Page 7

U lfric extricated himself from the determined grip of his raven-haired captive and eased her down onto the soft bracken that would serve as her mattress this night.

He left his cloak wrapped around her, along with the furs and blanket from the fallen tree.

She seemed to be sleeping peacefully so he slipped from the makeshift bed and left in search of food.

His men had managed to take a couple of rabbits, and had satisfied their own hunger.

They had kept enough back for their leader and the Celtic girl so Ulfric gathered up their portions and returned to the nest beside the fire.

Fiona did not wake when he settled himself beside her, and he considered allowing her to sleep now.

No. She had not eaten well in days, he knew that.

Utter fatigue might have felled her this evening, aided by a decent switching, which would drain the energy from more robust constitutions than he believed she might lay claim to.

She possessed the most delightful curvy bottom, now beautifully adorned by the stripes he had laid there, but otherwise the Celt was so slender she might be blown away by the merest breath of a Nordic wind.

There was little enough weight to her as it was and he could not help but note the fragility of her wrists and ankles as he had bound her and tended to her injury.

It was vital that she eat, and sleep would come after.

“Wake up, little one. You must eat.”

Fiona did not stir.

Ulfric laid the food down and reached for her slim shoulder. He gave her a gentle shake. “Fiona, wake up.”

She furrowed her brow and muttered into the fur that covered the lower half of her face. “No, I am tired…”

“I know, and you may sleep soon. First, you should eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“Liar. Sit up and I shall help you.”

She opened her eyes to gaze up at him blearily.

His cock hardened, stirred by the sultry smokiness of her grey gaze.

He had only just managed to regain some semblance of control following her switching but it seemed he had but to look at her and he was ready to make a spectacle of himself.

By the gods, he would enjoy this wench, but first he had to feed her and bring her safe to his home. Then… well, then the fun might begin.

“I am able to feed myself, thank you.”

“I daresay, as a rule. But not with bound hands.”

“Then…”

“No. I do not greatly care for the prospect of allowing you to cave in what remains of my skull as soon as I fall asleep. You shall remain bound until the morning.”

“But I said I was sorry, and you forgave me.”

“True, but shall we not tempt fate, eh? So, are you ready for this?”

He selected a fine piece of the roasted rabbit and dangled it beneath her nose, then smiled when she licked her lips.

Now she offered no resistance as he slid his free arm under her shoulders and brought her to a sitting position.

He held the morsel to her lips and Fiona took it in her mouth and chewed.

“Is that good?”

“Yes. Very.” Her stomach growled loudly and Ulfric laughed. He had been right to wake her.

“Here, have another piece.”

They shared the meat, though he selected the best mouthfuls for her. She ate with relish, thanking him for each bite he offered. When the carcase was picked bare he flung the bones into the nearby trees for the wild creatures to finish off.

“Do you need a moment…? For your comfort?” He would have to assist her since there was no way she would manage to hobble, alone and bound, into the privacy of the trees and do what was needful.

Fiona did not reply at first, and he waited.

She may be slight of form but the wench was not short of dignity.

Still, the outcome was inevitable. At last she nodded, so he made short work of picking her up in his arms and striding into the undergrowth with her.

Ulfric maintained his brisk demeanour as he helped her to crouch, then lifted her skirts so that she was able to clutch the bundle of fabric with her bound hands.

When she indicated that she was done he cradled her in his arms again and returned her to the fireside where her cocoon of furs and blankets awaited her.

“We leave for Skarthveit at first light. Now, we sleep.”

“We? But?—”

“Do you not recall my description of your new role, little one? We must work on your powers of recall, evidently. You are my bed-slave, which means you will share my bed. This…” he swept his hand to indicate the pile of warm bedding, “…this is my bed.”

“Yours?”

“Mine.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Or perhaps more accurately, ours. Make yourself comfortable. I need to issue my instructions for the morning, then I shall return to you.”

His men were already curled up within their own pelts and throws so Ulfric did not trouble them unduly. He made his way back to where Fiona lay huddled on her side facing away from him. Ulfric made no ado but simply slung his sword belt to the ground and slipped in behind her.

The slim body next to him was rigid. He reached for her and laid his hand on her hip. Fiona flinched, but he did not withdraw. She was his property, he would touch her as he chose. Ulfric dragged a blanket under his head and bundled it into a pillow of sorts, then he closed his eyes.

He was tired, but sleep eluded him. Fiona too, if the tension in her stiff form was any indication. Perhaps a half hour had passed by the time he leaned up on one elbow to regard the back of her dark head. By now she was shivering.

“You are cold.”

“No. I am quite all right.”

“You are lying, and I do not care for it. Move closer. I will warm you.”

“Why do you ask me? Why not just take what you want?” There was bitterness and resentment in her whispered tone. The salutary effects of her punishment were but fleeting, it would appear.

“Your memory is failing you even more badly than I feared. I told you, there will be no forced lovemaking, no rape, and I meant it. I also promised to take care of you, which includes ensuring you do not freeze to death in the fucking night. So get over here to me. Now.”

He was gratified to be treated to no further protests as she wriggled backwards into his arms. He pulled her closer, her trembling back hard up against his chest . By Odin, but she was cold, he should have taken action sooner.

Ulfric wrapped his body around her, his forearms pressing against her plump breasts and his still swollen cock hard up against her buttocks.

She must be able to feel his arousal but he saw no merit in concealing it from her.

She would become more than familiar with his rampant cock in the coming hours and days.

Fiona was still rigid, but despite her obvious apprehension she softened as his warmth seeped into her.

Ulfric had spent more nights than he could count sleeping under the stars in his native land and he rarely felt the cold.

He supposed he must possess some inner furnace and he was happy to share the benefits with the captive female who now nestled under his chin.

“Is that better?”

“I… I suppose it is. Thank you.”

“In the future, you will be honest with me regarding your needs. If you are cold, hungry, hurting, I want to know.”

Her voice was small when she responded, he almost did not hear her. “Even when it is you who is causing the hurt?”

“Especially then, my beautiful little Celt. Especially then.”

“And if I do not?”

“I still have a spare switch. Never forget that, and never doubt I will use it.”

“I understand.” Was that a note of lingering defiance in her quiet voice? He would test that but now was not the time. She had borne enough for one day.

“Good. So, you will sleep now.”

Moments later her breathing slowed, steadied. Her body no longer trembled. She pressed closer to him, absorbing the heat he shared. His cock remained swollen and throbbing, but he could do little to assuage that need now.

Soon though. Soon, she would beg him to fill her and he would take great pleasure in sinking his cock deep within the lush, slick folds he had glimpsed as she lay bared to him over that fallen tree.

Oh, yes, with the investment of a little time, patience, and a good degree of firmness, he suspected his latest acquisition would make a most rewarding bed-slave.

Ulfric woke as thin slivers of daylight poked the frigid land.

Fiona lay draped over him, her soft breasts pressing against his chest and one slim leg slung over his thighs.

The jab of metal told him it was her shackled foot that she had used to scramble as close as she might, instinctively protecting her injured ankle.

Her breathing remained low and unhurried, her features relaxed in sleep.

She was beautiful, he mused, not for the first time.

He had thought so the moment he had spun her around after having divested her of that bloody slingshot, the instant he had looked into those lovely eyes and started to lose his senses.

He had raided her village in search of strong male backs to provide the hard labour required to construct his harbour and his granary.

A pretty wench offered welcome enough relief after the stress of a swift and deadly attack, but he would not normally go to the bother of bringing the lass home with him.

This one was different, and she had been from the start.

She brought out the best—or the worst—in him.

He wanted her more than he had ever desired any woman, even the sweet Astrid whom he had married and who had borne him his only child.

And now he had her. This little Celt was his for the taking.

Ulfric strained his neck to peer about him in the thin light of dawn. Already his men were stirring, soon the camp would be up and on the move. He needed to rouse his captive, and he could think of no better way…