She gnawed on her lower lip, and Gunnar noted that not once had she asked for leniency for herself. She was ready to plead with him on her son's behalf, but not her own.
"I should have waited. I should have trusted you to be fair, and to understand why Donald stole those items."
"Oh? And do you understand why he did that?"
"No," she murmured.
"Nor do I, but I will, by the time this is done. Your answer is satisfactory. So, tell me now, Mairead, have you been spanked before? Your husband, perhaps?"
She gave a sharp little nod. "He was often angry, his temper was easily roused."
"Do you believe me to be in a temper now, Mairead?"
"No, Jarl, but you are angry."
"Yes, I am, but my temper is quite under control. I am not about to raise my hand to you in anger." He paused. "Is that what your husband did?"
"He would slap me, across my face usually, and call me cruel names. He... he would shout, a lot. At me and at Donald."
"Were you afraid of him?"
Her lip trembled. "A wife should fear her husband. Is that not so?"
He gave a wry laugh. "I can think of many Viking women who do not fear their husbands in the slightest. Respect is not the same as fear. A wife should respect her husband and accept his authority. A slave, also, must submit to her master."
"I know that. I never intended?—"
"Will you submit to me, Mairead? Now? Will you remove your clothing, lean against yonder tree and lift your bottom for my belt? Will you thank me for the lashes I shall give you and swear to me that you will never endanger yourself like this again?"
"Yes. Yes, Jarl, I will do that."
Her voice was little more than a whisper, but he heard and it was sufficient. "Very well. Follow me."
He strode off into the shadow of the large pines which edged the meadow where they stood. His men would be close enough to hear him if he summoned them, but he would afford Mairead the privacy he believed she deserved. After all, it would not be proper for half the men of Gunnarsholm to be treated to the sight of his future wife's naked bottom.
Later, as he considered this intimate exchange between them, he would seek to identify the precise moment he determined that she was to be his wife. The best he could arrive at was that instant when she consented to allow him to take her baby from her. She had placed her trust in him, handed over the most precious and fragile thing she had in the worldin the knowledge that he would keep Tyra safe. Donald too. She had accepted his promise, and he was lost. Now he merely had to convince her that she might marry a Viking, but that would come in due course. First, there was the matter of her proper punishment.
"You will undress, Mairead."
"I could just raise my skirt. It would be?—"
"Your clothes, all of them. I want you naked. Now."
She flinched at his harsh tone, then nodded and started to unfasten the loose smock which she wore. She removed it quickly and folded it, then reached behind her to undo the tapes which held her woollen skirt in place. She bent to untie her boots, kicked them off, then stood before him clad in just the linen undershirt or sark which she wore next to her skin.
"That too, " he affirmed, though more gently now. He wanted obedience from her, not fear.
She pulled the remaining garment over her head and stood before him, nude, shivering slightly, her face downcast. Her hair was loose and fell in thick waves across her shoulders and breasts, a red mane which he itched to sweep aside in order to properly assess her lush curves. As she began to lift her hands as though to cover her body as best she might he shook his head.
"Do not. I wish to see you."
"I am embarrassed."
"I know. And a little cold perhaps since your nipples are hard and swollen, like the berries of the holly." He allowed himself a sensual curling of his lips as he admired the vision she presented.
"Please, do not?—"
"You are beautiful, Mairead. I knew that you would be."
