Page 47 of Her Celtic Captor
"I have had enough. Thank you. It was—nice."
He smiled. She was trying, at least.
"I have much to attend to so I must leave you for a while. You should sleep."
"I am not tired."
"Rest, then. The bed is in the far corner."
"The bed? Just one bed?"
"Aye, just the one. Make yourself comfortable. I shall ask Annag to find fresh clothes for you since your own still have the salt of the sea upon them." He planted her on her feet and gave her a shove in the direction of the large raised cot in the corner. "I shall see you in a couple of hours or so. And remember, do try to be nice to everyone."
His tourof the village took longer than he had anticipated since he was called upon to pause at every dwelling to share news of those still in the Norseland. For the most part he was able to reassure his people that their loved ones were safe but still there was sadness, anger, resentment, and puzzlement at the presence among them of one of the hated enemy. It would pass, he knew, and much would depend on his own attitude toward Brynhild. If he accepted her, welcomed her, then his people would too.
He wanted her to be happy here. It mattered to him, more than he might have imagined. On every occasion he declared Brynhild to be a fine woman, honest and hard-working, skilled at weaving and home-making, a woman who had lost her own home and family through no fault of her own, so had opted to accompany him to Scotland when the opportunity arose. Not entirely the true state of affairs but he felt it judicious to smooth the way for her. The rest was up to Brynhild herself.
Taranc returned to his house as the sun was setting. He entered, and was pulled up short by the sight of Brynhild seated in the small tub he used for his bath. She was submerged up to her shoulders in the steaming water which rippled about her breasts and bent knees. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted back. Behind her, Annag sat on a low stool and rubbed a soap made of mutton fat and scented with lavender into her hair. Both women turned to him as he stood in the doorway.
"I can assist Brynhild from here. You may go, Annag."
"But—" His young cousin clearly found this suggestion less than wholly appropriate.
Taranc smiled and reached back to open the door, then gestured his kinswoman through it. Brynhild remained whereshe was, though she watched him with suspicion from the safety of her bath.
"You appear more refreshed than when I left. I trust Annag has taken good care of you."
"She has been very kind. She brought me fresh clothes, and she offered to prepare the bath. I did not ask it of her."
Taranc nodded, though he would not have considered it unreasonable had Brynhild made such a request. He should have suggested it himself. He moved to take up the position recently occupied by Annag and drew a pail of fresh, clean water close to his knee. "Allow me to assist you in rinsing your hair."
"I can manage..." She started to sit up, then seemingly realised this would reveal her naked breasts to him. She sank back into the water, her arms crossed over her chest.
Taranc made no comment, just proceeded to pour jugfuls of clean water over her now perfectly cleansed locks. The brightness of her flaxen curls, even when wet, near dazzled him as he drew his fingers slowly through her hair to tease out the tangles.
"Your hair is beautiful. It was the first thing I noticed about you."
She snorted. "The first thing I noticed about you was that you are quite ridiculously tall. And that you lacked the proper respect due to a Viking woman of the Jarl. You were far too ready with your demands."
"Aye, I daresay. And now you appear to be struggling to exhibit the required degree of deference due the chief of your village. Perhaps I should make more demands of you."
"What... what do you mean." She stiffened, her slender shoulders tightening as she tensed.
Taranc released his grip on her hair and laid his palms on the soft skin which covered her clavicles. He drew his hands in towards her neck, thumbs outstretched, then began to trace lazycircles with the pads, right at her hairline. She flinched, and he increased the pressure, seeking out the spot where tension lurked.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was a breathless whisper.
"Making demands. Relax, be still. Enjoy."
"I cannot. I do not like you to touch me..."
"Liar. I shall not hurt you, and you know it." He kept up the relentless, sensual pressure, leaning in to kiss the outer shell of her ear as he did so. Brynhild let out a soft gasp, but offered no further objection.
Her taut and rigid body softened under his ministrations. He was not certain she even realised she had done so when she released her tightly folded arms to lay them along the rim of the tub and leaned back into his gentle embrace. He allowed his hands to move, reaching forward, then lower to cup the soft swell of both her breasts. She gasped, her posture tensing again, betraying her disquiet. But she allowed it.
Taranc caressed the lower curves, his thumbs now rubbing across her stiff, pebbling nipples. He longed to take one of the deep pink buds between his teeth but decided to save that pleasure for another occasion. For now, he had her where he wanted her. She accepted his touch, at least this far, his intimate exploration of her body. She was learning to trust him.
He continued to toy with her nipple as he drew his fingertips down the length of her sternum, pausing to explore the hollow of her navel before continuing on to tease the pale blonde curls at the apex of her thighs. He did not suggest she spread her legs for him as he knew what her answer would be. Instead he kissed her neck as he slid his fingers through her soft folds., seeking out the pleasure nub he knew he would find there.
