Page 45 of Her Celtic Captor

"So, if not Eirik, who told you that you were worthless and unlovable? Who convinced you that you were cold?"

Brynhild flattened her lips in grim determination. He might spank her, but she had told him all she was prepared to. The rest, well, that was buried and would remain so whatever this meddlesome Celt might do to her.

"Please, no more. Please do not ask me any more."

"Brynhild...?"

"Whip me if you must, if you consider that necessary, but I will not tell you."

"I shall not whip you, little Viking, for I know it would do no good. However, I have one final question for you and I require an honest answer."

"What question?"

"You did not spread your thighs for your betrothed, and now I understand why. He had no wish to fuck you. But I do. So, Brynhild, will you spread them for me?"

13

What his question lacked in finesse it certainly made up for in the element of surprise. Naturally Brynhild did not answer and he had not really expected her to. She could only gape at him, wide-eyed. Most telling, though, she did not recoil in horror. Well, not entirely. She had backed away, shaking her head. He did not miss the sudden shimmer of tears, nor did he mistake the flash of curious vulnerability instantly quashed. Taranc took that as her wordless response and allowed the matter to drop for the time being. It was not as though he intended to take her right there on the fishing vessel, with Eileifr looking on. There would be time enough when they reached Aikrig.

He would need to revisit his view on marriage. Although his natural instinct had not changed, he still believed a marriage between himself and Brynhild Freysson would be a prickly affair at best, he had to admit the prospect was not without its compensations. Sweet Jesus, but the woman had his cock gripped in a more or less permanent state of hardness. It was beginning to actually hurt. For her part, she was wary of him, badly frightened by something she refused to name, but he wasnow convinced she was not immune to him and for that he thanked his Maker. For certain, the sort of marriage which Eirik Bjarkesson would have found acceptable would not suit Taranc. He intended to bed her, and he would do it well and thoroughly and very, very often.

His little Viking had but to come around to the idea.

She spent much of their second day at sea asleep, or pretending to be. He allowed that and busied himself assisting Eiliefr. Just before sunset they sighted land.

"Shetland," announced Eiliefr. "By first light we shall be at Orkney, and soon after we shall reach the coast of Scotland. Your village is perhaps a half day's sailing down the eastern coast."

Taranc nodded. He had a fair idea of the course they were on and fully expected to take his next noon time meal at his own table in Aikrig.

A couple of hours after dawn broke he crouched beside Brynhild and shook her by the shoulder. She peeped out of the blankets at him, her deep blue eyes apprehensive. Taranc produced a finely carved bone comb, yet another of the useful items so helpfully supplied by her brother.

"We are nearing our destination. I thought you might wish to make use of this before meeting anyone."

She blinked at him, but took the comb. "Thank you."

He smiled and reached for the rope which still bound her ankle. "We will be going ashore in an hour or so." He set her loose. "I trust you will not find it necessary to fling yourself overboard, but I should warn you, if you do I shall not be best pleased at being forced to dive in after you a second time. By now you will appreciate the likely consequences of such foolishness. You are no longer a prisoner, Brynhild. You are now a free woman…of Scotland."

He might have wished she appeared less daunted at that prospect.

Taranc stood at the bow and watched as his former home swelled in the distance, eventually filling his vision. Little had altered in the months he had been away, and he was glad of it. Brynhild came to stand at his side, her pale hair combed and freshly plaited, and her crumpled tunic smoothed out as best she might manage it.

"It is smaller than I imagined."

He nodded at her observation. "Aye, Aikrig is but a fishing village, a hamlet really. Pennglas, the main village, lies about a mile inland and is larger."

"Which house is yours?"

"Ours, " he corrected. "That one, there, at the brow of the incline, just before the trees." He pointed to the largest of the dwellings, a single storey structure made of stone and timber, with a turfed roof.

He supposed it was not unlike a Viking longhouse in external appearance, though no smoke billowed through the roof. In a Viking dwelling the fire would never be allowed to go out. He had to assume that in his absence his family had not found it necessary to keep the blaze going. That would have to change and he had no doubt that Brynhild would be equal to the task. He turned to regard her solemn features.

"You will keep our home and I know that you will do so with your usual efficiency. However, I will expect you to treat our servants well. Annag, my cousin, will help you and I expect to hear no tales of whippings, stocks or cold baths. Do I make myself clear?"

She glared at him, her spine stiffening. "You hardly know me, yet you think to dictate on such matters. I am a fine manager of servants. I expect people to work hard, but I am fair and our house thralls loved me."

"Brynhild, let us not have any illusions on this matter. No one here is a thrall, or a slave. You will treat them accordingly or face the consequences. Do I need to elaborate?"

She glared at him, bristling with resentment. "No, you do not. You will spank me."

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