Page 34

S he slept.

Taranc paused within the doorway, allowed the meagre light from his lamp to wash over the slender figure curled up beneath the rugs on his bed. Her breath came slowly, deeply. She appeared content.

He took but seconds to drop the bar on the inside of the door, remove his own clothing and douse the lamp before sliding in beside her. Brynhild was naked, and warm. He could not resist drawing her to him, her smooth back pressed against the hard, cooler planes of his chest.

Was she still angry with him, resentful that he had taken a switch to her again.

Or worse, that he had concluded the matter between them as he had.

He did not know why he had done so, but neither could he find it within himself to regret his actions.

How could he feel remorse when her pussy had quivered around his digits, when she had clenched and gripped his fingers like a tight gauntlet as she moaned her release.

He quirked his lip in the gloom. He would know her mood soon enough.

"You have returned," she whispered in the pitch blackness which shrouded them. "I am glad."

Ah, perhaps not angry, then.

"You are awake."

"I have been waiting for you. You are very late."

He nuzzled her hair. "I am sorry."

"No matter." She rolled over to face him, and reached to lay her palm against his cheek in the dark. "I am sorry too. I... I thought I had driven you away."

"'Twill take more than a well-aimed shuttle to achieve that, I fear."

"I shall bear that in mind, Celt."

He chuckled. "Are you tired?"

"No, not especially. I... I want...

"What do you want, my Viking?"

"I want you. I mean, I want to talk to you. I have something to tell you. And… something I must ask of you."

He leaned up on his elbow and peered into the darkness, searching the shadows for a glimpse of her face. He could barely make out her pale features, framed by her bright flaxen hair, but what he could discern was enough to know she was sincere. And very scared.

Of him?

"You have me, little one. And I have you. Whether we marry or not, you are mine."

"Because you took me."

"Aye, and because you stayed. Fate threw us together, but I would not have it otherwise. We shall not wed if that is not your wish, but it changes nothing. You are still mine. Now, and always. You know the truth of this."

"I do," she agreed softly.

"Then we have arrived at an understanding, you and I."

She shook her head. “Not yet, though I hope that we will.”

“You speak in riddles, little Viking.”

"I... I am not affectionate. I am distant, cold sometimes. I would make a poor wife, you are correct on that score, and a worse lover."

"You are not cold now." He hugged her warm body to him.

"And I shall determine whether you make a good lover or not since I consider your judgment on the matter to be flawed.

" He lowered his head to brush his lips across hers, his voice rough with need when he spoke next. "I want you so much it hurts."

"I want you," she repeated. "I want all of you. But there is much to settle first."

He would have deepened the kiss but instead he drew back. He rolled onto his back and wrapped his arm about her shoulders to pull her to him in the dark.

“Once before, I asked you who had put those notions in your head, the nonsense you just spouted about being cold and unlovable. You refused to tell me. Will you tell me now?”

“I… yes, I will. I want to. I need to.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Go on. We shall talk, the two of us. You will tell me what this is all about, and we shall decide what is to be done."

"But—" Brynhild gaped at him. The past was past, there was nothing to be done.

Taranc seemingly had other ideas, "It has to end. Here, now. Whatever troubles you, it must stop. You must see this."

"It will never stop."

"When did it start?"

"What?" the sudden change of tack threw her. "What do you mean?"

"When did it start? This thing which has you tied in knots and fills you with self-loathing? If you cannot tell me about that, then tell me about the time before."

She could do that. Taranc was making this easy for her, as she should have always known he would. Brynhild drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "It was... a long time ago. I was little more than a child."

"What did you dream of, when you were a child, Brynhild?"

Another question she had not anticipated. "I... I dreamed of growing up, of marrying a fine Viking warrior. I dreamed of a horde of rowdy children running about my longhouse. I would be wealthy, and beautiful, a woman of the Jarl, like my mother."

"I see. Fine dreams. You are beautiful, I have always thought so. Tell me more of your mother."

Brynhild closed her eyes and allowed her head to rest on his chest. She smiled as memories assailed her, the scents, sounds, impressions of her childhood.

"My mother was called Solveig, and she was a fine lady.

She was stern, we all obeyed her. Apart from my brother, Gunnar.

He was her favourite although he was not her natural son. I... I always wanted to please her."

"I see. It is good, is it not, to strive to please your parents?"

"I failed. I disappointed her. She was angry with me. She died angry with me."

"Did she say as much?"

"No, but she must have been, after... after..."

"After," he prompted, his voice low.

"After what she saw. After she found me and ... Aelbeart."

She clamped her hand over her mouth as though to ram the name back in whence it came Until that afternoon with Dughall she had not uttered that hated, feared name for a decade, but now it hung there between them, hovering in the air like a toxic odour. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Aelbeart? A Celtic name if I am not mistaken."

She nodded, no longer able to stem the flow of words. It was as though a dam had burst, and the torrent escaped, unstoppable, sweeping away all before it.

"He was a thrall, a slave in our settlement. My father purchased him, I think. I do not know, he just arrived. He was... handsome."

"I see." Taranc waited, his patience seemingly without end.

"I... I was fourteen years old. Aelbeart would smile at me, offer me flowers sometimes. A daisy head, a rose perhaps. He told me the petals of the cornflower were the same colour as my eyes. I ... I have never seen a cornflower."

"He was your friend, this Aelbeart?"

She shook her head, hard. "He was a slave, so no, we could not be friends.

But, I watched him. I could not help it.

He was... everywhere. Every time I left our longhouse, he would appear at my side.

He helped me with my chores, told me I was pretty, and clever, and.

.. and he flattered me. I became confused, infatuated I suppose but at the time I just.. . I just adored him."

"Was he of a similar age to you?"

"No, he was older. Twenty five summers perhaps, maybe more. I was never quite sure."

“Ah.”

“What do you mean? Ah?”

“Nothing. Please continue. Did your family know of your... interest in this slave?"

"Of course not." She gaped at him, shocked at the very suggestion. "I could never tell. Aelbeart said we must keep it a secret."

"Did he say why that was?" Taranc’s tone was deceptively soft but Brynhild knew him well enough to be able to detect the undercurrent of suppressed anger. Was it directed at her? She thought not.

"He... he wanted me to help him to escape, eventually. When I was older he said we would go away together, and we would be happy."

"But running away with a slave was not your dream. I of all people should know that, and you just told me so. You were to be a lady of the Jarl, like your mother."

"A life with Aelbeart became my dream. I wanted it. I wanted him. I was wicked, sinful, greedy. It was all my fault."

"Wicked, sinful and greedy? What happened?"

"Aelbeart wanted more than just brief and secret flirtations in the fields or around our settlement.

He persuaded me to slip away and meet him, sometimes at night after the rest of my family were in bed.

I did not want to at first. I was afraid.

.. my father... But I agreed eventually.

So, we would meet, walk together, talk. He.

.. he kissed me. And I let him, because I am a slut. "

"Who told you that?" he prompted.

"He did. Aelbeart. I said it was wrong, what we were doing, and that I could no longer meet him in secret.

He became angry and told me I was no better than a common harlot, a slut who had teased and tempted him, only to let him down when he had trusted me.

He said I was beholden to him, I owed him for the sacrifices he had made in being prepared to wait for me.

He could have escaped, could have found his freedom, and he would now that he knew I did not care for him as he cared for me.

" She paused, remembering the heated words, the pleading as she begged Aelbeart not to leave her.

"He said I must prove it, that I must prove my love for him or he would have to go.

He told me that he was a Celt and that they are a passionate race.

There was but one way to prove my love to a Celt, nothing less would suffice.

" She glanced up at Taranc, his handsome features impassive as he listened to her tale.

She rushed to get the rest of it out, to lay it all before him.

"I knew no better, not then, so I believed him.

I went with him one night to the meadow behind the barn where the grain was stored. It was quiet there, secluded.

"You were barely more than a child."

"Even so, I knew what I was doing. I loved Aelbeart, and this was what I had to do to make him stay. He told me to lie down. He even brought a blanket..."

Taranc said nothing, but he tightened his embrace around her.