Chapter Twelve

Brynhild sank to her knees, her arms still extended around the mast. She watched through a blur of tears as Taranc crouched beside her and untied her hands then rubbed her wrists to ease the numbness from her fingers. Then he wrapped the blanket about her shoulders again and tucked it tight in front of her. She frowned when he reached for her right ankle and started to tie the end of the rope around it.

"What are you doing?" She could no longer summon the energy required to struggle to escape his grasp.

"You are to remain bound, but I do not wish you to be uncomfortable. You will have sufficient rope to move about a little, though not to reach the rail, and your hands will be free."

"Why? I cannot escape." She surveyed the vast expanse of the sea. The coastline of her homeland had long since receded from view.

Taranc grinned at her, an expression she found both engaging and oddly annoying. "Let us not tempt fate, eh? You have proved yourself to be unpredictable, Brynhild. I believe Eileifr would be happier were you to be restrained."

The karl appeared quite unconcerned one way or the other in Brynhild's view. He busied himself winding a narrow line around a reel, which he secured to the side of the boat before releasing the end to trail in the waves. The fisherman was obviously not about to waste the opportunity of returning home with a decent catch if he could, as well as Ulfric's coins.

"Your clothes are almost dry. You may get dressed soon."

"You are most kind, Celt." She could not prevent the waspish tone that crept in, but immediately regretted it. The dreaded belt still lay on the deck, just a couple of feet away.

His smile was sardonic. "Guard your tongue, lady. Let us have a truce, shall we? I believe you will find that arrangement more to your liking than if I were to find cause to discipline you yet again. I expect you will toughen up. You will have to if you insist upon crossing me. But just now I fear your bottom is too tender to take much more punishment so do not push your good fortune with me."

Chastened, Brynhild dropped her gaze. She could not fault him for giving fair warning.

"How long will it take? To reach Scotland?"

"We will be at sea for another two nights, possibly three though the wind is fair and we are making good time."

"I am to remain tied to the mast the entire voyage?"

"I believe that to be best."

"And, when we arrive? Am I to be a slave?"

"We Celts rarely take slaves, though I daresay the life of a serf may well seem not so dissimilar. They are tied to the land they work, and therefore to the landowner, though serfs do have a choice of sorts."

"Of sorts?"

"Aye. The choice between a labourer's cottage to call home and food on the table, or the freedom to go cold and hungry."

"You are a serf?" She thought he must be, by the hint of bitterness in his tone.

Taranc shook his head. "No, I am chief in my village so the serfs there answer to me for their livelihood, though I owe obeisance to the lord of Pennglas. He is Fiona's father."

"Is he a fair lord?"

"Aye, fair enough, and I try to be. I believe our people live well enough. It is better than being a Viking thrall, certainly."

"Ulfric was not a cruel Jarl."

"Slavery is cruel, Brynhild, however benevolent the master. You should consider yourself fortunate not to sample it yourself."

It may pain her to accept the truth of his words, but she could not find it within her to argue. And she did consider herself lucky. "Then what do you intend? If I am not to be your slave, and you will not wed me?"

"I am returning to my village. You may come with me and you are welcome to make your home there. I daresay your skills as a weaver will be sufficient to guarantee you a living. You will be a free woman in Aikrig, not a prisoner. If you choose to leave, to go elsewhere, I shall not prevent it."

"Where would I go? I know no one in your land. I have nothing…"

"I appreciate that. So you are welcome to remain with me."

She shook her head, despondent. "I am a Viking. My people have made war upon yours. Your people will hate me."

"Only if you invite them to do so."

"But—"

"Only you and I know what transpired in your land, between you and Fiona. No one here will hold you responsible for the actions of your brother or others from your land. No one has reason to hate you and I will not give them any such cause. You may start afresh, make friends, build a life."

"I had a life."

"And now you have another. Think about what I have said and make what you may of it." He completed the task of securing her ankle to the mast, leaving perhaps four feet of rope free to allow her to stand and move about a little. "Now, I believe Eileifr might appreciate some help in acquiring a fine supper for us. You will excuse me, lady."

The two men spent the next several hours at routine tasks about the small vessel. Taranc seemed to know how to arrange the sails, to read the wind and make adjustments to ensure that they remained on course. Eiliefr attended to his lines and also flung a net from the stern of the boat. He seemed well content with the outcome of his labours as he and Taranc hauled the catch aboard. Both men ignored Brynhild, so she was left to her own thoughts that whirled around in her head.

Where did it come from, her near confession? She had almost told Taranc. She had come perilously close to blurting out her secret. No one knew. No one must ever know, yet she had very nearly yelled it to the heavens. She must have a care, especially since his words about a new life seemed so tempting now that she properly considered them. Could it be true? Could she really leave her past behind and start afresh in this untried and alien land? She would be among strangers. Worse, she would be living among the Celts she had hated for years, but even so, the promise in Taranc's words called to her.

She wanted this. She wanted to choose this, for herself.

Taranc had passed her clothes to her, now dried in the sun so she was properly dressed once more. She chewed thoughtfully on the salted fish provided by Eileifr and washed it down with fresh water, then completed several circuits of the mast before gingerly settling down to kneel on the deck again. Her bottom throbbed without mercy, her thighs even more so when she allowed her weight to rest upon them. She could not sit in comfort and she wondered if she ever would again. She wriggled and fidgeted as she sought some ease but her efforts were in vain. Once or twice she caught sight of Taranc's knowing look as he regarded her from across the deck. She wondered if he might again offer to rub away the discomfort. If he did, she might be tempted to accept.

By late afternoon she was becoming seriously cold through inactivity, bored to the point of screaming, and she was hungry again. Taranc strode past her to attend to the rudder and she reached out to catch his tunic. "May I have another blanket, please? If there is one?"

"Of course. You may have mine." He passed it to her.

She frowned. "You will require it yourself. Later."

"We shall share. That makes better sense."

"Share?" She hoped he had not heard the startled squeak in her voice though thus far he had missed little enough.

"Aye. Share." He did not wait to discuss the matter. Seemingly their course required further adjustment and this demanded all his attention. Brynhild shifted her weight again and groaned as another sizzle of fire assailed her punished thighs.

They ate an evening meal of more salted fish with bread and a handful of nuts each. The men sat beside Brynhild to take their meal and the conversation was convivial enough, though in a manner Brynhild found quite bizarre. Eileifr asked after Njal and informed her that his own sister had recently been delivered of a fine boy. Brynhild smiled as though there was nothing in the slightest way odd about their current circumstances and wished the new family well, then turned to speak to Taranc.

"Do you have a family? People with whom you share your home?" She had not intended to ask, but the question had popped into her head, and then it was out.

He nodded. "My mother, Murdina, and her widowed sister, Morag reside in a cottage in my village though they do not share the chief's house. That was to be my home with Fiona but I daresay you will find it comfortable. My cousin, Annag, lives with Murdina and Morag and takes care of my house too. I hope she has continued to do so whilst I have been absent. It is a hectic family but I believe you will fit in well enough. "

"I am to live in your house? On what basis?"

He shrugged. "On the basis that I see no other obvious solution."

"It is not decent. There will be talk."

"Aye, maybe. It will not last."

"I cannot live with you," insisted Brynhild.

"Very well. You may make such other arrangements as you please."

Brynhild fell silent. What ‘other arrangements' might she even consider? She chewed on her fish and said no more on the subject.

As darkness fell, the men hauled in the nets and lines though they continued to tack onward, making a brisk speed across the rippling waves. It had been agreed between the men that Eileifr was to remain awake for the first watch, and Taranc would relieve him after a few hours. Brynhild peered out from within her cocoon of blankets as the Celt approached and crouched beside her little nest.

"You may have your blanket back," she murmured. "I do not require it."

"Do not be a fool, Brynhild. Roll over and I shall help you to remain warm."

"I am quite warm enough, thank you."

"Sadly, I am not. Roll over."

"But—"

"Remember our truce, lady? Now, do as I ask." He picked up the corner of her blanket and lifted one eyebrow as he waited.

"Just, do not touch me, that is all. I… I shall defend myself if you do."

He grinned at her. "And how do you intend to do that, my fierce Viking?"

"I… I shall—"

"Fear not. You may sleep safely in your bed this night."

Brynhild huffed at him, but recognised that she had no choice but to trust him. She rolled over onto her other side, taking care to favour her still sore buttocks as she did so. Taranc slid into the space she had vacated, and she was surprised at the sudden warmth that permeated their bed. Still, she would take care not to actually rub up against him in the night. Brynhild curled up in a small ball at the furthest extent permitted by the rope still attached to her ankle and closed her eyes. If this Celt insisted upon sharing her bed, she would do the next best thing she could. She would ignore him.

* * *

She stretched. She was delightfully warm and comfortable. Her joints ached, as though she had seen many hours labouring in the fields about their settlement, and a tinge of soreness permeated her lower body. It was not unpleasant. The sensation might be better described as satisfying. Brynhild sighed and rubbed her cheek upon the blanket beneath her.

"Tell me, my Viking, who was it?"

What? Brynhild opened her eyes, dragged unceremoniously from her languorous state of relaxation by the soft masculine tone close to her ear. She wriggled backward with a startled squeak.

Taranc chuckled. "Do not pretend that you were asleep, my sweet Viking."

"I was. I—"

"Who was it?"

She shoved a heavy hank of blonde curls from her face and peered up at him, realising to her chagrin that her good intentions of the previous evening had come to absolutely naught. Far from avoiding touching him as she had planned when she submitted to this ill-judged sleeping arrangement, she had snuggled right up to the Celt in the night, absorbing his warmth and the unlikely comfort he offered. She had even used his chest as her pillow.

By Odin's teeth, I must learn to control such foolishness.

"What are you babbling about, Celt? "

"I want to know who the fool was who convinced you that you are cold."

"Who…? How…?" Brynhild was at a loss, but alert enough to know she was drifting into deep water.

Taranc continued as though she had not spoken, his tone deceptively conversational. "For he was surely an idiot, an addle-brained simpleton with the sensitivity of a dead slug. Why would you allow such a creature to influence you? You are an intelligent woman, Brynhild, and a lovely one, and without doubt as warm as any I have met. So why accept such a falsehood from one so deluded?"

"I… I do not know what you are talking about."

"I believe you do, but let me refresh your memory. Yesterday, you informed me that you are cold, unlovable, worthless. Did I miss anything?" He paused. "No, I believe that was the gist of it. Well, I feel compelled to point out to you that you are wrong, and that whoever planted those notions in your lovely head was an insensitive numbskull. So, who was it? Your betrothed?"

"My betrothed? I have no betrothed." She was drowning, every bit as surely as when she plunged into the icy waters yesterday.

"But you did. I heard mention of it in the slave barn. You were to wed a man from a neighbouring settlement."

She nodded. "Eirik Bjarkesson. But he died."

"I know that also. Did you love him?"

"Love him? No, of course I did not."

"Why so vehement? It is not unheard of for a bride to love her betrothed. Was it he who filled your head with this nonsense?"

"Of course he did not. Eirik was most kind to me. He was gentle, and… and… he would have made a fine husband. I miss him very much."

"Yet this is the first time his name has arisen between us."

"Why would I talk to you of my betrothed?"

"Did you spread your legs for him? "

Brynhild sat up, wincing as her weight settled on her punished buttocks. She glared at Taranc, outraged at the question. "How dare you ask me such a thing? What gives you the right?"

"Did you? Was it he who convinced you that you would not do such a thing again?"

Does he forget nothing? Am I to be challenged on every unguarded remark? Is every last one of my secrets to be scrutinised, examined, analysed, and explained? This is insufferable!

Her temper simmered. "May I suggest you mind your own business, Celt? I shall not press you on the intimate details of your relationship with my brother's bed-slave, and you shall not pry into my life."

"You may not suggest that, and you will have a care how you speak to me unless you are prepared to present your pretty bottom for another spanking. You will answer."

"Why? Why should I? What is it to you?"

"You are in my care."

"I… I am not. I am your prisoner, for now, that is all."

He sighed and reached for her, then drew her close to his chest. Brynhild lay stiff in his arms, the threat—or promise—of a spanking not lost on her. He nuzzled the top of her head with his lips.

"I would not wish you to consider me unduly harsh. How would you feel about an honest exchange? I shall tell you of my relationship with Fiona, and you shall tell me of your Eirik."

"I have no desire to hear about Fiona. She is nothing to me."

"Liar. You asked how often I tied her up and spanked her bare bottom."

"And you told me you never treated her in such a way, yet you will ill-treat me as you please."

"A man does not spank a woman for whom he cares nothing."

"You are speaking in riddles. Did you not care for your betrothed?" She could not believe this. He had seemed so concerned, so outraged on Fiona's behalf when he believed the little Celtic slave to be in danger.

"I did care for her, but as I would a sister. We spent much time together as children…"

"How long were you betrothed?"

"There was an understanding of sorts between her father and mine from when we were both quite young, but the arrangement was only formalised two years ago, just before my father died. He wanted matters settled, I suppose."

"But you did not wed."

"No, we did not."

"She was a virgin, when my brother first had her."

"Yes."

"You and she, you never…"

"Obviously."

"Why not?"

"We were friends, but there was nothing more between us. We would have done our duty, I daresay, eventually. Your brother's intervention changed all of that."

"Were you faithful to her? I mean, since you and she were not lovers?"

"I was, at least during the time of our formal betrothal. I would not have treated her with disrespect. Prior to that, no, I did not consider myself obligated, nor did I expect fidelity from Fiona."

"You must have been very angry with my brother."

"Oh, yes. It was a brutal attack on our villages. Fiona's brother died in the raid, as did several others. I think it is fair to say I was fucking angry, and I was desperately scared for Fiona. For all of my people who were taken."

"Yet you arrived at this deal with Ulfric. You agreed to abduct me."

"It is true that we came to understand each other after a while. Your brother has his faults but he is a man I can respect and I trust him to take care of Fiona. She will be happy with him, and that is what I want for her."

"You are not jealous? "

"Do I seem so to you?"

"No, and I do not understand why you would relinquish your bride so readily."

"We were not suited. It is better this way. Now, I would hear of your Eirik."

"There is nothing to tell. He was a warrior from a settlement about a half day's ride to the west of Skarthveit. My father arranged the match, with the Jarl of the Bjarkessons. It was a good alliance."

"Did you spread your legs for him?"

Brynhild hesitated, then shook her head slowly. "No. He did not ask that of me. He was… polite."

"Polite? I cannot believe he did not wish to fuck you. Certainly, I would wish to, were I in his position."

"He… he did not."

"Why not? And please do not trouble to mention your alleged coldness for it will not do. Why did Eirik Bjarkesson not wish to sample the delights of his very lovely bride to be?"

"I do not know."

"Brynhild, you are perilously close to a spanking right now. Are you sure you wish to continue to lie to me?"

"It… it is private."

"I imagine so. Tell me."

"I cannot. It is too… too… personal."

"I would say we have reached the point where nothing is too personal. Tell me, Brynhild. Now."

She drew in a long breath, then let it out. Her cheeks flamed and she squirmed under the weight of her embarrassment as she whispered the words she had never uttered to a soul before, words she had sworn she would never repeat.

"He preferred men."

"Ah. I see. You knew of this?"

Brynhild nodded. "I… I discovered him and another warrior. I was not intended to know, but I saw, and… I promised I would never tell anyone. "

"Even knowing this, you were willing to wed him?"

"I was willing to wed him because of it. He would not expect me to… to… We had an agreement. He would have been perfect for me."

"Why would you settle for a man who would never desire you? What about children? Would you have settled for such a life?"

"I have settled for such a life and it has served me well. Until you and Ulfric turned everything upon its head."

"So, if not Eirik, who told you that you were worthless and unlovable? Who convinced you that you were cold?"

Brynhild flattened her lips in grim determination. He might spank her, but she had told him all she was prepared to. The rest, well, that was buried and would remain so whatever this meddlesome Celt might do to her.

"Please, no more. Please do not ask me any more."

"Brynhild…?"

"Whip me if you must, if you consider that necessary, but I will not tell you."

"I shall not whip you, little Viking, for I know it would do no good. However, I have one final question for you and I require an honest answer."

"What question?"

"You did not spread your thighs for your betrothed, and now I understand why. He had no wish to fuck you. But I do. So, Brynhild, will you spread them for me?"