ankles as he had bound her and tended to her injury. It was vital that she eat, and sleep would come after.
“Wake up, little one. You must eat.”
Fiona did not stir.
Ulfric laid the food down and reached for her slim shoulder. He gave her a gentle shake. “Fiona, wake up.”
She furrowed her brow and muttered into the fur that covered the lower half of her face. “No, I am tired…”
“I know, and you may sleep soon. First, you should eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“Liar. Sit up and I shall help you.”
She opened her eyes to gaze up at him blearily. His cock hardened, stirred by the sultry smokiness of her grey gaze. He had only just managed to regain some semblance of control following her switching but it seemed he had but to look at her and he was ready to make a spectacle of himself. By the gods, he would enjoy this wench, but first he had to feed her and bring her safe to his home. Then… well, then the fun might begin.
“I am able to feed myself, thank you.”
“I daresay, as a rule. But not with bound hands.”
“Then…”
“No. I do not greatly care for the prospect of allowing you to cave in what remains of my skull as soon as I fall asleep. You shall remain bound until the morning.”
“But I said I was sorry, and you forgave me.”
“True, but shall we not tempt fate, eh? So, are you ready for this?”
He selected a fine piece of the roasted rabbit and dangled it beneath her nose, then smiled when she licked her lips. Now she offered no resistance as he slid his free arm under her shoulders and brought her to a sitting position. He held the morsel to her lips and Fiona took it in her mouth and chewed.
“Is that good?”
“Yes. Very.” Her stomach growled loudly and Ulfric laughed. He had been right to wake her.
“Here, have another piece.”
They shared the meat, though he selected the best mouthfuls for her. She ate with relish, thanking him for each bite he offered. When the carcase was picked bare he flung the bones into the nearby trees for the wild creatures to finish off.
“Do you need a moment…? For your comfort?” He would have to assist her since there was no way she would manage to hobble, alone and bound, into the privacy of the trees and do what was needful.
Fiona did not reply at first, and he waited. She may be slight of form but the wench was not short of dignity. Still, the outcome was inevitable. At last she nodded, so he made short work of picking her up in his arms and striding into the undergrowth with her. Ulfric maintained his brisk demeanour as he helped her to crouch, then lifted her skirts so that she was able to clutch the bundle of fabric with her bound hands. When she indicated that she was done he cradled her in his arms again and returned her to the fireside where her cocoon of furs and blankets awaited her.
“We leave for Skarthveit at first light. Now, we sleep.”
“We? But—”
“Do you not recall my description of your new role, little one? We must work on your powers of recall, evidently. You are my bed-slave, which means you will share my bed. This…” he swept his hand to indicate the pile of warm bedding, “…this is my bed.”
“Yours?”
“Mine.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Or perhaps more accurately, ours. Make yourself comfortable. I need to issue my instructions for the morning, then I shall return to you.”
His men were already curled up within their own pelts and throws so Ulfric did not trouble them unduly. He made his way back to where Fiona lay huddled on her side facing away from him. Ulfric made no ado but simply slung his sword belt to the ground and slipped in behind her.
The slim body next to him was rigid. He reached for her and laid his hand on her hip. Fiona flinched, but he did not withdraw. She was his property, he would touch her as he chose. Ulfric dragged a blanket under his head and bundled it into a pillow of sorts, then he closed his eyes.
He was tired, but sleep eluded him. Fiona too, if the tension in her stiff form was any indication. Perhaps a half hour had passed by the time he leaned up on one elbow to regard the back of her dark head. By now she was shivering.
“You are cold.”
“No. I am quite all right.”
“You are lying, and I do not care for it. Move closer. I will warm you.”
“Why do you ask me? Why not just take what you want?” There was bitterness and resentment in her whispered tone. The salutary effects of her punishment were but fleeting, it would appear.
“Your memory is failing you even more badly than I feared. I told you, there will be no forced lovemaking, no rape, and I meant it. I also promised to take care of you, which includes ensuring you do not freeze to death in the fucking night. So get over here to me. Now.”
He was gratified to be treated to no further protests as she wriggled backwards into his arms. He pulled her closer, her trembling back hard up against his chest. By Odin, but she was cold, he should have taken action sooner.
Ulfric wrapped his body around her, his forearms pressing against her plump breasts and his still swollen cock hard up against her buttocks. She must be able to feel his arousal but he saw no merit in concealing it from her. She would become more than familiar with his rampant cock in the coming hours and days. Fiona was still rigid, but despite her obvious apprehension she softened as his warmth seeped into her. Ulfric had spent more nights than he could count sleeping under the stars in his native land and he rarely felt the cold. He supposed he must possess some inner furnace and he was happy to share the benefits with the captive female who now nestled under his chin.
“Is that better?”
“I… I suppose it is. Thank you.”
“In the future, you will be honest with me regarding your needs. If you are cold, hungry, hurting, I want to know.”
Her voice was small when she responded, he almost did not hear her. “Even when it is you who is causing the hurt?”
“Especially then, my beautiful little Celt. Especially then.”
“And if I do not?”
“I still have a spare switch. Never forget that, and never doubt I will use it.”
“I understand.” Was that a note of lingering defiance in her quiet voice? He would test that but now was not the time. She had borne enough for one day.
“Good. So, you will sleep now.”
Moments later her breathing slowed, steadied. Her body no longer trembled. She pressed closer to him, absorbing the heat he shared. His cock remained swollen and throbbing, but he could do little to assuage that need now.
Soon though. Soon, she would beg him to fill her and he would take great pleasure in sinking his cock deep within the lush, slick folds he had glimpsed as she lay bared to him over that fallen tree. Oh, yes, with the investment of a little time, patience, and a good degree of firmness, he suspected his latest acquisition would make a most rewarding bed-slave.
* * *
Ulfric woke as thin slivers of daylight poked the frigid land. Fiona lay draped over him, her soft breasts pressing against his chest and one slim leg slung over his thighs. The jab of metal told him it was her shackled foot that she had used to scramble as close as she might, instinctively protecting her injured ankle. Her breathing remained low and unhurried, her features relaxed in sleep. She was beautiful, he mused, not for the first time. He had thought so the moment he had spun her around after having divested her of that bloody slingshot, the instant he had looked into those lovely eyes and started to lose his senses.
He had raided her village in search of strong male backs to provide the hard labour required to construct his harbour and his granary. A pretty wench offered welcome enough relief after the stress of a swift and deadly attack, but he would not normally go to the bother of bringing the lass home with him. This one was different, and she had been from the start. She brought out the best—or the worst—in him. He wanted her more than he had ever desired any woman, even the sweet Astrid whom he had married and who had borne him his only child.
And now he had her. This little Celt was his for the taking.
Ulfric strained his neck to peer about him in the thin light of dawn. Already his men were stirring, soon the camp would be up and on the move. He needed to rouse his captive, and he could think of no better way…
He reached for the hem of her woollen skirt, already hiked up around her knee, and he tugged it slowly to her hip. He paused there to trail his fingers up and down her exposed thigh, and knew the precise moment she registered his actions. Her soft form flinched, then stiffened and her breath caught in her throat.
“Good morning, little Celt. I trust you slept well.”
“What are you doing?” Her voice was breathy, her fear of him already apparent despite her seeming trust as she slept.
“I am exploring. I believe I mentioned this to you already.”
“You promised…” She made to wriggle away but his arm around her waist prevented such awkwardness.
“I said your body was mine to explore, to pleasure, and to punish. I hope the latter will not prove needful this fine morning, but as to the first two…”
“Please… do not…”
“Mine, wench. You will no doubt recall the consequences of disobedience.”
“Why must you continue to threaten me? We both know how this will end. I am not a fool, I know what to expect.”
Ulfric paused, his palm now resting against her exposed buttock. He squeezed gently. “I rather think you have no idea whatsoever what you might expect from me. You do know, now, that disobedience will get you punished…” He squeezed her tender bottom again by way of reminder, “…but submission brings its own rewards also.”
“It is not submission when you offer me no choice. When you threaten to beat me if I do not… do not—”
“We shall see. And I shall not beat you, ever. You will be spanked if you deserve that, but I will do you no harm. For now, I shall be content to settle for a more intimate exploration of the sweet lips I and my men glimpsed yesterday evening when you were so delightfully displayed for us over yonder tree trunk.” He smiled to himself at her anguished whimper but pressed on with his assault on her senses and her emotions. He had no doubt at all that she had hated being bared to them and treated to ten hard strokes of the switch. It had been necessary, and she had found the entire experience painful and humiliating. The wench would never admit to desiring any repetition of it. He had taken that at face value, but the glistening sheen that coated her nether lips as he wielded the switch was not lost on him, nor was her outpouring of vulnerability and need afterwards. His little Fiona had been aroused on some level, and he intended to test that response further now. She could deny it all she liked, but her body would tell him the truth.
She made as though to clamp her thighs together as he slid his fingers around and started to explore the deep crevice between her buttocks.
“No. You will remain open, spread for me.”
“Please…”
“Wider, little Celt.” He tapped her inner thigh, urging her to offer him better access.
“But, your men… They will know, and—”
“I doubt they will be shocked so please do not trouble yourself on that account. In any case, they have their own tasks to attend to. We are, to all intents and purposes, quite alone.”
It was clear that she did not believe him since the little wench lifted her head to gaze about her, then she dropped her chin again to rest on his chest. He found he did not entirely care for her air of dejection and defeat, but he supposed it was to be expected. She was powerless, clearly reluctant, but too afraid to resist his demands.
Perhaps it is too soon?
No. He was her master, she his slave. He would have his way.
Ulfric resumed his sensual journey between her clenching buttocks, pausing when he reached the tight rosette of her rear hole. He circled that with one fingertip as she gasped and buried her face in the front of his woollen tunic.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head quickly, though he had no illusions regarding her opinion of such intimacies. He resumed his lazy play, pressing gently on that pursed ring of muscle until she pleaded with him to stop.
“Sir? Ulfric? I have never… please, not there.”
“No, of course not there, not this time. But soon…”
He moved on, now slipping his fingers lower to explore between her soft folds. Her soft and very moist folds.
Yes! He had known it. The Celtic wench might well be embarrassed and apprehensive, her mind recoiling in aghast horror at his bold and intrusive touch but her body was eager enough. She even parted her thighs for him, perhaps not realising what she was doing.
Still reaching around her, Ulfric spread her lower lips from behind and slid his fingers along the length of her slit. He stroked gently, back and forth, smearing the copious moisture on his fingers, then bringing it back to her puckered anus. This time when he pressed, the tip of his finger entered her. She squeaked, and he withdrew. It was enough.
He reached around and beneath her with his other hand, this time seeking her most sensitive little bud. He found it, already swelling and deliciously plump, and started to draw his fingers back and forth across the very tip. His touch was slow, lazy almost, but he knew exactly where to concentrate the sensation for the most devastating effect. This was her first time, he was sure of it. He would make sure she did not forget what he could do to her if he chose. If she earned it.
Fiona groaned, writhing against his hand. He did not believe she was even aware of her actions as he built the pressure, his unerring caress drawing out a response he was quite certain she had no idea might be lurking.
“Ulfric, what is happening? What are you doing?”
“Am I hurting you?”
“I do not know,” she answered, her tone one of pure dejection. “It feels… strange.”
“Is it unpleasant?”
“No,” she conceded miserably.
“And do you wish me to stop?” He had no intention of doing so, but was interested in her answer even so.
She did not offer a response at once, but wriggled her hips as she sought to angle her clit for better access, more friction. Ulfric rolled the sensitive nubbin between his finger and thumb before he repeated his question.
“Fiona, do you wish me to stop?” He squeezed softly.
“Oh, sweet Lord…”
“Fiona?” Another squeeze, firmer now.
“No. No, do not stop…” The words were wrung from her, a desperate, anguished moan as her first climax coiled and unfurled deep within her. She grasped his tunic with her still-bound hands and hung on to him as though afraid he might even now slip away.
“Do not fight me, little one.”
“I… I am not. I want… I need…”
“Let it go.” He rubbed her clit harder now, and using his spare hand slipped the tip of his finger back into her rear hole.
“Oh! Oh, I cannot… Ulfric, please…”
“Let it happen,” he repeated. “Let me have your release. Now.”
He was rewarded by her long, drawn-out moan of ecstasy as her body contracted and convulsed. He was tempted to sink his finger deeper into her arse, but resisted. He wanted her to be aware of every inch he would drive inside her tight channel when he finally took her, so for now he concentrated on drawing out her quivering response with his deft fingers playing her engorged clit.
At last she was still, silent again, and lying limp in his arms. He withdrew his finger from her arse and released her clit, then bent his head to kiss the top of her head.
“Any more bruises, little Celt?”
“What? What did you ask me?”
“I meant, are you all right?”
“I believe that I am. I am not quite sure…”
“Was that good?”
“Good?”
“Was that pleasant? Did it feel nice? To you?”
“It felt… very odd. You put your finger inside my… my…”
“I know where I put my finger, and I shall most certainly do so again so you will need to become accustomed to that notion. You did not want me to stop, though. Did you?”
“Of course I did.”
“No, you did not. I asked you and you said ‘no.’ Right before you found your release.”
“I did no such thing. You just… it was unexpected, that is all.”
“And you are still lying to me, little Celt. This is a bad habit of yours and I will cure you of it.”
“You are threatening me again? But, I did as you asked, and…”
“Be easy, you have pleased me well enough and despite your refusal to acknowledge the pleasure I gave you I shall not take a switch to you this morning. If nothing else, I need you able to sit a horse.”
“Oh.”
He eased her off his chest and arranged her next to him. Then he propped himself up on one elbow to regard her still perplexed features. “We will break our fast, then we should be on our way. Do you require another visit to yonder stand of trees before we leave?”
She reddened prettily. “I… yes, please.”
“Right then.” He smiled at her as he released her bound wrists. “Let us be getting on with it.”
* * *
The camp all packed up, Ulfric assisted Fiona to where his mount waited. He had considered rebinding her wrists when they returned from the brief sojourn in the nearby trees but decided against it. She could not hope to escape with her injured ankle, and he had learnt a hard lesson himself about underestimating his latest slave. He would afford her no further opportunity to seize or wield a weapon.
The large horse pawed the crisp earth as they approached, clearly ready to be on his way. It was a sentiment shared by Ulfric and his men.
“Grasp the saddle and hold on. I will help you up.” He swung himself onto the horse’s back then leaned down, his hand outstretched. Fiona took it, and he hauled her up before him into the saddle. “You will be more comfortable sitting astride.” He helped her to lift her leg over the steed’s wide back, then tucked his heavy cloak about the pair of them. “We will be perhaps five or six hours on the road. If you need to stop, you will tell me. Keep close to me and you will be warm enough.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. He noted that she made no attempt to sit forward, or to break contact with the warmth he offered. Ulfric was surprised to find that this pleased him, though he could not imagine why he would care. He gave the matter some thought. She was his slave, just property, but valuable even so. It made sense to take care of valued possessions. Satisfied, he urged his mount to the head of the line of men.
“Onward,” he called. “We will soon be home.”
* * *
“May I ask you a question?”
They had been riding for a couple of hours and the wench in his arms had been silent throughout. Now she turned to look up at him over her shoulder.
“If you wish.”
“How is it that you speak my language?”
“You are not the first slave to be taken from your land. I have listened to their speech all my life and picked up enough to manage.”
“You do not merely manage. You are fluent in my tongue.”
“Thank you. In time you will learn mine, I do not doubt.”
“Perhaps. But, the rest of your men, they do not understand my language?”
“No, they do not.”
“And the other Viking, the dark one with the scar?”
“No, my brother neither, though perhaps he should. His mother was a thrall too, another captive from your land. She died when he was very young, so had little enough opportunity to teach him her native tongue. Gunnar was raised as a Viking with me, in our father’s longhouse.”
“Is he still alive? Your father?”
“No.”
“Do you know if my father…? In the attack on our village, was he…?”
“I do not know. I am sorry.”
“I see.” She fell silent once more.