Page 12 of Her Rogue Viking
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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 ofa 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 shouldersand 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.”
