Page 28 of Her Celtic Captor
He merely shook his head in amusement. "Ah, such temper. Still, I suppose I cannot blame you. Do you understand what I have said to you?"
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.
"A nod will suffice. Do you understand the consequences should you cross me again, or disobey my instructions?"
Still she refused to grant him the satisfaction.
He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face up to meet his gaze. "If you require a demonstration of my power over you I shall be delighted to oblige you. A few strokes of my belt should do the job."
He could not be serious. Even as she told herself this, he was unfastening the leather band about his waist. Horrified, Brynhild wriggled back and away from him. The thrall paused in his actions.
"A nod will suffice," he repeated.
Brynhild slowly bowed her head.
Taranc picked up the leather bag and peered inside again. He pulled out a cloak which he slung across his shoulders. Brynhild blinked. Surely that was her brother's garment. Yes, she was certain of it for she had woven the fabric herself. How had this thrall managed to steal it from Ulfric?
Taranc hung the bag over his right arm and with his left he reached to aid Brynhild to her feet again. "Come."
His hand on her elbow was sufficient to propel her through the trees at his side. The night was cold and she was glad of the thick cloak she had thought to pull on before leaving the sanctuary of her brother's longhouse. How much further would they go? She may have a warm cloak, but her shoes were not the stout boots she would normally choose to hike through the forest.
After just a few minutes the thrall paused again. This time he stood, his head tilted to one side, listening. Suddenly his features broke in a wide grin and he released her elbow to stride into the trees. Despite his threats of a few minutes ago Brynhildcontemplated making a run for it again, but had not the time to do so before the man returned, this time leading a horse.
Not just any horse. This was one of Ulfric's, a fine little mare, swift and dainty. The animal was saddled, and her hooves were wrapped in thick sacking to muffle the sound they made.
"Lady, we have a long ride ahead of us. You will mount quickly, if you please..." He beckoned her to approach him.
Brynhild retreated, all talk of switching and punishment flying from her head. If she got on that horse he would have her. They would soon be miles away, she might never see her home again. She could not, would not...
As though seeing the dismay in her features the thrall's expression softened. "I have promised you will not be harmed, as long as you obey. Come, we have a long journey ahead."
Brynhild had no desire to embark upon any journey with him, long or short. She shook her head and backed away, ready to run again.
Taranc was swift. He tossed the reins of the horse over a branch and lunged for her. In moments Brynhild found herself upended over his knee as he planted himself down on a fallen tree truck. Her wool skirts were about her waist, the chilly air caressing her naked bottom.
"I promised you a switching. I had hoped to delay the need, at least for a while since you will now be extremely uncomfortable when you do mount the horse. Still, it cannot he helped, I daresay. You may consider yourself fortunate that I foresaw this eventuality and prepared a switch or two in readiness. I am sure you would not have relished being forced to lay here, your lovely bottom bared, whilst I waste half the night searching out a suitably supple branch."
Brynhild squirmed in his grip, wriggling and writhing, spluttering her fury into the infernal gag. None of it did any good since the thrall simply tightened his grip by wrapping his armabout her waist and pinning her flailing legs under one of his. There was a whistle as the switch rent the frigid air, then pain exploded across Brynhild's right buttock.
For a moment she forgot to breathe. Her bottom was aflame, surely. She went rigid, flexing, clenching in readiness for the next stroke.
Taranc did not keep her waiting. Three more slivers of fire snaked across her bottom, each worse than the one before. She gasped and whimpered in shocked disbelief. She had never been punished thus before, not even as a child. Her father had been indulgent with his only daughter, her mother stern but never resorting to use of the switch or even a mild spanking.
Almost as quickly as the spanking had started, it ceased. Taranc did not let her up, but he did lay the switch down on the ground. His palm caressed her quivering buttocks as though to smooth away the hurt as Brynhild lay motionless under his hand. As he stroked her bottom she was seized with a sudden urge to part her thighs. She resisted it, of course.
She would never willingly spread her legs for a man.
"Are you ready to ride with me now, Brynhild?"
His voice was low and soft, seductive even. Despite her terror, Brynhild found herself nodding again.
He helped her to her feet and over to the horse. The rough wool of her skirts rubbed against her freshly punished bottom as she stumbled beside him, her eyes blurred with tears of rage, fear and pain. He cupped his hands to assist her up into the saddle and she winced as her buttocks made contact with the unrelenting leather. The bastard actually smirked as she shifted and tried to find a comfortable position. He leapt up onto the mare behind her and reached around for the reins.
"So, let us be on our way," he announced pleasantly. "You may get some sleep if you are able and I do advise it. You have a difficult time ahead my lovely she-Viking."
9
Taranc sought the correct word to describe the woman in his arms. He settled upon brittle. Lady Brynhild, the proud Viking lady, sister to the Jarl of Skarthveit sat the horse with a stiffness he could not entirely attribute to the switching he had dealt her, though without doubt that played its part. She held her body straight, her spine rigid and unyielding as she refused to lean back against him. It was as though she could not bring herself to be in contact with his body, to touch him at all.
