Page 49 of Her Rogue Viking
“And Brynhild? Would she accept me as a member of this household, no longer a slave?”
“Brynhild will have no say in the matter. My mind is made up and I will deal with her.”
“And will you deal with Njal too? He will have questions.”
“I believe I can make him understand. He likes you well enough.”
“And I like him, he is a sweet child though Brynhild rarely allows me to be close to him. I fear he does not know me that well.”
“That will change. It must. Then you will accept this… this… compromise?”
“As a karl, would you still have the right to spank me?”
He grinned. “Would you have it otherwise, little Celt? Even a wife has to submit to her husband’s authority.”
“I do not like the switch. You may spank me with your hand, that is all.”
“Ah, sweetheart, you do not get to choose. But I will bear your preferences in mind.”
“I believe I would like it very much if you were to fuck me now, Viking.”
“And that is a preference I am happy to accommodate. Spread your legs, my once and erstwhile slave.”
12
Ulfric lay on his back staring into the darkness. Fiona snuggled at his side, her soft breathing testimony to her contentment. He had pleasured her until she had begged him to stop and swore she could bear no more. She had pleaded for him to fuck her, and he was happy enough to grant her wish. Although she had fallen asleep almost immediately after, he was wakeful, his mind busy as he made his plans.
He had the germ of an idea, a scheme to resolve this dilemma, but it was not without risks. His plan would involve trust, and he was not a man given to placing his faith in any but those closest to him.
Could he? Should he?Were he to carry this through it would be a betrayal of his kin, breaking the deeply held principles he had lived by his entire life. He would have to lie to all about him, never reveal the truth. Worse, he would face a lifetime of uncertainty, guilt, and not knowing if things might have been different. Perhaps, even now, there was something else he might do, some other solution.
No. It was this or… He could not bear to contemplate the alternative.
Brynhild had gone too far this time. Her hatred had exceeded anything he could contain by asserting his authority and he despaired of ever again encountering the sweet, caring woman he remembered. The sister he knew seemed lost to him now, and she was dangerous. It was impossible for him to watch her all the time, and because he was elsewhere Fiona had almost died this evening. Above all he had to ensure his thrall’s safety so this had to stop. Now.
Taking care not to disturb Fiona, Ulfric eased himself from their bed and dressed quickly. He had much to accomplish this night and needed to be about it.
He donned his heavy cloak and picked up a second garment, a spare cloak he kept in a chest by his bed. Then he pulled on his boots and slipped from the longhouse. A dog barked, just once, but quieted when she saw who was there. Otherwise the settlement lay in total silence. The deep, clinging blackness suggested to him that the dawn was still a couple of hours away, but he had to hurry. He needed to be done and back in his bed before anyone else stirred.
On swift, noiseless feet he made his way to the edge of his settlement and beyond. He paused as he neared the longhouse occupied by Dagr, and smiled at the gentle snores that drifted from within. His slave master was a sound sleeper, a fact that was to Ulfric’s advantage this night. A couple of hundred yards further he reached the larger, barn-like structure that housed his slaves. The single door was shut and barred from the outside. Ulfric paused to listen, but heard only the snuffles and snorts of men asleep. No voices, no soft footsteps to suggest anyone was awake in there. His jaw tightened as he lifted the heavy bar, wincing at every scrape of wood against wood, and he inched open the door.
The moon had lent him a meagre amount of illumination to light his path outside, but in here was total darkness. Ulfriccould not tell one man from another, and did not dare light a torch. None but the one he sought must ever know he was here. He stiffened and remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He could make out the separate sleeping forms huddled under their fleeces. A small fire still glowed in the central hearth, ready to be stirred back into life when the first man awoke.
Minutes passed, and Ulfric peered around. He stepped slowly, carefully, between the prone bodies, stopping to peruse the features of each before moving on.
He found him. Taranc lay on his back, one arm flung across his face but Ulfric had no doubt this was the man he sought. He crouched beside the Celt and laid his palm across his mouth.
Instantly Taranc came awake. He reached for his assailant, grasping Ulfric by the throat and starting to squeeze.
Ulfric loosened his own grip and laid his finger across his mouth to demand silence. “Come with me,” he mouthed. “I need to speak with you.”
Taranc stared up at him, the forest green of the slave’s eyes gleaming in the dim light, but he did not pursue his own attack. The two men glared at each other for several seconds, then Taranc gave a brief nod and started to rise.
Ulfric offered him his hand, and Taranc took it. The Viking beckoned for the thrall to follow, and the pair slipped outside into the frigid night.
“I brought this for you.” Ulfric handed the spare cloak to Taranc. “Come, let us walk.”
They moved in silence toward the headland overlooking the fjord until they reached the spot where Ulfric had witnessed his son fall into the frothing waves—was that really only a little over a week ago? He paused to regard the water now lapping against the rock face below, then turned to look at Taranc.
