Page 10 of Her Rogue Viking
The sky was darkeningby the time Ulfric concluded his binding of her ankle. He glanced up at Fiona, one blond eyebrow raised. “How does that feel, my little Celtic captive? Better?”
Fiona tested her injury by slowly circling her foot. It hurt, but was bearable.
She nodded. “Yes, it is easier, a little. Thank you.”
“Remember, you are not to place any weight upon it. Which offers me something of a challenge given the need to see to your well-earned chastisement.” He looked about him as Fiona’s heart sank. She had harboured the small hope that he might even now relent. She had apologised, after all, and sworn not to lift a hand against him again. It appeared her hopes were in vain.
“Ah, yes, that will do nicely.” Fiona turned to see where his gaze had landed. A large tree lay on its side some twenty paces from where they sat, its trunk offering an obvious support against which a Viking bent upon imparting discipline might lay a recalcitrant thrall for a thrashing.
She groaned as Ulfric called to a passing guard. “Yngvarr, throw a fur over yonder tree if you would, and bring me a switch. A good one, nice and supple and stripped of any sharp twigs. In fact, make that two switches. And be quick about it, the light is fading fast now and I prefer to be able to see what I am doing. I would not wish to be forced to delay until the morning since we need to be on the road at first light.”
Two switches? Dear Lord, what does he mean to do to me?
Ulfric allowed Fiona to remain where she was as the tree trunk was readied for her switching. She watched in mounting horror as the man, Yngvarr, did his master’s bidding. A thick fur was slung over the rough bark, then a blanket too, at Ulfric’s command. Yngvarr was quick to select several potential switches from the trees still standing, and there were many to choose from. He lounged a few feet from Fiona as he used a ferocious-looking dagger to whittle away any sharp points. Satisfied, he passed the first of the switches to his chieftain for inspection.
“Yes, this is fine work. Thank you, Yngvarr. Now, another just as good, if you please.”
The man bent to his task once more as Ulfric turned to regard his fearful captive.
“In the future, little wench, and when your injury is quite healed of course, I shall require you to keep me well supplied with switches. You will be responsible for selecting and preparing them, and I will expect at least a couple to be at hand at all times as I expect to make frequent use of them as you adjust to your new station in life. If any fall below my standardsI shall prepare the replacement myself, and your intended punishment will be doubled. Is that perfectly clear?”
Fiona did not deign to respond.
“Wench, do I make my instructions quite clear?” His tone had hardened. He expected an answer.
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. You will do well to obey. Ah, thank you, Yngvarr.” The second switch was ready and Ulfric declared himself satisfied with that also. Ulfric offered a cold smile in Fiona’s direction. “I shall carry you over to the tree trunk, and aid you in assuming the necessary position. Your skirts will be raised as I will always deliver a switching on your bare bottom. Usually, I will expect you to make yourself ready for punishment, but on this occasion I am prepared to assist you. You may thank me if you so wish.”
Hades would sprout icicles before she would do any such thing. Fiona glowered her resentment and stiffened as her captor reached for her.
“Your resistance will cost you in the long run. The sooner you submit to the reality of your situation, the better it will be for you.” He lifted her in his arms and rose easily to his feet. It would seem she had not hit him nearly hard enough because apart from the angry-looking bruise he appeared to suffer no lingering effects. Did all Vikings possess skulls made of granite?
Ulfric carried her to the fallen tree and set her down beside it, taking care to allow her to lower her good leg first. Then, still ensuring that her weight remained on her uninjured foot, Ulfric helped Fiona to turn and face the trunk, then eased her torso forward until she was balanced across it. The furs and blanket provided a soft cushion. Fiona could find no reason to complain that her comfort was not considered as Ulfric patted her soon-to-be-punished bottom.
“I will lift you a little higher, to ensure that your feet are off the ground and taking no weight, and to offer me a better target,naturally.” He did not wait for any further comment from Fiona. In moments she was dangling over the tree trunk, her feet inches from the bare earth and her head and shoulders balancing her weight on the other side. The grass and a light dusting of fallen leaves were just inches from her nose but she could just make out their shapes in the gathering gloom as she quivered in this unfamiliar and vulnerable position.
Her father had been no disciplinarian. In all her nineteen summers no one had ever so much as slapped her wrist, let alone bent her over a fallen tree for a public switching. Fiona wondered if it was possible to die of humiliation.
She managed not to whimper as her skirts were raised above her waist, then tucked under the woven braid that served as a belt. Fiona was acutely aware of the half dozen or so Viking warriors who had gathered to observe the proceedings. They were all now afforded a fine view of her upturned, naked buttocks. She was glad she could not decipher the exact meaning of their calls and remarks, though the general gist was plain enough.
The jocularity ceased abruptly at a word from Ulfric. The men remained in place, watching, but they no longer offered their lewd observations.
Fiona was accustomed to harsh winters, but the bitter chill of this Nordic early evening was equal to anything she could recall in her own country. She shivered as the icy breeze caressed her bare backside and could not help clenching as Ulfric bent to select the first switch.
“Fear not, little wench. You shall soon be feeling a good deal warmer.” He swung the switch in an experimental arc, slow at first, then fast enough to produce an ominous whistle. Fiona shrieked.
Ulfric chuckled and moved in close. He laid the palm of his free hand on her bottom, the caress almost affectionate. “Try not to clench, though I realise it is difficult. Are you ready?”
There was nothing to be gained by delaying matters. Fiona nodded, then clenched her bound hands into fists as she tensed for the first stroke.
“Aagh!” She let out a shrill scream as fire exploded across her right buttock. Her entire body jerked with the force of the blow, though she had been expecting it. This hurt though, more than she had ever imagined.
“One,” Ulfric intoned. “Be still, Celt. Settle down and we shall continue.”
Somehow, through the haze of pain, she heard his words and managed to obey. Moments later fire snaked across her left cheek.
“Ooh!”Sweet Jesus, can I bear this?
