Chapter 12
She allowed herself to believe him and nestled closer to his warm chest. “I think maybe we should take your shirt off,” she said. “That’s easy to arrange,” he said, shucking his tunic. “Your turn,” he said, lifting her dress over her head. He ran his tongue down her throat and circled a nipple with it. She was becoming more adventurous and comfortable with his body. She smiled when his cock sprang to attention. “You’re always so impatient,” she laughed. “I am not impatient,” Gunnar said, “He might be,” he said, gesturing downwards and laughing along with her. Elin kissed his ribs and moved down the length of his body. Never taking her eyes from his handsome face. She timidly gave the head of his cock a gentle kiss. Gunnar forced himself to be still, to not tangle his hands in her hair and fuck her mouth. She ran her tongue down the ridge of his cock. Sensing his pleasure, she gave feathery little licks all over him and then pulled him into her mouth, His groans sped her on and she devoured him moving him in and out of her mouth hard and fast. She smacked her lips around him and moaned with pleasure herself. Gunnar hooked a hand under her arm, “Come up here, “he whispered. She started to snuggle up against him and he stopped her, “No, like this,” he turned her around so that she was facing the foot of the bed and moved her onto him. He buried his face into her pussy and reamed an eager tongue into her pink depths. She gasped and squirmed, only his grip on her thighs kept her firmly over him. Elin felt shy, but the pleasure was overwhelming. As he urgently flicked his tongue over her button, she arched her back, temporarily forgetting about sucking him. The waves carried her along and her whole body rocked back and forth. She was calling his name and gasping for breath. She lay along the length of his body. When the tsunami subsided, she resumed sucking him. She urged him forward, curious about what he might taste like.
Gunnar hesitated, unsure if she wanted him to come in her mouth.
“Please, I want you to,”she murmured. He obliged with a groan and filled her needy mouth with his musk. He lay back and they rested in each others arms.
It was with some hesitation that she accompanied her husband to repair the goat shed the next morning. She lingered over washing the breakfast dishes, hoping he would say that if she had so much to do, she could stay home. He did not make that offer.
“I will get my tools, you best pack up some food, we can get ale from the tavern,” was all he said by way of instructions.
Grimacing, Elin gathered some leftover pork, bread, and cherries. Tucking the basket over her arm, she glumly followed her husband down the lane. It took all Elin’s self-control to be cordial to the pack of boys who came running to greet them. Their voices echoed off the trees while they all regaled Gunnar with stories of how people had reacted to tales of the blacksmith yanking his naughty fire-starting wife out of a tree. Sensing her discomfort, Gunnar wrapped an arm around her. “Lads go on ahead, make sure there is a good stout ladder waiting for me. Nothing shoddy now, we don’t want me to break it.”
He whispered into his wife’s hair, “You needn’t act like you are being hauled to your execution.”
She ignored him and kicked a stone, it ricocheted off a tree and bounced to the street at Gunnar’s feet. He paused and drew her close. With a firm hand under her chin, he said, “Now, no more of that. You did a foolish thing, I dealt with it, and now we are going to help a neighbor rebuild a shed. The end.”
Elin rolled her eyes. Luckily for her, her husband found it funny and continued walking. He did say in warning,”Best control those eyes, young lady.” They made it to the village much faster than Elin would have liked.
Mr. Hanson was apparently not interested in allowing bygones to be bygones. He eyed Elin suspiciously. “She doesn’t look like a girl who got punished.”
Elin had a horrific premonition of the man demanding to see her red and bruised bottom. Gunnar firmly replied, “That’s my business, not yours. You’re getting a new shed out of the affair.”
Mr. Hansen looked as if he wanted to continue but found no support from the villagers who surrounded them. The ruins of the former goat shed had been swept away. A pile of long branches awaited them. “Your Da dropped those off on his way to your cousin's wedding. Your mother left a meal for anyone who wants to help him.” Mr. Hansen jutted his jaw towards Gunnar as he said “him.”
Damnation, she had forgotten. Her parents were counting on her to manage the dairy while they traveled for a few days. She was mortified at the thought of her father getting up even earlier than usual to fell seedlings because she was an unrepentant pyromaniac.
Elin set the basket of provisions down, and as she did so, her aunt and cousins walked buy with a large board to set up as a table to feed the people who helped. Accidently backing into the board, Elin gasped when her roasted butt brushed against it and straightened up immediately. A few older villagers exchanged amused glances. Elin felt her face flush but kept herself to her tasks.
She noticed Mrs. Hansen shyly gesturing for Elin to come closer to her.
“I am so, so, so sorry,” Elin began.
“Hush, that she was just waiting to get burnt down, it was made of kindling 10 years back. I heard your Modre was bringing food by and I made you a field oven.”
Elin was grateful. A field oven was a stone-lined hole that a small fire was lit in and allowed to burn down. The women removed any pieces of wood still burning into a bucket of water, and then quickly Elin set the pot of stew that her mother had left. It took only a moment for the women to bury the container, the coals would keep the food good and hot for several hours and not need any tending.
“Thank you for helping me,” Elin said, laying a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. Mrs. Hansen gave an odd wince and whispered, “Be thankful you have a kind husband.” Elin felt her face grow hot with fury. She didn’t want to stare, but she could see a few thin white scars on the back of the older woman’s neck, not entirely covered by her modest scarf.
Elin considered marching over to Old Hansen and giving him a piece of her mind but realized she might make things worse for Mrs. Hansen. The idea of that mean old man taking a switch to his wife filled her with rage. She had been spanked by her husband, and she had been furious at the time, but what had happened at their house felt different then what she imagined at the Hansen’s hovel.
She felt closer to Gunnar, not afraid of him, although she would be more careful going forward to not set buildings on fire. She needed to decide the best way to respond.
Chapter 13
As it turned out the annoying boys ended up being a tremendous help. They were quick to dig holes, and Gunnar tamped a sapling into each one, leaving it standing as high as his shoulders. Several of the older women came to help, and they deftly wove branches in and out of the upstanding saplings. Her aunt Magda chatted nonstop while they worked. Magda had not traveled to the wedding because her own daughter expected her first baby any day. Elin had concluded that if Aunt Magda cast one more appraising look at her flat belly, she would impale herself upon a branch.
They had most of the hut constructed when they took a break to eat. Elin served everyone her mother’s delicious stew, rich with turnips and mushrooms. Gunnar handed Elin a mug of ale and stretched out beside her to eat. Elin had worried that as soon as the work slowed down, everyone would question her about exactly how Gunnar had punished her, she needn’t have worried.
There was bigger news than a soon to arrive baby or even Elin’s misbehavior. One village over, a girl had been taken by a wolf during daylight hours. She had been herding some sheep, and only when her parents had gone in search of her had her body been found.
A shiver went through Elin. She had rarely seen a wolf, she had seen what they could do to a calf, and she had heard their siren call plenty of evenings. No one had heard of wolves being so brazen as to attack during the daylight. People were making a point of sending out shepherds in groups and avoiding the woods when alone.
Elin took advantage of the general chatter to whisper to
Gunnar her fears about Mrs. Hudson. He didn’t say much, but she noticed his jaw tightening.
Elin did not enjoy the daub part of wattle and daub building. One of the eager boys had dug her a deep hole, and the other boys dug in with their hands, breaking up the clumps. The goats had been tied nearby all morning, so there was plenty of fresh goat shit. The dung was turned into the dirt, along with some straw and then several buckets of water. While the boys uproariously reacted to the pungent smell, Elin tried to mix it up with whatever shreds remained of her dignity. It was not a pleasant job. The best way to apply the cement-like mixture was by using your hands and pressing it into the basket like walls. It stank, she got splinters in her hands and being bent at such a low angle caused her knees and back to ache. Once it was glommed on the only way to smooth the daub was to get your hands soaking wet and give the mixture a final smear. Her splintery, shitty, hands grew cold. She was thankful that Mr. Hansen didn’t have that many goats.
Aunt Magda was, for all her chittering away, an expert at it. Elin felt like she would never get her hands entirely clean again. She found a twig to clean out under her nails and gratefully accepted some soft, harsh smelling soap from her aunt. Magda had also offered her a dress that the daughter who was by Elin estimation 600 years pregnant couldn’t wear now. Elin gratefully washed off and pulled the clean dress over her head. She emerged from Aunt Magda’s home to hear Gunnar addressing the gathered men. “I am so glad to be part of this community, I am happy to yield my hammer for any of you anytime.”
One of the nearby men called, ”That's a nice shed, how do I get your wife to burn my barn down?” Laughter erupted.
“That will not be happening again, I can assure you.” Elin kicked a stone on the road, not wanting anyone to see her blush. “Not just my hammer, but my heart is always available for anyone who needs protection.” He sternly looked at Mr. Hansen, and Elin was sure the elder man nervously looked away. “From anything or anyone, at any time,” Gunnar concluded.
Several men clapped him on the arm. Elin found herself very proud of her strong and kind, hard-working husband.
Gunnar leaned close to her, “I’m going to pack up my tools. Why don’t you just go home? It’s close enough that I don’t think it's dangerous.” The road had the woods cut back from it, and it got a significant amount of foot traffic. Elin was tired, although he had undoubtedly worked harder than she had.
“Alright, “she said pausing to kiss his shoulder. “I won’t be long,” she said.
“Straight home,” Gunnar called after her.
“I promise,” she yelled over her shoulder.
The sun was dappling the leaves, and the path was wide and clear, she walked jauntily, humming a little tune. She ran a curious hand over her backside and found that only if she gave a squeeze was it sore. She finished one tune and began another, one her mother especially liked. Elin stopped just as she reached home.
Chapter 14
The dairying! She had promised her mother she would do it. Everyone else had gone to the wedding. She looked up and saw that there was still plenty of daylight. Returning to the village to tell Gunnar about that seemed like a lot of extra walking.
She decided to just hurry, betting that she would surely beat him home anyway. Elin trotted along through the woods, remembering all the times she had taken this same path to get water before she was a married woman.
The farm had been left secured. The cows had been brought in after having been milked in the morning. The dogs hurried to greet her. She knew that any intruders would be quickly driven off by the three dogs. It was odd seeing the farm without its usual bevy of inhabitants. There were a few cows that needed milking twice a day, although as the summer ended, so would their abundance. She grabbed a bucket and set to work.
She walked into the dairy shed. She poured the fresh milk into a vat to settle and then looked around. The cheeses that were still being weighted lay on long shelves. She carefully unwrapped each one, wiped them with a cloth dipped them in salted water and then rewrapped them, turned them over and lay a weight back upon them. There were several cheeses, and it took her far longer than she had expected it to. She considered taking a break to go tell her husband where she was but decided that she was close to finishing anyway.
She had the last cheese settled back onto the press when the door to the shed swung open with a ferocious slam. Only then did she notice that how dark it was outside.
Gunnar had a dangerous look on his face. Excuses burbled forth from her, as she backed away from him, followed by apologies. Gunnar spied a butter paddle and snatched it up. It looked ridiculously small in his hand. Still, that did not bode well for Elin.
Without a word, he grasped his wife’s delicate wrist, bent her over the cheese press and ordered:” Get that skirt out of my way.”
She was too intimidated to not immediately obey. He was furious. She considered asking him to wait until he was less angry but couldn’t think of a way to say it without making him angrier. Her skirts were barely up over her hips when the first solid thwack of the paddle hit her flesh. She had not thought that a spanking could possibly hurt worse than his hand did. She had been wrong. The butter paddle was smaller than his hand, but it was unyielding and had a series of slits in it. This seemed to increase the sting.
“Ow, ow!" she very quickly was moving from foot to foot, to get her bottom out of the line of fire. He was having none of that. He reached over her with his left arm and grasping her hand pulled it close to her body. She was effectively pinned to the workbench. He settled into a demonic rhythm, laying a few quick swats on one cheek and then moving to the other and repeating the process. He seemed to have no intention of ever stopping. Elin gasped and yelped. Gunnar focused on her thighs laying on a deluge of light, stinging slaps to her upper legs. He used the paddle to slightly spread her legs. He brought the paddle down onto one porcelain, inner thigh with a sharp turn of his wrist.
Her Gilded Firebird: Book Three in the Norse Warriors series Page 6