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Please, please... Ulfric... help me...

She pleaded silently as she fought to keep the waves of terror at bay. If she was to survive it would be because she remained calm, awaited her chance.

It was Bjarkesson. It had to be, no one else would dare. The mad, deluded fool had taken it upon himself to abduct the sister of his enemy and he would pay dearly for it. Ulfric would never let this insult pass unavenged.

Her attacker spun her around and tied her wrists in front of her. He did not speak, just grabbed the binding which secured her hands and dragged her forward. Brynhild followed, stumbling blindly, trying to discern her location in the settlement by the feel of the ground underfoot.

Soon the hard-packed earth gave way to the crack and crinkle of undergrowth and she knew they had left the security of the cluster of longhouses.

They were entering the woods which surrounded the village and still her abductor tugged her onward, forcing her to break into a run to keep up with him.

More than once she tripped on a root or branch, but he just hauled her upright again and forced her on.

Her side burned. She was gasping, struggling to breathe behind the gag and the sacking which covered her head.

As their pace slowed she began to succumb to the mind-numbing panic which now threatened to overwhelm her.

It was as though the years fell away and she was fourteen again, young, helpless, hopelessly out of her depth and at the mercy of a man who meant her harm.

Her captor came to a halt and Brynhild stopped too. She sank to her knees, shaking. She would not beg, she would not plead.

Or would she? She was a survivor, she would do what she must.

His hands were on her shoulders now and he gripped the bag which covered her head. The sacking was drawn up and over her hair and at last she felt the welcome chill of the night air on her skin. She tilted her head back and opened her eyes.

The forest-green gaze which met her was the last she expected to encounter. The thrall, Taranc, grinned at her, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. "Good evening, lady. I must apologise for the unseemly rush. I trust you are not too uncomfortable."

She recoiled, stunned.

How dare he? What was this dolt thinking, laying his filthy hands upon the person of a lady of the Jarl? Ulfric would have him hanged for such an offence.

His smile did not waver. "I will not harm you, but I must insist on your silence, at least for the time being, until we are well away from this place.

Do not move from there." He had been balancing on his haunches looking directly into her face but now he stood and walked slowly around the clearing in which they had arrived.

Brynhild scanned from left to right and recognised the spot, perhaps a couple of hundred yards from the closest dwelling.

If she might just get to her feet she could run hard and maybe get back to the village before he caught her.

If she could just get this gag from between her lips she would be able to scream loud enough to rouse Valhalla and by Odin she would do so.

She pursued the Celt with her eyes as he paced the perimeter of the clearing, and watched in amazement when he crouched to reach under a spiky holly bush.

The thrall withdrew a large leather bag which he had obviously secreted there earlier. When had he had such an opportunity? She knew for a fact that all the slaves had been occupied down at the harbour the entire day. No matter, she would ponder such mysteries later, in less urgent circumstances.

Slowly, with care, Brynhild rose to her feet and started to back away from the Celt. He was busy checking the contents of his bag so his attention was not on her. This was her chance, and might well be the one opportunity she would have.

Brynhild turned and she ran.

Less than six paces later she was hauled from her feet and slung unceremoniously over the slave's shoulder. She kicked and wriggled, which efforts earned her a hard slap direct to her upturned rump.

"I told you to stay put. Try that again, and I shall take a switch to your pretty arse, lady."

Brynhild emitted a silent screech of outrage into the gag. How dare he manhandle and threaten her? She would see him dangling from a rope for this. She would see him whipped, and, and...

The wind was knocked out of her when Taranc deposited her back on the ground in exactly the same spot he had left her. Now he towered over her, his hands on his hips.

"Allow me to be plain since I wish there to be no misunderstanding between us.

You are coming with me. You will be silent, and you will be co-operative.

If you cause me no problems we shall get along quite well, but I will tolerate no disobedience from you.

You have been warned. Further attempts to thwart me will result in you being punished, and a decent switching will be just the start of it.

Do not test me on this, Brynhild. You will regret it. "

Gagged as she was Brynhild could not reply, though she hoped her eyes would convey her outrage and give this ruffian pause. If he let her go, now, she promised herself, she might yet allow him to live.

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 Brynhild contemplated 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 arm about 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."