Page 27 of Her Dark Viking
Alred had never inspired such confidence, quite the reverse. Even Niall, her first husband who was altogether a much gentler soul, could be testy on occasion. Neither of these men had everstripped her and taken a belt to her bare arse but even so she did not fear injury at this dark Viking's hands.
Mairead recovered her composure, such as it was. "I... I am ready, Jarl."
The next stroke set her right buttock alight but she managed not to scream. Gunnar wasted no time in delivering another, this time landing across her left cheek. How many was that? Mairead attempted to count but had already lost any sense of the number. All she knew was that she hurt, everywhere.
"Arch your back again for these final two." Gunnar paused to allow her time to obey his instruction.
Just two more.She could weather that. She must. Then this Viking would take her home and she would see her children again. Mairead lifted her bottom again in obliging obedience, and gritted her teeth in readiness for the last two strokes.
Whoosh.Her entire bottom took the force of the leather across the fullest part. Her flesh seared under the onslaught and Mairead whimpered in pain, gasping now.
Just one more. Thank the blessed Virgin and all the saints that it was only one or she feared she might lose her resolve and beg him to stop. Instead she dug her fingernails into the bark of the tree and held her breath.
"Aagh! Oh sweet Jesu, please..." The final stroke fell on her upper thighs again, right under the curve of her bottom. Mairead lurched forward to hug the tree and willed her knees not to give out. She would not collapse at his feet, she absolutely refused to do that.
She remained where she was, shaking under the shock of what had just happened to her. Mairead was dimly aware of the sound of leather on leather as he rebuckled his belt, then the clink of iron as he restored his sword to the loop he always hung it from. She turned her face in order to watch out of the corner ofher eye as he bent to retrieve his cloak. As he stepped toward her she closed her eyes, uncertain what he might do to her next.
The rough warmth of the pelt covering her shoulders was not what she had anticipated. Neither were the strong arms which encircled her torso and drew her gently up until she stood upright. He turned her in his arms and pulled her to him then held her close against his chest. For want of a better option she clung to him as she had to the pine. He was warmer, somehow more solid than the tree and she wished she might never let him go. It was as it had been the day Tyra was born. This fearsome Viking offered strength, certainty and safety in a perilous world which seemed to shake under her bare feet.
Could she confide in him about Ferris? Should she?
No. Ferris was odious, but the more she had considered his delusional threats in the days since, the more she had realised the thrall was both powerless and harmless. He could not hurt her, or Gunnar. If she told the Viking what Ferris had said, what he had done, and assuming Gunnar believed her though she knew of no reason to suppose he would not, then another whipping was assured. She could not bear that on her conscience.
The matter was best left as it was, the inane ramblings of a bitter, humiliated slave who found comfort in railing against his master.
"You did well, my flame-haired Celt. I am proud of you." Gunnar murmured the words against her hair, his breath feathering across her cheek as she snuggled closer and dismissed Ferris from her thoughts.
Proud? No one had ever said that to her before. People had occasionally expressed gratitude when her herbal concoctions provided them with ease, and when she was much younger her mother had often praised her diligence and her helpfulness, qualities which had seen her wed at eighteen years of age. Butno one had ever before told her she made them proud. She found she rather liked it, and more astonishing still, she actually believed Gunnar.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"My pleasure," came the low reply as he pulled the wolf skin around her and tucked the edges together at the front. With no further words he lifted her in his arms and strode deeper into the wood.
"Where are you taking me? You said we could go home after... after..."
"Soon, I promise. First, there is something I wish to show you. A place I believe you will like."
"Is it far? Tyra..."
"Not far. Your baby is being well cared for."
That was true, she supposed. She stilled in his arms and allowed her eyelids to droop.
"Mairead, can you stand?"
"What? Where are we?"
Gunnar had stopped walking but he still held her in his arms. She craned her neck to peer about her.
He lowered her feet to the ground and she gazed in puzzlement at the small pool which glistened several feet in front of them. It was surrounded by flat rocks, and unless she was hallucinating the crystal-clear water appeared to be steaming.
"I do not understand? What manner of place is this?"
"This is a hot spring. The water is warmed by heat from within the earth. It is good for bathing, and I believe it to be especially soothing for recently spanked bottoms."
"You mean I should splash it on my... on my...?"
"No, I mean you should lower your entire body into it and allow the waters to heal whatever ails you. Come, I shall show you." Gunnar stepped from behind her to approach the pool. He went down on his haunches to scoop some of the sparkling water up in his hand then brought it to her nose. "There is an aroma, not unpleasant. The waters tingle against the skin. See, the pool bubbles..."
