Page 53 of Her Rogue Viking
And it seemed, for want of a better candidate, that she was it. Fiona did not mind, she found the lad charming and he made her laugh. She supposed it would not be long before he had a younger half-sibling, though as yet she had not conceived despite Ulfric’s fervent efforts in that regard. She pondered the prospect of possible motherhood as she watched Njal’s antics and decided it might be quite nice… if she were a wife rather than a mistress.
Ulfric remained adamant that a marriage between them was out of the question though in every way he behaved toward her as though she was his wife. Fiona had settled for that and she had not broached the subject again. This apart, she was happy enough living as they did. Her Viking was kind, attentive, he gave her pleasure beyond her imagining, and his creativewickedness in their bedchamber knew no bounds. Neither, it seemed, did hers as together they explored sensual fantasies Fiona had not known she harboured.
She had discovered a tolerance for a decent spanking, and this had built to become something of a craving. She was astonished that she actually found the pain exhilarating, and her release following a few minutes across Ulfric’s lap would leave her breathless and begging for his cock. She was not completely certain that she liked him to fuck her arse, and would usually protest and seek to dissuade him. It never worked. Once he had decided to take her rear hole, he would do so and any objections on her part would be met with a delicate yet relentless finger applied to her clit, or a sharp slap to her buttocks. Either would yield the desired result and he would have his way.
All in all, Ulfric was a generous lover; she could imagine none better.
Taranc had been right. Her Viking was a rare find and Fiona was glad to share his bed, his life, and his son.
“Yeeargh!”
Fiona was dragged unceremoniously from her musings by the deafening battle cry. She leapt to her feet as at least a dozen Vikings charged from the cover of the nearby trees. All brandished weapons—swords, axes, daggers—and their faces were murderous as they descended upon the unwary group beside the lake.
“Lady, quick. We are attacked!” The superfluous warning came from one of her guards as he rushed at her, the reins of her horse in his hands. He tossed Fiona into the saddle, then threw Njal up behind her, the lad still dripping wet. “Ride hard for Skarthveit and send aid. We will hold them off whilst you escape.”
“What? No, there are too many…”
Already her other guard was rushing to meet the oncoming horde, yelling his own battle cry as he swung his sword around his head.
“Go, lady. Now!” The guard slapped the horse’s rump and the animal broke into a gallop. Fiona had to cling on for dear life as her mount lurched forward. Njal plastered himself to her back as she leaned forward in the saddle and fought to regain control of the dangling reins.
At last she had the straps between her fingers. Not daring to slow down she peered back over her shoulder and was relieved to see that none of their attackers were yet in pursuit. Ulfric’s men were putting up a valiant defence. Fighting back to back, they were managing to fell any who came close, but they were surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered. Fiona knew they would not be able to fend off so many, not for much longer.
Her mount reached the cover of the trees and was forced to slow. She glanced back again in time to see one of her guards drop to his knees.
Oh, no. Dear sweet Jesus…
She hauled on the reins to pull the horse up.
“Njal, can you reach that branch there, the one hanging across the track?”
“Aye, I can,” the lad replied quickly.
She nudged the horse forward until they were immediately below the bough in question.
“Grab the branch and climb up into the tree. Get as high as you can and stay quiet. And hidden.”
“But—”
“Please, do it quickly. Remember, do not come down for anyone but me. Or your father.”
Mercifully the boy did not ask any further questions. He grasped the bough and swung easily onto it, then scrambled along until he reached the wide, solid trunk. In moments he waslost to her sight, up among the dark, thick branches of the tall pine. She was satisfied no one would find him there.
Fiona slithered from the horse and ran back to the edge of the woodland. Her remaining guard was still on his feet but surrounded by the vicious raiders. He would be down in but moments, then the mob would come after Fiona and Njal.
“I believe I might even up the odds somewhat,” she muttered as she reached inside her cloak to retrieve the slingshot. She selected a stone from among those she had stashed in her pocket before they set out, and she placed it in the sling. It took her but a moment or two to sight her first target, swing the weapon around her head a couple of times, then she let fly the small rock.
A bellow of pain erupted from one of their assailants as he toppled forward to crumple to the ground. One or two others looked around, perplexed and uneasy, but Fiona allowed them no time to assess this new threat. She was already reloading for her next shot.
The second stone was just as true as the first, taking out another of their assailants. Several now paused to scan the trees, clearly nonplussed at this unexpected attack. Fiona remained concealed as she loaded her sling again, then let fly.
A third man clasped his hand to his face and sank to his knees. A few of the raiders broke off their attack on Ulfric’s remaining guard and started to make for the trees that concealed her, but Fiona let fly a fourth missile and dropped another man before he had taken more than three paces.
“It must be Ulfric. He is coming.” The warning cry went up. It was clear the raiding party had no appetite for meeting the Viking warlord himself. Already several had turned and were running back in the direction they had come. Others limped behind them, glancing fearfully over their shoulders as though they expected a vengeful, marauding Ulfric to emerge from the trees at any second and cut them down where they stood.
Fiona would have dearly loved to do just that, but settled for firing several more stones at their retreating backs, scoring two more direct hits before the last of their assailants disappeared into the undergrowth.
Fiona counted ten men lying on the cold ground, and knew that two of them were their own. She grabbed her horse’s reins and remounted, then set the animal to a gallop back across the open land toward the site of the skirmish.
