Wild Kingdom

by Deanna Ashford

  Niska glanced out of the carriage window. ‘Look Rianna, the slaves are preparing the fields for planting. Ragnor prides himself on the number of thralls he owns,’ she added with a self-satisfied smile.

  Rianna did not reply. She continued staring out of the window at her new home. As they passed by the lake, she wrinkled her nose at the overpowering smell of fish. Thousands of gutted fish hung on large wooden racks drying in the weak sunshine.

  The smell faded as they entered the main body of the settlement, which was contained within an even higher wall. Inside were numerous wooden houses and tall well-fed people in brightly coloured clothing. They all turned to stare curiously at Niska’s coach as it trundled past. Rianna sat back, out of sight and pulled her cloak tighter around her naked body. This morning she had been washed, oiled and scented under Niska’s careful instructions. Silver chains had been fastened around her wrists and ankles, allowing her just enough movement to walk unhampered, while a silver collar now circled her neck. She was frightened, terrified even, but she tried not to show it, holding her head high and staring coldly at Niska. Yet she still failed to repress an unconscious shiver as they drove through a wide gate and into a closely guarded keep.

  The coach stopped beside a large wooden building decorated with ornate carvings. ‘Ragnor’s longhouse,’ Niska announced.

  Chang opened the carriage door and helped Niska out but Rianna instinctively hung back. Chang grabbed hold of her and pulled her out of the carriage, heaving her under his arm, as there was still snow on the ground and Rianna was barefoot. Carrying her inside the longhouse, as though she weighed practically nothing, Chang set her down in the anteroom and looked expectantly at Niska.

  ‘Prepare her,’ she commanded.

  He jerked off Rianna’s cloak and clipped a chain to her neck collar, handing the end of it to Niska. It was not overly cold in the anteroom, yet Rianna shivered as Chang pushed open the heavy doors. He stood back to allow them to enter and Rianna’s feet slid slightly on the polished-wood floor as Niska roughly jerked the chain.

  The raucous noise, the surprising heat and the foul smell of unwashed humanity overwhelmed Rianna as she was dragged into the huge longhouse. The walls, ceiling and support posts were covered in elaborate carvings of coiled serpents and strange beasts. Most of the walls were decorated with tapestries thickly embroidered in bright colours and silver and gold thread, depicting scenes from ancient myths and legends.

  The majority of the occupants were men. Some were dressed in silk tunics and sumptuous furs, with heavy gold bracelets encircling their wrists, and gold headbands holding back their hair. Yet with all their fine garments, in Rianna’s estimation they were still barbarians as they turned to look at the pale-skinned beauty with a mass of glorious red-gold hair as she was led forwards naked and in chains.

  Rianna cared not for their lascivious glances, all her attention was focused on the tall blond giant who lounged on his carved wooden throne. She was to be given to him as a slave, to do with as he wished. Rianna already knew how cruel and brutal these northmen could be.

  Female slaves wearing shapeless white woollen garments walked among the men serving them food and drink. Some men openly pawed at the women, crudely fondling them as they served them ale and mead from huge jugs. Linen cloths covered the wooden tables upon which were heaped great joints of meat, dried fish, bread and cheese. A number of men drank from huge curved horns decorated in silver, gulping down the alcohol, careless of the way it streamed down their chins to soil their elaborate clothes.

  They stopped in front of the throne. Ragnor was a fine-looking man with hair almost as pale as Niska’s. Because he was tall, muscular and blond, in a way he bore a faint resemblance to Tarn. But his features were coarser, less refined, his complexion ruddy and roughened by exposure to the cold northern winds, while decorating his top lip was a trailing blond moustache. He smiled as he greeted his sister, but Rianna detected no warmth in his smile or his words. However, she had no idea what was being said. The lands of Kabra, Harn and Percheron had a similar language with only different dialects to contend with but here in Vestfold they spoke a rough guttural tongue unlike anything she’d ever heard.

  Niska roughly jerked Rianna’s chain to pull her forwards, and Ragnor smiled more warmly, appearing impressed with his new slave. Rianna was expected to fall to her knees as befitted a new thrall, but she dared to face him boldly, not even deigning to bow or curtsey.

  Slowly he looked Rianna up and down, and she saw hungry desire light his blue eyes. Pieces of his long hair were plaited at the sides and held in place by tiny skulls, while the rest streamed down his back. His eyes were a deeper blue than Niska’s, but still chillingly cold. He was an uncivilised barbarian, and Niska’s close kin, but he did not give Rianna the impression he was an inherently cruel man. However, his hands were huge and Rianna felt sick at the thought of them exploring her most intimate parts. Yet with that thought came a surge of lust. Niska was still feeding her the aphrodisiac and her body ached with a sexual frustration that she sometimes found difficult to hide.

  ‘So you are the daughter of the Protector of Harn? A princess?’ Ragnor’s accent was strong but he spoke her language well.

  ‘I am, sir.’ Rianna regally inclined her head.

  ‘She is a virgin?’ Ragnor addressed Niska, clearing expecting Rianna to have been touched by no other man. His eyes greedily returned to his prize, focusing on Rianna’s high full breasts.

  ‘No,’ Niska replied and Ragnor frowned. ‘She is far better than an innocent virgin,’ Niska hurriedly explained. ‘She was wed to Lord Sarin of Percheron. You must have heard tales of his sexual excess and of the lasciviousness of his court. Sarin schooled her well. She is more expert in matters of the flesh than the finest courtesan.’

  Ragnor pursed his lips and thoughtfully stroked his moustache. ‘She looks so innocent.’

  ‘Looks can be deceiving, brother.’ Niska leaned towards him. ‘She’s insatiable. She’ll do all you ask of her and much more. She is a prize beyond all others because now that Sarin is dead she has captured the heart of Prince Tarn of Kabra. He worships her and plans to make her his bride, but now she is lost to him and is your slave to do with as you wish.’

  ‘Kabra?’ Ragnor grinned. ‘I’ve heard of this prince who dared to challenge the might of Percheron. When Sven was Lawspeaker before me he tried to convince the other jarls to join together. Sven was convinced that with our vast forces combined we could have conquered Kabra and Percheron, all the known world if we wished it. We could have been the most powerful warriors of all time, but the other jarls refused to even consider his proposition. I do not have Kabra but I do have Prince Tarn’s betrothed . . .’ He pulled Rianna towards him, holding her chain tightly so that she had no choice but to stand there and submit to his crude inspection. His battle-roughened fingers stroked her skin, felt and weighed her breasts, then caressed the curve of her belly and touched her pubic hair. ‘Her skin is so soft.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to examine my teeth as well?’ Rianna spat, determinedly clamping her legs together so that his fingers could not slide intrusively between her thighs.

  Ragnor frowned in annoyance, then threw back his head and laughed loudly. ‘My sister warned me you had spirit, wench.’

  His huge hand curved around Rianna’s waist and she was hauled on to his lap. She was forced to sit there as he caressed her – all too conscious of the heat emanating from his flesh, and surprised to smell, not body odour, but the clean scent of herbs. She was so close to Ragnor she could see the lines etched round his eyes by the cold, harsh northern winds. His teeth were large and white while his breath smelled slightly of wine. Thank the gods Ragnor did not repulse her. He was an attractive man and she could feel the demanding line of his cock beneath his soft plaited leather trousers. Its hardness pressed against her buttock cheeks and it felt pleasingly large. She was filled with a sudden lust that made the blood sing though her veins. Rianna’s nipples stif
fened, and her pussy grew wet with anticipation as she imagined his huge cock sliding into the tight dark hole of her sex.

  ‘Come here, girl,’ Ragnor roared and a dark-haired thrall scurried forwards with a goblet of wine. Ragnor took it and held it to Rianna’s lips. ‘Drink,’ he commanded.

  Rianna obediently gulped down the wine, embarrassed by her wanton thoughts. She preferred to be drunk, even insensible, before he bedded her. Rianna was certain that she would not have to wait long judging by the size of his prick. She just prayed that he wouldn’t choose to start getting intimate with her here with everyone watching. Judging by what was going on in the rest of the hall most of these men cared little for privacy. She just had to hope that Ragnor was different and bedded his women in private.

  Ragnor threw the empty goblet at the nervous thrall. She just managed to catch it and scurried away, while Ragnor ran his rough fingertips over Rianna’s nipples. ‘Do as I wish and no harm will come to you,’ he said softly. ‘Your skin is so delicate it would scar easily.’

  She stayed silent as he stroked her belly and pubis, fighting the urge to open her legs and allow him to touch her aching pussy. ‘Please . . .’ she begged, looking at him with anguished eyes.

  ‘Later,’ he said gruffly, tipping her from his lap on to the bearskin rug at his feet.

  She landed in a tangle of arms and legs. Awkwardly she sat up, pressing her legs together and resting her arms across her bosom to hide them from the lecherous gaze of the other men present. However, most of the occupants of the hall were ignoring her now, as they became drunker by the moment. They appeared to have disgusting table habits, shovelling food into their mouths, spilling it on their clothes and causally spitting out anything that did not please their palate. Some were singing raucously and banging their fists on the table. A few in the corner were engaged in a reasonably good-natured fight, while the rest were talking and gesturing very loudly or pawing the women.

  Some had half-stripped thralls draped across their laps, lewdly fondling them. One had a red-headed girl on her knees between his legs with his cock buried in her mouth. Others were fornicating with slaves like rutting beasts. A small group had a naked girl spread-eagled on a table. A tall scar-faced man was fucking her front and rear with a doubled-headed carved wooden dildo, while the rest were slobbering over her body, and she was moaning and writhing in pleasure.

  Rianna clamped her legs even tighter together, aroused and yet unsettled by such debauchery. She couldn’t bear the thought of being forced to participate, although she’d seen far more erotic spectacles at Sarin’s court. However, Sarin’s orgies had always been well planned, with an exotic finesse that had proved highly arousing even to those who were watching. Also, with a few exceptions, the participants had always been willing, which did not appear to be the case in Ragnor’s longhouse.

  Ragnor pushed another goblet of wine into her hand and she gulped it down, hoping the alcohol would help blot out the sights and sounds around her. Ragnor, meanwhile, was focusing all his attention on Niska, who was fluttering her eyelashes coyly and openly flirting with her half-brother in a provocative fashion.

  Suddenly Ragnor touched Rianna’s arm. ‘You are tired,’ he told her. ‘Go with the thrall, she’ll find you somewhere to rest.’ He grinned lewdly as he beckoned the dark-haired thrall, who’d served him earlier, forwards. ‘I want no sign of weariness when I bed you for the first time, wench. Gunnar will tell you that I have a lusty appetite and expect my women to be both inventive and passionate.’

  The thrall blushed and smiled coyly at Ragnor, clearly enamoured of her master, as Rianna went to clamber to her feet. Ragnor stopped her moving by clamping a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked. ‘I thought I was dismissed.’

  ‘You were, but first there is a matter to attend to,’ he said gruffly. ‘There is no need for chains here, you cannot escape.’ He held out his hand to Niska. ‘The key?’

  ‘As you wish brother,’ she agreed meekly, handing the key to Ragnor without even deigning to glance at Rianna.

  Ragnor unfastened the chains on Rianna’s wrists and ankles. ‘We can rid you of the collar later.’ He frowned thoughtfully, then unfastened the red silk cloak he wore across his shoulders. ‘At times modesty becomes a woman,’ he said wrapping it around Rianna.

  She smiled gratefully at him as she rose gracefully to her feet. Ragnor smiled back at her, the warmth softening his cold blue eyes, and she began to feel a little less fearful as she turned to walk away with the thrall. Ragnor watched in silence as Gunnar led her from the large chamber and into a smaller room set behind it.

  The noise of the celebrations in the hall diminished as Gunnar shut the heavy wooden door. She picked up a pair of fur-lined slippers made of soft hide and handed them to Rianna. ‘My master has a good heart,’ she told Rianna. ‘You’ve no need to fear him, he is far kinder than most jarls. Also he is very amorous. He often takes more than one wench to bed at a time.’

  Nothing she could say would shock Rianna where Ragnor’s sexual appetites were concerned. Compared to the crudeness of his followers his needs sounded simple enough.

  ‘Would that he would slake his lust on you and the other thralls and leave me alone,’ she replied, surprised that Gunnar spoke her language so fluently.

  ‘You’ll change your mind soon enough,’ Gunnar said confidently as she led Rianna out into the cold evening air. It was getting darker and the sky was streaked with a plethora of brilliant colours. At another time Rianna might have stopped to enjoy the beauty of the sunset, but the treasures of nature were far from her mind.

  ‘I doubt that,’ she muttered. ‘His followers are all barbarians. Can he be that different?’

  ‘The men here may be rough and ill mannered at times, but they’ll not harm you. It’s the drink that makes them so unruly. Drunkenness is considered holy in Vestfold,’ she said with a soft sigh that conveyed more than words ever could.

  ‘You speak my tongue well,’ Rianna commented as Gunnar opened the door of a large wooden hut and they were hit with a blast of hot air.

  ‘My mother was from Kabra. She was captured in a raid and brought here as a slave.’ Gunnar touched the silver chain at her neck. ‘This is all I have left of her. She was forced to travel with my father when he left for Valhalla.’

  Rianna knew that Valhalla was the resting place of warriors, but she didn’t think it wise to question Gunnar further: the thrall’s expression was tight and a little strained. By now Rianna was struggling to breathe. The air was so hot and dry, it near scalded her throat as Gunnar led her into an inner chamber. It had wooden benches round its sides, and a heap of glowing stones in the centre of the room.

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘A bathhouse.’ Gunnar removed Rianna’s red silk cloak and placed a thin linen towel on one of the benches. ‘Sit,’ she urged. ‘The heat and the steam will cleanse your skin.’

  ‘Steam?’ Rianna questioned.

  ‘Yes.’ Gunnar picked up a ladle and poured water over the glowing stones. In seconds steam billowed around the room and at once Rianna felt the sweat seep even more freely from her pores. The heat was overwhelming yet not unpleasant after days spent travelling across icy mountains, always feeling damp and chilled to the bone.

  ‘How long do I stay here?’ Rianna asked. Perspiration was running in thick rivulets over her hot flesh, while her hair stuck limply to the back of her neck.

  ‘Long enough,’ Gunnar said enigmatically as she left, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Rianna sat down and leaned back against the warm wooden wall. She closed her eyes and let the heat seep into her weary limbs. She heard the hiss of water striking the stones and opened her eyes, thinking Gunnar had returned. From out of the white billowing steam walked a tall muscular figure, his body looking pale in contrast to the ruddiness of his face. Ragnor was naked, and she could see that his chest was covered by a thick matt of blond hair. It thinned over his st
omach, then grew thickly around his cock. Pulling her eyes away from his flaccid sex, which appeared large even in repose, she noticed strange blue tattoos covering his upper arms. Rianna couldn’t repress an uneasy shudder and her stomach churned in fear. She never expected to have to face him again just yet.

  ‘I could wait no longer.’ He spread a towel on the bench and sank down beside her. As he sat with his legs splayed lewdly apart, his balls and cock rested on the white linen, drawing Rianna’s eyes towards them. She swallowed nervously. She had prayed this would never happen, but she was determined not to show Ragnor how afraid she was.

  ‘If this had been left on longer it might have burned your skin,’ he said, lifting her damp hair and unfastening her slave collar. It was fashioned out of silver yet he cast it on to the glowing stones as if it was of no value at all.

  ‘It did not hurt me,’ she said shyly as his huge hands stroked her body, polishing it lovingly with her perspiration until her skin gleamed in the soft lamplight. His caresses were far from unpleasant and Rianna found herself relaxing, even welcoming his touch. She did not protest even when his fingers crept between her thighs.

  ‘You are frightened of me, are you not?’ he said softly as he eased his thick fingers into the moist valley, sliding them into the opening of her cunt.

  ‘A little.’ She drew in her breath as his fingers slid deeper. It felt so good after the long frustrating nights she’d spent, aroused by Niska’s aphrodisiac and aching with need for Tarn.

  ‘You’ve no need to be afraid. I’ll not hurt you,’ he growled, frigging her with his fingers while his lips took possession of her mouth. His kiss was passionate but the hairs of his moustache rubbing against her upper lips felt very strange. She wanted to close her eyes and convince herself it was Tarn. But no matter how hard she tried she could not avoid the fact that it was Ragnor thrusting his fingers deep inside her. A languorous desire overtook her senses, and she looked down at Ragnor’s cock. It had grown huge, sticking out lewdly from its nest of blonde hair, rigidly erect, with beads of sweat glittering on the thick, heavily veined shaft.