Page 45 of Her Rogue Viking
“Not entirely.”
Her tone had changed, she seemed… sad. “Fiona?”
“Your brother became fascinated by a Celtic woman, so he made her his wife. Your fascination drove you to make a slave of me. There is a world of difference, as I am quite sure Brynhild has already pointed out.”
It was true, his sister had had much to say on the subject when she was able to get him alone and Ulfric had eventually snapped at her, told her to hold her tongue or make herself scarce. It would seem that not only Gunnar was offended by her words.
“You think he should not have wed her?”
“I did not say that. I am pleased for Mairead, that she has a man who will respect her and take care of her, even if heisa Viking.”
Her meaning was clear. “You believe that I should wed you?” His tone was incredulous and he made no attempt to conceal his astonishment. The very notion was preposterous, out of the question. A Viking did not take a slave to wife, however lovely the wench might be, however warm his bed with her in it.
“What I believe, or want, has no relevance here. You have made that much clear to me. I will bid you a good night, Viking.” She rolled over to present her back to him, her spine stiff as though she dared him to so much as touch her. He considered it, but let his hand drop to the blankets. His thrall was tired, it had been a hectic and stressful day. He would allow her to rest.
Fiona hadlittle to say to him the following morning. It was clear that she was still angry following their exchange the previous night but he had no time to address the matter now. Worse, he lacked his usual certainty in how to deal with his slave. Should he spank her for her insolence, for her unrealistic expectations and her ridiculous demands? The notion was tempting, certainly, but he was not entirely convinced it would yield the results he desired. Should he apologise instead, try to explain the vast difference in their status here? It would not be the first time he had apologised to Fiona, but he could not quite bring himself to the view that he was in the wrong here.
He was master, she the slave. It was simple, and she must accept her situation. So, a spanking then. He would see to it as soon as their visitors left.
Gunnar and his party were to depart by noon so the two brothers and their men took advantage of their final few hours to indulge their shared passion for hunting. When they left the longhouse, Mairead and Fiona were seated together enjoying acup of mead. Brynhild glowered at them from her position at the loom, but Ulfric had made it clear that Fiona was to be left in peace with her friend so he did not anticipate interference from that quarter. Still, his sister made her feelings plain enough.
He shook his head, baffled and frustrated by her intransigence, and strode off to mount his horse.
The hunt was successful. The men returned to Skarthveit with three fine stags slung across their horses. One carcase was to go to Gunnarsholm, the other two would be butchered and salted here to provide food during the coming winter months. Ulfric was pleased with the morning’s work, and genuinely sorry to wave farewell to his brother when Gunnar and his family were ready to leave.
“Mind my words, watch out for Olaf Bjarkesson. He is a vengeful bastard, and quite beyond reason. He will attack you, the first chance he has.”
“I know. I will inspect our fields to check for any signs that he has been around. And even though I believe you to be correct in your assessment of him, I shall endeavour one last time to make peace with Olaf since we are neighbours and must inhabit this land together.”
“Good defences and vigilance will keep you safe, not negotiations. But you must do as you think best, brother. I am intending to remain at Gunnarsholm over the winter, then resume raiding as soon as the weather clears enough. If you need me, send word and I will be here as quickly as I can.”
“Thank you. Be safe, and take care of your family.”
“I intend to, brother, you may be certain of that. You also.”
As his guests disappeared from view over the crest of the hills to the north, Ulfric considered his brother’s parting words. With every day that passed, he reflected, taking care of his family became ever more challenging. There was much to be said for Gunnar’s far simpler approach.
Fiona did not takeher spanking well. He was obliged to drag her across his lap and secure her hands in the small of her back before he could lift her skirts and apply his palm to her delightful bottom. She squirmed and squealed and dared to call him a vile Viking bully, which earned her several additional swats. Only when she at last lay spent and weeping over his knees did he cease to punish her. He lifted her in his arms and lay with her on their bed as she sobbed against his chest.
As he finally extricated himself from her clinging embrace and drew the blankets up around her, she muttered something into the mattress. He did not quite catch it, could not have for her words made no sense.
“Why could you not just love me?”
11
She was forbidden to leave the longhouse, apart from to visit the privy. Ulfric insisted the restriction was for her own safety, but Fiona was convinced it was more of the punishment he had been so determined to mete out.
He had declared her belligerent and troublesome and told her she was to be spanked to remind her of her place here. It was done to show her that he could, and to reinforce the vast gulf between her status and that of Mairead, Fiona knew it. Had she realised he would react thus, she would never have breathed a word of her discontent, her growing disappointment that he bore no real affection for her. Ulfric might tell her that she was more than a mere wench to fuck, but his actions said otherwise. Even when his brother demonstrated that another way was possible, Ulfric scoffed and dismissed her hopes.
Well, she entertained no such aspirations now. She did not want his affection, would fling it back at him were it offered. He was a Viking, a savage, a brute, and she hated him.
Ulfric had explained that he must visit Bjarkesholm, the settlement of his erstwhile friend and kinsman in order to seek a peaceful solution to the blood feud that simmered betweenthem. She knew he did not harbour any real optimism for the outcome, but felt it necessary to try. He would be away overnight, and until his return she was to remain indoors.
He had been gone for several hours now and still her anger and sense of injustice remained undiminished. Fiona sat at the table, a pile of prepared vegetables in an iron bowl before her, ready to be tossed into the cauldron in readiness for thenattmal, the meal they always ate in the evening at the end of the day’s labours. She and Hilla might do some spinning later, their contribution to the weaving process. There was method in her planning, since the more yarn they made available the more Brynhild could be gainfully employed at her loom and not prowling the longhouse seeking faults to pick with Fiona. It was a strategy that seemed to work well enough as the Viking woman had largely left her alone for the last couple of weeks or so. Fiona feared though that Brynhild’s hostility would have been rekindled by her anger at Gunnar’s marriage.
“Aunt, my tummy hurts.” Njal was seated with them at the table sipping at his mug of buttermilk with an uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm. Fiona would concede the boy looked a distinct shade of green.
Brynhild abandoned her loom and came to crouch beside him. She laid her palm on his forehead. “You feel hot. Come, you need to lie down for a short while.”
