Page 16 of Her Dark Viking
In the centre of the group a stout pole had been erected, and to this was tied a young man. He was naked to the waist, and his shoulders already bore the vicious marks of the whip. Beside him, Gunnar poised to strike again. The Viking was also stripped to the waist, his torso glistening in the late afternoon sun. It would have been a truly glorious sight but for the long whip which hung from his right hand, the lash snaking about his booted feet. As she watched, her fist pressed against her mouth to stifle her own breath, Gunnar flexed and swung the whip again. The lash landed on the unfortunate victim's shoulders and he let out another cry.
The Viking flicked his wrist to ready the whip for another stroke and Mairead could bear it no longer. “No!” she shrieked, dashing forward to grab at Gunnar’s arm.
He halted and glowered at the sobbing woman at his side. “Nei,” he snapped and shook his arm to loosen her grip.
“Please, you must not do this. He is just a young man, you will kill him…” She did not know why she pleaded for a stranger, but she did so anyway. “This is brutal, barbaric?—“
Gunnar cut of her entreaties with a torrent of rapid Norse. She did not need to understand his words to grasp his fury and she backed off in alarm. What had she done? He would not mitigate his behaviour just because she asked him to, and now he would probably punish her too for her insolence.
As she retreated Gunnar pursued her. Mairead considered turning and running from him, but her feet were rooted to the spot. He caught up and stood before her, towering over her, the loathsome whip still in his hand.
His features might have been hewn from granite. His dark eyes were like flints, harsh, unforgiving. He had never appeared more terrifying to her. Mairead opened her mouth to apologise, to beg him not to hurt her.
He reached for her and cupped her chin in his free hand. His grip was not rough or painful but she could not move as he forced her to meet and hold his gaze. When he spoke next his tone was low and even, his expression cold. She could not comprehend his words, but even so his meaning was clear.
Do not interfere. Do not gainsay me. I am master here and you will accept, and obey.
She nodded, and he released her. With a sharp tilt of his head she was dismissed, commanded to leave him. With a sob she whirled on her feet and fled.
Once around the corner of the longhouse and out of sight of the proceedings in the clearing she leaned against the outer wall and fought not to be sick. Bile rose in her throat but she willed her stomach to settle. For reasons she could not start to fathom she felt compelled to witness whatever might happen. She made her way cautiously back to the edge of the dwelling and peered around the corner again.
Gunnar had returned to the man who now gripped the pole with his fists. Their heads were close together, the Viking was speaking to the bound slave. As she watched Gunnar paused, shook his head as though in disgust, then proceeded to deliver two more punishing strokes. The man jerked in his bonds, kicked his feet and wailed piteously. The watching crowd seemed as unmoved as Gunnar by the man's plight. They observed, impassive, as the punishment was doled out. It seemed to take an eternity but in reality it must have been just a minute or so, but eventually Gunnar lowered the whip and issued a curt command to Weylin who hovered close by. The slave rushed to release the other man from the post. Two more thralls rushed forward to assist, and together the trio helped Ferris from the clearing.
Gunnar narrowed his eyes as he watched them go, then bent to retrieve his tunic which he had laid on the ground while he delivered the whipping. As he shrugged back into it he glanced up, right at Mairead.
Their eyes met, his the colour of midnight and every bit as terrifying. The dark irises seemed to glint at her as though issuing a stark warning.
I can be gentle when I choose to be, but do not cross me.
With a strangled sob Mairead whirled again and this time fled back to the dubious sanctuary of the longhouse. There, she grabbed her baby from her startled son and hugged both her children to her.
Whatever it took, whatever she had to do, she would protect those she loved from these barbaric Vikings. She must learn never to trust the darkly handsome one with the scar and eyes which conjured up her wildest fantasies and evoked her deepest fears.
6
Gunnar groaned. This he did not need.
It was bad enough that he had returned home after weeks away to be greeted with the news that one of his thralls, Ferris, had taken advantage of his master's absence to resume his old habits. Gunnar had hoped several previous visits to the stocks might have cured the man of his propensity to help himself to food which had been stored in readiness for the coming winter. Seemingly not. Worse, the idle thrall had also decided to indulge in a little doze when he should have been keeping watch over their livestock. As a result, raiders had made off with several of Gunnar's fine ewes, many of them due to drop lambs in a couple of months’ time. The food wasn't a massive issue, they had plenty, but there was an important principle at stake here. An example needed to be made or all his slaves would be taking the same liberties.
Gunnar might have been more sympathetic if the slave had been short of food, but Ferris certainly hadn't been going hungry. No one wanted for food at Gunnarsholm. The man's behaviour was the result of greed, and complacency. Ferris had thought it safe to steal from his master, and from the village,because he believed he wouldn't get caught. Unfortunately for him, the slave had underestimated Weylin's watchful eye and devotion to duty.
The ewes though, that was more serious. Not only were the animals valuable, though that was in itself sufficient consideration to warrant punishment, but Gunnar's reputation was now at stake. If word got around the many hordes of cut-throats and bandits who inhabited the surrounding mountains that his settlement at Gunnarsholm was poorly guarded, a village ripe for the picking, he would be fighting off raiders every night. He had no choice but to deal severely with Ferris now in order to ensure no other sentry opted to snooze the night away rather than do his bloody duty. Then he would have to hunt down the thieves and take back his ewes.
Shit!
Never one to put off an unpleasant task, as soon as Weylin reported the matter to him Gunnar determined what must be done. He waited until Mairead and her little brood disappeared inside his longhouse then he ordered that Ferris be brought from the back of the smithy where he had been secured in the stocks for the last two days awaiting his master's return. Discipline was merited and it was to be swift, and severe, but he preferred it not to be witnessed by the newcomers so early after their arrival in his home. The boy, in particular, would not comprehend why this apparent brutality was necessary.
Gunnar's expression was grim as the offending thrall was brought to the whipping post in the middle of the village, stripped to the waist and tied to it. The post was not in frequent use, but Gunnar believed its presence here served a purpose, reminding those who answered to him who was master at Gunnarsholm and the consequences of failing in their obligations. It was a deterrent.
The man had wailed and pleaded and tried to deny his crimes. Gunnar listened, questioned Weylin, and others who could bear witness to what had transpired. He had entertained little doubt to start with, but others, karls and thralls alike, corroborated Weylin's account. The proper punishment would be twenty lashes.
He sighed and resigned himself to what must be done. Gunnar shed his leather tunic and accepted the long whip from Weylin, one reserved for just this purpose. Gunnar knew that it hurt like a bitch, and Ferris would long remember this day. Whether in the future the man would remember to keep his hands off that which did not belong to him remained to be seen, though a decent flogging tended to have a salutary effect on the memory, Gunnar found. It also markedly improved a slave's diligence, obedience and general attitude, changes badly needed as far as this man was concerned.
Gunnar positioned himself behind the sobbing thrall and delivered the first couple of strokes. The lash left narrow streaks of vivid red across the man's shoulders as the skin reacted to each stroke. Gunnar kept them relatively light. He could make his point without reducing the man to a blood-soaked mess.
As he raised his hand to deliver the next stroke he was interrupted by a piercing shriek from behind him and suddenly his newest slave was there, clinging to his arm and babbling at him. Tears streaked her face, her distress and terror evident as she attempted to stop the whipping.
Did she think to wrestle the whip from his hand? The woman was in for a rude awakening if she thought he would tolerate such insubordination, especially not in front of half the population of Gunnarsholm.
