Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

"Arrogant oaf!" With blazing eyes, the wench retreated, but only as far as the bed. She folded her arms across her chest, looking down upon him with a rancorous expression.

Despite his quip that she might continue what she'd begun, Eldberg was far from in a jesting mood. A herd of horses was stampeding through his skull, his mouth was drier than old leather and—regardless of the cock-stand she'd been amusing herself with—his bladder was fit to burst.

How did he come to be here, tied up like a stuck pig?

More to the point, where was this place?

The last he remembered, he'd been sailing northward across open seas when the wind had risen. Storms were liable to come suddenly, but he'd seen nothing like it afore. Such a darkening of the sky! They'd taken in the sail and stowed the oars, relying on the rudder alone to guide them over the fierce swells.

What else? A glimmer of light beyond the overcast of grey, then a strange mist drifting upon the waves. He couldn't recall much more.

He frowned, only to receive a stab of pain above his left eye.

By Odin's teeth, he felt rough—as if he'd been drukkin a sennight—and ‘twas not just his head feeling the battering. He flexed his hands, only to feel a bite at his wrists. Whoever had tied them had some strength, for the bonds were tight. From the look upon the wench's face, he doubted she'd be rushing to free him.

His thoughts turned to the others. Were they nearby, trussed as he was? "Where are my men?"

She didn't deign to answer. The question only seemed to incense her, if the steel in her eyes was anything to go by. Clearly, she didn't intend to enlighten him, but he needed to know if his Skálavík brothers had survived. The fact that he was bound encouraged him. A lone man was no threat; a longship-full was a different matter. For the time being, he'd do best to play to her caring side. All women had one of those.

"I'm thirsty." He licked his lips, which hardly helped, finding them salt coated.

She took her time thinking about it but rose to pour water from a pitcher. Standing over him, she held the wooden cup, tipping it to his mouth.

Resting his head upon the side of the bed, he allowed himself a deep sigh. If he were to get himself out of this fix, ‘twould be well to act weaker than she might think him.

"Nature is calling. If you might lead me outside…"

"Pffft!" She made a scornful sound. "You think me born yesterday?"

"‘Tis a handsome chamber." He let his eyes fill with reproach. "You can't want me passing water here where I sit?"

She pursed her lips at that. Obviously, she didn't want him pissing on her floor. She fetched a pot and crouched next to him, holding it beneath his member. The latter was still pointing halfway to the rafters, thanks to her ministrations. Despite her obvious disdain, she took him between thumb and forefinger, looking away as he let forth his stream.

Had it not been for the circumstances, he'd have found some small amusement in it—bound naked to a bedpost, at the mercy of a woman. An attractive one at that, regardless of the scowl on her face and the years she carried. He liked them fair and blue-eyed, and this woman was gifted on both counts. She was built well, her breasts pressing firm to the bodice of her gunna . A good sweep to her hips, too; the sort of curves a man could hold on to while delivering his thrusts.

As she knelt over him, he caught her scent—a natural, earthy tang overlaid with some herb… rosemary, was it? When she rose again, the thick plait she wore over her shoulder brushed his cheek.

Despite the thumping behind his eyes and his awkward position, which was doing the bones of his arse no favor, he felt the stirring of lust. If he could free himself of his binds, he'd show her what a woman could expect from a man she stripped bare and deposited in her bedchamber. He'd tie her as she had him, exercising sweet torture to discover what he desired to know. That thought sent a rush of blood to his shaft.

Yes . He'd enjoy that, screwing her from behind while pushing that prettily defiant face into the bed-furs, or he'd wrap her plait about his fist, jerking upon it with each hammering.

Oh, yes, she'd soon start talking.

He'd find out where his men were being held and the size of this settlement. The soothsayer he'd consulted in her cave had spoken of treasure. Perhaps that's why the gods had brought them here. If the women of this place were comely, they'd make a worthwhile prize on their own. Healthy slaves fetched a decent price at Hedeby and Kaupang.

We'll fill the boat and be on our way.

He smiled to himself. This one would make a good bed-thrall once she'd gotten over her haughty airs, and he'd enjoy making use of her until the day came to sell her at market. Some training would be required to ensure her compliance, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd undertaken that task. In truth, there was little he liked better than bending a spirited woman to his will.

Fleetingly, he recalled the last who'd occupied him so. For a time, he'd thought himself in love, but she'd betrayed him, putting an arrow in his shoulder for good measure. The wound had troubled him for two winters. If he was honest, it pained him continually, and being fettered wasn't helping.

Elswyth—briefly his thrall—had since returned to Svolvaen, but she'd more than once traveled to Skálavík, her bloodline giving her an authority neither of them had foreseen when she'd first fallen captive. As Jarl Beornwold's only surviving offspring, she had a claim upon Skálavík to rival Eldberg's own. ‘Twas a shame she hadn't consented to throw off her milk-sop husband and rule at Eldberg's side, but he refused to dwell on what he couldn't change.

The only woman who'd truly loved him had been Bretta, the bride who'd been taken from him so heartlessly. She was long since bone and ash.

Eldberg's captor returned to the edge of the bed, surveying him with a bold stare. No coyness there, judging by the way she was looking at his lap. Let her look. Once their roles were reversed, she'd have plenty of time to make his cock her study.

He kept her gaze. "I deserve to know what you want from me. You mean to ask a ransom?"

Her eyes flashed. "I want nothing. Only to see you die and the others with you."

So, they were alive!

In her anger, she was loose-tongued.

So be it. He'd rile her up a little more.

"There's only one reason to keep me bound like this. You want to ride my staff. Wasn't that what you were about to do when I woke?"

"Bastard!" With a hiss, she drew a blade from the belt at her waist.

"How about we remove what you're so proud of!" Without further warning, she leapt forward, and he felt the flat of the dagger press low on his abdomen. "I don't suppose it shall be a clean cut, but I'll do my best. Perhaps then I shall pleasure myself with it—though a poor, limp thing it shall be when it's no longer attached to you."

She wouldn't dare! Whichever men were in charge here would not sanction such dishonorable treatment of a captive—especially when no offense had been committed.

"How many times, I wonder, have you forced a woman to take this puny prick in her mouth?" She turned the blade slightly, so he felt its edge. "You might teach me something, for who knows better the technique of sucking a cock than the man who owns it?"

Eldberg winced. He could not say he liked this turn of events. Nor was his cock puny—though it was probably not the time to argue that point.

"Alright." He spoke through gritted teeth. "You had no such intent. ‘Twas some passing curiosity, or mayhap you thought only to awaken me. No doubt you mean now to clothe and feed me, though I do not deserve such courtesy."

The humility pained him, but the woman was in the grip of some madness, and he'd no wish to become her victim. Bleeding away his life with his manhood stuffed in his mouth was a death he could not permit.

He was relieved to see her sit back on her heels.

"You have the right of it. You deserve nothing. If I decide to clothe or feed you, it will be when I say so. Perhaps, if you were to beg, I might relent." Her arching eyebrow reflected her conceit.

Eldberg bit his tongue. He'd never begged for anything, least of all food or clothing. Even when he'd been taken by berserkers as a boy, they hadn't obliged that degradation upon him.

"You're neither cold nor hungry, then?" The woman tossed back her braid. "When those needs grow, you shall plead for my goodwill. Meanwhile, I have not finished with you."

Very lightly, she trailed the dagger upward, letting the point tease his skin. Only when the blade pressed over the vicinity of his heart did his pulse speed to an alarming rate. If she were to raise her weight over the hilt, it would take no great effort to pierce him there. She surely guessed his thoughts for she gave a low laugh.

"A quick end it would be, which I find does not suit me." She brought the tip to circle his nipple. "I've always wondered why men have these. Such a waste, don't you think?" She looked pensive. "Now, if men were able to suckle the offspring they seed, that would be a boon."

"So it would." His voice did not carry its usual cadence, which annoyed him almost as much as the knowledge that she was contemplating removing that small, tender part of him, in lieu of taking the other.

She was adept at handling the knife, for its edge had not yet broken his skin. In truth, the touch of its cold blade upon that sensitive nub was curiously arousing, and now that his manhood had received assurance it was to remain attached, it was growing in girth once more.

It had not escaped his notice that the woman's breath was quickening as much as his own. Her breasts rose and fell at the yoke of her gown, and there was a flush upon her cheek. Moreover, she'd shifted her position, now straddling his thighs.

Did she mean to mount him after all? To copulate with him while taunting him with her blade? The thought sent a pounding ache to his groin that surpassed the throbbing in his head.

She brought a hand beneath his chin. Tipping back his head, she half-circled his throat. "If I cut off this little thing, will you miss it?"

"You are mistress here." Eldberg made himself say it since it was what she wished to hear.

"I am." She smiled again. "How would it be if I were to cut out your tongue, and those would be the last words you ever spoke?" She shuffled farther upward. With her skirts pushed away to the sides, her damp curls tickled his stiffness. She was hot betwixt the thighs.

He hesitated before answering. "A tongue can be used for more than speaking—" He did not get to finish, for her fingers tightened about his throat, cutting off the words.

To his surprise, as she held him there, her face lowered to his.

She took a soft pull upon his bottom lip. Instinctively, he opened to her, and was rewarded by the lusty sensation of having his tongue sucked into her mouth.

Eldberg had no idea what the wench was about. Did she mean to kill him or fuck him?

As she bore down, grinding her mound to the hardness of his pelvis, he wondered if both were in store. He hoped the fucking would begin soon, or he'd expire without help from his wicked tormentor.