Ragnar the Murderer

by Byrne, Lily

  They were both soaking wet, so when they could tear themselves away from each other, he went to make a fire.

  “You’re dripping all over it, it’ll never light,” she laughed.

  He shrugged and took his over tunic and under tunic off, bending over the fire like a smith. She admired him. His skin was darker than hers, a cool pale caramel rather than the ruddy tan of the other Danes. Then seeing him struggling to light the wood with his fire-steel and flint, hold his hair back and not drip onto the wood all at once, she went to help.

  She held his hair back, running her fingers through it and down his back. There were numerous scars there, obviously from fights.

  “Ha-ha!” He leapt back, having succeeded. Almost knocking her over, he turned and caught her.

  “I think you should dry your clothes. I won’t look if you don’t like. You can wrap yourself in the bear skins.” He turned away and she quickly stripped off her clothes, laying them on rocks near the fire, as he had with his tunics.

  Getting into the bear skin bed, she luxuriated in the softness of it. He took his trousers off and wrapped his lower regions in another bear skin, posing dramatically to make her laugh.

  He sat down on the side of the bed, gazing at her.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  “Am I? No. It’s Saehild who is the beauty in our family.”

  “She is the same as all the others. You’re different.” He kissed her gently and she felt a surge of heat within.

  “Get in here with me,” she whispered urgently, wanting him. So he did, throwing his bearskin on top of the others.

  As he kissed her, his beard scratched her face, the unfamiliar sensation giving her pleasure. The waterfall seemed to have intensified the strong smell of him-ale, wood smoke, man-and it drew her to him. She lay on her back while he leant over her, his hand gently on her breast. She could feel something pushing urgently at her thigh. She knew what it was but she could not give in to him as her virginity must be for Eadbald.

  “I want to but I can’t,” she gasped, all the while turning to him, trying not to simply pull him on top of her. “If I get with child, I will be cast out and no one will want me again.”

  “It is alright.” He kissed her more gently. “There are ways to avoid that.”

  “But-I don’t know-I-“

  “Sh. I have big fingers.”

  She wondered what he meant, but cuddled up to him. His body felt so warm and hard, she just wanted to give in and forget convention. Used to being shunned by men, having a great hulk like Ragnar, of warrior lineage, desiring her, had gone to her head completely.

  He lay by her side, with his arm round her shoulders, looking into her eyes, his other hand moving slowly down her body. She trembled, her eyes wide and wet, wanting something to happen, but not sure what. He at last made his way to her most private place. She jerked, fighting two urges. One to close her legs and eject him, the other to open them and draw him in. He gently rubbed her delicate flesh, teasing and tormenting her, until wetness trickled out over his fingers. In one way unsure what he was going to do, some primitive part of her knew without needing explanation. He held her gaze with an intense look, the light of the torches flickering in his eyes.

  He firmly but gently slid his finger inside her and she bucked against it, a moan of shock and pleasure escaping her lips. He began to move his finger-oh, how big and thick it was, it fitted so well-up and down, faster and faster, pushing further and further in. She found herself groaning and crying out and he matched her with his own groans and grunts, pressing against her, his bulging manhood against her thigh, pulsing with a life of its own.

  The intensity grew, too much to bear, she wanted him to stop but she didn’t really-she gave up trying to think and just submitted to the rhythm, the thrusting, the craving, he must not stop! Just as she felt she couldn’t take anymore, he pushed a second finger into her, making her cry out in the pleasure and pain of it. Her juice flowed out of her all over his hand and she jerked and juddered like a puppet on his strings.

  She felt shudderingly raw and released. Not unpleasant, it was the lightest feeling of relief she had ever experienced. She gazed at him in wonder. Almost on top of her, his hardness pressed against her, his eyes dark and deep.

  Instinctively, she reached over and touched his manhood gently, then as he groaned, she grasped it firmly, making him cry out. He rolled onto his back, pulling her urgently with him, still holding onto it. Unsure what to do now, she just squeezed it, as he seemed to enjoy that.

  “Like this.” He put his hand over hers, covering it completely, and drew it up and down, faster and faster, then left her to continue. It was addictive but used to hard physical work, her hand did not slacken. Her loose hair fell over him, touching his flesh and brushing his balls as he stretched backwards, arching in pleasure, groans forced out of him.

  Aware she was in control, she revelled in it, she enjoyed giving pleasure as he had given her. His groans intensified, he was panting, then suddenly his seed shot out, catching her on the cheek and she turned her head, giggling with intoxication of their shared pleasure, the power, the rebellion, the relief. All these feelings combined.

  His seed went everywhere, on her face, her clothes, his legs, his stomach. She wiped it off with a piece of bearskin, wonderingly. So this was what men did. She lay down next to him, watching his chest rise and fall, at first fast, then slowing.

  He caught her eye and smiled, happy and lazy, putting his arm round her. She traced the reddish blond hair on his chest, drawing a map of their lust, or love?

  Overcome with tiredness, she snuggled down against him, then realised he was snoring quietly, so gave in to her own fatigue.

  Sixta

  Waking with a start, Aelfwyn realised evening drew on. Her parents! Her family! They would punish her for being out for so long, never mind what she had been doing with a man-a Dane at that! She hastily swung her legs off the bed, straightened her hair, inspected her hands for evidence of love making.

  Ragnar woke, peering at her sleepily. He smiled and she returned it.

  “Are you-are you happy?” she quavered.

  “Yes! I want you, I-“ He clasped her to him and thoroughly kissed her.

  “I can’t stay now, though I want to. My family, they-“

  “I know, I understand. I will see you again. Soon. I want come with you, but if they saw me with you-“ he shrugged.

  With one last kiss, she stole away.

  *

  The next morning, Aelfwyn woke content. Her whole body felt warm, not just due to being in bed under animal skins. She hadn’t known that sort of heat in her lower belly and between her legs before. She felt cleansed, it was unfamiliar but pleasant. Definitely worth every minute of the scolding her mother had given her yesterday when she had returned with no hazelnuts.

  “I am glad you are to be married soon, then your husband will have to bear your idle ways!” she had shouted. “You will have to work harder as a wife, God knows I do!”

  Aelfwyn had pretended to feel guilty, bowing her head and apologising, but her time with Ragnar kept her warm inside and she hid a smile.

  Saehild had questioned her but she refused to tell. Her sister, being young, soon became diverted by thoughts of the forthcoming wedding feast.

  When Aelfwyn got out of bed in the morning, however, she felt a sharp pain in her most delicate place and caught her breath.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Saehild, who had not moved.

  “Oh! Nothing. Just caught my foot.” Aelfwyn felt a little bruised down there. She suppressed a giggle. Of course she would feel that way, she’d never had a man there before. No matter. Time for the daily duties.

  “Can you go to the well alone today?” asked Saehild. “It is that time of the month again, I have bad pains.” She rubbed her stomach feebly and Aelfwyn held a rush light up to see her face. She did look pale.

  “I suppose so.” Aelfwyn wearily readied herself for the day. Down to earth
again after the heaven of yesterday. Would she see him again? Would that pleasure even happen again? Her breathing quickened and she hastened off so no one would notice.

  Setting off for the well, she dreamed in her own world. Thinking logically, what she and Ragnar had done seemed strange, but what pleasurable strangeness. She knew that something happened between a man and a woman to produce a child, and seeing the beasts rutting, she half understood. But she hadn’t known of other pleasures.

  As she reached the well, a familiar figure waited. Her heart began to beat faster at the sight of copper hair, red cloak, long legs in grey trousers and leg bindings. Ragnar was sitting on the wall, waiting for her.

  She blushed so hotly her face must surely be on fire.

  “Is your sister not with you today?” He looked behind her, anxiously.

  “No, she is ill. Is Bjarni not with you?”

  “No. He had to help Steinar with-something- I forget-”

  They gazed at each other for a few seconds, then he leapt forward and drew her to him, kissing her face, her neck, pushing her head-rail off to stroke her hair. She wanted to give in right there, each kiss weakening her resolve.

  A familiar voice approached, chattering in the background, obviously on the way to the well. Aelfwyn tore her lips from him.

  “It’s Geatfleda. She’ll tell all if she sees us,” she hissed.

  Ragnar leant back into the bushes behind the wall, breaking the twigs with his weight and pulling her with him until they were completely hidden, giggling and excited. Branches poked them in all places, but they hushed each other, provoking more giggles. He took his cloak off and folded it up so the red would not be seen.

  “It’s not right, associating with Danes,” said Geatfleda to her companion. “She spends all her time with them, shunning her own people.”

  Aelfwyn sat up to listen, an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach despite Ragnar kissing her neck. She sat on his lap and he curled round her.

  “Instead of settling down with a sensible Anglisc man, she runs around with that Dane all the time. People are talking and she will come to a bad end.” A clanking noise of pails as Geatfleda filled them with water.

  “Is she talking about me?” whispered Aelfwyn urgently.

  “Mm?” Ragnar ran his tongue down her neck to her shoulder, making her quiver.

  “If she’s talking about me, my parents will be so angry. They will be the disgrace of the village…”

  “Mm.” He stretched her dress open at the neck so he could kiss further down her breast, his hair tickling her until she giggled and trembled, her whole body heating up.

  “They say that she has married this Dane,” continued Geatfleda. “In a secret ceremony without her parents’ knowledge. Mark my words, this can only lead to trouble.”

  “Married?” hissed Aelfwyn, sitting up and pushing Ragnar backwards.

  “What was that?” asked Geatfleda sharply.

  Aelfwyn and Ragnar froze. The harder they tried not to giggle, the more they wanted to.

  After a few minutes, Geatfleda resumed talking.

  “Must have been a bird. We’d better go, there’s always work to do.” The noise of footsteps and conversation slowly growing quieter.

  “So it wasn’t you and me they were talking about. Another Anglisc woman has been with a Dane, and married him.”

  “Mm,” Ragnar had returned to kissing her, his breath heating her skin like a brand.

  “Saehild!” she suddenly exclaimed.

  “What? Where?” He lifted his head.

  “No, I mean, do you think they were talking about Saehild?”

  “I don’t know, do I?” He sighed.

  “I must go and see if it is her. She could bring disgrace on our family too.” She crawled out of their wooded den, leaving him holding nothing. He made a noise of frustration, and followed her, gathering up his cloak.

  *

  Aelfwyn, hastily tidying her clothes, hurried back to Byrnstanham. She suddenly remembered the pails of water but didn’t dare go back for them. She had sent Ragnar off to his own duties and he’d strode away, determined to make Bjarni pay for interrupting his anticipated session of making love to Aelfwyn.

  Saehild hummed to herself while chopping some wild garlic for lunch.

  Her sister took her by the hand and marched her outside.

  “Have you been spending a lot of time with Bjarni?” she hissed, keeping her voice low to avoid others hearing.

  “Yes, I have.” She smiled broadly.

  “I heard the women talking. They said an Anglisc woman has married a Dane, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

  Saehild blushed, she couldn’t help herself.

  “We exchanged swords and rings.”

  “What? Where are they?”

  “Bjarni’s sword is wrapped in fur under our bed and his ring is here.” She showed her necklace with the ring attached. “I gave him one of father’s swords.”

  “W-who was at the wedding? Why-why did you not ask me?”

  “I’m sorry. We had to keep it secret. There were a couple of other Huskarlr there, I didn’t know them, and some sort of priest.”

  Aelfwyn paused, gathering her thoughts.

  “What were you thinking? What are you going to do now? Where will you live? Did you sleep the night with him after the wedding? What were you thinking?”

  “When he finishes his training, I will go and live with him. The wedding was in the afternoon, I slept with him afterwards. So there is nothing anyone can do now, we are legally man and wife and cannot be torn apart!” Her voice rose.

  “What are you talking about?” said their mother, waiting by the hut. “What have you done?”

  The sisters jumped.

  *

  At Hallfridby, Ragnar stared at Bjarni in shock.

  “You married her? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry, I just thought if I told you then you told Aelfwyn, it would get round to her parents and-I’m sorry.”

  “I thought I was your best friend. You do realise you’ve stirred a wasp’s nest up for yourself don’t you? The Anglisc will be furious.”

  Bjarni shrugged. “It will be worth it. I thought Saehild was beautiful on the outside, but when she’s in my bed, she’s-“

  “You were thinking with your cock, weren’t you?” Ragnar chewed his lip. There he was, restraining himself with Aelfwyn, longing to carry her off but not wanting to compromise her situation with her family. Then Bjarni acted in the opposite way, taking what he wanted.

  Ragnar did not understand how families worked because he had never had one.

  “Where will you two live?”

  “I thought Saehild could come and live with me in the Huskarlr longhouse. We could have a bench together.”

  Ragnar sighed at his naivety.

  “Good luck when you ask Steinar about that. He won’t be happy.”

  “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” Bjarni beamed, full of the joys of married life.

  *

  “So, you have married a Dane,” stated Cwenburg. She had marched both her daughters back inside their hut. “Whatever possessed you? You have Anglisc admirers queuing up, yet you go behind your parents’ backs to marry someone from another society.”

  “But we love each other.” Saehild’s jaw was set.

  “You love each other! A brief infatuation which won’t last! How long have you known him?”

  “About a month. Quite a long time.”

  “That isn’t a long time, girl! What about Athulf, Gyric, Wynstan? All those are eminently suitable husbands, and there are more.”

  “Mother, I don’t love them! I wanted to marry a man I loved!”

  “How can you possibly know you love this Dane when you’ve only known him a month? I knew your father all my life before we married!”

  Saehild tutted. “That is the life of a boring woman, mother!”

  Aelfwyn bit her lip. She would never dare speak to her
mother like that.

  The mother and daughter glared at each other.

  “Go to your bed! You may lie there until your father and I decide what to do!”

  “There is nothing you can do.” But she flounced off to her bed anyway, tossing her hair and sighing dramatically.

  “Thank God we have you, Aelfwyn. A sensible girl who is to marry a good man, and keep the honour of this family alive.”

  Aelfwyn’s heart sank. She would have to marry Eadbald now. She dropped her head in disappointment.

  Unfortunately, the argument had been much louder than they had realised and many villagers had gathered outside listening. Within an hour, the news had spread round the community.

  Seofon

  The rest of the day was taken up dealing with the long queue of Saehild’s disappointed suitors visiting her father to make their case.

  Saehild herself refused to get up. Even though being sent to bed had been a punishment, she had turned it to her advantage and made herself a martyr.

  “Those Danes are no good, taking our women,” muttered one of the suitors.

  “You’re not betrothed, are you Aelfwyn? I could marry you instead,” said another. Aelfwyn and Sigulf had been told to serve refreshments to the visitors, so they moved up and down the line with food and drink.

  She shook her head. “I am betrothed, I’m afraid. To Eadbald.”

  “Eadbald?” The man chuckled. “I’d make a better husband than that old man.” Some of the other suitors laughed too.

  She and Sigulf exchanged glances.

  “At least she is respectable, unlike you lot,” he chastised them. “She will bring our family honour.”

  She sighed, envying Saehild for doing what she wanted without worrying about consequences.

  *

  That night, she stole out of Byrnstanham, knowing the dangers but not caring. The Huskarlr at the gate of Hallfridby were sympathetic as she had helped Ragnar with the tree, so they let her sneak in and gave her directions.

  The Huskarlr quarters were a longhouse near the Jarl’s. A large wooden building, not as big as the feasting hall but with a similar sloped roof supported by huge wooden pillars in an upside down U shape. The benches against the walls were wider and covered in animal furs for the Huskarlr to sleep in. The fire pit lay in the middle.