a Wicked Conquest

by Valerie Saxon

  He brought the paddle down hard on the dimpled flesh that was still marked from his previous beatings, and she curled her fingers into small fists and muffled her cries in the feather pillows.

  He gave her six good slaps with the paddle and her sobs racked her body. ‘Enough. Please let that be enough, husband.’

  Feeling happy after his liaison with Maeve and his infiltration into Rowena’s virgin anus, he tossed the paddle aside. ‘You are lucky, Rowena. I am in a good mood. I have heard that Gunnhild thinks well of you.’

  She sighed her relief, and aiming to keep him sweet said, ‘She is an elegant and lovely person.’

  ‘So you do not hate all the Norse?’

  He indolently reached for his breeches and stepped into them. Rowena was surprised by his easy manner. ‘I am merely wary of anyone who comes to my land to plunder.’

  His head snapped round. ‘This is your land now.’

  His jaw squared stubbornly and the part of his scar that was not hidden by his beard looked white and angry against the rest of his skin. She sat up, and covering her breasts with the quilt asked impulsively, ‘Your face, was it done in battle?’

  ‘Yes, when I was not yet a man. The cur that did it took advantage of that. But I’ve not forgotten the debt I owe him.’ He smiled a cruel smile. ‘One day, my Saxon wife, I will tell you the story that surrounds this scar.’ He fingered it thoughtfully. ‘Do you find it disagreeable?’

  ‘No, why should I?’ If anything it enhanced the roguish looks, but she was not about to tell him that, any more than she would give him the satisfaction of asking whose bed he’d been in when hers was empty.

  He seemed pleased by her answer. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I will not get an heir with someone who finds me distasteful.’

  Rowena quailed. ‘An heir?’

  ‘Of course. You’re not barren, are you?’

  He appeared anxious and she struggled to reply. ‘I… I have not had the opportunity to find out.’

  ‘That is something we must remedy.’

  His voice was threatening and Rowena held her hot cheeks. She had been far too absorbed in her misery to so much as think of having a family with him. The thought appalled her. ‘I would not wish my child to be brought up a heathen.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Be careful, wife, I still have the paddle at hand and will not hesitate to use it should you need discipline.’

  Rowena lowered her gaze. She wanted to tell him just what she thought of him and his paddle, but the memory of her beating was still too fresh in her mind.

  ‘By the way,’ he said, his eyes slanted curiously. ‘What are you doing lazing in bed at this time of day? Everyone in the shieling and farm share the work, even though we have thralls aplenty. As the chieftain’s wife you will be expected to supervise.’

  She sought her mind for an excuse. She could not tell him she’d been up half the night eagerly watching an orgy in his fire-hall. Or that she’d spent the rest of the night tied to a pole as punishment, a burning longing plaguing her loins.

  ‘I am not used to sailing the seas,’ she said quickly. ‘I think the journey exhausted me more than I realised.’

  ‘Then let us see if your rest has given you an appetite. Come, ‘tis time to eat.’

  Sigurd’s fire-hall had been set with trestles and benches and delicious smells were coming from the kitchen. They were given water and towels in order to wash, then Sigurd led her to an intricately carved settle near the hearth and the largest roof pillars. When seated Rig and Gunnhild sat on a similar settle opposite them, with the hearth between.

  Rowena turned to Sigurd enquiringly. ‘The seating plan is interesting.’

  ‘The settles we use are called high seats and only for the use of the master and mistress and honoured guests.’ He pointed to the rest of the household, who resided at trestles arranged in two rows along each side of the fire-hall. ‘The places near the centre are considered more honourable than those far out.’

  ‘I see.’ Rowena studied her fellow diners carefully, and was just as thoroughly inspected in her turn. She wondered who, among these people, had been in the hall during the orgy, and more importantly, who had been part of the group who tied her to the post, and messed with her mind and body until she begged the leader for sex.

  She spoke a few friendly words with Rig and Gunnhild while the servants were serving the food. Sigurd peered suspiciously into his drinking horn, and Gunnhild asked innocently, ‘What ails you, Sigurd? Is something amiss with your drink?’

  He swirled the contents of the horn and crooked an eyebrow at Rowena. ‘What say you, wife? Is there anything amiss with my ale?’

  She hated him for the joke, which was in poor taste. ‘Nay, husband, I’m sure it’s fine.’

  Gunnhild was about to question their strange conversation, but was silenced by a dig in the ribs from Rig.

  A latecomer joined them, a man with attractive dark-blue eyes who was every bit as tall and broad as Sigurd, though leaner in the hip. Rowena trembled when he sat opposite her, a mocking smile on his handsome face. It was he, she was sure of it. Yes, he was definitely the ‘leader’. She had never seen eyes quite like his before. They were the colour of sapphires and they glinted as magnificently as any jewel.

  ‘Forgive me for my tardy behaviour,’ he excused. ‘I lost track of time.’

  Sigurd grinned. ‘I wager a beautiful wench kept you, Leif. ‘Tis the only reason that would keep you away from your food.’

  Leif smiled and Rowena’s heart seemed to miss a beat. ‘You do me a disservice, Sigurd. The ladies will think me a wastrel.’

  He slapped the bottom of the pretty young Irish girl who served him and she blushed. Sigurd picked up his ale. ‘Rowena, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Leif. Cousin, meet my new wife, Rowena.’

  Rowena prayed her cheeks would not give her away but she felt them burning.

  Leif raised his horn. ‘A toast to the newly married couple.’

  His eyes were guileless and Rowena wished she were as clever at hiding her feelings. She lost her appetite after that, but managed to taste a little of most things put in front of her, hoping to allay Sigurd’s suspicion. And she couldn’t fault the food, for there was meat aplenty, all well cooked and tender, and the buttermilk was the best she had ever tasted.

  ‘Try some of this,’ Leif said, pointing to some cheesy curds in front of her. ‘It’s called skyr.’

  Amusement played at the sides of his mouth, and Rowena could not help but blush when she recalled how close they were the previous night. How he had her stripped naked and brought himself to climax by rubbing his proud manhood on her stomach.

  Sigurd was watching her carefully, almost as though he suspected something, so she smiled and tried the curd. ‘Extremely palatable,’ she said graciously.

  ‘I’m relieved it meets your approval,’ Sigurd remarked, an eyebrow raised slightly.

  Rowena knew it was a warning sign. He was beginning to wonder why the innocent remarks flowing back and forth seemed charged with tension. She tried to lighten the atmosphere by telling a joke one of her brother’s had told her, and for once she told it skilfully and Sigurd laughed heartily and seemed more relaxed.

  Then people took it in turns to tell stories. Sigurd told her that they were known as sagas. Rowena kept a smile on her lips, though extremely bored after the third saga, for they were all related in Norwegian and she was unable to understand any of them.

  The gathering grew noisy but nothing could distract her from the handsome man who was her husband’s cousin, the man who could manipulate her with just the blink of his blue eyes.

  Then someone began to play a harp, and a lovely dark-haired woman halfway down the hall got to her feet and began to sing in a voice so sweet Rowena thought she sounded like an angel. With a start she realised she was singing to Sigurd, and that she was able t
o understand every word, for the woman was singing in Irish.

  From a small child she had been told that she was half Irish, and Grainne had tried to explain to her about the beauty of the country she came from. She taught her the Irish tongue, and up until the day she left Wessex they had conversed in that language when alone.

  The woman was looking at Sigurd with passion in her eyes, and the words she sang were words of love, of lovers’ trysts and joys shared. It was obvious to Rowena that Sigurd understood every word, for his mouth had softened and his eyes held a glazed look.

  Rowena was surprised to see that her husband had a heart after all. It was obvious that the lovely Irish girl was his mistress, and Rowena admired her, for anyone who was able to find a soft spot in that granite body deserved her prize.

  All eyes were turned on her for her reaction. She smiled sweetly; why would she care who Sigurd slept with when she only had eyes for his enigmatic cousin? Leif was watching her closely too, his handsome face grim and his knife digging absently into his trencher.

  She wondered what had displeased him; surely Sigurd’s mistress and her love ballad had not disturbed him. The hall was stuffy and Rowena excused herself; she needed fresh air.

  Sigurd didn’t seem to have any objections, so she made her way to the stables. The horses whinnied and she patted their velvet noses. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she said, feeding one a honeyed cake from the table.

  ‘She is called Syn, for one of the goddesses.’

  She turned, her spine thrilling to his voice, his body so near she was able to feel his breath on her neck. ‘She’s quite lovely.’

  Leif fondled his own mount. ‘And this is Alsvid, who is named for one of the sun’s horses because he is immensely strong.’

  Rowena lifted a dainty eyebrow. ‘The sun has horses?’

  He laughed. ‘Oh yes, and she’s always in a great hurry because she is chased by Skoll, the wolf who is always snapping at her heels.’

  Rowena shook her head in bewilderment. ‘The sun is chased by a wolf?’

  ‘Aye. One day soon I will tell you about our gods and how it all began.’ He smiled at her and her stomach seemed to somersault. ‘Do you ride?’

  ‘I like to ride,’ she replied lightly.

  ‘Would you come riding with me?’

  She blushed. ‘What will Sigurd think?’

  ‘That I’m sniffing after you like a dog on heat. But he will feel safe in the knowledge that I’ll do no more than flirt and enjoy your company, because I am family.’

  She gave a whimsical smile. ‘And what is the truth?’

  ‘The truth is I want to feel your naked skin close to mine again. And I will spend every waking minute trying to persuade you to sleep with me.’

  He caressed her neck and she trembled. ‘I thought punishment was your only aim.’

  He shook his head. ‘Had I not led the group in the shieling you would have suffered far worse than you did. I don’t usually get involved in their games, but when I saw the vision that was my cousin’s bride, I wanted to protect you from them. The only way to be sure of that was to take the lead.’

  ‘If you wanted me so much, why did you not take me when you had the chance?’

  ‘Don’t you think I would have laid you on your back and stretched your lovely cunny if it was at all possible? But every move I made was being monitored, so I had to play out the game in order to please them and, by so doing, save you from their true wrath.’

  ‘I didn’t think the Norse feared anything,’ she said flirtatiously.

  ‘You’re right,’ he agreed. ‘But had I fought every one, Sigurd would have found out and the reason would have soon come to the fore.’

  Rowena sighed and leaned into his kiss. ‘So that’s what you meant when you said the time wasn’t right for us.’

  ‘That was exactly what I meant.’ His hands caressed her breasts and she clung to him, welcoming his knee as it nudged her legs apart and insinuated itself just at the apex of her thighs. It slid back and forth over her sex and she was wet in no time.

  ‘I want you, Rowena,’ he breathed. ‘I want you more than any other woman I’ve ever met. And I think you want me too.’

  ‘I do want you, Leif. I felt something between us from the beginning. It was as though we were in a magic place where only you and I existed.’

  She was moving with him, and as his knee slid against her wet furrow, so she pressed down on him. His hands grabbed her bottom cheeks and pulled her closer, squeezing them, his knee moving faster. Rowena’s breathing became ragged and he muffled her screams of passion with his mouth as she came, her thighs shaking.

  He lifted her in his arms and took her then, up against the wall of the stable, his hot meat ploughing into her warm wet centre. It was how she expected it to be with her husband; exciting, scintillating, gentleness mixed with passion.

  Her hands were on his muscled back and she thrilled at the strength of him. ‘Why couldn’t it have been you who came to my land instead of Sigurd?’ she wondered aloud.

  ‘If only,’ he groaned, and shot his seed inside her.

  Afterwards, knowing she must look bedraggled from her loving, she tidied herself. ‘What if Sigurd comes looking for me and finds us together?’

  ‘I don’t think you need worry about my cousin,’ he said, with the same grim smile she’d seen earlier, ‘for as you know, he’s not a faithful husband. Maeve has his attention this night, so don’t be surprised if he warms her bed and not yours.’

  ‘You don’t approve, do you?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘I only know that if I had you for my own I would never look elsewhere.’

  ‘Is that why you flirted with all the pretty girls in the hall?’ she asked teasingly.

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘It was a ruse. If Sigurd noticed I only had eyes for you he’d flay me alive.’ He winked wickedly. ‘Or should I say he would have died trying.’ He studied her carefully for a few moments.

  ‘What is it, Leif?’ she asked, sensing he wanted to tell her something.

  ‘I just wanted you to know that Sigurd has changed. As a boy he was kind and gentle, but something bad happened to him and he hasn’t been the same since.’

  Rowena tried to imagine Sigurd as a kind, gentle person, and failed abysmally. ‘What was it?’

  ‘Come, ‘tis a nice evening, we shall walk by the river.’ He saw the flicker of alarm in her eyes. ‘Don’t be afraid, Sigurd will be occupied elsewhere. Besides, what can be wrong with becoming acquainted with your husband’s cousin?’

  It all sounded innocent enough, so she acquiesced and they took the path that ran alongside the river. Leif picked up some flat stones and skimmed them along the water, and she clapped her hands at his expertise. Then they sat on a rock overlooking the fast moving current.

  ‘I hope you don’t regret this,’ he sighed deeply.

  ‘Please,’ she urged, ‘I might feel better if I understand some of his past.’

  He capitulated. ‘Very well. A long time ago, when we were both children, Sigurd’s mother, Helgi, fell in love with someone else. His father, Thorkel, found out and as you can imagine was very angry. After a while Helgi could no longer live with that anger, so she took Sigurd and fled with her lover.’

  Rowena’s eyes were wide. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘They took a ship, planning to go to Russia, where her lover’s brother was jarl of Kiev.’ His expression sobered. ‘But the ship was attacked by Estonian pirates who enslaved them all.’

  She gasped in dismay, surprised to find herself still beside the river; Leif had almost made the past come alive for her. ‘How did they survive?’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘Helgi was not strong and died soon after her capture. My uncle searched ceaselessly for his son and eventually found him six years later, and was able to buy him out of captivi
ty.’

  Rowena blinked away her tears. ‘Thorkel must have been overjoyed to be reunited with Sigurd after so long.’

  ‘Aye, but Thorkel was full of bitterness. He never took another wife, and I fear he passed some of that animosity on to Sigurd. For although he had his fill of women like any other healthy male, his emotions have always remained separate.’

  Rowena folded her hands in her lap, feeling something sap out of her. ‘That accounts for a lot.’

  Leif nodded. ‘And there are his years of captivity to take into consideration. He never talks of them, but from what my father said he was treated like an animal. When they found him he was nothing but skin and bone.’

  Leif noted her tears and hugged her to him. ‘Poor Sigurd.’ She tried to visualise the young child after having spent his formative years enslaved, back with his father, a man changed, twisted by bitterness and hate. How Thorkel must have hated his wife for her infidelity, for running away with her lover, taking his son, a son he was made to search six long harrowing years for. It was little wonder he had become embittered.

  And Sigurd was the logical one for him to confide in, the one to be indoctrinated with Thorkel’s own feelings on womankind. He had grown up with it day and night until it was a canker in his insides eating away at him like a disease.

  ‘Mayhap I will be able to help him a little now,’ she said hopefully. ‘Sometimes he makes it so hard I cannot bear to even look at him.’

  ‘Does he beat you?’ Leif asked in concern.

  ‘Sometimes.’ There was no way she was able to tell him how badly.

  He slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Then I will speak to him. I will not have you hurt.’

  ‘No!’ she wailed. ‘You will make things worse for me. If Sigurd finds out I have spoken about it he will be very angry.’ He looked doubtful but she tugged his sleeve fearfully. ‘You must promise me, Leif.’

  ‘All right, but this must be addressed soon.’

  Rowena looked nervously over her shoulder. ‘I had better return to the hall, just in case he has not sought Maeve’s bed and is waiting for me.’