Her Gilded Firebird: Book Three in the Norse Warriors series

by Susannah Shannon

  Elin let out a high-pitched cry. This seemed to be precisely at Gunnar was aiming for. He repeated it on the other side. Again, and again and again.

  He had tucked her up higher under his left arm and returned to laying on hard swats across the meatiest curve of her bottom. With a snap, the butter paddle broke, and the end flew against the wall. If Elin thought that she would be granted a reprieve, she was very wrong. Gunnar dropped the spindly little handle onto the ground and gave her upturned bottom a ferocious spank with his enormous hand. It knocked her forward on to her elbows. He continued this for several moments and then suddenly stopped, yanked her skirt down, grabbed her wrist and led her out of the dairy shed.

  "Sweetheart, I," she began.

  "Hush," he said harshly. "I have barely even gotten started, but we have a whole village looking for you, and they deserve to go home and eat their evening meal."

  "Why is everyone looking for me?"

  Her bottom throbbed, and every step seemed to make it ache more.

  "Because another girl got taken by a wolf out in the woods when you weren’t at home., we all panicked."

  "Is she alright?" she asked, horrified.

  "No. Her husband has to build a casket." He stopped so suddenly that she walked into his enormous back. She noticed that he was shaking, “You promised me that you would go straight back. You promised."

  She had promised. "I did, I don’t have any excuse, I thought I could quickly get this done. I was trying to save a trip back to the village." This did not help her case in any way shape or form. Gunnar resumed his fast march along the trail. Soon they could hear people calling to each other. "I've got her!" Gunnar called. Elin could hear the cry being repeated by others. Apparently, her husband had not exaggerated, everyone was looking for her. A hysterical Aunt Magda burst onto the trail and flung her arms around the girl, crying hysterically. Elin tried in vain to calm her down. "I thought I was going to have to tell your sisters you had been taken."

  "I was just in the dairy, “Elin said weakly.

  Her aunt’s tears turned to anger, “Didn’t you hear that wolves had been seen?"

  "Yes, I did, but..."

  "Thoughtless through and through. When will you stop to think about how your actions affect the people who love you?"

  Gunnar gave a snort, “Trust me, that lesson is in progress."

  Elin was mortified. They continued, alerting everyone they saw that Elin was indeed, safe. The villagers were relieved that she had not been hurt. The set of her husband’s jaw in no way comforted Elin.

  Chapter 15

  As they neared their cottage, Gunnar ordered her to go inside. Meekly, she did so. She could hear Gunnar thanking everyone who had helped in the search. He wished them all a good night and went inside. Elin was not happy about having been banished inside. But any protest she was going to make died on her lips when Gunnar pointed to the bed and then unbuckled his belt. "I really am sorry, I had no idea you were all looking for me," she said, although she did move in the general direction of the bed.

  "I am not punishing you because everyone was looking for you. You are being punished for promising me you would come straight home when you had no intention of doing that."

  "I did too!" she began to disagree. The look he gave her caused her to fall quiet.

  She turned and leaned to put her elbows on the bed, a sudden thought occurred to her, “I know, I know, I am in trouble, but could I go over your lap, somehow that’s less scary."

  His answer did nothing to reduce her anxiety, “oh you may be going over my knee, but you are getting ten with my belt first. This will never happen again."

  "I promise it won't," she said with real fear tinging her voice. "I'm really sorry."

  "I should hope so. If I must make you bend over that bed, you will regret it." He was immovable, arms crossed in front of his massive chest.

  Elin slunk over the bed and obediently hiked her skirts up over her already red bottom.

  He didn’t make her wait long, with no preamble the belt striped where her bottom melted not her thighs. "Ow!" she struggled to push off the bed and was firmly pressed back down.

  The second one landed higher, right where she was already the sorest. This time instead of trying to raise up she sort of collapsed into the bed as tears began to pour out of her eyes. The third, fourth and fifth came one immediately following the other, and she had no time to react between them. She sobbed into the blankets, lifting one foot and then the other off the ground as if that would somehow help.

  Gunnar exhaled loudly. "I was afraid you were dead or hurt and that I wouldn’t find you In time."

  This made her cry more. If she had thought that he might slow down, she was wrong. He had promised ten, and by the gods, she was taking ten.

  The next stripe was perhaps not quite as hard, but since she was already thoroughly scorched, it still made her cry out. "Only four more," he said. If he thought that would be a solace to her, he was wrong.

  “Oh no, oh no," she wailed. "I can’t. I can’t please, please stop."

  The seventh landed, and her hands flew back to cover her backside. He moved closer and demanded, “Give me your hands." She put them in the small of her back. He could easily grasp them both with one of his hands. Holding her fast, he delivered the eighth and ninth strike. The bed was wet with her tears, and her body convulsed with sobs.

  "You will never frighten me like that again,"

  He said in a fierce voice and laid on the last lash of the belt, which was by far the hardest yet.

  He dropped the belt and crawled next to her on the bed, opening his arms to her. She started to nestle in and then suddenly stopped, “I will get snot all over your shirt, “she whimpered.

  He laughed and pulled her close, “I’m a blacksmith, snot is the least of my worries."

  "I really am sorry," she said, and a sob caught in her throat.

  He rocked her gently as her crying wound down. "I know you are sorry, Snowdove. But you must never, ever do that to me again Returning to have someone go with you to the farm you went to the farm would have taken you forty-five minutes. As it was, I spent an evening afraid something had happened to you."

  She was repentant. “Will you forgive me?"

  “Already have, my love."

  Awash in his absolution she drifted off to sleep wrapped in his strong arms.

  She awoke the next morning struck by two sensations. Her bottom was scorched, and she was hungry. Sitting up proved to be a painful proposition, so she sorts of rolled on to her side and scotched back towards the edge. "Did I not make you dinner last night?" she asked, aghast.

  By rolling onto her hands and knees and then awkwardly extending her feet off the edge of the bed and to the floor, she was able to get herself off the bed. She stirred up the fire. Porridge would not hit the spot. She pulled her largest pan over the grate and sliced up some bacon and laid it in. Once that had rendered some of its fat, she added onions and apples. Turning it over allowed the smoky juices from the bacon to permeate the whole. Her mother had trained her well, she had a container with some coarsely ground oats that she kept for mornings when the time was at a premium. She added milk and a bit of honey and baked the oatcakes on a large flat stone beside the fire.

  She carried a plate out to Gunnar at the forge. He put some tools away and gestured at her to sit with him on the bench. She did so and instantly regret it. Her wince did not go unnoticed.

  "Let me see," he commanded.

  Elin blushed up to her hairline. "Someone might come along,“she whispered.

  Gunnar was grinning, “Best do it quick then."

  She set her plate down and turned her back to him. She had to swallow hard before she could bring herself to do it. With a quick exhalation of breath, she yanked her skirts up. Gunnar ran a gentle hand across her flesh. "You are still red; the belt left some marks." She shivered as he pressed his lips to a small bruise.

  He slid a hand between her thighs, reveling in h
er wetness. "Oh, good girl," he murmured. Almost immediately he unbuckled his belt. "Put your hands on the bench," he ordered. Although she did so, Gunnar was so much taller than she was that he had to lift her by the hips to slam into her. She gasped as his strong thighs pressed into her tender inflamed skin. Almost immediately she was overcome with pleasure. With her head thrown back, she rocked against him, urging him deeper within her. He muffled his groans in her shoulder and shuddered his own climax. They both hurriedly straightened their clothes. In a flash they had returned to sitting side by side, eating their breakfast, smiling at the secret they shared. Gunnar had plenty of work to keep him busy. "You stay home today," he had growled as he stoked his fire. Doing so seemed like the wisest course of action. She wiped the dishes and set them away. After the cataclysm of the goat shed, she had been circumspect about fire. She asked her husband to light one for her outside under the copper that she used for washing. Gunnar had a rainwater cachement system, which meant that for Elin her days of hauling buckets of water were over. It had recently rained, and the copper was half full of water. While the water came to the boil, Elin laid Gunnar’s tunics out on her table. She had a gourd of soap that her mother had given her. With her husband’s profession, it occurred to Elin that she would go through soap very quickly. The soap she used for laundry was of a soft consistency. Elin used a small horn spoon to dollop a bit on the worst stains and used a stiff brush to scrub it in.

  By the time she was finished with the scrubbing, she had gathered them up and headed outside to dump them into the boiling water. Almost immediately the water turned gray and film rose to the top. She used a long oar to lift the boiled clothes out of the cauldron and then repeated the process. Her muscles were burning from exertion when her mother and some sisters came dashing up the path. Elin hugged her sisters and avoided looking her mother in the eye.

  Chapter 16

  Her mother grabbed her into a tight embrace, squeezing tightly and then held her at arm’s length and vented her spleen at her wayward daughter.

  “What in the all the worlds has gotten into you? First, you nearly burn down the village,”

  “It was a goat hut, ”Elin answered weakly, “Not the village.” The flash in her mother’s eye made her pipe down.

  “Your father and your husband set that right, on a day when they both had plenty of other things to do, young lady.” Caren had worked herself up to high dudgeon and continued with a shrill voice, “Then everyone we have ever known has to scour the woods for you because you knew a wolf had been spotted and still traipsed,” her hands swung out in a dismissive motion” to the dairy.”

  “There was no traipsing!” Elin defended herself. “The dairy needed looking after.”

  “The dairy could wait!” This was the opposite of what Elin had been told all her life but pointing that out seemed like a less than a good idea.

  “I sincerely hope you were tanned within an inch of your life!”

  Elin had felt sorry for worrying everyone, but she was beginning to get angry. She was a married woman; her mother had no business treating her as if she was a child. Taking a step back she was about to begin her counteroffensive, but a shadow in the forge door caused her to turn around.

  Gunnar said quietly, ”Caren, it won’t happen again.”

  Caren took Elin’s chin in one hand and gave it a little shake, “Don’t you dare let yourself get hurt. What would I do without you?” she said in what was meant to be a fierce voice but drifted to pure affection.

  “What was the wedding like?” Elin asked, delighted to change the subject.

  With many sets of hands, the washing went much faster and was accompanied by a constant stream of chatter about the wedding. Elin learned that the bride had worn a shade of orange that could only be deemed unfortunate. As to the groom, looks aren’t everything, said her mother. No one cures a hog quite like Aunt Sofronie, and the ale was a bit bitter, but who was paying attention to such things.

  Dafne stepped into the cottage to get them all something to eat and was quick to compliment Elin on how nicely kept the little house was. Elin was surprised at how proud she was of her little nest and sent her sister a grateful smile. It was very helpful to have another set of hands to help twist the tunics. The heavy wool garments needed to be twisted hard to get most of the water out of them or they would take weeks to dry. It was best to wring them, let them hang a while, and then twist them again. While she and her mother were standing close to each other each holding an end of one of Gunnar’s enormous tunics, Elin noticed a telltale bulge in Caren's lean frame.

  Her glance had not gone unnoticed. “Only your father knows yet, best not tell the little girls too soon.”

  Elin smiled, her mother was beaming, how a woman could have eight children and be delighted about having another astonished Elin. “Babies are an awful lot of work,” she said hesitantly.

  “Aye, that they are. They keep you up, wear out your body, and make you work your fingers to the bone. And then they grow up, and you are so proud of them you want to make a royal proclamation.” Elin bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. “When?”

  “Around Yule, so a while yet.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her mother had her own chores to attend to, so long before dark, she gathered up the little girls and they trundled back home. Elin had planned to spend the entire afternoon washing, and now she didn’t have to. A tree bent over with its weight of pears told her what her next chore would be. Bruised fruit wouldn’t keep as well through the winter. Tempting as it was, she couldn’t just knock the pears down. She began by using a rake to pull branches closer to her. It didn’t work well, she needed a hand to twist the pears off, and almost immediately the office would spring back like a trebuchet, flinging the fruit deep into the woods. Inspiration struck, and she went to get her extra bedsheet. Shimmying up the tree, she tied the sheet over a branch so that it hung like an enclosed hammock. She would be able to store the fruit in it until it was full and then she would climb down. It was not unpleasant work, up in the tree she could see the smoke from Gunnar’s forge, in the distance she could make out her parent’s farm. Leaning against the trunk of the tree she wistfully watched the road curve over the horizon. She had never been that far, she wasn’t sure she knew anyone who had. Although Gunnar must have, she resolved to ask him more about it over dinner. There was movement in the forest. Something significant was coming through the trees, although it moved much too fast to even be a bear. Elin knew that what she should do is drop out of the tree and hightail it into the house. A yell of warning and Gunnar could bolt the forge doors. She was too afraid to do anything but shrink deeper into the tree and tremble.

  She was captivated by an odd sound. Standing in the tree, she listened attentively. It was perhaps a pony or rather several ponies. It was accompanied by a strange sort of whirring sound. Could it be wild horses? She had never seen any, horses were expensive and brought from far away. The forest seemed to split and the strangest sight Elin had ever seen briskly emerged.

  A cart led by six reindeer pulled to a sudden stop. A tiny man in a tall green cap was driving, beside him was another only slightly larger man with a leathery face and a sullen expression. It was unclear who was more shocked, Elin at the sight of the visitors and their vehicle, or the two men at the vision of a young woman standing in a tree. The hatless man spoke to his companion, “She’s in a tree, is she one of yours then?”

  The wizened man in the green cap responded with a sneer, “Her? Not half likely. She’s as human as the bones in a giant’s favorite bread.”

  Elin had no idea how to respond to that. “Your cart is pulled by reindeer.”

  “Well, there’s no snow on the ground yet is there?” retorted the driver, without removing his pipe from his lips.

  The voice had brought Gunnar out of the smithy, still hoisting a heavy hammer.

  “There he is!” said the kinder of the two visitors “I knew
we were at the right place.”

  Gunnar dropped to a knee, “Sir Ake,” he said solemnly. Inclining his head towards the crankier of the two he acknowledges, ”Ragnifer” with a fist over his heart.

  Ragnifer looked around sucking on his pipe. “Not a bad place, really. There’s a girl in your tree.”

  Gunnar rose, “This is my wife Elin,” he plucked her down from the tree.

  “Elin, this is General Ake and Ragnifer.”

  Ragnifer drew himself up to his full height of 4’6”. “Ragnifer of the Tardis’s, the one and the only, so there.” He all but spit on the ground.

  Elin looked at her husband, he seemed as bewildered as she was. “Shall I show our guests some hospitality?”

  The giant man nodded dumbly. Elin hurried past them and into the cottage. She poured some wine and honey and spices into a small cauldron to warm. Clutching pillows off the bed, and plumping them into the two chairs, she quickly turned the chairs to face the fire. Soon she poured the warm glug into two mugs and stepped outside to beckon the men inside.

  She was interrupting their conversation. “…Just hear what the old man has to say, that’s all we ask, lad.”

  It was hard for Elin to imagine anyone calling her magnificently handsome husband “lad.”

  The older men were delighted to come into the warm cottage. Gunnar lingered in the doorway, “Get them some supper, and then lets you and I go on a walk.”

  “Mind ye’ don’t dilly dally,” chided Ragnifer.

  With a knot of dread in her belly, Elin ladled some soup into bowls, laid out some bread and cheese and made sure her guests’ mugs were full. Ragnifer laid a hand on her arm, “Don’t worry, me lassie, yon giant isn’t in any trouble.” That was a relief, although “yon giant” didn’t look very relieved. Elin followed her husband out of the cottage.