Page 9 of Her Rogue Viking
“Please, I swear that I will not strike you again.”
“No, you will not. Your hands. Now. You may keep them in front of you this time, however.”
It was with some small measure of relief that Fiona extended her hands and allowed him to bind her once more. He concluded his task then placed his fingers beneath her chin to raise her gaze to his.
“You will receive ten strokes of the switch by way of punishment for your actions. It will hurt, but it will be quick and I trust you will find the experience memorable. Disobedience is not tolerated among our slaves, and attempting to escape will usually earn you a whipping. Any attack upon a free Viking, jarl or karl, is normally punishable by death. You will do well to keep all of that in mind, little Celt, should you be driven to resort to such extremes in the future. I will be lenient on this occasion, but do not try me again.”
Leniency was not the word Fiona might have chosen.Ten strokes! Sweet Jesus. Still, she well understood that matters could be worse. Much worse.
His gaze was stern, unwavering. He meant her to heed his words and Fiona knew she would receive no further warnings after this one. If the Viking chief intended to intimidate her, though, he had failed. If anything his terse threats only served to harden her resolve. Whatever Ulfric, son of Frey might choose to believe, she wasnothis property. One day, shewouldbe free.
Ulfric assistedher into a sitting position on a slight rise in the ground. He knelt before her, the roll of linen beside him. This time when he pushed her skirt up to her knee she did not protest.
Her injured ankle was now hideously swollen and sported various shades of purple and blue where the bruising had bloomed. Fiona gasped when she saw it and jerked her foot away from Ulfric’s grasp.
“Be easy, little one. I shall be gentle, I swear.”
Fiona willed herself to relax, to allow him to tend to her. Certainly, with Mairead and the other women gone, there was no one else she would prefer to have aid her.
“It is fortunate that it was not the chained ankle which you turned. It would have been extremely painful for you had we needed to hammer out the pin to remove the shackle, but there would have been no other course, given the swelling. As it is, I believe if this is tightly bound you will find some relief.”
“It hurts…”
“I know. It will not bear your weight for some time, perhaps weeks. I do not believe it is broken though, so should heal with rest.”
“I am a slave, am I not? Slaves do not rest.” Fiona could not keep the bitterness from her tone.
Ulfric wound one end of the length of linen around her ankle just above the swelling. His grin was wicked, and for the first time Fiona acknowledged that he, like his darker sibling, was a beautiful male.
Ulfric’s features were rugged, his jaw square and clean-shaven, and his lips were full. The lower one protruded ever so slightly, and his cheek sported a dimple when he smiled, whichmade him appear almost playful. She had never seen hair paler than this Viking’s and wondered if the shoulder-length strands were truly as soft as they appeared. He wore his locks loose and they now framed his face, all but glowing in the fading light. The deep blue of his eyes had been the first thing Fiona had noticed about him when he took her prisoner, and now she found herself comparing their vivid hue to the plumage of the kingfishers that inhabited the river close to her home… her old home, the home she might never see again.
“I am quite sure I can find duties for you which you may perform whilst seated, or even on your back.” He continued to bind her swollen limb, his movements deft and capable.
“What duties? Oh. Oh!” Fiona reddened as his meaning became clear.
His dimple deepened as Ulfric just grinned at her. He continued to tend to her ankle, the barbarian obviously enjoying her mortification.
“You would force me.” It was a statement, not a question. Fiona might be unmarried, but she knew well enough the likely fate of a female captive.
“I doubt that will be necessary. The life of a bed-slave is not onerous, and can yield pleasure if you let it.”
“A bed-slave?”
“Aye. I have decided that you shall warm my bed and spread your delightful thighs for me when I command it. In return I offer you food, warmth, a life of reasonable comfort, and more pleasure than I believe you currently comprehend.”
“I comprehend perfectly well that you mean to abuse me, to take me by force. You will have to, for I shall never yield to you, Viking.”
He paused in his ministrations, his gaze solemn as he regarded her. Fiona could not look away, though she badly wished to.
“You are mine now, little Celt, my property, by the laws and customs of this land. I may do with you as I wish. Your body is mine, to explore, to punish, and to pleasure as I see fit. But I shall make a deal with you, Fiona. I swear I will not take your virginity by force, as I will have no need to. You will ask me to fuck you. No, you will beg me to do so, and only then will you experience the satisfaction of my cock filling your sweet cunt. Do you understand my words, little virgin slave?”
Fiona was incredulous. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment at the tableau he described. “I do and you are quite deluded, Viking, if you think I shall ever say such a thing to you.”
“Ah, but you will, my slave.”
“Never. I shall die a virgin first.”
He laughed out loud at that. “Have no fear, my fiery little Celt, I can be quite persuasive when I set my mind to it. I promise, it shall not come to that.”
