Chapter Twelve
The deck swayed under his feet, the rhythmic rise and swell of the waves failing to soothe him as they usually did. The wind was fresh, the furled sail fluttering against the ties that held it in place, the confined fabric seeking to be free. Once unleashed the swift longship would fly across the glimmering sea, carrying Mathios and his warriors back to the homes and loved ones they had not seen for months. He should be more enthusiastic. He should share the delight of his men that they had come safe through the winter, all who reached the shore had survived and their homeland was but a few short days away.
Mathios had first gone to sea aged no more than six or seven years old and had loved it his entire life. He had always lived within sight and sound of the roiling waves and he adored the music of it, whether the gentle splash of water against the hull or even the wilder, ominous crash of heavy swell that would toss a small craft about like tinder. All the sea’s mercurial moods excited and exhilarated him. The scents, too, the salty tang that filled his nostrils and the taste that lingered on his lips. He adored the endless motion of the planks beneath him, the sense that he was at one with his ship. But this day the usual joy, the anticipation, the tingle of excitement eluded him.
He was overwhelmed by sadness and the near-crushing weight of loss. He felt guilt, regret at the misery Merewyn had failed to conceal and for which he felt responsible. He had never intended to hurt her. At first, he had not thought their dalliance would amount to much, just a brief liaison to while away a cold winter and the enforced proximity of their situation. He had never expected her to be a virgin, and perhaps that had been his fatal error. He should have apologised, then left her alone. He should never have prised her story from her, nor made it his business to make amends for the wrongs committed by his countrymen. Without doubt he should not have held her in the night, buried his cock in her slick, hot channel at every opportunity, revelled in her artless but fervent response. Quite simply, she had delighted him, his little Celt. He had parted from her not two hours ago and already he missed her.
“So, you could not convince her to come along with us?” Olav materialised at his side and the pair of them surveyed the foaming waves ahead of the swift ship.
“I could not. Her mind was made up.”
Olav grimaced. “That farm of hers is fine enough, I daresay, but a patch of land is only that. I would have expected her to come with us for her brother, if not for you.”
“She did not choose to.”
“Was it because you punished her, over the matter of the mandrake? I had thought that was done with.”
“It was.”
“Did you lay hands on her again after that? Does she have reason to fear you?”
“No. Well, yes, but that was not the same. She does not fear me.”
“Then why? You and she… well, I thought… We all did.”
“She expected me to wed her.”
“Aye. Well?” Olav sounded unsurprised.
Mathios turned to glare at his companion. “‘Well’? What do you mean, ‘well’? The idea is ridiculous. You must see that.”
Olav shrugged. “I do not see a line of other women clamouring for your hand. If there is another you might wish to wed you have failed to mention this fact to me. What is wrong with Merewyn? Was she not to your liking after all?”
Mathios snorted. “Of course she was to my liking, I would not have fucked her every night for four months were she not pleasing to me. But even so, a wife…”
“A wife is a woman you can fuck every night should that be your wish. It sounds as though the wench was perfect.”
Mathios could not believe what he was hearing. “You believe I should have agreed to wed her? A Celt? We make thralls of her people, not wives.”
“It does not have to be so. You among all of us should know this.”
“You refer to my stepmother.”
“Of course. Your father developed a fondness for his female thrall and was determined to make her his wife. Despite your hostility to your father’s choice at first, has Rowena not proven to be an asset to your family? And now, though she is a widow and could have returned to her people since your father freed her, she chooses to remain in your longhouse. She cares for your boys well enough, and keeps your house for you.”
“Rowena is different, not typical. I was wrong about her, I have said as much.”
“I know that. You made your peace long ago. Your father loved Rowena and she was accepted as his wife.”
“Yes, but—”
Olav was not yet finished. “And the boy, Connell, will not be a slave.”
“He is half Viking.”
“So we understand, but that is not the reason Arne wants the lad. It is not usual for a Viking to take a bride from another people, especially among the Jarl, but neither is it unheard of.”
“Rowena is Welsh. They are more… biddable. You think a marriage between a Viking and Celt could work? Especially given what happened in the past, to Merewyn’s family?”
“She obviously thought so or she would not have suggested it to you.”
“You are saying I should have agreed to this… this madness?”
“If that would have been sufficient to convince her to come with us, if that was what it took, then yes. But if you do not want her, then I suppose—”
“Of course I fucking want her. It’s too late now though.”
“Aye, I suppose it must be, if you say so.” Olav turned, swaying, his movements graceful and agile for a man of his size. “Best get that sail properly unfurled. There’s a decent breeze getting up and if we look sharp we can catch it. Hey, Ormarr, to me…”
“Wait.” Mathios’ tone was harsh, tortured, even to his own ears.
Olav paused. “Yes, Jarl?”
“You really think I should have wed her?” Mathios growled the words over his shoulder, catching the attention not only of his second in command but the rest of his crew too. Several heads turned, ears pricked with interest.
“I see no compelling reason why not, Jarl. If you had wanted her.”
“I did. Do.”
“Do you love her?”
Mathios paused, then, “Aye, I suppose I do.”
A murmur of conversation rippled around the longship. It was Arne who spoke for the crew. “We could go back for her. We would lose a day, no more…”
Mathios shook his head. “She would not agree to come.”
“Then we will bring her anyway,” suggested Olav. “You could settle the details later.”
“No.” He had promised her, given his word on that at least and Mathios would not break it.
“Very well.” Olav shrugged. He had tried.
“Do you see that structure over there, on the shore?” Mathios pointed to the English coastline, still clearly visible as they skimmed the waves on their journey north. “It is a church, is it not?”
Olav squinted into the morning sun. “It looks to be, for sure.”
“What does a church usually have?”
“Treasure? Are you not more eager to see your home again, my friend, that you would suggest a spot of Viking to pass the time?”
“No, my friend, I am not interested in their gold plate, not this time. But a church usually has a priest and I believe I could make use of one of those.”
“You mean to abduct one of their holy men?” Olav feigned surprise. “You are considering a ransom, perhaps?”
Mathios shook his head. “No, I am considering a wedding.” He turned to Ivar and Ywan, each one at an oar. Behind them Ormarr and Hakon also rowed. “Bring us ashore on that outcrop. And be quick about it. They will see us approaching and doubtless they will make a run for it. I do not want to be chasing the fucking priest halfway across Northumbria.”
* * *
It was dusk when the Viking longship once again slithered to a halt on the stretch of shingle close to Merewyn’s small homestead. Father Allred, as they now knew the priest to be called, had been most reluctant to aid Mathios in his endeavour and had indeed made off across the meadow at first sight of the Viking ship approaching his shore. The Norsemen landed and gave chase. Eventually they caught the fleeing cleric cowering in a disused cattle shelter and clutching his crucifix. They had marched him back to their longship where it had taken the better part of an hour and several draughts of their finest mead before the man had eventually agreed to aid Mathios’ cause. Even so, he was adamant that he would not preside over a forced marriage, unless of course there was the possibility that the wench was with child. That would change everything.
Mathios believed such a circumstance could be arranged if it came to that. He assisted the priest aboard the longship and gave the order to return to Merewyn’s farm. He had a bride to claim.
As usual, Ivar and Ywan were left to guard the ship whilst the rest accompanied their leader up the steep cliff path that led to Merewyn’s cottage. The dwelling was in darkness when they arrived, and no smoke spiralled from the hole in the thatch roof.
“What the…?” Mathios shouldered the door open. The cottage was empty. He turned to the priest. “You, stay here. Vikarr too, and the baby. Get the fire going again. It’s fucking freezing in here. The rest of you, come with me. I want her found.”
They separated into two groups and started the search. Olav led Ormarr and Hakon back in the direction of the beach, while Mathios and Arne headed into the thickly wooded forest that surrounded the rear of the dwelling. He had an instinct, a feeling he could not quite define, but he was drawn to the clearing where he had first encountered his little Celt all those months before. Why she would come here, at night, alone, he had no idea, but it was in that spot he would seek her out.
And it was there he found her. He almost trod on the small figure hunched against a tree, her cloak huddled about her. She shivered as he crouched before her, peered at him, disbelief writ across her features.
Mathios reached for her, laid his palm on her cold cheek. “I have returned.”
“Why?” she whispered. “There is nothing you need here.”
“I need you,” he replied simply. “Come with me.”
She shook her head. “You do not need me and you do not want me, apart from in your bed.”
“I never said that. I said things which I should not have, but never that. Come home with me, to the cottage. I have a priest waiting for us there. We shall be wed, if that is what you want. I do not mind, I just want you.”
“You… you would wed me?”
“Aye, I would. I will, this very night. Then we will set sail again in the morning. I daresay we will have to return Father Allred to his church or he will make my ears bleed with his complaining, but after that we shall go to my land. Together.”
“But—”
He laid his fingers over her lips. “No. No arguments now. You have set out your conditions and I will meet them. It is done.”
* * *
The wedding was conducted with little fuss and even less ceremony. Father Allred insisted upon having a few words in private with Merewyn, following which he declared himself satisfied and willing to perform the nuptials. The exchange of vows took place in the clearing in front of Merewyn’s cottage and was witnessed by seven Vikings and a small boy, none of whom understood the strange and solemn Latin incantations recited by the priest. Despite this, they cheered and clapped their swords against their shields when the event was concluded and passed Merewyn among them to receive their hearty congratulations. Then they clattered back indoors to fill their bellies with some broth of indeterminate origins that had been hastily prepared by Vikarr, and ale that the Norsemen had left in the barn for Merewyn. She would not be requiring the supplies now and it was intended to load all they could carry and take it with them. Even the cow would accompany them to the Norseland. The goat and chickens would be set free.
Merewyn herself owned little in the way of personal possessions that she wished to take, with the exception of her mother’s chest, which was now empty since the disposal of her herbs and spices. “May I bring it with us anyway?” she asked Mathios. “It is not especially large, and…”
“Of course. It is yours. I am sure you will find a use for it.”
The meal concluded, Mathios issued a low command. Olav got to his feet and led the men from the cottage to take up residence for one final time in the barn. Father Allred would have remained, but Olav was insistent that the cleric accompany the rest. Connell, too, slept with the men. Alone with his new bride, Mathios reached across the table to take Merewyn’s hand.
“Why were you in the forest? It was not safe…”
She lowered her gaze to study their joined hands. “I… I found I did not care for safety, not after you had gone. I did not much care about anything at all.”
“I appreciate what it must have cost you to part from Connell.”
“Yes,” agreed Merewyn. “That was hard.”
“You were courageous and unselfish. I am proud of you.”
Merewyn shook her head. “I am neither. It broke my heart to let Connell go, but it was not only him I missed. I lost heart, lacked the courage to go on. As soon as you had left, I lost the will to do anything. I… I had thought I would manage, that I could cope alone. I cannot. I found I no longer wished to even try so I returned to the place where it began. I believed it would end there. As it did. You returned.”
“Few of us can manage alone, little Celt.” He paused, then, “I should never have expected you to, nor permitted you to try. I should have insisted that you accompany us.”
“You invited me.”
“It was not enough.”
“If you had taken me from here by force I would have fought you. I would not have forgiven you.”
“I believe you might have, eventually. But I should have met your conditions without argument.”
“You had no wish to wed me. I do realise that, and—”
“I love you, little Celt.”
“What?”
“I love you, Merewyn. And now, because you insisted upon it, you find yourself wife to a Viking. I know you fear and mistrust my people, so how will your hasty marriage suit you, do you think?”
“I believe I shall cope, Jarl.”
“You will have to, because I intend to keep you beside me. Always.”
She raised her gaze to smile at him. “That is as it should be.”
Mathios inclined his head. “I am glad we have that settled. There only remains the matter of your foolish wanderings in the forest. I believe you know what will happen now.”
“You will spank me.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Aye. For your own good. You must learn to keep yourself safe, especially now that you belong to me.”
“I did not belong to you when—”
“You split hairs which are quite narrow enough, Merewyn.”
“You will require me to remove my clothes and lie across the table?”
“The clothes, yes. But you shall lie over my lap this time.”
“I would prefer that.”
He smiled and leaned across the table to kiss her mouth. “Good.” He rose and crossed to the bed where he sat down. “Come now, my bride. Let us waste no time this night. We have an early start in the morning.”
Mathios watched as his wife of but a couple of hours undressed. The flickering lamplight cast enticing shadows over the contours and valleys of her body, a body now filled out from a winter of decent food and sufficient warmth. He had never thought her lovelier. Her breasts were firm, the peaks just slightly upturned and stiffening as she bared them to the air and to him. Her mound bore the soft brown curls he loved to twist between his fingers and as she moved toward him he caught a brief glimpse of the nether lips concealed between her thighs. She stood beside him, her hands behind her back in silent submission.
Mathios patted his lap. He had no need of words as she arranged herself across his thighs, her long, dark hair unbound and flowing to the earthen floor. Once in position, she returned her hands to the small of her back.
Mathios wrapped his larger hand around her slender wrists to hold her still and to offer her the contact, the reassurance, she seemed to desire and he longed to give. He raised his right leg just a little, enough to elevate her heart-shaped bottom and better present it to him.
“Part your thighs, Merewyn,” he murmured.
She did so, quick to obey.
Her cunny was moist, her juices already flowing in anticipation of what was to come. His little Merewyn took a spanking well, and she would improve every time she experienced a trip over his knee. Mathios intended her opportunities for betterment to be frequent, since she responded so prettily.
He started slow, dropping a series of light slaps over her buttocks, causing them to blush a pale, delicate shade of pink. Merewyn lay still, her breathing barely elevated. Mathios increased the intensity, adding weight to the spanks. He peppered her curved cheeks and the backs of her thighs. The flush deepened. Merewyn let out the occasional squeal, and started to wriggle.
“Be still, wench,” he commanded.
She settled, her breath now coming in quick pants as she fought to control her movements. Mathios continued to spank her.
The heat warmed his palm. He paused, briefly, to caress her now crimson buttocks and was gratified at the low moan she emitted. She was hurting—and loving it. Mathios slipped his hand between her legs to explore her drenched slit, and found her to be hot and slick and needy. He thrust two fingers inside her tight channel and finger fucked her hard for several seconds. Merewyn writhed and gasped, her inner muscles contracting to squeeze his digits. He added a third finger and twisted his hand to ensure he made contact with that most sensitive place he knew to be concealed within her depths.
He was aware when she came close to her release. He recognised the tell-tale moans, the increasingly desperate manner in which her hips rocked from side to side, the near frantic clenching of her inner walls. He pushed her to the very edge, then when he was certain she could take no more, he slid his fingers out.
“Mathios…” she wailed. “Jarl, please…”
“Please what, my Celt? You want me to spank you again, perhaps?”
“Yes, if you wish. If you think…”
“Very well.” He raised his hand again, and this time he slapped her hard enough to cause her skin to ripple. She let out an anguished wail, enough to bring his men running had they truly feared for her. “Hush, my sweet Celt. You would not wish to alert my warriors and the good father to your plight, would you? It would be a pity if we were interrupted.”
She shook her head. “I… I am sorry. I will be quiet.”
Mathios grinned. He was sure she would try.
He continued to rain hard, sharp spanks across her buttocks and thighs. Merewyn’s vow of silence lasted just three slaps, then she was shrieking again. Mathios ignored the din and continued to drop slap after sharp slap onto her naked buttocks.
“Why is this happening, Merewyn?” he demanded, pausing to allow her to answer.
“B-because I went into the forest,” she managed, between gulping sobs.
“So far, so good,” he agreed, then started to spank her again, the slaps heavier now, faster and harder. Merewyn screeched and squirmed, but he only tightened his grip and held her in place as he rained swat after swat onto her bright crimson behind.
“Why should you not go in the forest, Merewyn?”
“I should not go there alone. It is dangerous. Oh, please… I am sorry. I will not do it again. Please stop.”
“I shall decide when you have been sufficiently punished, not you. I intend to make quite certain you do not do something so foolhardy in the future. Why do you suppose that is, my little bride?”
“I do not understand. Please, you are hurting me, oh! Aaagh!” She let out a particularly loud scream when he delivered a hard slap to the back of her thigh. Now they were getting somewhere.
“What did I tell you, not more than a few minutes ago?”
“I cannot remember. Please, Mathios, I cannot bear it…”
He shook his head in mock disappointment though of course from her position across his lap she could not see it. “I tell you that I love you, and within mere minutes my declaration has escaped you entirely. Perhaps I should take a switch to you for your lamentably poor memory also.”
“No! Please, I did hear you say that. Of course, I remember it…”
“Then perhaps with that in mind you can now explain to me why you are not permitted to endanger yourself in such a manner. Indeed, in any manner.”
“B-because you love me, and I am yours to keep safe.”
“Exactly so, my little Celt. Now that we have that clear understanding between us, I believe a few more slaps will suffice to press the message home.”
Merewyn whimpered, sniffling against his thigh. But her struggles had ceased. She still grunted painfully with each additional slap he delivered to her quivering buttocks, but she no longer protested, no longer begged him to stop.
His own hand was smarting by the time she quieted fully at last and lay soft and yielding across his thighs, accepting her punishment with perfect submission.
He slowed the swats as she lay motionless, eventually laying his palm on her heated skin and pressing hard. His fingers left paler spots on her buttocks when he lifted his hand. She sobbed quietly, her breath now coming in gulps. She had earned her release.
Mathios parted her thighs, used his hands to push her legs apart. Merewyn did not resist. The lamp was dying, but still cast enough light for him to admire her glistening nether lips, and the plump bud that waited for his attention. She was close, hovering on the very edge of the precipice. The moment he touched her, anywhere, in any way, she would fly.
Gentle would have sufficed, but he opted for intense. This was, after all, their wedding night and he intended to create a memory his Celtic bride would cherish. He parted her lips with his fingers, causing the swollen pleasure nub to stand more erect, greedier. He took it between his finger and thumb and he pulled.
Merewyn let out a startled “Ooh!”
Mathios flicked his fingertip across the very top, his touch feather-light at first, then heavier. She started to shudder as her body responded to this final sensual assault.
He pressed, then rolled the sensitive nub between his fingers at the same time as he plunged the digits of his other hand deep inside her. Merewyn’s entire body convulsed, she shook, went stiff then relaxed as the tremors seized her. She thrust her hips helplessly against his thighs as he stroked and drove his fingers in and out of her cunny. He didn’t cease, didn’t even slow until the final, yearning sob escaped her lips and she lay still, sprawled across his lap, sated and spent. Only then did he lift her and roll her onto the bed.
Merewyn whimpered as her punished bottom pressed against the mattress. She rolled onto her stomach and turned her head to peer at him over her shoulder.
Mathios grinned. If she preferred it that way… He shed his own clothes in moments, then came to lay beside her.
He kissed her, taking the time to explore her mouth with his tongue, to savour this first taste of his wife. She was willing, wet, eager. She reached for him and draped her arm around his shoulders. He deepened the kiss as he caressed her heated buttocks, loving the soft murmurs she made as she spread her legs for him.
He broke the kiss and moved to kneel between her legs, then he took hold of her by the waist and lifted her hips up. His cock was hard, leaking from the tip as he positioned it at her entrance. She twisted her neck to continue to meet his gaze as he drove his rod inside her. Merewyn’s body parted to accept him, to welcome him. She gasped, her brow furrowing and her beautiful dark eyes widening. Then she smiled, that slow, sensual, knowing smile she reserved just for him.
Mathios leaned over her, his weight braced on his hands, which he planted on either side of her shoulders. He treated her to short, jabbing strokes at first, which he knew she loved. She rotated her hips and pushed back against him, oblivious now to any residual discomfort. He lengthened the strokes, finding a demanding rhythm as he pounded into her. Merewyn grasped at the blanket beneath her, her fingers closing around the coarse fabric as she crumpled it in her small fists. Mathios drove harder, deeper, burying his cock right to the hilt. Each stroke sent Merewyn plunging forward but he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her still. She was tight, so tight and so wet. He grasped a hank of her flowing hair with his free hand and twisted it around his fingers. As he tightened his grip her head was dragged back, her neck stretching, her throat exposed to his kiss.
She muttered something. He thought he heard her but was unsure.
“What was that, Merewyn?” He gripped her hair harder, pulled on the dark locks until her eyes watered.
“I… I love you, Viking.” She ground the words through gritted teeth as her second release surged forth and her cunny quivered around him.
That was what he thought she had said, Now, he was certain. He kissed her mouth as he seated his cock as deep as he could. The crown of his erection nudged her womb, he was convinced of it. Merewyn let out a ragged moan as she convulsed and shuddered in his arms. Mathios’ balls twisted, contracted painfully. His semen surged forth to fill her tight channel until at last he was still.
Mathios rolled to his side, his cock still buried within his bride’s lush body. He was exhausted, and in moments Merewyn’s breathing slowed, deepened. He knew she slept. He did not withdraw his softening cock, he found he liked it just where it was. Contented and more than a little pleased with this day’s work, Mathios pulled his Celtic bride closer and held her tight, then drew the blankets up to cover them both.