Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane) (5 page)

“
Candle wax cools very quickly,” he observed, “if you were trying to hurt me.”

She held the candle lower and lower over his chest, until the flame caught his skin.

“
Ow!”

She grabbed his cock and pushed it inside her, making him grunt with surprise.

“
What we’re going to do is roll over and you can fuck me.” Her words came out in a rush, then she moved up and down on him.

“
What if I don’t agree?” he taunted.

“
Then I’ll set fire to your hair.” She moved the candle over his chest. “This bit maybe, or this bit?”

“
Go on, then.”

She tried to carry out her threat, but the hair wouldn’t catch.

“
You can’t do it. You’re too scared.”

She waved the candle back and forth in front of his eyes, wondering if she could hypnotise him, then pushed up and down against his cock, faster and faster until he couldn’t help himself groaning.

“
Changed your mind?”

“
Yes - oh - alright.”

She blew out a candle, leaving just one burning, and climbed off him, rolling underneath.

“
Can you do it with your hands tied?”

“
Yes.”

He pushed inside her and started thrusting, propping himself up on his elbows, breathing harder. The new experience of him on top excited her and she clawed at his back, tangling her fingers in his hair. He had more hair than any other man she’d seen bathing.

He thrust faster and faster, harder and harder, he seemed bigger on top than when beneath. Knocking her breath out, pushing her to the edge of pain, he covered her, his gasps becoming growls as he continued.

Fear pricked at her, but arousal took over, her own groans becoming louder and louder. After a particularly hard thrust, he gave a growl and she opened her legs wider, putting them up around his back and clasping him to her. She didn’t want him to stop as his gasp-growls rose in tone, then as he came he howled, making her shiver in a mixture of fear and excitement.

Both panting, they fell apart.

“
See? I told you it would be better with you on top.”

He laughed gruffly.

“
Are you alright?”

“
I’m fine.” His voice sounded harsh and he coughed. “We can do that sometimes, if you like.”

“
What about you? Don’t you like being on top of me?”

“
You talk too much. Go to sleep.”

After a few seconds, rasping snores filled the air, the first time she’d heard him snore.

Her heart beat faster; she’d made him do what she wanted for a change. It gave her a warm feeling inside which was better than the actual fucking.

She’d won.

*  *  *

Ifay chopped yet more vegetables for the meal. How could she escape this life? She remembered her home, the hot, dry country and that awful day.

She’d been playing with her younger brothers and sisters, chasing each other round the prickly bushes, when two men had jumped out on them all and tied their hands together. Her brothers and sisters had screamed and screamed, but no one came to save them. Where were their parents?

To stop the screaming, the men gagged them, but one of her brothers fought back so violently that a man cut his throat and the blood spurted out, splattering the dry sandy earth.

After that everyone stopped making noise, lying limply in the men’s arms, knowing it was pointless to resist.

They’d been taken to a cart, thrown in and jerked across the dusty landscape, away from home to unfamiliar country. Then to the sea.

Ifay had never seen the sea before, but its blue, lapping beauty belied its roughness. She and her fellow captives spent weeks of tossing on the ocean, vomiting helplessly for hours, surrounded by stinking fellow prisoners, taunted by the shouts of their lucky captors outside in the fresh air.

Then they arrived in a mysterious land where white stuff poured from the sky. Cold like nothing she had ever experienced before made her shiver painfully. Yet more of her comrades died, freezing to death before their abductors realised they needed to be wrapped up warmer and they weren’t just animals.

Back on dry land at last, Ifay almost kissed the ground, but was pulled upright by one of the blond-haired, bearded men, shouting in an incomprehensible tongue.

“
Where are my sisters? My brothers?” she replied to his questions.

He shrugged and pointed round at the other dark people of her homeland. Carefully checking each face, she couldn’t see a single one of her siblings.

“
Where are they?” She flung herself at the man, beating on his chest with her emaciated arms.

He flung her off and she fell onto the icy ground, feeling the cold seep into her bones despite the fur clothing. The others stared down with blank eyes. She was alone in a foreign land with no salvation.

But even that hadn’t been the worst. Masters had abused her and it became a routine to be treated that way. Some had been kind but most not. She was a fool thinking her current one was any different, just because he’d been generous at first. He’d still had sex with her against her wishes. What had she done to deserve this life?

*  *  *

“
So, this stuff goes inside you?” Ragnar failed to keep a straight face while dipping his finger into the dates, acacia bark and honey mixture.

“
Yes.” Aelfwyn slapped him on the arm. "Be sensible!"

“
I’ll do it then.” He put his finger, covered in the sticky paste, inside her and she squirmed.

“
That feels really strange.”

He put more into her, rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out in exaggerated lust, and she giggled. He couldn’t help pushing his finger in and out to see the effect on her.

“
So, is this meant to stop you having babies or make us want more sex?”

“
The second one, it seems.”

He carried on compulsively, while she waited.

“
Come on then. Before Alvi wakes up again.”

“
Oh! Right. Sorry.”

He moved on top of her.

“
It feels funny to me too. Like fucking dough.”

“
How do you know what dough feels like?”

“
I know everything.”

They suppressed their giggles and tried not to make too much noise, fearful of the sudden cry of their baby. Which, of course, made it more difficult to keep quiet.

He knew her body intimately, every crease and fold of skin, every secret inlet which made her shiver with pleasure. As she knew his. She loved the way his curly red chest hair tickled her face as he tickled her in other places. They had to make love quickly and not take the hours they used to before Alvi was born, but the sudden speed could be more exciting.

Afterwards, they snuggled down.

“
Hope that stuff worked,” said Ragnar, “and you’re not -”

“
Stop worrying, I’ll be alright. I expect the traders at Gippeswick sold you their best stuff.”

“
They knew if they didn’t, I’d be back to kill them,” he laughed. “Oh! I -”

“
What?”

“
I just remembered who I met today in Gippeswick. Sorry.”

“
Who?”

“
Kjartan.”

“
Kjartan? What’s he doing there? Is that where he and Yngvild went?”

“
I don’t know. Don’t think he’s with Yngvild anymore. He looked like shit.”

*  *  *

That night, the newly leaved trees swished in the cool wind, and the half-moon lit three figures slinking through the woods towards their destination. They passed the guards easily with the help of the words taught to them by their mother. Again, death, blood, pain and grief were the outcomes of their work - another family torn apart.

The next morning, women talked at the well.

“
They say Ordulf had bite marks on him, as if from an animal.”

“
They took his poor little girl too, his only child, as well as his wife.”

“
It seems like a beast is doing the killing, but why would an animal take people and goods with it?”

Men talked in the village and while clearing up the bloodied scene in Ordulf’s house.

“
How did the murderers get in? No one heard anything, yet Ordulf lives within the walls.”

“
They must have been waiting for him at home. I don’t understand. He looks like a dog or wolf has attacked him, yet they stabbed him to death with a blade.”

“
We’ll need a new baker. We can’t do without our bread.”

*  *  *

The last murder made up Ragnar’s mind. He needed to find out about Kjartan so another visit to Gippeswick would be the only way. His stomach churned as he remembered how Kjartan so nearly caused his execution after framing him for the murder of Eadbald.

When he arrived in town again, he glanced around, wondering where to begin searching. The streets looked different; more people hung about and more trading stalls had been set up, making the most of the warming weather. Then it struck him: the alehouse. So he headed towards it, hoping he could find it again in the winding, busy streets of Gippeswick, so different to the familiar Hallby. His sense of direction fortunately did not let him down and it loomed ahead of him within a few minutes. As he approached he heard a commotion coming from inside.

Kjartan sat with his back to the door, a mug in his hand, with a lad of about fourteen holding a sword at his neck.

“
You dishonoured my sister!” he shouted.

“
So? What are you going to do about it?” Kjartan wiped the ale foam from his beard with the back of his hand.

“
Stand up and fight like a man!”

“
I could kill you with my little finger. Don’t tempt me.”

The boy shook with rage and frustration, so Ragnar approached.

“
Allow me,” he said, taking the sword and pushing him away in one quick action. The other drinkers in the alehouse gasped.

Kjartan leapt up, spilling the ale and knocking over the table, reaching for his own sword.

“
Please!” shrieked a voice. “Fight outside!” The alewife trembled nearby.

“
Come on, then.” Ragnar jerked his head towards the door, forcing Kjartan to walk to it by pressing the sword harder to his throat.

The street cleared in an instant as they went outside.

“
I said I’d kill you if I saw you again,” said Ragnar. “Looks like it’s now.”

“
You’d kill an unarmed man?” Kjartan held up his empty hands, so Ragnar moved the sword away.

The white-blond Dane grabbed his own sword at once and threatened his attacker. Metal clanged on metal as they fought, boots slipping on the greasy stones of the ancient street, making onlookers scurry out of the way, cheer, or heckle.

“
Why are you here?”

Kjartan didn’t answer but renewed the attack, forcing Ragnar back towards the crowd, but the Huskarl gritted his teeth and defended, bringing the unfamiliar sword up hard, unsure how it would perform. He managed to reach the hilt of his own sword, easing it out little by little until, at last, it came free.

He attacked with both swords, having practised this type of fighting with Bjarni a few times for fun. On those occasions, it ended up with them both laughing. This time it would not; this would be to the death.

But Kjartan, full of bitterness, grabbed the nearest bystander.

“
Get me another sword,” he growled, and a friend of his victim hastily produced one. Kjartan stepped towards Ragnar, whirling his two blades.

Metal struck metal again, and the fight grew so wild the onlookers began to disperse.

“
Call the Jarl,” they whispered to each other.

Kjartan turned at this and Ragnar landed a blow on his arm, but this just seemed to renew his strength and he slashed at the auburn-haired Dane’s chest, forcing him into the crowd.

“
Come on, sir,” muttered the men who caught him. “It’s time the fiend learned a lesson.”

Revitalised, the Huskarl struck out, cutting and slashing faster and faster while Kjartan, out of practice and out of breath, retreated, Ragnar’s sword at his throat.

“
You’re going to murder me now? In front of these people?” he taunted, and Ragnar paused.