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He did not re-emerge and she peered anxiously into the depths. She could see him shimmering beneath. The waters were perfectly clear and he seemed to hover just a couple of feet below the surface. Perhaps if she were to?—

Gunnar broke the surface in a shower of glittering, warm bubbles. His grin was infectious, and despite her recent alarm Mairead laughed. He seemed to be standing on a ledge as he remained quite still, the water at chest height. He reached up for her.

"Come in, I will hold you."

Without another thought she leaned forward, dropped into the water and his outstretched arms. At once he wrapped her in his embrace and turned her so her back was to his chest. He looped his arms under hers and she allowed her feet to drift upwards until her toes broke the surface.

"H-how deep is the pond?"

"In the centre? Perhaps twenty feet or so. Do you swim, Mairead?"

"No. I am sorry..."

"Perhaps you will learn, as you have learnt our tongue. For now we shall stay at the edges. There are ledges and rocks to stand on, or to sit if you prefer. Or I could simply hold on to you like this."

"Do not let go. Please."

He chuckled into the shell of her ear. "Do not fear.

I have already gone to considerable trouble for you.

I have no intention of letting you drown in a hot spring.

" He leaned back against the side and drew her with him until just her head remained above the surface. "How do you like your bath, my Celt?"

"It is... most pleasant, my Viking."

"The correct term is Jarl, or master, or even Gunnar since we do seem to be on intimate terms, but I find I do not object to being your Viking also."

She half turned, instantly remembering her precarious position with this fearsome man. She should not be fooled by his apparent playfulness. "I apologise, Jarl. I meant no disrespect."

"And I meant no censure. When I am angry, you will know it.

Relax, enjoy the waters." He smiled at her again, and Mairead was not entirely certain that the warmth which enveloped her came solely from the bubbling pool.

His features were stark, but beautiful. The scar he bore did nothing to mar his stunning good looks, while his smile caused something to curl and quiver deep within Mairead's core.

"May I ask you something, Jarl?"

"If you wish. I may not answer." He nuzzled the hair on the top of her head and, unthinking, Mairead angled her chin to afford him access to her neck. He kissed the delicate spot beneath her ear and she almost forgot her question.

Almost, but not quite. "How did you come by your scar, Gunnar?"

He paused. "Does it upset you?"

"No, not in the least. You are beautiful and the scar makes you more so."

"Men are not beautiful. We are?—"

"Most men are not, this is true. But some are, and you are one such. I... I thought so the very first time I saw you. When you came to Aikrig and rescued me from those other men who would have raped me. Your appearance was terrifying that day, but you were still beautiful."

"And now, do I still terrify you?"

She shook her head. "No, you do not, though I would be wise to be wary of you."

"Indeed you would, Mairead." He paused, then, "I was injured in a raid, on a monastery on the north coast of England. An abbot there was singularly reluctant to give up the church treasures. He put up a good fight, but I was better."

"How long ago was this?"

"I am not certain. Two years, perhaps three. I was fortunate that the blade was clean and the wound did not become infected or I might not have survived. I tend not to under-estimate my opponents now."

"I am glad that you survived."

"Are you? Had I died then you might have remained unmolested in your Scottish village."

"My life has changed, but I do not believe I am any worse off here than I was as a widow in Aikrig. My children had no father, I was alone."

"You are not alone now, and I have promised to care for your children."

She turned in his arms again. "No, you did not promise that. You swore not to harm them, that is all."

"It is the same thing, is it not?"

"No, I do not believe it is."

"Then allow me to be clear, and let us avoid any lingering doubt. I will care for your children, the two you have already which I remind you are my property just as you are, and any more you might bear. They will all be mine."

Property? This arrogant Viking claimed the right of ownership and she supposed that was the truth under Viking law.

But she believed the taking of slaves was surely wrong, a sin, and people could never be the property of another.

Or could they? She had always owed allegiance to someone, been under the power and control of first her father then each of her husbands.

Gunnar's mastery was no more onerous than theirs had been, and his treatment of her children considerably better.

She allowed herself to relax in his arms. She could do worse that rely on this dark-haired Norseman.

"Spread your legs for me, Mairead."

"What?" She lurched within the cradle of his arms. "Why?"

"Earlier, you told me that you had much experience of what transpires between men and women. I am minded to test the boundaries of your knowledge."

"You would take me? Here? I am not sure that I am ready, after Tyra..."

"I know, and I will allow you all the time you need to recover from the birth. I can be patient, and I have no wish to harm you. But, there is more to what happens between men and women than just fucking."

"You are very direct, Jarl, yet still I find myself uncertain. What do you mean?"

He chuckled again, the sound warm and rich and very knowing. "I shall show you what I mean, but first I require you to hook your legs over each of mine and allow me to spread your thighs wide. Will you do that or must I insist on having access to explore what is mine?"

Why, when he spoke to her thus, when he half-threatened her, when she should be terrified and cringing in fear, did his soft, sensual command cause her stomach to clench and heat to flare between her legs? Why did everything he suggested to her sound so... enticing?

"Mairead? What are you waiting for?"

What indeed?

"I am sorry, master." She lifted each leg in turn and draped them across his thighs, the position already opening her to his questing fingers.

He kept his left arm across her chest just above her breasts, but he reached down with his right to tease the reddish-golden curls at the apex of her thighs. Mairead stiffened, but did not move.

"Good, you please me very much. So soft, so pretty." He tugged at the curls then proceeded lower still. Mairead expected him to reach down far enough to plunge his fingers inside her since this was the usual prelude to a man's fulfilment. It would be quick, she knew that, and not overly unpleasant.

But Gunnar halted just below the downy curls.

His fingers stroked, explored, caressed, as though he sought something else.

He widened his own legs, and in so doing pulled her thighs further apart.

He bent his knees too which had the effect of raising her up out of the water, exposing her to his gaze.

She opened her mouth to protest, but swallowed her words as a peculiar sensation overwhelmed her. Something deep and piercing, warm, intense and delicious unfurled right where he touched her. Mairead let out a startled gasp and tried to close her legs.

"No, remain still. I wish to pleasure you."

"How? I do not understand..."

"Like this." He stroked that sensitive spot again, his movements precise and knowing as she writhed in his arms. "Am I hurting you?"

"No." She shook her head. "But it is strange, I do not believe I like it."

"No? And this?" He altered the angle of his hand to apply pressure to that quivering little button, then he took it between his finger and thumb and she thought that perhaps he squeezed.

"Oh. Oh!" Her inner muscles were clenching, convulsing in a manner quite beyond her control or comprehension. "What are you doing?"

"I told you, I am pleasuring you. I intend to do this often, in preparation for you taking my cock when you are fully healed and quite ready. Will that be long, do you think?"

"I... I am not sure." Oh sweet Jesus she hoped not.

His busy, clever fingers were teasing her, awakening something she had only half-understood, a dim and elusive awareness suddenly coming into sharp focus as he stroked and tormented her.

As she writhed against his thighs he applied more pressure, increasing the intensity until she felt she might burst, or shatter, or simply expire from wanting.

"Do not fight this. Allow it to happen. I have you." His words were murmured against her ear, his breath warm on her neck. His lips were on her sensitive skin, kissing, licking, nipping.

"Have me? What...? Why...? Oh, oh dear Lord."

"Now, Mairead. Let it happen now."

She required no further urging, nor explanation.

The sensation he had built so quickly seemed to spiral and surge within her until she could bear no more.

She thrust her hips forward and her head back and let out a squeal of pure delight as waves of ecstasy washed through her.

The tingling which bathed her body on the outside was within her also, coursing right out to her fingers and toes, to the very ends of her hair.

She was weak, powerless to resist yet invigorated by the sensual feast he laid before her and which she now savoured.

The storm of sensation soon passed. Mairead's trembling body relaxed.

She lay within the Viking's arms, limp and sated in a manner she could not even start to describe.

He had satisfied a hunger she had not even known she possessed, but having tasted this joy once she would never wish to be without it again.

Something had been missing before. Some mysterious secret had remained hidden, but no longer. Gunnar had shared the revelation with her and now she knew what she needed.

Who she needed.

"Are you ready to return now?"

Mairead opened her eyes. Gunnar dropped a soft kiss on her forehead as he held her in his arms. They were still in the water, though now she was cradled in his arms like a baby. His cock, solid and thick, nudged her punished bottom and she wondered if she were to turn just so, perhaps...

"We are three hours ride from home. Tyra will be hungry by the time we arrive."

"What? Oh?"

"You have been asleep and I was sorry to wake you, but?—"

"My baby. I need to get back."

"You do, I fear. We both do." He stood with her in his arms and stepped up out of the pool.

The shock of the cool Nordic climate against her warm skin was sufficient to dispel any lingering sleepiness. Mairead shivered and at once Gunnar grabbed the discarded wolf's pelt from the ground and wrapped her in it.

"Your clothes are back there, by the tree where you presented your lovely bottom for spanking. You may use my cloak for now."

She hugged the fur close and breathed in the heady scent of the Viking which permeated the cloak. It smelled of woods and leather, and something elusively masculine which was him alone. Gunnar dressed swiftly, belted his sword back on and turned to pick her up.

"I can walk," she protested.

"Not without your shoes." He allowed no further debate and she snuggled against him as he strode back through the forest. Neither spoke. They had an understanding, she thought, and it would do for now.