A little later it was a desperate Rowena who feared she would never escape the steaming waters of the pool in the valley of the hot springs. Her wrists were bruised and bleeding from her efforts but she was unable to release herself, and the deeper water was now lapping at her chin.
Thoughts of her brief romance with Leif flooded her mind. It had been a short acquaintance but they both knew it was instant love. How she wished she had never met him – never put him in such peril.
Thoughts of Leif doubled her efforts, and she was still fighting to release herself when the rising water reached her lips… when she heard the thunder of hooves, as though from a long way off. Such was her poor state of mind the nearby shouts didn’t register, but when Thorolf released her from the cruel chains and hauled her, coughing and spluttering from the pool, she looked up into his kind grey eyes, and fainted.
Rowena came round to find him rubbing her arms, praying to Odin for her safe delivery. She smiled weakly up at him. ‘Thank you, my good friend. I was suffering from shock but thanks to you everything is fine now.’ She knew she should be embarrassed by her nakedness, but she was sure Thorolf wasn’t troubled by it. He took off his mantle and dried her, as gently as any handmaiden, before helping her dress. She knew no one would believe that this dear man was one of the fiery Berserks.
She hugged him affectionately. ‘What of Sigurd?’ she asked.
‘He bade me come for you,’ he said grimly, his voice telling of his disapproval at his chieftain’s actions. ‘I don’t understand him, doing this to you. He’s always been a bit mad, but he’s gone too far this time.’
‘At least he had the good sense to send you to me,’ she said gratefully.
Thorolf smiled. ‘I won’t ask you why you were being punished, but I will always be around if you ever need me. You did me a good turn, and I will never forget that.’
‘You have more than paid your dues,’ she replied. ‘But I must admit it is nice to have a friend.’
Thunder rumbled menacingly and Thorolf helped her onto his horse, Gymir. ‘Thor is riding his chariot across the sky. It will rain soon, so we’d better make haste to return.’
‘Do you fear the storm?’ Thorolf asked, as they rode for the shieling.
Rowena clung to him tightly. ‘When I was a child I would hide beneath my mother’s skirts.’
His laughter rumbled through his chest, and Rowena closed her eyes and nestled into him for warmth, but Gymir had barely reached full stride when she heard blood-curdling shrieks and howls. Her eyes flew open and she heard Thorolf curse as five men converged on them from all sides, their expressions terrifying. Before she had time to think, Thorolf gave her the reins and leapt from Gymir’s back, then unleashing his sword smacked the horse smartly on the rump.
‘Get out of here!’ he shouted as Gymir darted forward and Rowena held on grimly. But she’d been practically bred on a horse and she soon brought the animal under control. Wheeling him around she saw Thorolf fighting for his life, obviously outnumbered. Feeling no fear for her own safety, and not stopping to think twice, she nudged Gymir into a gallop.
The man she aimed the horse at screamed in horror, but she knew she couldn’t allow herself to waver; it was his life against Thorolf’s. But just before she reached him the man managed to throw himself aside, cracking his head on a nearby rock. Fighting back her nausea she saw the sword he’d dropped, and swinging from the saddle, but keeping one foot in the stirrup, she managed to sweep it from the ground. Gaining her seat once more she silently thanked Ethelwulf for teaching her that trick many years before. Having brothers was a blessing after all!
She ploughed into the fighting, and swinging the heavy sword with great difficulty, she managed to bring the flat of the blade down on one man’s neck. His eyes rolled and he slumped to the ground. Rowena let out a shriek of triumph that was short lived, for without turning from his fighting Thorolf castigated her. ‘Get out of here, you damn fool girl!’
Taken aback by his words, considering she had taken care of two of their attackers, she glowered at him, but the glower soon turned to admiration as he fought the three remaining men with a precision and ferocity that left her breathless.
Then, believing she had idled long enough she swung her sword again, but the man nearest anticipated her action. He swiftly parried the blow, knocking the weapon from her hand. He faced her with a leer and she knew she was at a disadvantage. She heard a groan and glanced quickly at Thorolf, finding him on the ground, blood oozing from his arm.
His eyes were closed and she gave a small cry, thinking her dear friend dead. Then losing any thought of self-preservation, her anger at boiling point, she lashed out with her foot and kicked the stranger in the groin. ‘Bastard’s all!’ she cried, bending over Thorolf.
The one she’d kicked was on his knees, his face full of belligerence. The one wounded by Thorolf was groaning loudly. The one who’d hit his head on the rock was conscious and glaring at her with evil intent, as was the one still standing.
The three healthiest checked their cohorts, and seeming satisfied by their condition, began to converge on Rowena. She knew enough Norse to understand what they were saying, and her stomach sank at their words.
‘So, what do we have here?’ said a fat fellow with a salacious grin. ‘A hellcat with flame-coloured hair.’
‘I suppose we haven’t lucked out completely,’ said a lanky man with a spiteful mouth. ‘We had thought to kill Sigurd and caught his wife and escort instead.’
‘Aye,’ said the third, ‘and I mean to have some sport before decapitating her. Her husband will not be pleased to find her served up on his trencher, I’ll be bound.’
They looked at each other and sniggered. Rowena, satisfied that Thorolf was still breathing, got to her feet and began to backtrack, out of breath and wondering what to do next. She was alone and unarmed, what could she do to defend herself against three rogues? She desperately searched for ideas, and seeing the sword that had been knocked from her hand on the ground, decided to grab for it, but as she did one of them kicked it aside and she lost her footing and fell awkwardly. A sharp pain spasmed through her foot and she cried out pitifully, grasping her ankle, rubbing the injured limb.
‘So, the little cat is downed,’ the fat one said, leering at her, his breeches tenting with his burgeoning cock. ‘Open your legs, bitch. Let’s see what Sigurd rides when he tires of his mistress.’
Rowena desperately cast around for another weapon, and seeing a stone nearby reached out for it. If she could down one of them perhaps she’d be able to fight off the other two, but as before she was thwarted as the fat man kicked it away.
She gazed up at him in frustration and fear and he bore down on her, lifting her skirts, exposing the red-gold hair that covered her mound. She hit out at him, tried to crawl away, but the other two intervened, pushing her down, holding her arms so she was pinned helplessly before him.
He laughed cruelly and kicked her legs apart, making her cry out as her sore ankle was skewered with pain. ‘Her mouth makes too much noise,’ he remarked with a smirk. ‘Can you not find some occupation to keep it quiet?’
‘I don’t think I’ll have any trouble doing that,’ the lanky one drooled. ‘Though she might scream when I show her what she’s to eat.’
The other two sniggered at his vulgarity. ‘Maybe she’ll faint at the size of it,’ chortled the one who still held her in a vicelike grip.
‘She’ll think it’s a worm,’ the fat one mocked, pushing his way between her thighs, prodding between her legs with fat fingers.
He took his cock out of his breeches and began to stroke it until it grew larger. Rowena recoiled in horror as his fetid breath wafted over her, and his erect cock shunted into her wilting body. Though it was over in seconds it seemed like an eternity, his cohorts jeering and goading him on as he fucked her, his fat frame heavy and stinking with sweat.
‘Move, damn you!’ he snarled as she lay limp beneath him. He slapped her face and she managed to bite a fat finger, causing him to scream like a woman. ‘You slut! I’d have more pleasure sticking it in a dead horse!’
‘I bet you’ve done that a few times,’ the lanky one wheezed. ‘You’ve never been too fussy when it comes to pleasing yourself.’
The fat man’s cock became flaccid and slipped out of Rowena. He rolled off her with a sly kick that brought tears to her eyes, tears she refused to shed. They would never break her. They could abuse her but her spirit would never be broken.
The lanky one leered down at her, his cock engorged with excitement. ‘Watch and learn, my friend,’ he taunted the fat one. ‘Watch and learn. Mayhap women would be more willing to open their legs if you had something more exciting to offer.’
Rowena’s eyes glazed over purposefully. If she thought of other things he would not be able to touch her, not the part of her that mattered, anyway. But to her dismay his cock had steel and he knew how to wield it to pleasure them both.
‘Come,’ he said, panting into her ear, ‘let’s have a good fuck, you and I.’ He rolled her onto her stomach and fed his cock home so well that she could only whimper with shameful pleasure. A finger found and stroked her clitoris as he pumped into her, and she met him strength for strength, her mouth rounded in delight.
Rowena was ashamed that the tardy sex had roused her so, sent her traitorous body into such ecstasy she could barely restrain her cries of joy. The others watched, and to her chagrin it only served to add to her enjoyment. His finger was every bit as masterful as his cock and she came with a loud cry that shuddered through her body. He managed two more lunges before he ejaculated deep inside her, and then collapsed at her side, panting and sweating heavily.
The fat one was jealous of his comrade’s prowess, and as his own cock had stiffened again watching the display, he grabbed Rowena roughly by her hair, his grin wide and spiteful. ‘I wonder if your husband will be happy when he hears how you squealed with enjoyment at my brother’s cock. You fine-mannered women are all the same, pretending innocence while opening your legs willingly for all and sundry.’
Rowena winced as his fist twisted in her hair, but her eyes flashed bravely. ‘I can’t imagine any woman being with you willingly,’ she spat. ‘You’re nothing but a fat piece of slime.’
The other two laughed, and he caught her a glancing blow across her face. ‘Let’s see just how smart you are when you eat my cock,’ he growled, pulling her into a kneeling position, his sagging belly and sour smell making her want to gag.
‘You’ll gain no satisfaction from me, you - ’
Before she was able to finish her sentence he stuffed his engorged cock into her mouth. ‘Shut your caterwauling and do the only thing you’re fit for, bitch,’ he snarled.
Rowena tried to pull away, but the more she struggled the more hair he twisted around his fist. Tears welled in her eyes and she feared her hair would be torn out by the roots if she didn’t comply with his demands. So she reluctantly worked on him with her lips and tongue and the grip relaxed in her hair, which in turn helped ease the pain in her scalp. The other two were bawdily singing her praises, slapping the cheeks of her bottom so they quivered enticingly.
‘Did you ever see such a pretty purse?’ the lanky one said throatily, his fingers delving into the slippery folds, squeezing her sex lips together.
‘I’ve never seen a finer arse.’ The third, bearded one, slapped her again, his laughter rumbling in his chest. His finger joined his associate’s in her wetness from behind, and then began pushing into her bottom hole. Rowena tried to cry out but it emerged as a muffled groan around the fat man’s stalk, and when she tried to pull away the fat man grumbled because his sport was disturbed.
‘Pay attention, bitch,’ he said gruffly, grabbing a hank of hair and tugging it cruelly. The pain brought her into line, but when the bearded one manhandled her, in order to change her position a little, and decided to replace his finger with his cock, tears of shameful delight dripped from her eyes, wetting the fat man’s expansive belly and groin. The sensation of having her mouth and bottom fucked in unison was mortifying and wonderful at the same time.
The fat man climaxed first, groaning loudly as he came, flooding her mouth with semen that she swallowed hastily. The other one was still ploughing into her and she whimpered dreamily as her own climax began to build. The fat man began mauling her breasts, spitefully pinching her nipples, the pain increasing her pleasure, her body at war with her psyche.
The one with the beard orgasmed too, his strong fingers clamping her hips as he erupted deep inside her rear passage, grunting his pleasure.
Just then the earth seemed to tremble as Thor rode his chariot across the heavens and rain poured on them in a torrent. Thorolf stirred and let out a loud growl, so Rowena didn’t mind the rain that soaked her through in moments, or the cold that chilled her to the bone – Thorolf was alive!
But the fat man regarded him warily, and foraging for his weapon he was about to plunge it into the Berserk when Thorolf rolled out of the way, and finding his own sword stuck him in the belly. Seeing his cohort downed the bearded one swung his weapon, but Thorolf was quicker and pulling his sword from the fat man’s belly, parried the blow before spearing him in the leg. As the lanky one tried to flee Thorolf threw himself and tackled him to the ground with a bone-crunching thud. He was winded, his eyes rolling, and Thorolf cursed him in Norse and struck him a blow on the chin that knocked him unconscious.
Rowena grinned at his handiwork, but Thorolf was furious when he saw her nudity and the bruises on her body. ‘What have they done to you?’ He found his sword and was about to decapitate the men one by one when Rowena restrained him.
‘Don’t do this, Thorolf,’ she pleaded. ‘Let Sigurd deal with them. I’m not harmed and Sigurd will enjoy sentencing the scum. Besides, there are things we need to know. Our attackers may well have information about the fire at the shieling and my accident on Syn.’
Thorolf reluctantly sheathed his sword and began heaving the senseless bodies over the horses that were grazing nearby, his grim face telling her of his misery.
Rowena limped to her wet clothes and struggled into them, shivering as the icy rain continued to fall. ‘There is blood on your arm, are you hurt?’ she asked, concerned for her loyal friend.
He shrugged dismissively. ‘It’s no more than a flesh wound.’
‘Don’t look so unhappy,’ she said, with a cajoling smile. ‘You captured them single-handed. I’m so proud of you.’
‘Don’t be,’ he replied, lashing the bodies securely to the waiting beasts. ‘I let you down when you needed me most.’
She went to his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘Nonsense. You were unconscious.’
He looked down at her, his eyes tender and filled with shame. ‘Yes, I was unable to protect you and those beasts defiled you. I shall never forgive myself.’
She hugged him. ‘My friend, you are the bravest warrior I know. None of this was your fault. As for what happened to me, those men treated me less harshly than my own husband.’ She looked down at her sodden figure. ‘See, I am quite all right. Now let’s be on our way before we both catch our deaths.’
Chapter Twelve
Sigurd viewed his wife’s attackers, the sons of Svein Asleifsson grimly. The morons had almost robbed him of his means of retribution. One had been killed and the others were injured, though not as badly as he would have hoped had he been there. ‘What do you have to say for yourselves?’ he demanded.
The three Norse brothers left from the five all looked worse for wear. They hung their heads in shame. They had ambushed a chieftain’s wife, not any chieftain, but Sigurd Thorkelsson. No doubt they would soon be as dead as their poor brothers. Sigurd had been questioning them unstintingly for some time and they were weary. The young
est, Harald, offered some information. ‘As you know, Gunnar Egilsson’s sister resided at our farm for a short while.’
Sigurd nodded impatiently. ‘Go on.’
Harald trembled visibly at the great chieftain’s anger. ‘Our poor dead brother, Hjalti, fell madly in love with this woman, but she didn’t return his feelings and he tried desperately to win her, without luck. Eventually he hit upon a plan to gain her respect and admiration.’
Harald paused fearfully, wondering if he was doing the right thing in telling his story, but a nod from his brothers and a fierce bellow from Sigurd forced him to continue. ‘To his mind,’ he said tremulously, ‘Gunnar had failed abysmally as Freyjr’s protector and so he appointed himself to champion her cause. He… he persuaded us that we should help him ambush you, to help make you pay for insulting his love. We watched and waited for our chance, and when we saw what we considered to be you and your wife riding together we took our chance.’
Sigurd’s mouth drew into a tight line. ‘And what of the fire at the shieling and the riding accident my wife had?’
The men shook their heads and mumbled their innocence, and Sigurd’s steely regard soon set another talking. Njal Asleifsson, barely able to stand on his damaged leg, continued for his brother, ‘I swear, lord, it was not us. Hjalti could have done it alone. He had been strange for a long time, ever since Freyjr told us her story and he fell for the woman.’ He spat into the straw. ‘Whore, more like, for she lay with us all. Her pussy was as hot as the geysers and she couldn’t get enough.’
Sigurd was quite unsurprised by the revelation. ‘The woman’s morals are not on trial here. I want to know about your perfidy.’
Njal shuffled his feet uncomfortably. ‘Hjalti changed completely after the Egilsson woman bewitched him.’ His siblings nodded their agreement and he went on. ‘There were long silences and he would go off on his own for hours at a time. He was quite mad in his desire to please Freyjr, and he knew she despised your wife, but he would not have told us what happened. He abhorred failure. It is quite possible he caused your wife to have a riding accident. In his state of mind anything was possible. As for the fire in the shieling, he would have found it quite easy to conceal himself in the hills; we have played there since we were children and know the area better than most. No doubt he hid when he started the fire and remained hidden until all was quiet again.’
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