Page 20 of Her Celtic Captor
He bent his head, lowered his face to hers. Taranc took in the startled expression, the widening of her kingfisher-blue eyes as his mouth descended to brush across hers. Despite his words of just moments ago he was without doubt inviting another slap and the Viking woman could hardly be blamed for delivering it.
Her mouth was soft under his, her breath warm in the cool evening. She parted her lips as though unable to prevent her artless response and his tongue found the seam of her mouth. She opened fractionally more, and it was enough. He slipped his tongue between her lips and caressed the inner surface of her teeth with the tip.
Her hands were on his shoulders, and she clung to him, her fingers curling into his rough tunic. The sane part of his mind expected a protest, expected her to shive him away, to screech her outrage, to summon her guards but the madness which drove him now ignored all of that.
What am I doing? I don’t even like this haughty, cruel woman.
His cock disagreed. His rampant erection liked her perfectly well and tented his pants in instant recognition of the Norsewoman’s ample charms. He deepened the kiss, tunnelling his fingers through her blonde locks to hold her head still. Brynhild let out a soft moan, followed by a gasp. Now, at last and somewhat belatedly, she stiffened in his arms and sought to be free.
Fuck!
Taranc broke the kiss and released her, his own breath less than steady. Brynhild backed away, her stunned expression one he found he did not entirely care for.
“You… you should not have done that.”
Probably not.
“Why…? I do not understand…”
Neither did he.
“Go! Go Back to the slave barn. Now!”
A decent plan, at last.
Taranc stepped back to execute an exaggerated bow. "Sleep well, Lady Brynhild."
Taranc was notin the least surprised when, a half hour or so later, Dagr burst into the slave barn, Brynhild at his heels. The slave master had his whip at the ready and stomped across the bare earth floor to where Taranc crouched beside the fire pit. He had a juicy fillet of trout impaled upon a stick and was holding it above the blaze to cook. It appeared his meal was to be disturbed. The other slaves stared in stunned amazement but Taranc merely sighed as he turned to face the irate karl and the Viking female.
"You were out. By the river, and you threatened the Jarl's own son. You know the punishment for this." Spittle sprayed from Dagr's lips as he enunciated the charges. "Twenty lashes. You, and you..." He gestured to several of the thralls who hovered closest. "Seize him and hold him fast."
No one moved to oblige the slave master in his quest. Taranc smiled. "It appears you must manage unaided, karl. I wish you joy of that." He had no idea what had possessed Dagr to charge up to the slave barn accompanied by no one but Brynhild, but itseemed the man had been stupid enough to do just that. Taranc had not the slightest intention of cooperating with the promised whipping, so he doubted it would happen. At least, not yet. Dagr was malicious, Brynhild seemingly even more so. They would not forget.
Dagr stepped forward, his pugnacious chin jutting at Taranc. He trailed the whip along the floor, then flicked it in the air with a loud crack. "You think that I will not, thrall? You think to defy me, to make a fool of me? You will learn, Celtic cur. You will learn who is master here."
"I was under the impression thatIam master here."
Dagr spun to face Ulfric as the Jarl entered the barn, Njal panting at his rear. The Viking chief paused to take in the scene, then turned to his sister. "Perhaps you will be so good as to explain to me what this is about, Brynhild. A fishing expedition, I gather..."
"I caught this man, thisCelt, with your son by the river. Anything might have happened..."
"And whatdidhappen?" Ulfric's voice remained low and even, though his irritation was apparent.
Brynhild stamped her foot. "I do not know. I arrived, and?—"
"Njal? What did happen?"
"We caught three fish, father. Two trout and a salmon."
"Ah, yes. These would be the fish, I imagine. Or what remains of them." The thralls had made short work of filleting and cooking the welcome fare and nothing but the heads were left to bear witness to Njal's largesse. Those would find their way into the next day's broth. "I trust you all enjoyed your meal."
"Aye, Jarl," confirmed Taranc. "It was most flavoursome. We must thank you, Njal. Again."
Ulfric folded his arms across his chest and leaned against one of the upright beams which supported the roof of the barn. "And how, I wonder, did you come to be fishing at the river withmy son when you should have been securely locked within these walls? Do you care to explain that to me, Celt?"
Taranc shrugged. "The locks are flimsy."
"Evidently." Ulfric shifted his regard to Dagr. "I find myself sorely disappointed in your management of my thralls, and not for the first time of late. Flimsy locks, indeed. You must do better than this, Dagr, or I shall find you alternative work to which you may be better suited. Perhaps you might prefer to herd sheep since they do not require much in the way of locks, or maybe you should work in the fields."
