a Wicked Conquest

by Valerie Saxon

  ‘I wish to leave,’ she snapped coldly, turning her back on the nymphs her husband displayed so brazenly. But Sigurd was not to be crossed. He grabbed her cruelly and tore every stitch she wore from her body. As she stared down in horror at her nudity he called out some orders in a language she was unable to understand. One of the women took a metal collar and some rope from a chest and gave it to him, and before Rowena was able to protest the collar was snapped around her throat and her hands were tied behind her back.

  ‘Will you never learn obedience?’ he asked in mock sorrow.

  ‘I would sooner die than offer obedience to you, Norse dog!’ she snarled, struggling against her bonds, appalled at the weight of the collar on her neck.

  ‘Do not tempt me, bitch!’ His eyes were bright with his ire, his lips wet from the spittle of his angry words. He grappled with a chain that hung from a hook in the roof, clipping it to a link in the collar. The chain allowed her a little movement only, and tears formed in her eyes. Her husband had chained her like an animal while the dark-skinned women watched.

  Casting her a satisfied grin, Sigurd kissed Jasmine, and caressed her breasts and stomach. Then his head dipped and he sucked a breast through her gauzy covering. His fingers worked lower and he was soon tickling her sex, grinning at his wife. ‘Do you like what I’m doing to Jasmine, Rowena?’

  Rowena swallowed hard. ‘Of course not.’ But she was lying. It turned her on watching her husband touch another woman.

  ‘You’re not telling the truth,’ he chastised. ‘Admit it, wouldn’t you like to touch Jasmine too?’

  Rowena took a deep breath, straining against the cruel metal that encircled her throat. ‘Go to hell!’

  Ignoring her ire he said, ‘Tell me what you’d like to do to her.’ He wore a smug smile as he caressed both women, who clung to him like limpets.

  Rowena closed her eyes against the sensual scene. ‘I’m bored by your sport.’

  Sigurd’s reply was to slap her hard across her cheek. ‘I suggest you open your eyes, lest I think you’re tired of having the gift of sight.’

  Rowena obeyed, but tried to avert her gaze from the women’s breasts, but their compelling sensuality was far too powerful to resist. To her shame she was bathed in their beauty and longed to weigh those lovely breasts in her palms, and suck their rosy nipples.

  As if he were able to read her thoughts, Sigurd released both women and relaxed on the pile of silk cushions. The two women immediately followed suit, draping themselves seductively beside him. ‘Feast your eyes on my beauteous slaves, Rowena, for you and I both know how much you enjoy a challenge.’

  She recalled what Algitha had done to her in her bedchamber, and secretly itched to do the same with these lovely creatures. Unfortunately Sigurd was able to read the naked desire on her face. ‘Usta,’ he commanded the curvaceous woman, ‘introduce my wife to the fine wine from Russia.’

  Usta swayed seductively to the corner of the room, where a table was set with rich food and wines, her reflection in the metal mirrors on all sides, her gauzy dress clinging suggestively to every nuance of flesh. She poured a gourd of wine into a ruby goblet and, as Jasmine untied Rowena, so she handed her the wine.

  Rowena was forced to walk forward a few steps, which was as far as the chain would reach, in order to take the wine from her. As she moved closer to the enchantress her perfume wafted around her like a flowery summer’s day. Their eyes caught and Rowena looked away, quickly sipping the wine that slid down her throat like nectar.

  Usta put out a soft hand and touched Rowena’s hair. She wordlessly described what she felt inside by putting her hands to her heart and inclining them at Rowena. Then she spoke in a sultry voice that awakened every sensory nerve in Rowena’s body, even though she was unable to know what she said. She took some more wine into her mouth, swallowing gratefully.

  Sigurd clapped his hands and thralls brought in a hot bath floating with rose petals. Rowena’s eyebrows rose and Sigurd smiled. ‘They will bathe me in rose petals. It is a custom in their country that you’ll find very interesting.’

  Sigurd allowed the women to disrobe him. Then Jasmine tested the water in the bath and satisfied, bade him enter with a flourish of her graceful arm.

  Sigurd stepped into the deep tub with a smile. The rose petals smelled wonderful, and Rowena inhaled deeply. How she wished she were in that scented water, while the soft hands of the dusky women pampered her skin, anointing her with vials of aromatic scents that pleased her senses, their clever fingers easing the tension from her body with each stroke.

  Sigurd lay back, a relaxed smile playing on his lips, his blue eyes taking in every curve of the women as they bathed him. His contentment was obvious and Rowena longed to slap his obnoxious face.

  Soon the gentle hands were drying, patting and soothing his body with the utmost care. Sigurd basked in the warmth of their beautiful smiles, of the knowledge in those dark eyes. Then he was dried carefully and draped in a soft, silken robe before resuming his seat on the cushions. He clapped his hands once more and the bath was taken away.

  ‘I hope you are taking note of all this, Rowena. You have the appearance of a goddess, and I’ve never had the least trouble finding you easy on the eye. But your knowledge of sensuality is sadly lacking. Therefore teaching of this important art will begin, and if you’re a willing and capable pupil I might well find myself happy with the results.’

  She bit back a sarcastic reply and turned her gaze on the finely carved chest the woman had taken the collar and rope from. She hardly dared to believe her eyes, for the scene on the wood was of sensuality, but whereas at first she’d thought it consisted of males and females in different sexual poses, she found it was nothing but females indulging themselves and each other.

  She blushed, and with a sign from Sigurd the women smiled slyly and spirited themselves towards her. To her distress soft lips found hers, lips that were tender and dangerous, leading her spiralling downward into a world of Sapphic passion. When one pair of lips left hers so another replaced them, kissing her until she thought she could reach the stars with one outstretched hand and bring one back to earth to light her way forever.

  The candles gave out the aroma of flowers, and Rowena sighed as she was massaged all over. She even forgot the discomfort of the collar as delicate fingers found their way to her intimate places, and she sighed her pleasure as they deftly caressed until she was in a frenzy of need.

  Her hands were untied and she reached out in her delirium and found a soft breast, a curving hip, and she weighed the one in her hand while feeling the silky sheen of the other. Rowena was hypnotised by the wonderful creatures and their exotic perfumes, tantalised by their touch.

  Jasmine was licking a wooden phallus, slipping it against Rowena’s juicy sex lips. Rowena wasn’t sure, so she shook her head at Jasmine, but the woman was not to be swayed. Usta quickly grabbed her arms and retied them. Rowena’s legs flailed, she’d been drugged by their delightful perfume and saturated with gentleness, but she would not allow them to feed that unnatural object inside her.

  Jasmine was deft, and held her still with her superior strength while Usta slid the dildo in her juices and began to burrow it into her vagina. She cooed some soft words to her, which Rowena was unable to understand.

  Sigurd translated them with a hoarse voice, so turned on was he by the three gorgeous women. ‘She says you are lovely, Rowena,’ he explained, ‘and that you must be taught to enjoy a dildo. It’s exciting for her to pleasure you like a man. She says that in her country sex between women is to be enjoyed, it’s natural.’

  Rowena realised Sigurd was as aroused as she, and gave herself wholly to the ministrations of the exotic women. As the phallus was applied to her vagina by Jasmine, so Usta began to caress and kiss her breasts. Jasmine licked her clitoris and Rowena writhed in delight, being pampered with great precision.

  Then
a sturdy finger ploughed roughly into her bottom, and as she looked down it was her husband she saw gazing at her bottom hole in the candlelight, her husband’s finger she felt prod inside. But soon he wasn’t satisfied with that, and began to slide his tongue inside the tiny rear passage instead.

  Rowena shuddered; despite herself she was enjoying her bottom being plundered. The entire situation defied explanation. She was tethered like an animal, her body being shared by her husband and two of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

  Her crisis rolled through her body like a thunderstorm through the ether and she hung from the chain, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Then to her relief she was unclipped from the chain and lowered to the silk cushions. Jasmine stepped delicately either side of her head, and Rowena stared up at her vulva. It reminded her of the picture Sigurd had brought back from the coast of an exotic orchid.

  When the woman knelt down over her face, Rowena smelled the heady perfume that came from her glistening sex and was completely lost. She stuck her tongue out experimentally and lapped at the lips, delighted by the honeyed taste. The girl moaned her pleasure and Rowena was immediately pleased with her power.

  Rowena began to pleasure her and worked frantically with her tongue and lips as her hands took in the fullness of her beautiful breasts. She licked her vagina and clitoris, neglecting her breasts in order to steady her shuddering hips as her climax began to take hold, and when the woman slumped to the floor Rowena smiled triumphantly.

  But her euphoria was brief, for Sigurd suddenly appeared to be enraged. He hauled the chain down from the hook in the roof and clipped it back on her collar. ‘Me thinks you enjoyed that far too much, wife.’ He smote her with the Nordic blue of his eyes. ‘You need to be punished.’

  Without a word to Jasmine or Usta, he released her and slipped back into his clothes before telling the women to dress Rowena in one of their garments. Then he stomped to the door and, dragging Rowena by the chain, exited the building. He marched her over the green sward, leading her by the chain linked to her collar, taking little notice as she stumbled and sobbed as the cruel metal dug into her throat, uncaring that she was all but naked in the diaphanous dress.

  ‘You will not make me an heir by fucking other woman, bitch!’ he snarled.

  To Rowena’s humiliation the grounds around the fire-hall and its outbuildings were busy, and many stopped to stare as their chieftain led his chained wife into their bedchamber.

  Once inside he locked the door, threw her on the bed and fell on top of her. He quickly released his cock, and dragging the dress out of the way, plunged inside her without a word.

  When he was done he rolled over and began snoring loudly, and Rowena’s sobs went unheard as she turned her face into the pillow.

  Chapter Ten

  Rowena lay on her bed, glad there was no window for people to peer in, for the nights were light. She missed the dark; there was a mystery and romance in a velvet night, lit only by the moon and stars. But Gunnhild told her there were only a few hours of daylight in the winter and she would be glad for the light summers to roll around again.

  The door knocked, but not wishing to see anyone Rowena remained still, hoping whoever it was would go away. But the door opened and a soft voice said, ‘‘Tis I, lady, Algitha. I have come to help you disrobe.’

  ‘Even you cannot help me now, Algitha,’ she said miserably. ‘I am disgraced.’

  Algitha had been privy to the scene of her mistress being dragged like a dog by the chieftain. Her breast heaved with hate for him and she pinned a bright smile on her face. ‘You, disgraced? Never.’

  ‘But everyone saw, how can I ever live that down?’

  ‘You will hold your head high as you always do and they will know who is at fault, for though Sigurd is a great warrior everyone knows he has a dark side. Close your eyes and sleep, Rowena. You need the rest and things will seem brighter come morning.’

  Rowena tucked her knife beneath her pillow. ‘If he comes near me again I’ll skin him alive,’ she vowed.

  Algitha patted her arm. ‘Not a wise threat, dear lady, for although you have won his people around with your beauty and good character, he’s still their chieftain. And though he’s twisted in many ways he’ll always be like a god to them. Their golden chieftain will live on in their hearts forever, his bravery legendary. And they will tear you to pieces without a second thought.’

  Rowena shuddered. ‘So I’m to put up with his cruelty without any complaint?’

  Algitha smoothed the red-gold head tenderly. ‘I’m afraid so. You’re of noble birth and his wife, but for all intent and purpose you are no more than a foreigner and slave, just as the lowest thrall.’

  Sigurd slept beside her that night, taking her like an animal, and though she hated him for the way she was treated, her wayward flesh yielded to him as soon as it was touched, her weapon and dire promise long forgotten.

  Although the morning came quicker than she wanted, Rowena rose and went about her business as usual. Sigurd acted as though nothing had happened and that was fine by her. The rest of the Norse gave her sympathetic smiles, but she didn’t want their sympathy, and her bright eyes and determination brought even more respect. She threw herself into her work; it was her only panacea.

  For the next week the weather took a turn for the worse and those that could kept indoors, tending their weaving, spinning and the many other tasks that were part of life in the shieling.

  When the sun returned it brought with it an unwelcome visitor. Freyjr sashayed into the hall one bright afternoon and it was obvious she had spent a goodly time readying herself for the visit. Her golden hair was drawn away from her face and hung down her back in a glistening cascade, interwoven with bright ribbons. A red band encircled her forehead and she wore a gold collar and many silver and gold bangles. The sleeves of her robe were long and greatly embroidered.

  Though Rowena longed to smack the smug face that met hers with what looked like a triumphant smile, she had to remember her manners and offer her hospitality. The woman, regal as a queen, acted as though there had been no disagreement between their families, and Rowena decided to follow suit. She began to talk in Rowena’s tongue, it was obvious she had learnt it from the many Saxon thralls Gunnar had brought back from his voyages, but her words were so broken and hard to understand Rowena said, ‘We shall speak in Norse, Freyjr. I thought you had journeyed back to the coast.’

  ‘I’ve been enjoying the hospitality of Svein Asleifsson and his family,’ she replied haughtily. ‘When Gunnar decided to return home Svein persuaded me to stay a little longer.’

  ‘I hope you’ll not find us lax in our duties to a visitor,’ Rowena said dryly. ‘But as you know, it’s haymaking time and Sigurd and most of the others are out in the fields.’

  ‘I saw him on the way here,’ she said without missing a beat, her beautiful face guileless. ‘It was you I came to see, Rowena. We started out on the wrong foot and I’d like to put things right between us.’

  This was the last thing Rowena expected, and for a moment she was at a loss for words, but eventually she said, ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘Oh, but I would like to be your friend. I didn’t know Sigurd was married and feel the need to apologise for my behaviour.’

  Rowena tried to ward her off, but she held up a heavily ringed hand. ‘Please, I insist. The weather is clement and I’m sure it will be the same on the morrow. I wondered if you would do me the honour of having a picnic with me.’

  ‘I’m very busy at the moment.’ Rowena wasn’t sure she wanted to be friends with Freyjr; there was something about her she didn’t like.

  The lovely face crumpled, tears formed in her eyes. ‘You are unable to forgive me for going with your husband. I quite understand. My shame is never to be forgiven.’

  Rowena suddenly felt sorry for the other woman. ‘Mayhap I can manage an hour.
Where is the picnic?’

  Freyjr took her hands and smiled into her eyes. ‘Thank you, Rowena, it means so much to me. Will you meet me tomorrow on the hill overlooking the waterfall? Come alone and we shall have a wonderful time. I shall prepare the greatest delicacies and afterwards we will surprise Sigurd with our new friendship.’

  She set a time, and was so hard to deny Rowena complied with her wishes. Then satisfied that her mission was a success, Freyjr left and Rowena spent the rest of the day cooking and working in the fields, for every pair of hands was needed. Just before it was time to prepare the evening meal she sat down by the stream that wound its way down the hillside, so exhausted she instantly fell asleep.

  She was woken by deep voices. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep beside the stream, how long the men had been standing so near, but their voices came to her clearly in the mountain air. She rubbed her eyes and called to them, but her throat was dry and neither heard. She dipped a hand in the stream and drank deeply of the cold water.

  ‘Your wife makes a charming picture beside the stream, Sigurd.’

  Sigurd glanced her way, a strange expression on his face. ‘Speak freely, Rig. She can’t know what we say. You have received news of the Serpent?’

  Rig nodded. ‘Godmund the Red has done well. It is said the silver he collected from his Saxon raids have made him a rich man.’

  Rowena had begun to call out again, but Sigurd’s name died on her lips. Godmund the Red – it was a name she’d heard before, but where and when? She shook her woozy head, and scooping up some more of the clear water, rinsed her face in order to wake herself properly.

  Sigurd’s voice hardened. ‘Let the jackal have his day, for mine is to come.’

  ‘What of your conscience?’ Rig demanded.

  ‘Don’t preach to me, old warrior. Does the Serpent have a conscience?’