Chapter Thirteen

What his question lacked in finesse it certainly made up for in the element of surprise. Naturally Brynhild did not answer and he had not really expected her to. She could only gape at him, wide-eyed. Most telling, though, she did not recoil in horror. Well, not entirely. She had backed away, shaking her head. He did not miss the sudden shimmer of tears, nor did he mistake the flash of curious vulnerability instantly quashed. Taranc took that as her wordless response and allowed the matter to drop for the time being. It was not as though he intended to take her right there on the fishing vessel, with Eileifr looking on. There would be time enough when they reached Aikrig.

He would need to revisit his view on marriage. Although his natural instinct had not changed, he still believed a marriage between himself and Brynhild Freysson would be a prickly affair at best, he had to admit the prospect was not without its compensations. Sweet Jesus, but the woman had his cock gripped in a more or less permanent state of hardness. It was beginning to actually hurt. For her part, she was wary of him, badly frightened by something she refused to name, but he was now convinced she was not immune to him and for that he thanked his Maker. For certain, the sort of marriage which Eirik Bjarkesson would have found acceptable would not suit Taranc. He intended to bed her, and he would do it well and thoroughly and very, very often.

His little Viking had but to come around to the idea.

She spent much of their second day at sea asleep, or pretending to be. He allowed that and busied himself assisting Eiliefr. Just before sunset they sighted land.

"Shetland," announced Eiliefr. "By first light we shall be at Orkney, and soon after we shall reach the coast of Scotland. Your village is perhaps a half day's sailing down the eastern coast."

Taranc nodded. He had a fair idea of the course they were on and fully expected to take his next noontime meal at his own table in Aikrig.

A couple of hours after dawn broke he crouched beside Brynhild and shook her by the shoulder. She peeped out of the blankets at him, her deep blue eyes apprehensive. Taranc produced a finely carved bone comb, yet another of the useful items so helpfully supplied by her brother.

"We are nearing our destination. I thought you might wish to make use of this before meeting anyone."

She blinked at him, but took the comb. "Thank you."

He smiled and reached for the rope that still bound her ankle. "We will be going ashore in an hour or so." He set her loose. "I trust you will not find it necessary to fling yourself overboard, but I should warn you, if you do I shall not be best pleased at being forced to dive in after you a second time. By now you will appreciate the likely consequences of such foolishness. You are no longer a prisoner, Brynhild. You are now a free woman… of Scotland."

He might have wished she appeared less daunted at that prospect.

Taranc stood at the bow and watched as his former home swelled in the distance, eventually filling his vision. Little had altered in the months he had been away, and he was glad of it. Brynhild came to stand at his side, her pale hair combed and freshly plaited, and her crumpled tunic smoothed out as best she might manage it.

"It is smaller than I imagined."

He nodded at her observation. "Aye, Aikrig is but a fishing village, a hamlet really. Pennglas, the main village, lies about a mile inland and is larger."

"Which house is yours?"

"Ours," he corrected. "That one, there, at the brow of the incline, just before the trees." He pointed to the largest of the dwellings, a single-storey structure made of stone and timber, with a turfed roof.

He supposed it was not unlike a Viking longhouse in external appearance, though no smoke billowed through the roof. In a Viking dwelling the fire would never be allowed to go out. He had to assume that in his absence his family had not found it necessary to keep the blaze going. That would have to change and he had no doubt that Brynhild would be equal to the task. He turned to regard her solemn features.

"You will keep our home and I know that you will do so with your usual efficiency. However, I will expect you to treat our servants well. Annag, my cousin, will help you and I expect to hear no tales of whippings, stocks, or cold baths. Do I make myself clear?"

She glared at him, her spine stiffening. "You hardly know me, yet you think to dictate on such matters. I am a fine manager of servants. I expect people to work hard, but I am fair and our house thralls loved me."

"Brynhild, let us not have any illusions on this matter. No one here is a thrall, or a slave. You will treat them accordingly or face the consequences. Do I need to elaborate?"

She glared at him, bristling with resentment. "No, you do not. You will spank me."

"Indeed. So, are you ready to greet your new family? I believe my mother is already on the beach. She has seen us." He raised his arm to wave at the diminutive figure dancing and skipping about on the dark gold expanse of damp sand. "She will be relieved to see me, I do not doubt. And surprised."

"I expect she will be even more surprised to see me," observed Brynhild.

Taranc did not disagree. He helped his reluctant companion ashore, lifting her in his arms to ensure she was not called upon to wade through the thigh-deep waves in order to reach dry land. He set her down then turned to accept the enthusiastic hug from his mother. Tears streamed across the older woman's cheeks as she greeted the son she had believed lost for good.

"I thought you perished, you and all the others. Oh, thank the dear, sweet Lord that you are returned to us. And the rest? Have they also escaped? What of Fiona?" She peered over his shoulder at the fishing boat, Eileifr was already setting out to sea again, eager to be away from this hostile foreign shore. "Are there no others with you?"

"Alas, no. Though I do have a companion I would wish you to meet. This is Brynhild Freysson. She is to make her home here, with us." He steadfastly avoided catching Brynhild's eye, but her tense intake of breath was not to be missed. He thought it best to press on. "Are Morag and Annag here also?"

"Aye. Though Annag has gone on ahead to prepare your house."

"Good." Now he did chance a look in Brynhild's direction. "I told you she would help." He extended his hand and took her cold one, then began to lead her up the beach. On all sides they were greeted by excited, joyful shouts as the villagers rushed to welcome him, to shout their questions about the fate of loved ones still missing, to pat him on the back and thank the Lord and all the saints for his safe delivery back among them. Taranc accepted their good wishes with easy charm, shouldering his way forward until he reached the threshold of his own dwelling. He gestured Brynhild to step inside, followed by his still beaming mother. He bestowed one final, grateful smile on the villagers who had flanked him all the way here, thanked them for their warm welcome, then he went inside and closed the door.

The room was windowless and the interior was dark when the door was shut. Four pairs of female eyes regarded him in the dim lamplight. The youngest among them, his cousin Annag, darted forward to throw her arms about him. "I knew you would return, I knew it. You could not be dead."

"Annag, it is good to see you. I trust you have been well."

"Aye, but I missed you."

"I missed you too, little cousin." He set her from him and smiled down into her excited features. "I have brought someone I want you to meet. This is Brynhild Freysson. She is to live here too from now on so I hope you will make her welcome and help her to settle in with us."

"Live here? With you? But… Fiona?"

"Fiona has stayed in the Norseland. She is to wed the Viking who came here." He was not entirely certain of this, though he believed it would eventually be the way of it so saw no reason not to embellish what would likely become the truth.

The girl paled. "But, he will be cruel to her. I saw him, he was fearsome and wild, a savage."

Taranc shook his head. "He will not, or I would never had left her there. She is happy with him, and safe. The Viking is Brynhild's brother."

"Her… brother? Then, she is one of them?" Annag eyed Brynhild with undisguised fear and suspicion.

"One of us now. And our journey has been a long one. Is there food, perhaps? A place where Brynhild might rest? Fresh clothing?"

As he had expected, his requests brought forth a flurry of eager activity as the women of his family rushed to provide for his needs. He guided Brynhild into the one decent chair and perched on the carved arm to watch as platters were brought to the table, fires relit, dust swept aside in a rush to make his home fit to live in. He laid his hand on her shoulder to prevent her from taking charge. "Soon," he murmured. "For today, you will watch, learn, allow them to know you."

"You told them I am to live here, with you," she hissed. "Why?"

"Because you will. It will be simpler."

"But you do not wish to marry me."

"I believe we would both live to regret such a move but I have decided I may be prepared to consider it even so."

"You need not trouble yourself, Celt. I shall make my own way."

Murdina glanced their way, her attention attracted by the sharpness in Brynhild's tone. Taranc smiled at his mother. "Brynhild is quite overwhelmed. It has been a stressful journey and she is very tired. I wonder, would you allow us an hour or so of privacy, perhaps?"

Murdina nodded and ushered her sister and niece from the dwelling. As soon as the door closed behind them Brynhild rose to her feet and stood before him.

"You will no doubt wish to use your belt again. I believe the current tally to be twelve."

"And I believe you to be far too eager to invite punishment." He slipped into the seat she had vacated and pulled her onto his lap. "Be still and quiet. And eat."

She would have wriggled out of his arms but he held her firm until she relaxed. When she sat still, Taranc selected a piece of cold mutton from one of the platters laid out by his aunt and cousin and offered it to her. Brynhild frowned at the meat, but took it between her fingers and tasted it, then shoved the entire piece into her mouth and chewed.

So far so good. He chose another slice of meat for her, then one for himself. He poured her a mug of ale made from the local heather and apologised for the lack of the mead, which he knew to be the usual preference at a Viking table. Brynhild shrugged and took a sip of the ale, grimaced, then took another.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. Brynhild tried everything set before her—roast pigeon, the rich cheese made of goat's milk, oatcakes, and a soft pear pudding sweetened with honey. Taranc, too, was ravenous and delighted to sample again the familiar flavours of his home. Eventually Brynhild shook her head when he offered her another mouthful of the pudding.

"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 tour of 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 homemaking, 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 where she 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 that covered her clavicles. He drew his hands in toward her neck, thumbs outstretched, then began to trace lazy circles 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.

Brynhild almost leapt from the tub when he reached his quarry. He tightened his grip across her chest to hold her in place.

"Relax. Be still. Enjoy." He repeated his sensual demands.

"What are you doing to me? That feels… wrong. It is not usual to feel so."

"No, perhaps not until now. It will become usual, I promise." He continued to draw the tip of his finger across the sensitive nubbin, noting the way it swelled under his touch. Brynhild trembled in his arms, her tension mounting. Undeterred, he continued his assault on her confused, untried senses. He was merciless, his goal clear. As her body spasmed he took the quivering bud between his finger and thumb and squeezed lightly as she shattered in his arms.

Brynhild lay still, her breath coming in quick pants. Her eyes were closed, her head against his shoulder. The water was cooling now but she appeared oblivious to it. Taranc was not and he did not wish her to become chilled. He stood, reached into the tub to take her in his arms, and lifted her dripping wet form. He carried her to the cot and laid her on the blankets there, then quickly pulled the top one around her. Brynhild did not resist when he rubbed her all over to dry her, then discarded the moist blanket and wrapped her in another before tucking the rest around her.

She was deeply asleep by the time he straightened to survey her still body, her relaxed features softened by satiated lust. Her pleasure had been a long time coming, but she had needed it and it would not be her last, he swore. Taranc turned to regard the cooling water in the tub and let out a long sigh. He quickly removed his damp clothing and sank into the bath.