Page 66 of Her Rogue Viking
“I am to have no rights?”
“And I no dowry, alas. Since we are to leave here neither one of us will bring much property to the match, so I consider it as fair as we might manage in these straightened circumstances.” He turned to her and took both of her hands in his. “I swear to protect you, and to love you. And to punish you only when absolutely needful.”
“And I swear to love you, and your son, and to be an obedient wife. When I am able.”
“There now, our union is all but complete. Will you see to the feasting? I need to make preparations for our departure.”
“So soon?”
“I do not wish to engage in battle with Bjarkesson again if I can avoid it. Now that my mind is made up I will avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”
She shook her head, still not quite able to comprehend the enormity of what he proposed to do, nor the alacrity with which he would carry out his plan. “I believed all Vikings relished a fight.”
“It is true we are a warlike race, but I hope we are also one not entirely without sense. I prefer to choose my battles with care. The Bjarkessons were friends once, and kin for a while. I will not see their blood needlessly shed for this futile quarrel. Olaf lacks the wit to see where his true interest lies but I do not. I relish a fight, that is true, but I also relish a challenge. I have no doubt that what lies ahead will prove to be a challenge greater than any we have faced yet.”
She stood on her toes to kiss him. “You are right. I shall inspect our stores and start preparations for the wedding feast.”
“Aye, little Celt. You do that, and I shall talk to my karls.”
The table groanedunder the weight of dishes. Platters of roasted and boiled meats were passed around, thick stews, bowls laden with buttered root vegetables and sharp, sweet greens, fruits and nuts. The women of Skarthveit had rallied, and the fare included a vast variety of freshly baked breads, cheeses as well as vats of mead and ale.
A trestle had been set up outdoors in the middle of the settlement and long benches ranged down each side. Their entire community was present on this the final night before they were to depart for Hafrsfjord. There they would board Ulfric’s longships, which had been readied for the voyage. Such food as was not to be consumed here was stowed on the swift vessels in barrels, sacks, and crates to sustain them on the voyage and upon first disembarking.
Somewhat to Fiona’s surprise, almost all of Ulfric’s followers had opted to accompany him. The handful who preferred not to leave their native shores were to accompany Mairead back to Gunnarsholm where she promised a welcome would await. Her sister, of sorts, had arrived at Skarthveit within days of hearing the news of their impending marriage. Gunnar was still away, but would be well represented at this auspicious occasion.
None had any doubt that Gunnar would prove a fine and nobleJarl, and since his homestead was suitably distant, it was unlikely that Olaf would take the fight to him there. More likely the Bjarkessons would colonise Skarthveit as soon as they realised the settlement was abandoned. They would no doubt pat themselves on the back and proclaim a mighty victory. Fiona suspected this would rankle with her new husband, but he kept his own counsel on that.
The dozen or so ex-thralls who remained had all declared it their wish to accompany Ulfric. He had not stated their definite final destination, but it was to be the land of the Celts and Picts and those who wished could make their way home overland from there.
It had been a little over a fortnight since Ulfric first voiced his intentions to Fiona but once the plan was agreed all had thrown themselves into the preparations. All in all, it was a hopeful, exuberant gathering as the people of Skarthveit assembled to toast their leader’s happiness, to wish him a longhouse packedwith fine, healthy sons, and themselves a safe crossing over often treacherous seas.
Fiona winced as she took her seat beside her soon-to-be husband. Ulfric cast a knowing smile her way.
“Sore, little Celt?”
“You have a heavy hand, Viking, and a mean way with a switch. I am pleased that your shoulder is fully recovered, though.”
“I would not have pressed the matter. ‘Twas a game, at heart. You knew that.”
“We agreed upon six strokes.”
“You arrived at six, I believed the tally to be just four since that final release was at my request.”
“You had your way. Just the four.”
“And you insisted they be delivered.” He leaned close to murmur into her ear. “Your bottom bears the stripes beautifully, my love.”
She flushed but did not reply, recalling instead the exquisite burn of her whipping the previous evening as they had readied themselves for bed. She had indeed insisted that he carry out the terms of their bargain. Then she had cried out, her screams muffled by the gag he so helpfully provided, her body writhing in delicious agony as he laid the strokes slowly, deliberately, across her bare bottom. She had been caught up in the wonder of it as the pain transformed into soaring lust, as her sex quivered and throbbed and wept with desire. She had lifted her hips to offer him her buttocks to spank, then her pussy to fuck.
He had taken all of it, all of her. Only then had she slept, curled within his arms, her cheek pressed against the slow, steady beat of his heart.
Now she reached for his hand and together they shared a platter as they surveyed the assembled folk of Skarthveit.
Dagr sat a few places down on her husband’s right. Ulfric lifted a hand to him, a signal that he wished to speak with the ex-slave master privately. The man nodded and slipped away from the table.
“Please excuse me, my sweet. I would give Dagr a message to impart to my brother on Gunnar’s return. It is important, but I shall be back soon.”
Fiona smiled at him and nodded, too caught up in her own fears and excitement to puzzle overmuch what word her new husband might wish to leave for Gunnar. Mairead had been appraised of their intentions and the reasons for it; she would explain this unusual turn of events to her husband. As Ulfric disappeared into the shadows of their longhouse, she turned to the woman seated at her left.
