Ragnar the Murderer (6 page)

*  *  *

The next week, Saehild rushed up to her sister.

“
Herewulf is going to congratulate Ragnar for saving his home. He’s going to give him a present, I’m not sure what.”

“
Girls! Stop gossiping and get on with the cooking!” snapped Cwenburg. “There is much to do for lunch.”

But Aelfwyn sneaked away from her tasks to Herewulf’s hut and hid behind a nearby bush.

Jarl Thorvald stood there, to her surprise, with his arm round Ragnar, whose right arm was bandaged against his body. The Jarl’s wife stood modestly behind him, eyes lowered, the picture of virtue.

“
I am pleased to hear of this,” said the Jarl. “A Huskarl’s job is to help and protect, and Ragnar has been an admirable example of this.”

“
Oh yes,” said Herewulf, a man of forty, with his younger wife Mildrith. “I am very grateful to your warrior. Please allow me to reward him with a new pair of boots. His own are scuffed and torn, some of which must be the result of struggling with the tree.”

“
How generous,” said the Jarl.

“
Please come this way,” Herewulf ushered Ragnar in to his workplace. Aelfwyn stole away, pleased to have witnessed the ‘ceremony’ of gratitude.

*  *  *

Herewulf’s workshop filled part of his house. Wooden pillars instead of walls meant the whole floor was open, with only one panel hiding the bedroom area.

Half made leather shoes were set out neatly on a bench, waiting to be finished for their buyers to pay for. His tools were nearby: a large sewing needle, a sharp knife, lengths of twine for sewing.

Ragnar sat down on a bench, pleased to be given a free pair of boots. His old ones had been rubbing for weeks.

Mildrith knelt down, measuring his feet.

“
You have very big feet, almost two spans,” she remarked.

“
I have very big everything.” He chuckled.

She looked up at him and giggled. She was in her twenties, he reckoned. He didn’t feel the remotest guilt at the thought of fucking a married woman. So why did Aelfwyn being betrothed matter so much to him?

“
How are you getting on?” asked her husband, wondering what they were laughing about.

“
Very well,” said Mildrith. “We can start on his boots immediately.”

Herewulf beckoned his wife over and they had a whispered conversation. Ragnar admired her ample bottom as she listened to her husband, hands on hips.

“
My husband has to go and get some more leather for shoes for your Jarl,” she said when he had gone. “He is so impressed with Herewulf’s work, he has ordered some and will be back later for measuring.”

“
So, there is no one else here then?” asked Ragnar innocently.

“
No. Just you and me. He said to make you welcome.”

“
Really?” He pulled her towards him, to see what she would do. She did not resist, but stood willingly between his legs as he sat. She pressed against him, her breasts taunting him with their hard nipples. His cock leaped up, frustrated for so long, and he unwound his bandage to free his right arm.

“
My husband, he’s so- old-“ she whispered. “He’s so often not interested.”

He looked round for a convenient space. There were so many tools and trappings on every work surface it would have to be the floor. He pushed her down not too roughly and she hitched up her skirt, groaning a little in anticipation. Inside her in a moment, he thrust like a beast, not caring about her, just himself and the thought of Aelfwyn. If only it she lay beneath him. He thrust into this other woman, harder and harder and she gasped, clawing at him, putting her legs round him, matching his groans with hers. Then his seed poured into her, filling her and he closed his eyes for a second in relief.

“
Oh!” she said, breathing hard. “Oh, I needed that.”

“
Me too.” He smiled, also breathing hard.

“
Can we do it again? Sometime, not now.”

“
Maybe.” He moved back from her, pulled up his trousers and sat back on the bench. “When I come for my boots. Maybe.” He didn’t know what he meant, didn’t know what he would do. He suddenly realised his right shoulder throbbed, and groaned again, this time in pain.

“
Let me.” She got up, straightening her skirts, and went to re-bandage his arm.

“
Get off,” he snapped, standing up and moving his shoulders around, trying to ease them. “I have to go.”

He strode out, his mind a bit clearer, even if his conscience wasn’t.

Fif

“
I’m not combing your hair for you,” said Bjarni impatiently as Ragnar struggled with his one arm to control the mass of dark red bristles which sprang up every day after sleeping.

“
Can’t you get a woman to do it?” continued his friend. “Hurry up, we’ve got training.” He strode out of the door, looking immaculate.

Ragnar muttered darkly to himself. The Jarl insisted that the Huskarlr look neat, and Steinar would think up a punishment if he appeared at training with untidy hair. The only alternative was to wear his helmet to subdue the brush. These people with straight hair were lucky, they could keep that neat easily. Or he could wash it, but that would be another problem with his bandaged arm. He wished he’d never seen that wretched tree or tried to save Herewulf’s hut. Or fucked his wife.

Bjarni returned.

“
It’s alright. Steinar has excused you from training today. Everyone thinks you’re a hero, the gods know why.” He breezed out officiously.

Ragnar decided to go for a walk instead. Still muttering crossly to himself, he went out of the village to find a quiet place to think. He wandered along the stream and its liquid whispers soothed him, as well as the mid spring sunlight and twittering birds. The sky over the hills threatened a storm, but it wouldn’t come for hours.

He sat happily on a rock, feeling content. The pain in his shoulders faded if he sat still. He became aware of voices to the north by the cliffs and glanced over. They sounded familiar, a man and a woman.

Creeping silently towards the sounds, he managed not to trip despite the perilous footing of the loose stones by the stream.

“
We can’t carry on. It is too dangerous,” said the Danish female voice.

“
A bit of danger is good. You need me.”

“
I don’t, I-“

The talking stopped abruptly. Ragnar crept little by little round the rock face, to see the narrow entrance of a cave. A male figure had his back to the entrance, his white-blond hair giving his identity away, kissing a woman.

The cave was furnished. There were torches dug into the walls and a mass of bear skins huddled in one corner to make a bed.

The woman put her hand on the back of Kjartan’s head, caressing him. Her hand wore a very recognisable ring on the middle finger. Ragnar gasped, and the kissing couple stopped and looked round.

“
What the fuck-“ gasped Kjartan. The woman stepped out from behind him. Ragnar had guessed correctly as it was the Jarl’s wife, Yngvild.

Ragnar’s jaw dropped.

“
What are you-“

“
What are we doing?” said Yngvild. She had ample breasts, a curvaceous figure and very long, soft golden hair. But even so, she was the Jarl’s wife.

“
You are not to tell anyone about this!” snapped Kjartan. “Or I’ll-“

Yngvild put her hand on his arm and he subsided.

“
I’m sorry to burden you with this secret,” she breathed in her warm, melodious voice. Ragnar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with pleasure. “We just fit together.”

Kjartan blushed and looked at his feet, Ragnar had never seen him like that before.

“
Thorvald is consumed by his job. He takes such pride in it but forgets that a woman needs attention.”

“
So I gave it to her,” interrupted Kjartan, his voice thick with lust.

“
Many times,” she laughed, a bell like sound.

Ragnar’s heart beat harder with shock, he even felt a bit light headed. He’d thought of the Jarl’s wife as the ideal of womanhood, incorruptible and pure. Normally, she even wore the Anglisc head-rail so her hair would not be seen. She had married the Jarl two winters ago after his last wife, Katla, died. Katla had been Ragnar’s true foster mother, he mourned her still, with Yngvild just her replacement.

So the Jarl had worked hard for so long, with this as his reward? His wife having sex with one of his soldiers? He wondered if his own career would end the same way, a terrible thought.

“
I’ll- I’ll leave you to it,” he faltered, backing away.

“
Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll-“ said Kjartan.

“
I’m sure he wouldn’t be so dishonourable,” smiled Yngvild.

Kjartan suddenly had an idea and stepped towards him. “You can use this cave anytime you want, brother. You know what I mean.”

Ragnar knew exactly what he meant. He made a half bow to Yngvild, and retreated.

*  *  *

He set off back to the village, his mind whirling with thoughts. Distracted, he walked into someone. Aelfwyn! He smiled broadly.

“
Where are you going?” he asked.

“
I’m going to collect hazelnuts. There are some trees by the stream near the old caves.”

“
No! I- er- I know a better place.” He didn’t want her running into Kjartan and being raped or murdered to keep the secret.

“
Where?”

“
Er-“

“
You don’t know another place, do you? Why are you lying?”

“
I’m not.  Those caves are haunted.”

“
Are they?”

“
The fire demons live there.” He said the first thought that came into his head.

“
Is that some Danish legend? I’m Anglisc, they won’t affect me.” She walked towards the stream determinedly.

He had another idea.

“
Can you help me then?”

She stopped impatiently.

“
With what?”

“
I can’t wash my hair or comb it. I’ve only got one hand.” He explained the situation about being tidy for Huskarl training. “Steinar says that if we can’t keep ourselves under control, how can we protect the Jarl or fight our enemies?”

“
I could wash your hair in the stream.”

So they went to the stream, but when they arrived, realised it would mean getting into the water and completely wet in the chilly weather.

“
Oh, I’m so stupid!” laughed Aelfwyn suddenly. “Come with me.” so taken up with her idea, she took his hand and led him along, forgetting to be modest. Past Kjartan’s now silent cave,  Ragnar doubted she had noticed the concealed entrance.

A splashing sound grew louder and louder.

“
There!” she pointed.

A small waterfall cascaded from the rock.

“
That’s perfect!” He took his bandage off and ran under the downpour, splashing through the puddles, not caring that he would be soaked. He ran his hands through his hair, getting all the dust out, smiling with the clean feeling. Aelfwyn watched with pleasure, then couldn’t resist running in too.

“
You mad woman!” he shouted over the thundering water. She laughed back at him, awed by his beauty. With wet hair slicked back, his profile was highlighted. He had an Eastern look, she had seen slaves from the Orient with the same narrow eyes and straight eyebrows.

He was thinking much the same about her. She was beautiful. Light brown hair, grey green eyes, he hadn’t seen a woman like her before. He grabbed her to him and before she could protest, kissed her passionately, having to lift her up to his lips. He fell back against the rock face, into the dry space between the torrent and the wall. She put her legs round him to make it easier and they kissed until they couldn’t breathe anymore.

“
I know somewhere we can go, if you want. If you don’t mind being alone with me.”

“
Of course I don’t mind, you fool. Is it far?”

“
No, just round here.” He put her down and led her out of the waterfall, shaking with desire. As was she.

Hoping Kjartan and Yngvild had gone, he led her to the cave. Luckily they had, but the torches, bearskins and other comforts were there. Even a hearth in the hole cut into the rock, with a natural chimney through the rock faults above.