Page 28

"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 which 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 backwards 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 and 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?"