As Gunnhild talked some more about Sigurd’s army and the farm, Rowena’s attention unwillingly strayed to the other girl in the fire-hall again. Her eyes followed the spindle whorls as they rose and sank to the floor. It was such a homely scene she felt more homesick than ever.
‘Would you like me to find you some needlework?’ Gunnhild offered, noting her distress. ‘Then mayhap we could go for a walk.’
Rowena smiled her gratitude. ‘Thank you, I’d like that.’
The light in the hall came from the fire and several torches. There was also an opening near the gable end that was covered in calf membrane, so there was sufficient brightness for her to do her stitching by. Thus occupied, they sat contentedly side by side until Gunnhild was called away, so bored by her embroidery by now, Rowena decided to go and explore her husband’s domain on her own.
She found that part of the hall was partitioned off into sleeping areas. But she was certain there weren’t enough for everyone, and assumed they were kept for those with the greatest authority.
Leaving the fire-hall she saw that two small storerooms and a kitchen opened off the back. She peaked inside the first storeroom and found that it held three large vats for dairy produce. The interior of the second room was quite chilly, and was crisscrossed with two deep stone gullies. They were packed with ice and she surmised it was where they stored the meat.
Rowena noted the chains that dangled from the walls, and shivered. This must be the place Algitha told her about, and she resolved to keep away from it at all costs. Her husband was a fiend and she would not wish to be caught up in any more of his sport.
Walking outside in the fresh air she tried to shut her mind off from what she’d seen by studying her surroundings. Outside the shieling were two old women, busily making lace with their bone needles. They smiled at her and said something in Norse, which she was unable to understand, so she returned their smiles and gave a polite nod.
Behind the shieling and some outbuildings was a wood that burgeoned with tall birches, rowans and willows. As she watched an intricately carved wagon trundled over the hillside, drawn by a cute brown pony, the man who drove the wagon waved at her and she waved back. Sigurd’s people appeared to be very friendly and industrious. She breathed in deeply, the air was good in the hills, but nothing could blow away the scene of the wicked chains she had seen in the storeroom.
No matter how hard she tried she could not come to terms with what she’d seen, but it wormed through her every thought and she was laid low with a bad head, forced to seek out her bedchamber. Algitha ministered to her, but nothing would help. Sigurd did not come to her that night and she thanked the Lord he did not. She cared little for his whereabouts as long as she was left in peace.
It was the early hours when she awoke from a restless sleep, her mouth dry. Her tongue rasped over parched lips, and by the light of the candle that still burned, she foraged for something to ease her thirst. The water jug was empty. She clucked her dismay, and wrapping a mantle around her shift, ventured out into the fire-hall.
The fire still burned brightly in the centre of it, and around this were many straw-filled mattresses upon which some of the Norse reposed. The rest were obviously in the partitioned-off bedchambers. She glanced at the sleeping men and women and wished she were able to sleep so peacefully.
A loud sneeze made her jump, and then giggle, for the woman who’d sneezed was twitching her nose and rubbing it violently in her sleep. Even in the dull light Rowena could see that her quilt had received a tear and some feathers were poking through, tormenting her.
A movement on the other side of the fire pit attracted her attention, and she moved back into the shadows fearful of the animalistic grunts that came from there. When her eyes focused better she realised it was a man and a woman having sex.
At first she was overcome with embarrassment and wished herself anywhere but there. Then she realised the couple was either so overcome by passion that it made them oblivious to anyone else, or they cared little for modesty.
Rowena’s curiosity got the better of her and she tiptoed nearer. Thinking of the way Algitha had made love to her, and of her tenderness, set her to wondering about this couple. Were they gentle lovers, or did all Norse take their woman as roughly as Sigurd did?
She felt odd witnessing that which should be done in private, but instead of filling her with shame she was beginning to feel a burgeoning excitement.
Having worked her way quietly around the hall she was able to see the lovers more closely. The man she recognised as Olaf, and he was balancing on his knees, his penis moving in and out of the woman’s mouth as she sucked with relish. He grunted something in Norse and she released his shaft reluctantly.
The woman’s breasts were huge, her teats erect and rosy-red. The man, who was as muscled as the rest of his ilk, grabbed them roughly and she groaned with delight as he suckled on them, his head bobbing from one to the other. The woman sighed loudly and Rowena was able to see that the man’s legs were furred with thick hairs, and his cock stuck out from a wheat-coloured thatch. It was long and thick, the bulbous tip purple-hued. Rowena bit her lip; he was a fine specimen and she felt a pang of envy, wishing it were her breasts being sucked by him, her cunny that throbbed with expectancy.
As Rowena watched he grabbed his lover’s breasts and pressed them inwards, making a channel into which he stuffed his member. As she gave a small scream of excitement he began to pump into that fleshy pink tunnel. ‘Brynhild,’ he groaned. ‘Brynhild,’ his hairy bottom rocking back and forth.
Rowena licked her lips wantonly. She was able to see his balls as they jiggled between his thighs. Fanning herself, and quite unable to stand any more frustration, Rowena slid her own fingers beneath her shift and into the wetness of her womanhood. Finding her pulsing nub she began to stroke it just as Algitha had, taking care not to cry out lest the lovers become aware that they were being watched.
Olaf came with a loud snort of pleasure, shooting his seed over his lover’s throat and breasts. She smiled wickedly and began to massage the creamy fluid into the fleshy mounds that had been well fucked by her warrior.
Gilda had once told Rowena that a man’s spunk was good for the skin, and that she always saved what she could to keep her body wrinkle free. Rowena had sent her off with a flea in her ear, Gilda’s sexual boasting disgusting her. She gave a wry smile; marriage to Sigurd had certainly changed her.
Olaf snuggled down into his bed and began to snore and, to her astonishment, someone else began to sweet talk Brynhild. Soon his hand began to sneak between her thighs, to slide into her damp core. Brynhild wrapped her arms around the new male, opening her thighs wider for his ease.
While Brynhild abandoned herself to her new lover, Rowena was surprised to see another man and woman coupling, swiftly followed by another and another. Olaf and Brynhild’s loud lovemaking had obviously awakened them. Rowena wondered if they had silently observed them as she had, then having seen their fill and been sexually aroused, decided to seek their own fulfilment.
Rowena retreated further into the shadows, her heart beating like a drum, her libido in overdrive. When she’d set out to quench her thirst she had not expected to see such carryings-on in her husband’s fire-hall.
What happened next caused her to give a little cry of surprise, and to clamp her hand to her mouth lest she be heard. For even more couples were waking and beginning to make love. Then some began to exchange partners, rolling off one body and onto another. But it did not stop there, for as more couples awoke so they became lustier.
Hands began to wander from one pair of breasts to another, from one hard member to another. Rowena saw one woman take a man into her cunny and welcome another into her mouth. Another voluptuous female lay back on her straw bed, her legs wide apart, while one man after another fucked her, the smile on her lips as wide as her thighs.
Rowena thought she ha
d seen enough when two women, far too close to her for comfort, fell on each other and began to kiss passionately. Then their hands and tongues began to frantically explore each other’s curves and valleys.
One of the women reached beneath her mattress and brought forth a piece of wood shaped like a man’s penis, and Rowena fought back gasps of shock. Slipping the object into her mouth the woman wet it well, then held it up in the firelight, talking softly to her partner – no doubt bragging at what she was about to do to her.
She gently slid the fake penis into her partner’s vagina and Rowena could see the woman was already wet with desire. Her dark pink vulva was glistening in the firelight. The observation made her feel even sexier, so that her own love juices began to seep. How she longed to join in, to be cast into that sea of writhing bodies and feel strangers’ hands caress her, strangers’ mouths suck her nipples and her clitoris. She imagined what it would be like to open her legs and sit on one of the many cocks that were rampantly primed and ready for use.
She sighed; it would have to remain a fantasy. Deep down she would never willingly subject herself to such depravity. She decided that retreat was her best action under the circumstances; it would not do to be discovered spying on the Norse at play.
She turned quietly and, keeping to the shadows, began to make her way back to her bedchamber, her breath coming in shallow gasps. There had never been a sight so welcome as that of Sigurd’s huge bed when she reached it, and shrugging out of her mantle she dived beneath the covers.
Too late she realised that she was still thirsty, and silently castigated herself for having stayed to watch the orgy in the fire-hall, instead of going in search of something to quench that thirst. But her first day in the strange land had exhausted her, and she soon succumbed to sleep’s welcome arms. However, the thick quilt and the added layer of furs made her far too hot, and she tossed and turned restlessly. Her dreams were filled with visions of naked men and woman frolicking in a large pool. They were beckoning to her, teasing her by pointing to the teats of the women and the cocks of the men.
Rowena shook her head. She was well brought up and would not be tempted into joining them. But her clitoris begged attention and her breasts swelled with need. A man, bolder than the rest, walked up to her and inserted a finger into her sex. Rowena threw her head back in abandonment, thinking that perhaps she would give in to temptation, when someone began to shake her shoulder.
Simply furious for being interrupted she slapped at them irritably, but she was shaken more insistently. ‘Wake up, Rowena, wake up.’
Her eyes flickered open and for a few moments she felt completely disorientated, but she soon came rudely awake when dragged roughly from the bed, and the shadows in the bedchamber turned into human form, lifting her, tipping her over a shoulder like a sack of rubbish.
‘Put me down!’ she cried. ‘Put me down at once!’
She kicked and screamed and was slapped on the rump. At the same time someone covered her head with some sort of hood that frightened her all the more. What was happening to her?
‘Be still, or you will suffer far worse.’
The gruff male voice silenced her. He did not sound the type to make empty threats. Who was he? Where was he taking her? But with the suffocating hood shutting out the night she could only hope and pray she’d be spared from too much harm.
Chapter Six
He carried her a good few paces and she soon felt the night air on her body. She longed to tear off the suffocating hood, be free of any constraints.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded, her teeth chattering despite the balmy weather.
There was no reply, and she was carried a goodly way before she was dumped on the ground. She lay there trembling, the cold surface penetrating her thin shift. The hood was loose around her neck and the odour of blood and incense wafted up her nose. She felt about tentatively, but found no clues as to her whereabouts. Then, in the distance, she heard rustling noises.
Her captor was very close, she could hear him breathing. She began to wonder what his next move would be when she heard crunching and snapping noises, and the sound of footsteps and voices coming closer. She was certain there were at least ten to twelve people, maybe more, about to join them.
Rowena tried to reason with her captor again. ‘Who are you? What are you going to do with me?’
No one answered, and the sounds came nearer. Suddenly she was dragged to her feet and her hands untied. She gave a sigh of relief that didn’t last. She was made to lean against what felt like a thick pole, her hands embracing it behind her, before being tied again. This time the rope was wound around her waist and the pole, making sure she was unable to escape whatever fate they had planned for her.
The rope was rough, it rubbed her through the thin material of her shift, chaffed her delicate skin. There were noises all around her now, people’s voices, and the glimmer of light seeping through the garment over her head. The voices were indistinct, sinister sounds that made her spine crawl. Then silence, except for the sound of breathing quite close.
What was happening? Were they watching her as she stood helpless and blindfolded, enjoying her weakness and their control?
Suddenly the hood was torn off and she blinked rapidly. It took a few seconds for her eyes to become acclimatised to the light. When they did she froze, for there was a circle of people around her carrying flaming torches of fire. They were clad in loose black garments, with hoods from which eyeholes were cut, and slits for their mouths. She seemed to be in some sort of a temple, a large building, every bit as large as the fire-hall. In the middle of the floor was an altar bearing fragrant candles and a gold arm ring. Around the altar stood carved figures of all the gods they worshipped, the largest of all being Thor. He was resplendent in a gold and silver chariot drawn by two goats. Odin stood at one side of him and at the other was the naked squatting figure of Frey, the god of peace and sensual pleasure, sporting a huge erect phallus.
They had tied her to a post in front of the gods and she trembled, realising this was the sacred temple of the Norse. It was surreal.
‘Wh-who are you?’ she asked shakily, her throat dry with fear. ‘What do you want?’
‘You’ve been a bad girl, Rowena,’ came the reply, the voice a sibilant whisper that chilled. ‘A very bad girl. And you have dared flout the rules of Sigurd’s household.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She swallowed hard, aware of the thud of her heartbeat.
As if she hadn’t spoken he went on sombrely. ‘You have flouted the most important rule.’
‘You’re mad, I’ve not been here long enough to do anything wrong,’ she spat angrily.
‘You go against the laws and still proclaim innocence! Think hard before you reply again.’
The voice was heavily accented and she was unable to make out who it was. She shook her head, the overpowering fragrance of the candles making her nauseas. ‘Leave me alone. Untie me; I just want to go back to bed. ‘
The group mumbled disapprovingly and he spoke again: ‘A good wife is respectful of her husband. A chieftain’s wife more so.’
Things became clearer. She bit her lip anxiously; she was to be punished again for accidentally poisoning Sigurd! ‘Have I not suffered enough? Will my discipline go on forever? I did not mean to harm my husband, it was a mistake.’
‘You have been brought to the council for ignoring the privacy of Sigurd’s people.’
Rowena reddened. ‘I… I’m sorry. I woke up thirsty and went to the fire-hall in search of a drink.’
‘And when you realised that people were indulging in lovemaking you chose to stand and watch.’
A shaking began in her limbs. She had crossed the wrong people. ‘I was too embarrassed to move straightaway,’ she lied. How could she explain that she was so turned on she was unable to do anything but watch?
The light fr
om the torches flickered unerringly against the darkness. Rowena was sure she would be sick as her stomach lurched in fear. No one spoke. She dropped her head, realising for the first time that her shift was wet with perspiration and clinging revealingly to her body, so that to all intent and purpose she was virtually naked and open to the perusal of the assembled company.
Thinking she glimpsed the glint of eyes in the slits in the hoods, eyes that were zoned in on her nearly naked curves, she stared back. To her utter shame her breasts tingled and her nipples ripened like spring fruit.
The leader stepped forward, just in front of her. ‘Perhaps the truth of the matter is that you are immoral, Rowena. That you enjoy watching.’
Rowena’s temper flared. ‘You dare to accuse me, when you all knew I was there and enjoyed performing your lewd acts in front of me?’
‘Quiet!’ the voice ordered angrily. ‘You have not been given permission to speak. And it is not your place to question our motives.’ There was a pregnant pause before he said, ‘Did it not occur to you that you were being tested?’
She flexed her arms, but she was held fast. ‘I request permission to speak,’ she said miserably, and the man nodded. Rowena adopted a more subservient tone, knowing she was only incurring their wrath by fighting back. ‘I am sorry if I upset Sigurd’s people and beg forgiveness.’
‘Does the group accept the apology?’ he asked, turning to the circle. They nodded one after another. ‘We are in agreement. But you must perform a penance to erase your sins.’
She was so tired she would willingly agree to anything. ‘Of course,’ she sighed, thinking she’d be given demeaning cleaning tasks to perform, things beneath the station of a chieftain’s wife.
‘So, you agree to your punishment?’ She nodded. ‘Good. So be it.’
He made no move to untie her and she pointedly glanced at her arms. ‘Release me, please, so I may have my sleep and awake refreshed and more able to be disciplined.’
a Wicked Conquest Page 9