Page 9 of Her Dark Viking
Fucking Dagr.His brother's slave master might be adept at managing thralls and Gunnar knew how much Ulfric valued the man's services, but the bastard was pitiless in his pursuit of results. And wasteful. Even if it were not for the more personal circumstances which came into play, it was sheer madnessto slaughter a perfectly decent fuck-slave. The idiot had been quite prepared to dispatch two, and one of them his. Dagr was fortunate to retain his fucking arm after this day's work since Gunnar had been ready to hack it off when the slave master laid into his flame-haired captive with that bloody switch.
Gunnar was not above applying a spot of well-deserved discipline, a skill both he and his brother had learnt at their father's knee. Women responded well to such an approach, he had observed. But he was never needlessly cruel, he hoped, and certainly not a bully.
The woman nestling in his arms shifted against him and his cock hardened. He ground his teeth and willed his unruly erection into submission since it was clearly impossible to so much as contemplate seeking gratification for the time being. He was uncertain quite why the prospect of injuring her or her baby filled him with such revulsion, but it did, so she would remain untouched until after she had given birth. Even then, he did not imagine she would share his bed willingly, but he would work on that.
He glanced over at the slight figure of her son. The boy had been a surprise and he racked his brains to try to work out how the lad came to be among those taken. He had deliberately not selected women with little ones, and certainly no unaccompanied children. Where would be the sense in that? His brother wanted able-bodied slaves not more helpless, dependent mouths to feed.
Had he been so preoccupied with securing his alluring captive that he failed to pay due regard to the rest of his duties? He would need to watch that if he intended to remain alive. A careless Viking would soon enough find himself greeting his ancestors and the gods in Valhalla, an experience Gunnar harboured no immediate urge to sample.
He signalled to the man mounted behind the boy. His karl brought his mount close.
"Steinn, you speak the tongue of the Celts?"
"A little, Jarl. My mother taught it to me."
Gunnar nodded. His own mother had been a Celt also, seized in one of his father's numerous raids on the lands across the sea but she had died when he was very young. He had been raised since babyhood in his father's longhouse, speaking only the Nordic language. It often struck him as ironic that his half-brother, a full-blooded Viking, could speak the Celtic language with such fluency whereas he knew barely more than a few words. In truth, Gunnar had had no use for such a skill before now.
"You will speak with the boy, seek to ascertain how he came to be among the male slaves for I have no recollection of taking him."
Steinn nodded, and steered his mount away again.
The day was fading fast. Gunnar had hoped to make better progress before stopping for the night, but the events back along the road had conspired to hinder their journey. There was no help for it, it would be unsafe to continue after dark. He spotted a grassy clearing a few yards ahead and raised his arm to signal that they were to halt here.
"Make camp,” he instructed. "We continue at first light."
The men dismounted and hurried to do his bidding. All knew their tasks and before long a small fire burnt. Furs and blankets had been slung on the ground close to the flames, and a structure fashioned of twigs balanced over the blaze. A rabbit, skinned and spitted, was soon dangling over the fire and the men settled in to await their supper.
Gunnar glanced over at Mairead and the boy who huddled together on the opposite side of the fire. He rose and went to his mount where he kept spare furs and a blanket. He offered theseto the pair, and was pleased at the grateful smile his largesse elicited from the Celtic woman. Her earlier resentment appeared to have abated somewhat, perhaps as a result of her brush with the harsh realities of slavery and his intervention to alleviate those. Gunnar resumed his seat across from her, the better to scrutinise his latest acquisition.
Mairead. A pretty enough name, he supposed, though not one familiar to him. She would be complicated, he had known that when he took her. By the determined and defiant manner in which she hugged her small son it was clear he had underestimated the extent of the challenge. His longhouse would be full to over-flowing with her offspring.
There was a husband, that much was obvious, but where was the man? Perhaps back in her homeland, or worse, among the thralls now in his brother's possession? Gunnar beckoned to Steinn.
"What is the word for husband in their language?"
The man grinned and told him what he needed to know.
"And how do I ask where the man is?"
More grinning, and the karl provided the appropriate phrase. Gunnar repeated it with care, then made to rise.
"Jarl, will you understand her answer?"
Gunnar paused. "Good point. You will assist."
"Aye, Jarl." Steinn fell into step at his side.
Mairead looked exhausted, and the boy visibly cowered when the two huge Vikings approached. Neither reaction pleased Gunnar overmuch but he crouched beside the pair and managed to dredge up something akin to a smile.
"I have questions for you..." he began.
At her wary frown Steinn quickly translated his words. Mairead nodded and pulled her son closer to her.
Gunnar tried out his new phrase, stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds but it would seem he managed to makehimself understood because she replied at once. Unfortunately, he had not the slightest idea what she said.
"Her husband is dead," offered Steinn. "He drowned at sea some months ago."
Gunnar heaved a sigh, his relief a surprise to him. So, one less complication, two if he also counted the fact that the man had not perished in the raid on their village. Even so, he offered his condolences.
