Chapter Six
Ulfric strode along the rough track that led from the slave sheds back into the heart of his settlement. He was satisfied that all was in order and that Brynhild had done her work well in his absence. The new quarters were basic but would serve. The shelters were set at a distance from the main habitation but were weathertight and secure so he had every confidence the captives from this most recent raid would survive the coming winter. It would be a waste to permit otherwise since he had gone to such trouble to acquire them, and good slaves were a valuable commodity. He might sell a few in the spring if his granary was ready by then.
He nodded to several of his karls as he passed, asking a question here, offering a comment there. Whip-thin hounds trailed after him in anticipation of a morsel or two, but he ignored them.
He had a morsel of his own awaiting him in his longhouse.
His inspection of the new buildings had been quick, but he had lingered over his assessment of his son’s progress with the short sword. Njal had worked hard and craved his father’s praise. Ulfric did not disappoint him. He was proud of his son and looked forward to the day the lad would accompany him on a Viking raid. Ulfric left the boy, his small chest puffed with pride, to continue his practice with the other youngsters.
By now his latest acquisition would be fed and washed, and ready for his attention. He wasted no more time in making his way back to his house.
Brynhild was not there when he entered. Only the young man, Harald, was present, tending the fire. He glanced up as Ulfric entered then leapt to his feet. The thrall appeared nervous, and Ulfric’s instincts were at once on alert.
“Is there a problem, Harald?”
The youth shook his head but did not meet Ulfric’s eyes.
“Where is my sister?” She would usually be at her loom at this time of day, but the apparatus stood idle beside the door.
“I am not sure, Jarl. I believe she may be purchasing grain…”
“Go. Find her. Wait.” The boy paused, already halfway to the door. “Where is the Celtic wench?”
“In your sleeping place, Jarl. Where you left her.”
Ulfric nodded and dismissed the servant. He strode across the room and swept aside the curtain separating his private quarters from the rest.
All looked to be in order. The bath was still there, near enough brim-full of water, and his slave lay on her side in his bed, huddling under a pile of furs.
“Celt?”
She started at the sound of his voice so he knew she heard him, but she did not turn to look at him.
Ulfric approached and sat on the bed beside her. He stretched out his hand to draw the covers from her shoulder. She shivered as his fingers made contact with her skin. She was freezing cold.
By Odin, what is this?
He saw now that there was no fire in this room, but the wench had plenty of bedding in which to wrap herself so should not be in such a state. Her hair was dripping wet, and when he touched the dark locks they were, if anything, colder than her quivering flesh.
“Fiona?” He reached for her now and took her in his arms to pull her close. She was as cold as ice, and as stiff as he drew her to his chest. “What has happened?”
She did not reply, but he could hear her teeth chattering. Her whole body shook against him.
“Harald! Get in here.” He bellowed the summons, but the thrall did not appear by the curtain. Ulfric recalled he had sent him in search of Brynhild. “Anyone. In here. Now.”
A smaller youth scuttled into view. Boyd? He was not great at recalling the names of all his thralls.
“What has been going on here?” demanded Ulfric as the lad shrank before him.
“It… We… The lady commanded it.”
“Commanded what? Tell me.”
“The water… For the bath, Jarl…”
“What about it?” He glared at the slave who shifted from one foot to the other, his features plainly terrified. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Ulfric extricated himself from Fiona’s frigid form and strode to the foot of the bed. As he peered into the tub he saw slivers of ice still floating on the surface of the water.
“By Thor’s balls,” he breathed, incredulous. “Why did she do that?”
“It was the lady’s wish, Jarl. She told us we would be whipped if—”
Ulfric silenced the miserable slave with a wave of his arm. “Get that shifted and a new tub brought in. A large one, the one I use. Then fill it with hot water. Get others to help, as many as you can find. And send someone in to light a fire in here. Quick, or I shall take a whip to you myself.”
The boy shot past Ulfric to grasp the handle on the side of the tub but with the weight of the water he was unable to lift it. Neither could he drag it unaided. With another curse Ulfric grabbed the other handle and helped the boy to heft the icy bath from his quarters. He left the lad to run for the new tub and summon such assistance as he might. Ulfric returned to Fiona, dragging his leather tunic over his head as he did so.
Back in his bed Fiona still lay, shivering, her eyes open and wary. Ulfric flung himself beside her and gathered her in his arms again. This time her chilled torso was in direct contact with his bare skin. It was like hugging a block of ice, but he wrapped his arms around her to share his warmth as he had the previous night. He dragged a blanket over the pair of them when Harald scuttled in with an armful of kindling and started to set a fire in the cold grate. The servant worked quickly, clearly anxious to be out of the furious Viking’s immediate orbit, and soon a small blaze crackled in the corner of the chamber. Harald scurried away.
“She… She…”
“Hush. I know. It is over now. I am here.”
“The water, so c-cold. She made me…”
“I am sorry. I should have…” What? What should he have done?
“She said I w-would be whipped if I did not do as she instructed. And you t-told me I must obey her, as well as y-you.” It was all his little Celt could do to get the words past her chattering teeth.
“I know. It was not your fault.”
“I… I hate the cold. And I am terrified of the whip.” She was weeping now, her sobs soft and low and heartrending in her misery. Ulfric cursed his own stupidity; he should not have left her here alone.
He held her in his arms as Boyd, Harald, and two other youths trooped in and out. First they delivered the large bathtub normally reserved for him and others of his immediate kin, then they staggered back and forth bearing a succession of buckets brimming with water. He was gratified to see the steam rising from each one as they passed him, their heads bowed.
None was prepared to meet his furious gaze or to face his wrath, though Ulfric knew it would be futile to heap the blame upon helpless servants. They did as they were told. They had no choice, just like Fiona.
When the water level was within a few inches of the brim Ulfric dismissed the servants with instructions that he was not to be disturbed again, for any reason. If—when—Brynhild returned they were to inform her that he wished his sister to await him in the longhouse. He had much to say to her.
“Time for another bath, little Celt. A hot one this time.”
She actually whimpered, as though she did not trust his words. Ulfric wasted no more time. She needed to be warmed up. He cradled her in his arms, her nude body still trembling though he believed she was already thawing a little. The fire had helped, the warm water would speed the process. He stood and carried her to the tub, then bent to allow her to dip her shackled foot in the steaming water.
“How does that feel?”
“It is hot…”
“Too hot? I can have them bring—”
“No! No, it is good. Thank you.”
Ulfric supported her as she slowly lowered herself into the warmth, then as she sank back against the edge of the tub. Her eyelids lowered and her lips curled in an expression of utter contentment. She would be all right. This time.
He knelt beside the tub and for the first time allowed his gaze to drift over her nakedness. This was his first glimpse of her breasts, though he had known the plump curves would be quite breath-taking when he finally bared them. He had been right. Her nipples were hard, swollen, and he promised himself he would ensure they remained so even after the effects of the frigid bath were gone.
He ventured further, admired her softly rounded belly. Under the water he could make out the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. He longed to touch her, to explore her thoroughly now he had her here, but first he must see to her comfort. He stood and fetched a lump of soap made of the kernels of horse chestnuts, and found a rough flannel on the floor. He assumed the latter had been previously supplied by Brynhild, but it would do for his purposes. He dipped the cloth in the hot water and rubbed the soap in to create a lather, then went to work.
Kneeling behind Fiona, he started on her shoulders. He drew the soaped flannel across them, first the left, then the right. He kept his touch light initially, then increased the pressure as he sensed that she was starting to relax. He lifted each arm in turn and soaped those, then dropped the flannel into the water and continued with just his hands. He stroked her slender limbs, then urged her to lean forward as he turned his attention to her back.
He caressed her shoulders, then worked his way down her spine, noting each ridge and hollow as he went. He reached the indent at the base of her spine and paused to admire the swell of her bottom as it shimmered beneath the water. He chose to ignore her gasp when he slid his fingers down the deep groove between her buttocks, but did not insist that she lift her body up to allow him full access. Instead he worked his way back up to her shoulders and held the delicate curves in his palms for several moments. Then he commenced his descent once more, this time reaching around to cup her delectable breasts.
She stiffened, but did not resist. That would be futile in any case. She was his, and though he had sworn not to rape her and he would keep his word, otherwise she was his to explore as he chose. Still, he had no wish to cause her any unnecessary distress.
“Fiona, you know I will not harm you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I am coming to believe that.”
“But…?”
“But I… I do not know. This is so strange. I should fight you.” She lowered her head, her chin tucked in to her chest.
“Do not,” he warned her softly.
“I will not, Viking.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of her damp head before continuing his quest. Her breasts were not large, but filled his hands nicely. Ulfric tested the soft weight, the gently rounded lower curves and the up-tilted nipples, the deep pink of her pebbled buds ringed by the softer hue of her aureole.
He took the tips between his thumbs and forefingers and squeezed, though not hard. He had no desire to frighten her yet more, though still she let out a soft squeal.
“Did I hurt you?” His voice was deliberately softened, the question murmured into her ear.
She shook her head.
“Would you like me to hurt you? Perhaps, just a little?”
Now she turned her face to regard him over her wet shoulder. Her gaze was perplexed, as though she could not entirely comprehend the meaning of his question. Ulfric tightened his grip on her nipples, the added pressure so slight as to be almost imperceptible. But it was enough. She blinked, her lips parted… and she whispered, “Yes.”
He smiled and leaned forward to brush her mouth with his. “That is a good choice, little one.”
He squeezed harder and tugged on her swollen buds. They lengthened between his fingers and her head dropped back to rest on the edge of the tub. This had the effect of arching her back to better present her breasts above the surface of the water, and Ulfric took advantage by shifting around to the side of the bath. He cupped her left breast in his hand and lifted the peak up, then took it between his lips.
Fiona jerked and let out another sharp cry, though not of pain, he was certain. Now he circled her right nipple with his fingers as he sucked on her left, pressing the hard tip against the roof of his mouth.
“Oh! Oh, Ulfric… please…”
He relaxed the suction, but scraped his teeth across her sensitive bud, then he held it between his teeth as he flicked the tip with his tongue. Fiona writhed in the water causing small waves to splash over the edges, her soft moans and gasps utterly intoxicating. Ulfric released her left nipple and moved across to treat the other one in similar fashion. His little Celt was squirming in the bathtub, her fingers tunnelling through his hair as she grabbed his head and pressed it to her sensitive breasts.
“Ulfric… Oh, oh, dear Lord…”
He slipped his free hand down her body and cupped her mound briefly before continuing on to stroke between her folds. Her thighs parted for him as far as she was able within the confines of the tub and she lifted her hips. She may protest, though less vociferously now, but her body was on fire for this and he would fan the flames.
“I wish to cleanse your lower body. Can you stand, do you think, if you lean on me?”
“I… I am not certain. Perhaps…”
“Shall we find out?”
He stood and offered her both his hands. She took them, and slowly rose to stand in the water.
“Warm enough now?”
“Yes, Ulfric. Thank you.”
“Rest your hands on my shoulders.” He lowered himself to his knees and started to draw the flannel up first one leg, then the other. Fiona leaned forward to rest her weight on him and he noted that she was holding her left foot off the bottom of the tub. And that the binding was gone. Why had he not spotted that earlier?
“Your bandage?”
“She ordered me to remove it.”
“Then we should replace it at once. I assume it was helping?”
“Yes, very much. Though I suppose it would have needed to be changed once it became wet.”
“Even so, I will say when it is to come off. And now, my little Celt, since my exploration of your body has barely begun, I shall require you to spread your legs wide for me. I fear I must return you to my bed where you will be more comfortable as your ankle will not bear the strain.”
She made no comment, which Ulfric took to be an encouraging sign. He rose to his feet and lifted her from the tub, and was gratified when she looped her hands about his neck and pressed her body against his naked chest.
“You are very beautiful.”
Had he heard her correctly? “I beg your pardon, little Celt.”
“I said that you are beautiful. I had not known that a man could be so… so… perfect.”
He would not have described himself thus, but saw no sense in disputing her assessment at this precise moment. Ulfric laid her on the bed and stood over her to appraise her nude body, now glowing a healthy shade of pink and no longer shivering.
“And you are quite lovely also, Fiona. I thought so the moment I first saw you.”
“Yet you bound me, threatened me, and abducted me.”
“As for the first two, it was a somewhat heated moment and you had just felled two of my warriors with your sling. As to the third, I have no regrets. I want you. I wanted you from the start, so I took you. Because I could.”
She looked up at him and held his gaze. Even yesterday she would have berated him about his treatment of her and her people, but today something had shifted. Maybe he had his sister to thank for this change in attitude, though she would receive no fair words from him for her ill treatment of his helpless captive. Ulfric glanced about the chamber but could not see the bandage he had fashioned yesterday. No matter, he could replace it. He lifted the lid of a storage chest and groped within for a length of linen. He tore the fabric into strips and sat on the edge of the bed close to Fiona’s feet and gently lifted her injured ankle to lay it across his thighs. He wrapped the bandage around it again, pulling it tight to provide the support she needed. The first time he had done this she had lain fearful on the ground, but now she relaxed in his bed, her eyes closed and her mouth curling in a hint of a smile.
Ulfric completed the task, tugging the bandage tight since that would offer more support. He tied it off then glanced up at his captive’s face. Fiona lay still, her eyes closed, though she opened them as though aware of his perusal. Her irises were a stormy grey, dark, rich with some sort of heady allure. He was sure she did not intend to beckon him with her gaze, but that was the effect even so. She made no further attempt to conceal her nudity from him, seemingly content to allow him to look at her as he pleased. As she should.
Turning to face her fully, Ulfric gently parted her legs, pushing her ankles wide. Her expression remained serene. She wanted this. Him.
He glimpsed the damp sheen of her sex peeking from between her spread thighs, already wet for him though she had hardly the barest notion of what that meant. She had been startled, astonished, by her response in his bed the previous night but he intended to continue her enlightenment here and now.
Ulfric stroked his hands up her inner calves to her knees, then pressed to widen her legs even more. She bent her knees obligingly and allowed him to push her thighs apart, revealing her dark pink lower lips, now gleaming with her arousal. The tip of her clitty was just visible, peeking out from within its hood as though begging for his attention. He would not disappoint.
“Put your hands behind your head, and keep them there. It will be as though I bound them again.”
“There is no need to tie me to your bed, Viking. Even if my ankle would hold me, I do not think I would desire to leave just yet.”
“I am delighted to hear that, but there are many reasons a man may choose to tie a wench to his bed. You will do as I say.”
It was a command, though gently made, and she obeyed him. Her features remained tranquil, even as the new posture caused her to arch her back and lift her breasts up for him to admire. Surely she did not do this innocently? She must realise how her acquiescence, her obedience, her lush availability affected him? She was young, yes, but not a child. And she had been betrothed to the thrall who had looked as though he might tear Ulfric’s head from his shoulders given the slightest opportunity. He did not have a look of a man who would leave his beautiful bride-to-be in ignorance of her sensual charms. Ulfric’s cock lurched to full attention as his captive writhed before him on the furs.
“How old are you, Fiona?”
She opened her eyes fully to regard him. “Nineteen summers, Viking. And you?”
He grinned at her forthright question. “I shall not see my thirtieth summer again, wench. Tell me, how long were you betrothed to your fierce Celtic warrior?”
Her expression hardened, and he at once regretted his words.
“Do not mock Taranc. He is a fine man and… and I love him dearly.”
By Odin’s fucking balls. This he did not need.
“You are no longer his.” The statement came out as more of a growl.
Fiona made to scramble away. “I was never his. He is a good and gentle person, he would never…”
“Do not move.” His command was harsh, but effective. She paused, bristling with resentment as she lay, splayed before him. Ulfric cursed again under his breath, though his anger was directed at himself and his stupid remark. He had behaved like a jealous lad when he knew full well the thrall presented no threat to him or to his plans for this captive. He was a fool, but he was not about to let that ruin his plans for this little Celt’s deflowering.
“I apologise. I was tactless, but meant no offence, to you or this… Taranc?” It was a name unfamiliar to him.
She gave a wary nod.
“So, you will oblige me by returning your hands to the position I instructed you to maintain, and settling back down to listen to me.”
Her beautiful eyes flashed, their colour reminiscent of the ocean in the throes of a storm, but she obeyed him.
Ulfric had intended to weave a web of sensuality around her and draw her in slowly, but now changed his strategy. Instead he would go for a quick overwhelming of her senses. Despite his apology—which was a rare enough occurrence he would concede—she was angry still. He felt it, and would channel that passion. His hands still rested on the insides of her knees, but he held her slate-grey gaze as he drew his palms up her inner thighs.
Her eyes widened, darkened. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. He allowed his own lip to quirk as he retraced his path back to caress her knees. The next time he slid his hands up he hovered close to that delightful hollow where her thighs and pussy met, his fingers just brushing the soft curls that nestled there.
“Viking…” Her voice was a low groan, breathy and laboured.
“Celt?” he responded, “what do you want?”
She rolled her head from side to side, though she never moved her hands from the position he had ordered. “I do not know. I have not the words…”
“Do you want me to pleasure you, as I did last night?”
She flattened her lips and pressed them together, then nodded hard.
“I shall, if you ask me.”
“Please…”
“Please what, little Celt? What do you want from me?”
Long moments passed, which Ulfric punctuated by tracing the tips of his thumbs around the edge of her outer lips. He would not hurry her now. There was no need.
“Pleasure,” she whispered. “I want you to give me pleasure.”
“And I want to taste you.”
“T-taste…?”
“Mmm, like this.” Before she could utter so much as a squeak of surprise he had parted her pussy lips with his thumbs, then dipped his head to drag the flat of his tongue along her slit.
Fiona’s hips jerked upwards but he had wrapped his fingers around her luscious bottom and held her against his mouth as he repeated the action. She writhed in earnest as he pressed harder, thrashing about under him. He slid the tip of his tongue into her sweet entrance, tasting the juices there before continuing on to wrap his lips around her clit. He drew the swollen bud into his mouth and applied just a little suction to make her gasp.
He released her clit and returned his attention to her pussy, the entrance spread wide by his gentle fingers. He licked and lapped, plunged his tongue as deep inside her as he was able, then traced the outer edges of her soft folds as she went wild beneath him. She was close, he knew, when he lifted his head to meet her gaze.
“Is this the sort of pleasure you had in mind, little Celt?”
“Yes,” she croaked. “Exactly that.”
“More, then?”
She nodded, her agreement near frantic now. “More, yes. Much more.”
He returned to his task, suckling on her clit as he eased first one, then two fingers inside her. She was a virgin, he knew, and he might break her flimsy barrier this way, which would ease matters for her later. If she were to ask him…
He curled his fingers within her, searching for that spot that would… yes! There, he had it. Fiona let out a keening cry as her slick, hot walls convulsed around his digits.
Ulfric rubbed. He suckled, he flicked the tip of her swollen nub with his tongue, and he drove his fingers deeper yet as she cried out in her pleasure. He knew the exact moment when sensation overwhelmed her. Fiona bucked and moaned, her features contorting in ecstasy as her body shuddered in his hands.
When she stilled, at last, he lifted his head and withdrew his fingers, though not fully. He continued to stroke them in and out of her quivering entrance, just the tips, just enough to acquaint her with the sensation and tease her to crave more.
“Viking, I… I…”
He kissed her inner thigh, then pressed his open mouth against her smooth flesh.
“Do not stop. I want… more.”
“There is more, but you must ask for it.”
“I know,” she groaned, her voice tortured now. “I know what you want me to say.”
“This is about what you want. If you desire it, then say it. Ask me for what you need.”
“I need you to fuck me.” It seemed that she spat the words at him, as though desperate to force the monstrous expression past her reluctant lips. He cared not for the niceties, it was sufficient that she had uttered the request. Now, he would be delighted to comply with her heartfelt plea.