“I know what he said, I heard him. You will heed his advice, and my instructions.”
“Yes. Yes, I will. There is no need?—”
“There is every need, little Celt. Every need to make sure there is no misunderstanding between us on this matter because your life may well depend upon it.” He regarded her for several moments, his eyes narrowed. “Strip, then come and stand before me.” He was already removing his belt.
Her heart in her mouth, Fiona obeyed. In moments she was nude, trembling as he raked her with eyes the colour of ice.
“Hold out your hands.”
She did so, and he quickly bound her wrists together with a strip of cloth. Seemingly satisfied, he glanced up at the rafters above their heads. Fiona followed his gaze to see a metal ring hanging from one stout beam. Was that new? Surely she would have recalled seeing it before.
“I see you appreciate my latest addition to our comforts here. It will aid me in teaching you the consequences of your foolishness.” As he spoke he bent to pick up a length of rope that had been tucked away beside the bed. He tossed one end through the hoop, then tied it to the linen between her wrists. From there it was the work of moments to tug the rope tight, drawing Fiona up onto her toes, her hands stretched high above her head.
“What do you intend to do to me?” Her voice shook. He must hear it, must know how terrified she was.
“What doyouthink I might have in mind for a wilful little slave who longs to be free of me, even at the cost of her own life? What punishment does such disloyalty deserve, do you think?” His tone was deceptively soft as Ulfric slowly walked around herin a full circle, his appraising gaze reaching every part of her body.
“You cannot blame me for wishing for my freedom. You would feel the same…”
“Would I? Perhaps, but our situations are not similar, my little Celt. For one thing, you are a possession, and I am your master.”
“Please…” Her shoulders already burned from the uncomfortable position and her feet barely reached the earthen floor. “This hurts.”
“And we have barely started. But I wish to make this memorable for you since my earlier efforts have been ineffective. So, shall we proceed?”
“Just… just do whatever you must and let me down.”
“Perhaps I can make you a little more comfortable…” He reached above her to adjust the tension in the rope. He slackened it enough that she could rest fully on her feet. Her ankle was now healed so she was able to stand without discomfort though the change offered no respite for her shoulders. “Is that better?”
Fiona nodded.
“Good. So, we shall start with twelve strokes of my belt. Then, if you are able to convince me that you are sufficiently chastened and no longer contemplating fleeing into the mountains to perish, we shall consider the matter of your escape plans closed and move on to a lesson in what it is to be a possession.”
Twelve strokes? With his belt?Fiona was already sobbing.
“I can see that there is little point in asking you to count.”
He moved in close behind her to encircle her waist with his arms. On pure instinct Fiona leaned back into his embrace and sighed as he cupped her breasts in his hands.
“So beautiful, and very precious to me. You need to understand that I will always protect what is mine, and thatincludes you, little Celt. You know I will never harm you, do you not?”
“But—”
“Twelve strokes. You can bear that, and youwillremember it.”
She managed to nod, since she knew that he was right. The whipping would soon be over, and she would survive it. Even so, she trembled when he bent to pick up the belt he had laid on the bed while he secured her to the beam.
Fiona gritted her teeth and prayed that he would be quick. He granted her wish, but still she danced on the spot as the first stroke of his belt wrapped around her buttocks. She managed not to scream, but knew it would not take many more strokes before she would be screeching fit to wake the dead.
Ulfric apparently arrived at the same conclusion. “I would not normally mind a little din from you in the circumstances, but Njal is sleeping and I prefer that you do not disturb him. Open your mouth, little Celt.”
Tears streamed down her face as he pushed a wad of linen between her teeth and secured it there by means of another strip tied behind her head. Then he took up the belt again.
The next three strokes were delivered with his customary efficiency and Fiona bore them well, or so she thought. The gag muffled her squeals, but she was managing to absorb the licks of pure flame as he laid on her punishment.
Why had she spoken so to Taranc? How had she not realised Ulfric was within earshot?Normally she was acutely aware of him whenever he was near.How much had she said?
Enough. Too much. She had voiced her confused feelings regarding Ulfric’s part in her brother’s death, and even repeated Ulfric’s hateful words of that first evening. In so doing she had revealed how much he had hurt her by what he said. He was never supposed to know about that.
