Page 13 of Her Celtic Captor
Ah,we are back to that, are we?Taranc sighed. "Tomorrow, lady. Today, we rest. And we eat. I thank you for the generous gift of the chickens. Did you mention bread, also?"
"Food must be earned. You will begin work today."
"Lady, I give you my word that the granary will be completed before winter, in exchange for your assurance that food will be brought, and straw too in order that we may fashion beds. The blankets are most welcome, but will not be sufficient. We will rest, nurse our bruises, and start work on your granary tomorrow, after we are refreshed."
He could have simply refused to cooperate at all, but saw no point in that. The Vikings would force them to work, and it would be harder on all. Maybe by negotiating with their new masters he could secure a better existence for his people, glean some comforts for them in this hostile world. And he found he rather liked discussing the deal with this beautiful Viking. She had a way of flushing when riled, and the lush curves lurking beneath her bright yellow linen dress caused his cock to respond in a manner he had never experienced with Fiona.
How strange. And how utterly fucking delightful.
"You cannot know how long it will take to construct the granary. That is an empty promise, Celt. You lie, as do all of your sort. I do not bargain with cheats and frauds. You will obey, and you will do so now."
"Is that it?" Taranc chose to disregard her slurs on his character though they did not pass unnoticed. He gestured to the foundations of a circular structure located some thirty paces from where they now stood. The stonework had reached a height of perhaps three or four courses. "Is that your granary? Or at least the start of it?"
"Aye. That is it," confirmed the Norsewoman.
"Where is the stone to be brought from?"
"The beach." She tilted her chin in the direction of the coast.
"Less than a mile away. It would take the ten of us no more than a month to carry sufficient stone up here, then a further two weeks to complete the building. Your granary will be ready in six weeks, lady. Less, if your Vikings help with the labour, or if you use timber for the higher structure which could be cut from yonder forest."
Her brow furrowed. "How do you know all this?"
"You think we never build anything in our own land? This is no different. Six weeks. You have my word on it. Now, do I have yours?"
"What?" She peered at him in confusion.
"The food, and the straw. And a day to rest."
She opened her mouth to reply, and Taranc had little doubt what her response would be. This haughty Viking was unused to negotiating with those she considered beneath her and was about to reject his suggestions. He groaned inwardly. This would prove awkward...
The clatter of cart wheels on the rutted track caught the blonde Norsewoman's attention. "Ah, more firewood. You should have sufficient now. You will help Otto to unload the cart."
Taranc and three more Celts dealt with stacking the logs alongside the first lot, while Otto released the horse from between the shafts of the cart. This was a larger wagon than the first so the horse was accordingly bigger and somewhat frisky. The driver muttered something to the Norsewoman who replied in the Nordic tongue. They both seemed intent upon examining the animal's rear hoof and spoke quietly together.
Taranc listened, frustrated that he could not understand their conversation. This placed him at a disadvantage which he would not countenance. He resolved to make it his business to learn their language as quickly as he might accomplish that feat. He was a fast learner when it suited him.
The cart driver manoeuvred the horse back between the shafts and leaned in to secure the leather straps as the Norsewoman turned to leave. She cast one last glance at Taranc.
"I expect to see you start work within the hour."
He shook his head and watched, arms folded in front of his muscled chest, as she made her way back across the meadow. Despite her ridiculous intransigence, he could not help but admire the gentle sway of her hips as she walked.
A screech from the excitable horse brought him spinning about in time to see the animal rear up between the shafts then lurch forward. The leather strap attached to the halter snapped and at once the beast was free. It sprang forward, demolishing the flimsy cart shafts in a volley of flailing hooves as the driver leapt to grab in vain for the dangling reins.
"What the—?" Taranc also made a lunge for the trailing straps but was too far away. The horse reared up on its hind legs then dropped back onto all fours. He stamped, pawed the earth for a few moments, then took off across the meadow at a headlong gallop.
"Lady Brynhild, look out!" The driver yelled his useless warning as the Norsewoman stood transfixed. The crazed horse bore down on her, hooves thundering across the springy grasses as he tore up the distance which separated them.
Taranc did not pause to think. He had but a few yards advantage over the bolting animal but he used them to best advantage. He sprinted as hard as he was able for the Viking woman and reached her perhaps half a beat before the frenzied horse. He lunged for her and bore her to the ground. The pair of them rolled together through the heather as the horse's murderous hooves missed them by fractions of an inch.
Only when he heard the pounding of the hoof beats disappearing into the distance did Taranc lift his head. The woman—Lady Brynhild—lay motionless beneath him. Her eyeswere open but unfocused, staring at a point beyond his right shoulder. Her hair had become loosened from the neat plait and covered half her face. Unthinking, Taranc swept the pale locks aside with his fingertips.
"Are you injured, lady?"
She did not answer.
"Lady? Are you hurt? Did the horse catch you?" Taranc did not think so. He had been on top as they fell so would have taken any blow from the flying hooves. For reasons he could not quite fathom he believed himself miraculously intact.
