Page 24

Ulfric was glad of Fiona’s easy laughter as the evening wore on.

She was friendly to Gunnar and at great pains to make Mairead welcome, which was more than could be claimed for Brynhild.

She was clearly aghast at their brother’s choice of a wife, and her usual hospitality was nowhere in evidence as she uttered hardly a word to any but the servants.

Njal and Donald appeared to hit it off, to Ulfric’s relief, but he was beyond irritated by his sister.

When would she let this ridiculous grudge drop?

Her irrational hatred of the Celts threatened to split their family apart, and at a time when the bonds of kinship had never been more vital.

When all else failed, a Viking relied on his kin.

“I owe you my thanks for today, little Celt.” Ulfric pulled Fiona to him and wrapped his arms around her as they snuggled together in the pallet they shared in a corner of the longhouse.

Their usual sleeping quarters had been made available to the guests so they were spending the night in one of the chambers off the main room.

While Gunnar, Mairead, and the baby, Tyra, enjoyed the relative privacy of the alcove behind the curtain, Njal slept a few feet away, and Donald too. Brynhild had made up her bed as far away from the rest as she might accomplish in such unusually crowded conditions.

“It was pleasant to see Mairead again. And I confess, your brother is not as fearsome as I remember.”

He chuckled. “Ah, yes, Gunnar did not endear himself to you on the occasion of your previous meeting. So, Mairead is your friend?”

“Oh, no. I barely know her really. Mairead came to Aikrig, the village close to Pennglas but a year or so ago. Her husband was a fisherman.”

“Her husband? Did he perish in the raid?” Ulfric would not wish the man ill, but he would prefer not to contemplate the awkwardness should this husband still live.

“No, she was widowed a half year ago. His fishing boat capsized…”

“Ah. But the lad, Donald, he is what, seven summers of age? You say she only came to the village a year ago?”

“About that. She had a previous husband, before Alred the fisherman.”

“Twice widowed? She looks to be about your age though.”

“She is twenty-four summers I believe, so a little older than me. Even so… she has seen much in her life. I hope Gunnar will be kind to her.”

“I believe he will. He is besotted by his new bride, and by the baby too, though the little one is not his. I recall Mairead looked about ready to drop her bairn by the roadside.”

“Yes.” She turned to face him. “You truly believe he will make her happy? Protect her and her children?”

“I do, for it is clear to me that he loves her. I can well comprehend his fascination with Celtic females,” he bent to kiss her hair, “since I do share it.”

“Not entirely.”

Her tone had changed, she seemed… sad. “Fiona?”

“Your brother became fascinated by a Celtic woman, so he made her his wife. Your fascination drove you to make a slave of me. There is a world of difference, as I am quite sure Brynhild has already pointed out.”

It was true, his sister had had much to say on the subject when she was able to get him alone and Ulfric had eventually snapped at her, told her to hold her tongue or make herself scarce. It would seem that not only Gunnar was offended by her words.

“You think he should not have wed her?”

“I did not say that. I am pleased for Mairead, that she has a man who will respect her and take care of her, even if he is a Viking.”

Her meaning was clear. “You believe that I should wed you?” His tone was incredulous and he made no attempt to conceal his astonishment.

The very notion was preposterous, out of the question.

A Viking did not take a slave to wife, however lovely the wench might be, however warm his bed with her in it.

“What I believe, or want, has no relevance here. You have made that much clear to me. I will bid you a good night, Viking.” She rolled over to present her back to him, her spine stiff as though she dared him to so much as touch her.

He considered it, but let his hand drop to the blankets.

His thrall was tired, it had been a hectic and stressful day. He would allow her to rest.

Fiona had little to say to him the following morning.

It was clear that she was still angry following their exchange the previous night but he had no time to address the matter now.

Worse, he lacked his usual certainty in how to deal with his slave.

Should he spank her for her insolence, for her unrealistic expectations and her ridiculous demands?

The notion was tempting, certainly, but he was not entirely convinced it would yield the results he desired.

Should he apologise instead, try to explain the vast difference in their status here?

It would not be the first time he had apologised to Fiona, but he could not quite bring himself to the view that he was in the wrong here.

He was master, she the slave. It was simple, and she must accept her situation. So, a spanking then. He would see to it as soon as their visitors left.

Gunnar and his party were to depart by noon so the two brothers and their men took advantage of their final few hours to indulge their shared passion for hunting.

When they left the longhouse, Mairead and Fiona were seated together enjoying a cup of mead.

Brynhild glowered at them from her position at the loom, but Ulfric had made it clear that Fiona was to be left in peace with her friend so he did not anticipate interference from that quarter.

Still, his sister made her feelings plain enough.

He shook his head, baffled and frustrated by her intransigence, and strode off to mount his horse.

The hunt was successful. The men returned to Skarthveit with three fine stags slung across their horses.

One carcase was to go to Gunnarsholm, the other two would be butchered and salted here to provide food during the coming winter months.

Ulfric was pleased with the morning’s work, and genuinely sorry to wave farewell to his brother when Gunnar and his family were ready to leave.

“Mind my words, watch out for Olaf Bjarkesson. He is a vengeful bastard, and quite beyond reason. He will attack you, the first chance he has.”

“I know. I will inspect our fields to check for any signs that he has been around. And even though I believe you to be correct in your assessment of him, I shall endeavour one last time to make peace with Olaf since we are neighbours and must inhabit this land together.”

“Good defences and vigilance will keep you safe, not negotiations. But you must do as you think best, brother. I am intending to remain at Gunnarsholm over the winter, then resume raiding as soon as the weather clears enough. If you need me, send word and I will be here as quickly as I can.”

“Thank you. Be safe, and take care of your family.”

“I intend to, brother, you may be certain of that. You also.”

As his guests disappeared from view over the crest of the hills to the north, Ulfric considered his brother’s parting words. With every day that passed, he reflected, taking care of his family became ever more challenging. There was much to be said for Gunnar’s far simpler approach.

Fiona did not take her spanking well. He was obliged to drag her across his lap and secure her hands in the small of her back before he could lift her skirts and apply his palm to her delightful bottom.

She squirmed and squealed and dared to call him a vile Viking bully, which earned her several additional swats.

Only when she at last lay spent and weeping over his knees did he cease to punish her.

He lifted her in his arms and lay with her on their bed as she sobbed against his chest.

As he finally extricated himself from her clinging embrace and drew the blankets up around her, she muttered something into the mattress. He did not quite catch it, could not have for her words made no sense.

“Why could you not just love me?”