To Love Again

by Bertrice Small

  "Go to your bed space now, Cailin," her grandfather ordered her. "Wulf Ironfist and I will have a final cup of mead together while you await his coming."

  Cailin stood up and moved slowly from the high board. She said no word of farewell to Berikos, and certainly none was necessary for the handsome Saxon who sat with him. Berikos would surely direct the young man to her sleeping space when the time came. She frankly wasn't certain what kind of protocol was involved in such an arrangement. It was better she remain silent.

  Reaching her sleeping space, Cailin opened her little storage chest, removed her gown, and stored it neatly away with her little jeweled fillet. Should she remove her camisa? She honestly did not know. She had never in her whole life seen her parents abed together. She knew absolutely nothing of what would transpire between herself and Wulf Ironfist. No mother in her culture would discuss such serious matters with her daughter until she was ready to marry. As Cailin had never settled upon a husband, there had been no talk about the intimacies shared by a man and a woman. Her twin brothers had been as protective of her as were their parents.

  It would be best, Cailin finally decided, to err on the side of caution, lest she be considered wanton. She slowly slipped off the soft felt slippers she wore in the house, and putting them in the chest, too, she closed it. Then she climbed into the sleeping space, which was set into the stone walls of the building.

  The mattress was newly made, filled with a mixture of sweet hay, lavender, heather, and rose petals. The inner covering of the mattress was a close-woven linen, but the outer cover was a finer, soft linen fabric of a natural hue. There was a beautiful coverlet of red fox, which kept her warm in the coldest, dampest weather In a small niche above her head a little stone oil lamp burned, illuminating the sleeping space. Cailin considered dimming it, but decided to leave it burning for the present. It cast a comforting golden light over everything, and she needed all the courage she could muster to face whatever lay ahead.

  Wulf Ironfist was shown to the sleeping space by a servant. Sitting upon the small chest, he pulled his boots off and set them neatly aside. Then he stood and removed his tunic and braccos. The servant girl, who had hidden in the shadows that she might see him nude, almost swooned at the sight. Never in all her life had she seen such a man! He had broad, broad shoulders and a wide back. When he turned to stretch, the serving wench was treated to the sight of well-muscled arms and a smooth bronzed chest. His legs were like tree trunks, massive and well-shaped, covered with a golden down. Her wide eyes slid down the tantalizing torso following his treasure trail, and her mouth formed a small O of worshipful admiration. Silently the girl backed away, envying the fortunate young mistress who would certainly be well-pleasured by the Saxon's passion this night.

  Wulf Ironfist undid the thong holding his hair back, and the blond mass fell forward, touching his shoulders. The glow of the light in the bed space was welcoming. Reaching out, he pulled the fur coverlet aside and climbed in. For a brief moment he thought he was alone, for Cailin was pressed against the far wall of the enclosure, her back to him, and at first he did not see her. Although he had earlier thought her demeanor a pleasingly modest one, he had expected a warmer welcome to her bed. Was she teasing him? Or was she merely shy? Rolling onto his side to face her, he reached out and pushed the delightful tangle of her curls aside to bare her neck. Then, leaning forward, he kissed the slender column warmly.

  "Your skin is like silk," he told her admiringly, and he stroked the back of her neck gently.

  Cailin, who had shivered just slightly at the touch of his lips on her flesh, now shuddered hard at his touch.

  Wulf Ironfist was not an insensitive man. He could see that the girl was holding herself stiffly. Then he realized that she was also still wearing her camisa. An uncomfortable thought crept into his head, but he pushed it away for the moment. He needed to know more. "You have not removed your camisa," he said quietly. "Let me help you now."

  "I did not know if I should," came the muffled reply, and she seemed to move even farther away from him, although he knew it impossible given the dimensions of the bed space.

  "I have been told that Celtic girls celebrate the Mother goddess," he replied, reaching down to slide the camisa up and off her cringing figure. Rolling over, he tossed the garment upon the chest and turned back to the girl. The line of her back was beautiful, and her skin was exquisitely fair. He touched her shoulder with gentle fingers, and she started violently. "Do you not wish to share your sleeping space with me, Cailin Drusus?" he asked quietly. "I have been told this is a common custom among your people. What is the matter?"

  "For an unmarried maiden to share a sleeping space with a man is not how I was raised, Wulf Ironfist, but I am bound to obey the wishes of my grandfather. Just a few months ago I foolishly told Berikos that when my grandmother stepped through the door from this life to the next, I would leave the Dobunni; that I could take care of myself. But the truth of the matter is that I cannot fend for myself no matter how much I would wish to do so. Therefore I must obey when Berikos commands. He is not particularly fond of me as it is." Her young voice trembled slightly at the last.

  "You are not a Dobunni?" What mischief was this? Wulf wondered.

  "My mother, the child of his third wife, was Berikos's only daughter," Cailin said. "Her name was Kyna. My grandfather loved her dearly, I am told, but he disowned her when she married my father, whose family descends from a Roman tribune. I liked what you said to my grandfather this evening about us all being Britons. Unfortunately, Berikos doesn't see it that way."

  Cailin went on to tell Wulf Ironfist how she had come to Berikos's village, and of her grandmother's death just a few weeks prior. "I am not unhappy here among my mother's people. They are kind and good to me. But my grandfather will not forgive me the slight amount of Roman blood that flows in my veins," she finished.

  "The lady Brigit does not like you," Wulf noted astutely.

  "No, she does not. It was she who suggested this arrangement, but then it is customary for the Dobunni to offer an important visitor a bedmate for the night. Brigit thinks to kill two birds with one stone. She can revenge herself on me, and she hopes to influence you to aid my grandfather, which will gain her greater favor with him."

  "What do you think of his plans for Britain?" Wulf Ironfist asked Cailin. He had liked this beautiful, and obviously intelligent girl from the first moment he had seen her this afternoon with her bowl of brightly polished apples. He did not want to hurt her.

  "I think you are right, sir, and that Berikos deludes himself," Cailin said honestly. "Will you help him?"

  "Turn around, Cailin Drusus, and look at me. It is difficult speaking to your back," he replied, and there was just a hint of laughter in his deep voice as he cajoled her gently.

  "I cannot," Cailin admitted. "You are naked, are you not? I have never seen a man naked… completely naked," she amended, remembering the wrestlers who had entertained at her brothers' Liberalia feast.

  "I will keep my half of the furs wrapped tightly about my body," he promised her. "Only my arms, shoulders, and head will be visible to you. And you must be as tightly wrapped for your own comfort. I would not embarrass you, Cailin Drusus, but I would like to see your lovely face when we speak. It is very dim in this sleeping space. I feel as if I am speaking to some disembodied creature," he teased.

  She thought a long moment, and then said, "Very well, but do not look too closely at me. I cannot help being shy, sir. This is all quite new to me, though not quite as frightening as I earlier thought." Cailin rolled over carefully, clutching the furs to her chest. He smiled encouragingly down at her, and she blushed to the roots of her auburn hair. "Will you help Berikos?" she repeated, struggling not to burst into tears, for her fear had suddenly-returned at the sight of him, and her heart was pounding.

  For a quick moment he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were like wet violets. Then her lashes swiftly lowered, brushing her pale cheeks like dark, dancing b
utterflies. "Berikos, it would seem, is not willing to meet my price," Wulf Ironfist answered her.

  "Land," Cailin said, and suddenly she had a marvelous idea. "I will meet your price, sir," she told him, "and in exchange I will ask but two things of you. You will find, I believe, that mine is the better bargain."

  "You will give me land for training and leading the Dobunni?" he said, quite confused by her offer.

  Cailin laughed. "No. You are correct about the Dobunni's chances of restoring the Celtic tribes to their former prominent position; there is no chance. But I would be revenged upon the man who engineered the murders of my family, and would have killed me but for happenstance. The lands of the Drusus Corinium family are mine by right as the sole, surviving member of that family. Alone I can do nothing to claim my rights. My cousin, Quintus Drusus, would find some way to kill me to hold on to what he has stolen. But you could kill Quintus Drusus for me, Wulf Ironfist. And if you wed with me beforehand, then my lands would become yours, would they not? It is a far better opportunity than my grandfather can give you," Cailin concluded, surprised at her own daring in even suggesting such a thing. Perhaps she was learning how to survive without the Dobunni after all.

  "Are your lands fertile? Is there sufficient water?" he asked, amazed that he was even considering her proposition, but then why shouldn't he? He wanted lands of his own, and he would need a wife. The girl's idea was a perfect solution to both their problems.

  "Our lands are fertile," she assured him, "and there is plenty of water. There are good fields for grain, and other fields for grazing cattle and sheep. There are orchards, too. My family's villa is gone, but we can build another dwelling, sir. The slaves belonging to my father will also be mine. Berikos will have to give us a generous bridal gift as well. Ceara and Maeve will see that it is a good portion."

  Wulf Ironfist needed no time to consider. Her offer was an excellent one, and only a fool would refuse it. "I will do it," he told her. "We will wed, and then I will regain your lands for you, Cailin Drusus. I will even aid that old reprobate, your grandfather, somewhat. We will be forced to winter here. During the next few months I will train any young Dobunni who wishes to learn the arts of war. The final test of their skills will be when we retake your lands from your wicked cousin. Then Berikos may have them. If you are right about these people, they will not follow him any farther than the boundaries of their own fields." He looked hard at her. "You are clever, lambkin." Reaching out, he tipped her face up and touched his lips briefly to hers. "We will not tell your grandfather of our plans, though. I will tell him only that I want you for my wife."

  "He will not refuse you that," she said, feeling a flush suffuse her whole body at the touch of his mouth on hers. "Indeed, both he and Brigit will think it fitting that the mongrel bitch, as they like to call me, has mated with a foreigner, as they call you Saxons."

  "We have not mated yet," he said softly, his gaze direct.

  "We have not wed yet," she countered quickly, her heart skipping a beat.

  "We cannot insult your grandfather, lambkin, nor will he believe me overcome by my hot passion for you if we do not do what is expected of us tonight." He tangled his big hand in her hair, cupping her head. "I like the color of your hair, and the charming confusion of your curls, Cailin. Saxon girls have straight, blond hair. They wear it in two plaits, and it is often cropped to their skulls when they wed, to show their subservience to their husbands. I could not do that to your sweet curls, so it is fortunate you are a Briton and not a Saxon," he finished with a smile at her. Gently, but firmly, he pulled her head back, exposing the line of her throat. Then pushing her onto her back, he pressed slow, hot kisses on her milky flesh.

  Cailin clutched her furs desperately to her breasts. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know if she should do anything. Suddenly his blue eyes were staring deeply into hers. She found she could not look away. She was growing warm again, she thought irrationally, longing to toss off the coverlet, but not daring to do so.

  Wulf Ironfist was absolutely certain of the answer he would receive to the question he now asked her. "Are you a virgin, lambkin?" Of course she was a virgin. Her face mirrored her confusion, as she alternated between fear of the unknown and curiosity.

  "Yes," she said low. "I'm sorry I won't be able to give you pleasure. I just don't know what to do."

  "I like it that you are a virgin," he told her tenderly, "and I will teach you everything you should know to please us both." He pressed a handful of curls to his lips for a moment.

  "I don't even know how to kiss," she said dejectedly.

  "It is an easily learned art," he assured her seriously, but his blue eyes were dancing with amusement. "In many it is instinctive. When I kiss you, just kiss back. Let your heart guide you. I will instruct you in certain refinements later on." Lowering his head, he kissed her gently, and after a moment of hesitation Cailin kissed him back. "That is very good," he praised her. "Let us try again."

  This time his kiss was firmer, and she felt her lips give way slightly beneath his. She gasped faintly as the very tip of his tongue brushed sensuously and lightly over her mouth. The sensation caused her head to whirl dizzily. Cailin put her arms about him to steady herself, for she felt as if she were falling.

  He released her lips and buried his head in her hair. "You taste delicious, lambkin, and you smell delicious. I never met a girl who smelled as good as you do. Why is that?" He now looked down into her eyes, and Cailin colored once more. "Will you always blush when I look at you?" he asked her softly. "You are so fair!"

  "Your praise is extravagant, I think, sir," she answered him, and then realizing that her arms were about him, she unwrapped herself from him, but he protested her actions.

  "I like that you held on to me, lambkin. I think for all your maidenly fears, you know me to be a man who can be trusted. I am not a man who scatters compliments like raindrops. When I offer you praises, it is because you deserve them, Cailin Drusus. You are beautiful. I have never known such a beautiful woman. I will be proud to have you for my wife, and I will be jealous of any man who looks at you, lambkin. We are going to make fine, strong children together."

  "How?" she boldly asked him, surprising them both.

  He grinned boyishly. "So you are curious, are you? Then we must continue with our lessons." Reaching out, he began to draw back the fox coverlet.

  Cailin cried out softly, attempting to stop him, but he would not be stayed. The look of awe upon his handsome face, however, when he gazed upon her nudity for the first time, gave Cailin a tiny glimpse of the power a woman holds over a man. He did not touch her at first. Rather, his eyes drank in her smooth, fair flesh; her small round breasts; the graceful curve of her waist; her slender, but well-fleshed thighs; the tightly bunched curls upon her Venus mont.

  He smiled, almost to himself, and touched her there with a single finger. "These curls match those upon your head," he said.

  She watched him wide-eyed, silent.

  Then he said, "Remove my half of the coverlet, lambkin."

  She pulled the furs back, and caught her breath at the sight. He had called her beautiful, and yet it was he who was beautiful. He had the body of a god, surely. Everything was in proportion; perfect, perfect proportion. There was nothing that surprised her but for the appendage between his legs. She stared at it curiously, touching it gingerly with a finger even as he had touched her. "What is it?" she asked him. "What use does it serve for you? I do not have one."

  Wulf Ironfist swallowed hard. Her curiosity was almost detached. "Nay, you do not have one, but your brothers did. Did you never see theirs?"

  "What is it?" she repeated.

  "It is called a manroot."

  "And my brothers had them, too? No, I never saw them. My parents believed in modesty. They said a great many of Rome's problems today stemmed from a lack of morals. They did not believe we should be ashamed of our bodies, but they also did not believe that we should flaunt them lewdly. What does your
manroot do?"

  "It is the means through which my seed will flow into your womb, lambkin. Encouraged, my manroot will grow large, and hard. I will sheath it within you, releasing my seed. The act will give us both pleasure."

  "Where will you sheath it? Show me," she demanded.

  He bent and kissed her once more, and as he did so, he took a single finger and, pushing gently between her nether lips, touched the entry to her woman's passage. "There," he told her, lifting his mouth from hers.

  "Ohhh!" she answered. That single light touch had not simply startled her. It was as if something had burst in her midsection. Tiny tremors of sensation pulsed throughout her entire being.

  "We have a ways to go before that," he told her, removing the invasive digit. "I will answer all your questions later, lambkin, but perhaps it would be better if we did not talk so much right now."

  "Why do you call me 'lambkin'?" she persisted nervously.

  "Because you are an innocent little lamb, with your big purple eyes and your naughty russet curls; and I am the wolf who is going to eat you up," he responded. Then his mouth pressed down hard on hers. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to be patient. But her nearness was driving him wild with longing. He needed to get on with it, and if the truth be known, the longer he waited, the harder it was going to be on Cailin. Her lips softened beneath his, and he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly.

  At first she tried to elude the tongue seeking hers, but he would not let her. She could taste the honeyed mead on his breath, and it excited her. Tentatively her tongue sought his out; joining it in an exquisite dance that gratified both their senses. Her arms tightened about him once again, drawing him half over her, her young breasts pushing up to meet his smooth chest.

  Pulling away, he took her heart-shaped face in his hands and covered her face with kisses. His lips trailed once again down her straining throat, moving into the valley between her breasts. When she cried out softly, he soothed her. "No, lambkin, do not be afraid."