Harald was loud in his agreement. ‘We were fools to listen to his ravings,’ he bemoaned. ‘We are disgraced and feel deep remorse for our wrongdoings.’
Sigurd’s stern features did not soften one iota. ‘You will find no forgiveness here,’ he vowed. ‘You will be tried at the next Thing. In the meantime your father can deal with you. If he were not one of my greatest friends you would all be minus your heads. I am just sorry you’ve brought disgrace to his name. He is a good man and undeserving of such prodigy.’
Harald proceeded to blame his dead brother for corrupting him, and they began to squabble between themselves. Sigurd looked as if he would explode.
‘Enough! You are like squabbling babes. Bah, get them out of my sight!’
Rowena watched the proceedings uneasily; she had sworn Thorolf to silence regarding the men abusing her. She knew, had Sigurd been aware of the facts, he would soon decide she had asked for their attentions and punish her too.
Maeve slid into the shadows at the back of the hall; she needed to speak with Rowena. It was merely a matter of days since the attack by the Asleifsson brothers, but she was unable to wait any longer to confront the chieftain’s wife. She knew she’d be heading for the bathhouse soon, and she’d have her chance.
Her mind went back to the time she and Sigurd stayed with Gunnar Egilsson and his sister. She was convinced they’d never been closer until the day she walked to the shore in search of him, and found him and Freyjr fucking like wild beasts. Her hackles rose and she thought she would choke with fury. They hadn’t even had the decency to find cover, unless one considered a rock to be concealment enough. Which of course it wasn’t, for hadn’t they had quite an audience when she saw them?
Not that it bothered either of them. Sigurd was beyond caring and the blonde bitch was no more than a trollop. She probably enjoyed being watched. After all, she’d had practically every man on her brother’s farm. She was well known for her low morals, and every man from the lowest thrall up knew he only had to wink her way and she would willingly open her legs for him, and for two or three at a time, also.
Sigurd had broken her heart, but he would be sorry for all the pain he caused. Her mouth tightened; she was the one who knew of the indignities heaped upon him when a boy. She was the one who understood his problems, who loved him so much she even cleaned him up when he soiled himself. But he had severed that bond and there would never be another who understood him like she did. Let him find out the hard way.
Rowena was limping her way to the bathhouse, thinking that at least Sigurd seemed to have given up on his plan to harm Leif. Since the incident at the hot springs he hadn’t mentioned him once, and she was still deep in thought when Maeve attracted her attention. She faced her coldly. What was the Irish woman thinking? If she was about to boast about her conquest of her husband she was wasting her time. Rowena cared nothing for him or the women whose beds he sought.
Thorolf’s eyes were watchful of the Irish woman, his brow furrowed in concern. Rowena put a comforting arm on his sleeve, noting to her surprise that the dark-haired girl had the appearance of sadness, not spite, on her pretty features. ‘What is it, Maeve?’ she asked, when the young woman urged her to walk with her to the bathhouse.
Once they were closeted inside Maeve studied her lover’s wife with tearful eyes. ‘I have to apologise to you, lady.’ Rowena was about to tell her that she had no interest in any apology from her when she put up a restraining hand. ‘Please, listen to me,’ she pleaded, ‘for I have done you wrong and need to make amends.’
Rowena shrugged impatiently. ‘Why, when your whoring never bothered you before?’
Maeve dropped her eyes in shame. ‘I need to make my peace with my God. And as I know you are a Christian too, I was sure you would understand.’
Rowena sighed; she supposed it would do little harm to listen to what she had to say. ‘Very well, but make it quick. I have the evening meal to attend to.’
Maeve sat down on one of the slatted benches and Rowena sat opposite. She pushed a lustrous dark curl behind one ear. ‘Sigurd took me from my land as he did you. I fell madly in love with the golden warrior and I thought he felt the same for me. I always knew he would not take a lowly thrall to wife, but it was still a shock when he came back from his travels with you.’
Rowena was beginning to feel sorry for the girl. ‘Please, continue.’
‘I am ashamed to say that I hated you for having claimed my man, but when we visited the coast I saw him with Freyjr and realised how you must have felt all the nights he shared my bed.’ She paused in order to wipe her eyes. ‘I was sick with misery and jealousy when I saw them together, but I could do nothing but flirt with Phelim, one of Gunnar’s thralls, to try to make Sigurd jealous. But a wonderful thing happened.’ Her face broke into a wondrous smile. ‘Phelim and I fell in love and I am carrying his child.’
Rowena’s head was reeling with all the information Maeve had imparted. So even his mistress had become sickened by his infidelity! Then she realised that the name of Maeve’s beloved was familiar. ‘Phelim,’ she repeated. ‘Was he not among the servants who conducted Freyjr to our farm? A tall man with sad eyes and a haunted smile.’
Maeve nodded, her eyes dreamy. ‘That’s Phelim. He is haunted by the thought that he will never see his beloved Ireland again. You see, unlike me he was not a willing captive. He’s never settled here. He yearns for his homeland so much he can think of nothing else.’
‘Does Sigurd know about this?’ Rowena asked cautiously.
Maeve shook her head. ‘He cares little for anyone or anything, apart from that which serves his own ends.’
Rowena knew better than anyone how true this was, but she kept her own council. ‘What will you do?’ she asked sympathetically.
Maeve fiddled with her tunic, pleating and re-pleating the garment nervously. ‘Can I trust you?’ she asked shakily. ‘For what I tell you now will mean the success or downfall of three lives.’
Realising the seriousness of the situation, Rowena patted the other’s unsteady hands. ‘I have never been known to break a trust, and we are sisters beneath the skin, are we not? Sigurd has done us both a great injustice.’
Maeve looked relieved. ‘That is true. Then I will share the secret that is so near to my heart.’ Her eyes filled. ‘We are going to escape from Sigurd’s land of fire and ice. We intend stealing a ship and sailing to Ireland.’
Rowena was stunned. ‘You will never survive! What is Phelim thinking?’
It was the Irish girl’s turn to pacify. ‘Don’t fret, lady. There are others with the same fire in their bellies as Phelim, men of the sea before they were taken as slaves.’ While Rowena mulled this over Maeve looked uneasily towards the door, where Thorolf stood guard, and lowered her voice. ‘If it is convenient Phelim would meet with you. He has some news to impart.’
‘What is it?’ Rowena couldn’t imagine what the Irishman would have to say to her.
‘I cannot say. Phelim wishes to tell you himself. After Freyjr left Svein Asleifsson’s farm she moved on to take advantage of Snorri Tryggvason’s hospitality. No doubt she lingers in the area in order to save herself from her brother’s wrath.’
‘No doubt,’ Rowena agreed coldly.
‘Phelim is part of her entourage and he hopes to slip away later this day. If you are willing, you must plead a slight malaise and meet us here when the evening meal is served.’
She was greatly puzzled; what news could Phelim possibly have that would interest her? However, she nodded her agreement. ‘That should be easy enough.’
Happy that Rowena had complied with her wishes, she smiled. ‘Thank you. You will not regret your decision.’
Maeve took her leave, elated by her success with Rowena, and the fact that she would see Phelim the same day. She barely acknowledged the presence of Thorolf as he stood guard at the door, her thoughts all of Phe
lim. Before she’d met her countryman she had thought Sigurd to be the most wonderful man she had ever known, particularly in bed, but then she fluttered her eyelashes at Phelim and was quickly disabused of her ideas.
She found him to be flattered by her attentions, eager to please. Their first mating had taken place behind the same rock Sigurd and Freyjr had used. To her it was a way of wiping out the incident, of making peace within herself. She hadn’t expected to find a new lover with the prowess of ten men. He wore her out that night on the shore, and she climaxed many times before he was done with her.
The following day they met again, but this time he seemed in a strange mood, though he kissed her just as passionately as before, then led her to the pagan temple of the Norse. She put her hand over his when he attempted to enter that strange heathen place, but he merely gave a sly chuckle and pushed the portal open and led her inside.
Lighting the candles either side of the altar he smiled at her. ‘This, my sweet Irish maid, is where we show their so called gods what we think of them, where we have fun with the idols of the heathens.’
Although she had seen inside other temples, there was an eeriness here that sent shivers down her spine. The odour of blood pervaded the place, and dark stains spread over the floor, telling of the cattle and horses that had been sacrificed. She’d heard that during the ceremonies their blood was sprinkled all over the temple and the people gathered there.
‘Before we can start a proper relationship,’ he began, his face becoming a saturnine mask that made her uneasy, ‘I want to purge you of the bastard Sigurd Thorkelsson. Thinking of you with him tears my insides apart.’
She stared at him blankly, and with one swift movement he picked her up and carried her to the idol of Thor, and then stood her on her feet. ‘I need to punish you for your misdemeanours, Maeve, here in his temple. Only then will I be satisfied that you really want to be with me.’
‘Punished? I don’t know about that, Phelim.’ She had begun to feel wary, there in the temple of the Norse where anything could happen.
‘Take your clothes off,’ he demanded suddenly, his voice rising with his ire. She shook her head and turned towards the door, meaning to escape, but he forestalled her, holding her firmly, roughly stripping her of her garments.
Maeve shook with fear. She had thrown over one beast for another. ‘You’ll be sorry you did this,’ she vowed. ‘I thought you loved me.’
‘I do,’ he swore, ‘but I have to beat the bastard out of you first. It’s for your own good,’ he assured.
Before she had time to plead with him he flung her over one of the goats that drew Thor’s silver chariot. Her stomach recoiled as the cold silver slammed against her. ‘You call Sigurd a beast and treat me so,’ she cried, hoping he would be more reasonable. She had never felt more vulnerable.
‘Quiet woman!’
Tears stung her eyes, he was suddenly so angry she feared for her life. ‘You are not the man I thought you to be.’
He undid the belt from his waist and wrapped it round his fist. ‘Brace yourself!’ he advised gruffly, bringing the harsh leather down sharply on her buttocks.
Maeve screamed. He was not as large as Sigurd but he used a belt with the same effect. He brought it down a second time and she howled in pain, her bottom stinging as the leather scoured her skin. Before she could scream again at her cruel treatment Phelim stuffed a cloth into her mouth, stifling any sound she might make.
‘You will soon be free of your sins,’ he soothed, wielding the belt harder so that she almost choked on the rag. Her tears came as the unbearable pain shot through her rear, then with one last stroke he sighed deeply, ‘There, now you are mine completely.’
Lifting her down from the goat he removed the cloth from her mouth and kissed her eyes and lips tenderly. ‘There, brave girl, don’t cry. Now that’s done we can have fun here where the Norse pigs worship.
She glowered at him, but when he began kissing her breasts, dipping his fingers into her wetness, stroking her nubbin, her knees became weak and her juices flowed, as the longing for possession welled inside her. ‘Oh, Phelim,’ she whispered huskily.
Phelim, still whispering sweet nothings in her ear, rubbed her emissions over the large carved phallus of the idol Frey. Then he positioned her over it.
‘Gently, my love,’ he said. ‘Take it inside you until you are full of him, then I want you to pleasure yourself until you are satiated.’
She was about to protest, but the wickedness and excitement of what they were doing appealed to her. She imagined how horrified and distressed Sigurd would be to see their mockery of his gods. She giggled. ‘You are a devil, Phelim, but I am beginning to appreciate you more by the second.’
He watched fascinated as the huge phallus slowly disappeared inside her body. ‘Ride him, Maeve,’ he bade throatily. ‘Ride the pagan filth.’
She began to move, tentatively at first for it filled her to capacity, stretching her more than she had been stretched before. Then she found it was a good feeling, a fine feeling to be fornicating with Sigurd’s god. She strained against the phallus, pumping and grinding, wishing Sigurd could see her now, loving the feel of it inside her. The only sound in the temple was of her exertions and mews of pleasure. Candlelight flickered eerily, the smell of dripping wax mingling with that of stale blood.
Phelim’s eyes lit with fire as he watched the dark-haired beauty, breasts bobbing, fucking Frey. He found her soft mouth and anointed it with his lips, took her bouncing breasts in his hands and kissed and teased them with tongue and lips. When her eyes were closed with delight he took her from the seat of her pleasure and laid her on the altar that sat in the middle of the temple.
‘Now, my sweet one, we will make love on their most sacred of places, defile that which we know to be the root of their evil.’
But he did not enter her straight away; he let his cock rub her tender channel, teasing her clitoris and vulva until she was shaking with her orgasm. Only then did he penetrate her, leaving her sobbing and writhing with ecstasy.
Rowena pleaded a headache and sought her bedchamber, glad that no one thought her behaviour remiss. When all, including the brave Thorolf, were busy with their meal, she crept away from the shieling and hurried to the bathhouse. Maeve and Phelim were already inside. Maeve smiled and the sad eyed Irishman gave a polite nod.
‘What can be so important as to drag me away from my evening repast?’ she asked a little more sharply than she meant, as a sudden foreboding stole over her.
‘I ask forgiveness if you have been inconvenienced,’ he began in his low, attractive brogue, ‘but I fear this news is of more import than sustenance.’
‘Then you must tell me at once.’ A nagging pain began in her head and she massaged her temples.
Maeve sat on one of the slatted benches and Rowena sat also. ‘When Phelim related his story, lady, I decided you must know. Its telling might go a little way to erasing my sins against you.’
Rowena looked to Phelim, who nervously peered through the door to check that they were indeed alone, before taking a seat next to his beloved. He took a deep breath. ‘One of Gunnar’s captives passed away last autumn, she was an old woman he had taken from Wessex. She was a friendly soul, and before she died often boasted about her sister who was midwife in the household of an Irish princess.’
He paused dramatically and Rowena, her face as white as driven snow, bade him continue. ‘I would be from this place soon, before my absence is discovered and pondered upon.’
‘The princess’s name was Grainne,’ he said softly. ‘Her husband would have nothing to do with the babe, which was not surprising since the child had been conceived before the princess reached Wessex.’
Rowena clung to the edge of the bench, as fumes from the peat fire beneath the stones seemed to clog her throat. ‘Before?’
Phelim nodded. ‘The old woman’s s
ister told her Grainne had been taken from her land by a Norse pirate – Godmund the Red, known as the Serpent. The princess had managed to escape him but she already carried his seed.’
‘Godmund the Red…’ Rowena murmured, suddenly transported back to the day in the burh. She was agitatedly awaiting news of Sigurd’s health when the voices of her mother and aunt had come to her through the unglazed window of the bower – Elfrida urging Grainne to tell her about Godmund the Red, her mother swearing she never would. It explained a lot, especially Athelwine’s treatment of her. She looked at Phelim wordlessly.
‘The woman told and retold her story until it came to the ears of a certain great Norse chieftain.’
‘Sigurd,’ Maeve said, almost apologetically.
‘He became very excited,’ Phelim said. ‘He went to the old woman and questioned her repeatedly. I was taken with his interest and overheard him discussing her story with his general. “So that is the woman he mourns”, he says. “The one his pride stopped him going after”. He spat out Godmund’s name like snake venom, almost shaking with rage. “So he has a daughter”, he says. I hid and listened to his dastardly plans for the Serpent’s child, because she is the daughter of a princess from my land also.’
His haunted eyes settled on Rowena. ‘He planned to get you with child and then return you to the Serpent. From what I could understand it is his way of revenging Godmund for some past ills.’
As the tears coursed silently down Rowena’s face Maeve tried to console her. But Rowena was inconsolable. No wonder Athelwine hated her. And she had heard aright, at the stream near the shieling, when Sigurd discussed his evil intentions with Rig. ‘I… I am the seed of the Serpent. The pawn in Sigurd’s game.’
a Wicked Conquest Page 20