Chapter Nine
Merewyn shivered as he reached around her to open the cottage door. Mathios did not believe that she was cold as he had wrapped his own thick cloak about her for the short walk back from the barn. It was apprehension that caused her to tremble, that and the prospect of having to make her apology to seven Vikings who she still thought might seek to exact retribution for her misdeeds.
Mathios knew that they would not. Apart from anything else he would not permit it. However, he was reasonably certain that once they knew her story the other Norsemen would accept that the Celtic female had good cause to fear them and this had driven her actions. He ushered her before him into the warmth of the dwelling.
All the others were there, seated around the table whilst Vikarr stirred the pot over the fire. Arne balanced Connell upon his knee. They all glanced in his direction as he entered, the diminutive wench before him.
“Go and be seated,” he instructed her. “If you can.”
He smiled at the faint flush that crept up from her neck. Ivar and Ywan moved along the bench to make a space for her and Merewyn gingerly lowered herself onto the seat. She continued to hug the cloak about her body as though that could offer protection from more than merely the cold.
“Merewyn has something she wishes to say.” Mathios moved to stand behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She turned her head to look up at him, her expression one of gratitude. “Go on,” he prompted. “I shall translate.”
“I… I am sorry… very, very sorry for what I did.”
She hesitated, and Mathios used the opportunity to translate her words into the Norse tongue. His men regarded her, then looked to each other. Her apology needed to be more convincing. “Go on,” he urged.
“I should never have tried to deceive you. I gave you a potion without your knowledge, and I deeply regret it.”
Mathios translated that also.
Ormarr grinned. “Aye, she regrets it right enough, but only because her arse is smarting. How many switches did you get through, Jarl? Olav told us he left a dozen there.”
“Just four were sufficient. I believe Merewyn has more to say.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Go on, little Celt.”
“I… I swear that I will never do anything like that again. I know it was wrong and… and… I hope you can forgive me.”
Mathios repeated her sentiment in the Norse tongue, then bent to speak softly into her ear. “They need to know the rest, about your family, about what happened here. Only then can all properly understand.”
Merewyn nodded. “I… I will try.”
“Shall I explain to them? It will be easier.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Mathios remained behind her, his hands on her shoulders as he related the tale. The expressions on the faces of his warriors suggested that whilst they might not entirely condemn the brutal and senseless acts of their countrymen—they were Vikings after all—neither did they condone all that had taken place. It was not Mathios’ belief that any man in the room would have treated a defenceless woman as Merewyn’s mother had been treated, though many a Viking would. Neither, probably, would they have slain her father unless they had to. Her brothers would have been taken though. It was the Viking way.
He concluded his explanation, reminding them that Merewyn had acted out of fear, and that she had been understandably confused. She found their promises that she would not be harmed difficult to accept, given what had gone before. He was satisfied that she was truly contrite, and the matter was now closed. They would not speak of it again. He looked about the room, inviting any man who chose to dispute their Jarl’s conclusion to make his objections known. None did.
“So, she is not mother to the lad, then?” This from Vikarr.
“No,” confirmed Mathios. “He is her brother.”
“It is a pity about the potion,” bemoaned Hakon. “I enjoyed the meals she cooked.”
“Aye, well, I daresay Vikarr’s flavourless slop will have to do,” observed Ivar. “Is it ready yet? I am famished.”
Bowls were passed around the table, and lumps of bread that had been purchased from Alfred’s stores. Mathios wondered if they might contrive to make more loaves from the grain he had bought on their trading expedition. The conversation soon turned to the other pressing matters facing them—the repairs to their ship, the need to ensure that the barn was watertight before the weather worsened much further, who was to attempt to milk the cow in the morning. He slid into the seat next to Merewyn and caught her gaze. Her eyes glistened, but she managed a smile.
This would probably be all right.
* * *
Days became weeks, and weeks grew to become months. The weather closed in, the snows started and there were days when it seemed to Mathios the blizzards would never stop. He was no stranger to bad weather, his homeland saw its share, but that did not mean he had to like it. He always found the winter months dragged and he longed for the return of spring.
Now, he had more reason than ever to watch the skies, eager for the first glimmer of warmth. More cause than usual to examine the frigid earth for the first shoots of new growth. Yet he did not. He found he enjoyed the enforced idleness as he and his men clustered around the fire pit, Merewyn and Connell too, sharing mugs of mead or buttermilk, and tales of heroic deeds.
Merewyn had managed to learn enough of their tongue to be able to join in the conversation, though she still struggled a little with it. Connell had become quite sturdy on his feet, and he had uttered his first words. They were in Norse. On the occasional fine days that they saw, Olav would go out hunting or fishing. They ate well, their diet now supplemented with the additional eggs and the dairy produce that Merewyn was able to provide. She was a decent cheese maker, and the butter churn had been repaired and was in regular use. She had even taken over most of the cooking again, after a decent interval, of course.
The repairs to the barn had been completed before the winter really set in, and apart from providing accommodation for their livestock it afforded more places for his warriors to sleep. They no longer piled on top of each other in the tiny cottage, a fact particularly to Mathios’ liking since it afforded him the privacy he required to properly enjoy Merewyn’s company.
He shared her bed, had done so since that first night after they returned from the barn, but she was reluctant to spread her thighs for him whilst the other men were present. He respected her wishes and contrived to find reasons to send his warriors from the cottage whenever he could. But since they had their nights to themselves, matters had eased. He no longer found it necessary to insist that firewood be chopped or the cow fed at such regular intervals.
Merewyn was an enthusiastic and responsive lover, and eager to learn. On the first night they found themselves alone—apart from Connell who slept soundly in his cot on the other side of the room—she had slid the bar across on the door then stripped off her clothing. He watched from his seat at the table, his lip quirking in silent appreciation at her nude body. He would never tire of looking at her. She came to kneel between his legs, then, wordless, she opened the fastenings of his trousers and released his cock. Gently, reverently, she cradled it in her hands, stroked her fingers up and down the length of it as he leaned back and moaned. She swiped her thumb over the head, smearing his juices across the shiny dome, at the same time as she cupped his balls in her other hand. He had considered himself in paradise until she bobbed her head forward to take him in her mouth.
Where the fuck did she learn that?
He let out a groan and closed his eyes. His little Celt was perfect, absolutely fucking perfect. He tangled his fingers in her hair as she rocked back and forth, each time taking him deeper. She hollowed out her cheeks and the suction sent waves of pure lust from his cock to his balls. She wrapped her tongue around the head, then stroked the tip along the groove that surrounded the shiny crown. He thrust hard, unable to remain still. She opened her mouth wider, took even more of him inside. His balls ached, he was about to shoot his seed into her throat.
“Merewyn, stop.”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. Her expression was one of consternation as she released him and sat back on her heels.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Fuck, no!
Mathios groaned and cupped her chin, then used his thumb to wipe away the drops of saliva that escaped from her lips.
“Not wrong, little one. It was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that you were about to receive a mouthful of my seed.”
“Oh…” Her lovely eyes widened. “Is that not how…?”
“Do you want that, Merewyn? Do you want to swallow my seed?”
“I… I think that I would not mind, unless it is something which you would dislike. I want to please you…”
“By Odin’s teeth, girl, you do please me.”
Her features cleared. Merewyn smiled up at him, a playful, teasing grin as her confidence returned. “Do I please you when I do this, my Viking?” She bobbed her head forward to take him deep within the warm recess of her mouth again, and she sucked…
It was too much. His balls contracted and semen surged from his cock to fill her mouth, her throat. She never took her eyes from his as she swallowed, gasped for air, then swallowed again to clear her airway. Then she licked him clean. She was thorough, her tongue reaching every fold and crease, every inch of him. Only when she had completed her task did she sit back on her heels and smile up at him.
“I waited to do that. Since that first day, in the barn, when you said I would learn to clean you with my tongue. I wanted to do it, but there was never an opportunity.”
He leaned forward to cradle her face between his hands, brushed his lips across hers and tasted the saltiness of his own tang. Could anything be more erotic? He inhaled, savouring the aroma of his own release just moments earlier.
“I would have rebuilt your barn with my own bare hands had I known what my reward would be.”
“I would have helped you.”
He laughed out loud and scooped her up from the floor. She clung to him as he carried her to the pallet and laid her on it. Mathios rid himself of his own clothing and resolved to speak to Ormarr about making a proper bed for them. He stretched out alongside her and cupped her breast in his palm, kneaded the soft flesh between his fingers.
“Your body is perfect, so pretty…”
“Mathios, please…”
“And so eager.”
“Yes.”
“You must learn patience, or I shall have to spank you. Again.”
“That would wake up Connell.”
“Maybe he should sleep in the barn also…”
“No, he is too little.”
“In that case, you will present yourself to me, after the dagmal tomorrow when all are about their duties. You bottom will be bared and ready to accept your punishment.”
“Yes, Jarl.”
He slid his hand between her thighs to explore her slick folds. She was dripping, her moisture coated his fingers as he thrust them between her nether lips. First two, then three digits penetrated her.
“So wet, and just from the promise of a spanking.”
She was panting, her head tilted back against the mattress, her brown eyes dark with passion. She would soon find her climax.
He stilled his hand. “Do not take your release without my permission.”
She opened her eyes to regard him in puzzlement. “What do you mean? I cannot—”
“You can, if you try. And you must try, because if you do not control yourself, your spanking will become a switching, and we both know that is not nearly so much fun.”
“Mathios…?”
He started to move his fingers again, angling his hand to ensure he reached the spot just within her tight channel that never failed to arouse her.
“Please, do not…”
“You wish me to stop?”
“No, but… I cannot help myself.”
“Not even to spare yourself a sore bottom?”
“No, not even for that.”
“You are a harlot, Merewyn.”
“It seems so. Perhaps you should—”
“Spread your legs, Merewyn. As wide as you are able.”
She did as he commanded and he positioned himself between her thighs. It had only been a few minutes since he deposited his seed in her throat but his cock was hard again, ready to sink into her. He could not get enough of this little Celt. He sank balls-deep into her hot, tight channel.
“You may take your release now, Merewyn.”
“Thank you,” she whispered as her body convulsed around him, ripples of pleasure rolling the length of his cock. He took his weight on his arms and thrust hard, each stroke long and deep, riding out her climax and building toward his own. He was able to maintain the rhythm longer as she had already taken the edge off his urgency, and soon she clenched hard again, a signal she was finding her second release. He slowed, slipped his hand between their bodies to seek out the responsive little pleasure bud and stroked there until she writhed and squirmed beneath him. Only then did he withdraw, almost pulling right out of her, then drove his cock deep again.
Merewyn cried out, her back arched as she shuddered and gave herself over to the pleasure. He was there with her this time, his cock twitching violently as his seed surged forth to fill her again.
* * *
Merewyn was content. She could not recall ever feeling quite like this, even when she was surrounded by her family. She had almost forgotten what it was to be hungry. Or cold. A plentiful supply of firewood was stacked outside the door of her cottage, salted meat hung from the beams above her head and a regular supply of fresh fish arrived on her table almost daily. Mathios had said she could keep the cow and the goat when the Vikings left, so she would continue to enjoy butter and cheese. And Connell could have milk.
A new bed stood in the corner, large enough for her and Mathios, and several sturdy chairs were arranged around her table. Even her mother’s loom had been repaired and now stood beside the door where it could benefit from the best daylight.
The Vikings had their own reasons for fixing the loom, but still Merewyn appreciated it. She had agreed to weave the necessary woollen cloth that would serve as the replacement sail for their vessel. Already the spun wool had been purchased and was stored ready for use. She lacked her mother’s dexterity at the craft, but she could manage well enough and the task was a simple one. All that was required was a large square of stout fabric, which would be attached to the mast that Ivar and Ywan had fashioned from a trunk of pine. She could probably weave it in the space of a month or so, especially as the Vikings invariably took Connell with them when they went out about their tasks.
Today, though, the baby was in the cottage with her. It had been snowing for the last three days but there had been a welcome break in the weather. Whilst it was not possible to stray far from the cottage, the Vikings took advantage of the opportunity to replenish their stock of firewood from the woodland close by. No one considered it safe for Connell to be playing in the vicinity of a swinging axe so he remained safely indoors. Olav was in the cottage also, as were Vikarr and Hakon. The rest were in the forest with Mathios, chopping logs.
Merewyn dropped several pieces of rabbit meat into the pot. The stew would simmer for the next few hours. She would spend the time baking bread, and if she had a few minutes to spare she might make a start on setting up the loom in readiness to commence weaving tomorrow. She gave the pot a quick stir and turned her attention to the flour she had ground the day before.
Connell tugged at her skirt. She bent to untangle his tiny fingers from her clothing. “Are you hungry?”
He shook his head.
“What then?”
He clutched the small boat that Olav had made for him and held it up to her.
“You want to sail your boat?”
He nodded.
“We shall. Soon. If it does not start to snow again. We can go out and sail it in the trough. But first I must put this bread in the pan by the fire so we can have something to eat later. You like bread, do you not?”
He nodded again. Connell loved his toy boat, but he loved food even more. He sat down on the floor with a thump and Merewyn returned to her task.
Moments later a shrill shriek rent the air. She spun around at the same time as the three Vikings leapt to their feet. Merewyn cried out in dismay at the sight of the wildly swinging cauldron and the pool of boiling stew that had splashed onto the floor. Connell sat in the mess, screaming at the top of his small lungs, steaming broth dripping from his arm. His boat floated on the surface of the liquid that remained within the pot.
Oh, dear lord. He has tried to sail his boat in the boiling cauldron! The realisation struck Merewyn instantly, but it was too late to prevent the tragedy.
Olav shouted something in their Norse tongue. Merewyn had no idea what he said but Vikarr sprinted for the door and flung it open as Olav grabbed the pail of cold water that stood beside the fire pit in readiness to be added to the pot. He flung the contents of the bucket over the child, then scooped Connell up and ran outside with him. Merewyn followed, wringing her hands, moaning.
He was scalded. Burnt. Her little brother, the only blood relative she had left. How badly was he hurt? What had she done? Why had she not taken proper care of him?
Olav ignored the baby’s pathetic wails as he tugged the garments from his tiny body and heaped handfuls of snow onto the reddening skin and torso. His arm, his side, both glowed with a deep, angry-looking pink. Vikarr helped to pile the snow on, and they replenished any that melted with more, crisp and fresh and cold.
“What are you doing? You are hurting him even more!” Merewyn rushed to grab the baby from them but Hakon held her back.
“They are helping him. The cold snow will stop the burning, reduce the damage.”
“But…”
“It is a remedy used often in our land, and it does work.”
Already the baby’s cries were quieting. He sniffled, whimpered occasionally, but seemed calmer. Merewyn knelt beside him in the snow and took hold of his uninjured hand. She was weeping herself now. “You will be all right. We will take care of you.”
“What happened?” Other Vikings, alerted by the screams, came charging from the forest, Mathios at their head.
Merewyn leapt to her feet and rushed to meet him. “It was my fault. I should have been watching, I never thought…”
“The lad met with a little accident, that is all. He’ll be fine.” Olav stood, picked up the now shivering child and handed him to Merewyn. “Best get him back inside where it’s warm. We’ll bring some snow in with us, better still ice if we can find some. The worst of it is over now though.”
Merewyn was not convinced. “But, he will be scarred. Burns are so painful, I know, and he is so little…”
Olav pulled off his own shirt and draped it over the child. “It is fortunate we were there. He may have some marks left after his adventure, but not much. Snow and ice can ease a burn considerably if applied quickly enough. It cools the burn down, you will see. He is going to be fine by tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
Olav nodded.
Mathios put his arm around Merewyn. She was still shaking. “You can trust him. Olav has six children of his own and there’s not a day goes by that one or other of them isn’t in some sort of mess. To my knowledge he has not lost one yet.”
Merewyn looked from Mathios to Olav to Connell. The baby already looked to be more or less back to his cheerful self and enjoying all the attention. Perhaps the Vikings were right.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I… am glad you were here.”
Only after the words were out did she realise how strange, how incongruous they sounded from her lips. But it was true. She did, in that moment, bless the day these Nordic raiders had arrived in her home.