She paused, lowering her gaze.
“He never punished you?” Jerrik offered.
He wasn’t well versed in Pict traditions, but it seemed ludicrous that the man had done nothing to love or guide his spouse at all.
“He never really did anything to me,” she replied with a sigh. “Apart from the obvious—usually when he had consumed too much mead. So long as I fed him on time, he generally left me be.”
“I see.” Jerrik’s tone had lowered in response to Brigid’s description. He was pleased he would never have to meet this man and make him atone for his incompetence. It seemed as though there was already enough to be done.
“You’ll find I am quite a different proposition,” he told her. “I have high expectations of you, Brigid, but I will repay your effort with my sword and dagger which will protect and provide for you, and with my body, which will honour you. I’m sure you know to what I speak, but if there was any doubt, then I hope the last evenings have reassured you?”
Brigid sucked her lower lip between her teeth at Jerrik’s words. It was clear she did remember their unions of consummation. “Yes,” she replied in a breathy tone. “I should like more of that.”
Her face flamed at the admission, and he chuckled at her embarrassment. “And you shall have it,” he told her. “Just as you shall bear my punishment.”
She swallowed, but in those hazel eyes there was a flicker of acknowledgement. “Aye, well,” she murmured. “I will try and yield, Jerrik, yet I think I am out of practise.”
Jerrik grinned at the concession. “A good, hard, bare-bottomed spanking over my knee should help you to remember,” he drawled. “Do you not think?”
Her breaths were coming out in short, fast pants. “A spanking?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Brigid closed her eyes at his edict. “Then please, Jerrik, do not make me endure it in front of my son. This is new to him also.”
Jerrik appraised her pained expression with interest. He’d never even contemplated the child witnessing her penance until now; in fact, until this morning, he’d never even contemplated having a child before.
“We shall find something to amuse him this afternoon,” he decided, raising his hand to gently tilt her chin in his direction.
The touch of his hand at her face drew Brigid’s eyes open in an instant, and for a long moment, their eyes locked.
“And once we are alone, you will learn how to submit, wife.”
14
Brigid
As it turned out, it had been easy to distract Bram. There were a few other children around his age in the village, and a number were helping with the livestock, so he went happily to assist. Brigid watched his departure with mixed feelings. It always pleased her to see Bram content, and she was happy with the apparent ease with which he had settled into Jerrik’s good books, but the same could not be said for her. She turned back towards her house. In her mind, Brigid had a pretty clear idea about how the next hour would be spent.
A low shudder passed down her spine at the punishment Jerrik had described earlier. On the one hand, his demands were not gratuitous. Brigid had heard of a number of other wives being disciplined by their husbands in similar ways in the past, and she didn’t doubt the validity of his assertions about Viking life, but somehow, none of that seemed to help, and as she crossed the threshold and pushed the door ajar, Brigid felt sure she understood why. It had been more than two years since she’d even had a husband in her life, and she’d never really had to yield to him—unless you counted his uneventful sexual demands. The difference with Jerrik was stark. He did expect her to submit and obey—two fairly unknown concepts to Brigid—and he had made his beliefs on the subject clear.
Wandering towards the fire, she pondered why Jerrik’s expectations didn’t disgruntle her more. She was used to being a solitary woman, as independent as any in Pictland, so surely she should resent this Viking who had come into her life making demands? She pulled in a deep breath, staring into the flames. Something about Jerrik made her want to comply. He was so strong and foreboding, and he could be the father Bram needed, but it was more than that. Heat engulfed her face at the realisation. She liked him. The fact surprised Brigid, but she acknowledged it regardless. She liked the way he treated her, the way he had made her feel these last evenings when he’d claimed her, and she liked the way she had responded at even the thought of the spanking. Brigid had no idea why, but her sex was hot and wet at the mere thought.
The door burst open, and Brigid’s heart raced. She spun to face the giant of her husband entering the house carrying yet more fresh water.
“Is Bram content?” he called, slamming the door closed behind him.
Brigid gulped at the fierceness in his eyes. All of a sudden, he seemed larger than life.
“Yes,” she answered in a tiny voice. “He should be entertained for an hour or so.”
Jerrik nodded, pacing towards her, removing his weapons and tunic. “We had best get on then,” he pronounced. “We do not want him returning when your arse is upturned over my knee, now do we?”
She panted at the image his words painted. No, she most certainly did not want that to happen.
“No, Jerrik,” she whispered, her throat drying at his approach.
In the darkness of the last two nights, she hadn’t truly been able to appreciate the sheer size and musculature of her husband’s body, but her hot gaze devoured the full expanse of his chest now.
“I want you naked,” he told her in an absurdly calm voice. “Go now to our bed chamber and strip for me. I shall join you momentarily.”
Brigid couldn’t seem to pull in another breath as the command washed over her, yet somehow her feet complied, and she found she was moving in the direction of the smaller room. The power Jerrik had over her now seemed immense, and some distant part of her brain told her she should be afraid of that fact, but somehow, Brigid couldn’t bring herself to be. Yes, by God, she was full of nervous energy, but it was more excitement than fear that was coursing around her body while she removed the grubby day dress. Anxiously, she turned towards the doorway, expecting to see her Viking looming, and she wasn’t disappointed.
Jerrik smiled at the sight of Brigid. “Good,” he told her with a grin. “It was not the ale that granted you the great beauty I recalled from our first coupling, nor the thrill of victory last evening.”
She inhaled, desperately wanting to cover her beading nipples, but knowing he would never allow it. “No?”
His hands were at his trousers, releasing the fastenings. The look of those long fingers working drew Brigid’s gaze south as though they had mesmerised her.
“Absolutely not,” he confirmed. “It is you, Brigid. You are a great natural beauty, and I am a blessed husband. Valhalla has found me, and I didn’t even have to give my life.”
Jerrik’s trousers were loose at his hips as he took her in his arms, pulling her flush to his hard body. Her eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and she breathed in the heady scent of leather at his skin. Brigid was giddy just being this close to Jerrik, memories of her pleasure at his hands flooding her mind.
“Are you ready, wife?”
His tone sounded harder somehow, although those strong arms still clutched her to his chest. Brigid breathed in a lungful of air, burying the side of her face against the soft hair covering his pectorals. If she listened hard enough, she swore she could hear the rhythmic sound of his heart, and somehow, the beat soothed her.
“I don’t know,” she conceded. “But I want to please you, Jerrik.”
She despised how pathetic her voice sounded, but Brigid couldn’t seem to muster any more power in her tone. “I am rueful to have disobeyed. I can be impulsive sometimes, and—well, no one has ever been here to correct me before…”
Brigid’s voice trailed away.
“I am here now,” he told her softly, and as his words resounded, Jerrik drew away and led her gently towards the bed.
He sea
ted himself first, though that icy-blue gaze of his never left her.
“I want you down over my lap,” he informed Brigid, the full weight of those eyes spearing her.
His words echoed around her head while Brigid moved to the side of his leg. All that greeted her ears was the noise of her own heart thundering—so loud, she wondered fleetingly if Jerrik could hear it for himself.
“Do not look so woeful,” he admonished lightly. “I want to correct you, Brigid, but I do not intend to cause you any real harm. You may just find sitting uncomfortable for a day or so.”
Jerrik laughed at his words and, reaching for Brigid’s hand, he drew her body forward across his lap. She went with little resistance, deciding it was too late to object. Had she not just admitted that she regretted her defiance? She could hardly protest the point now she was naked and ready to be disciplined. No, Brigid just had to take what was coming to her—whatever those large Viking hands could deliver.
Now, she had to endure.
15
Jerrik
He watched the little Pict as she glided down over his lap, his cock straining instinctively. It wasn’t only the look of her flawless skin that goaded Jerrik but the symbolism of the gesture. Brigid was yielding—just as he had asked—and she was resolved to receive this spanking. That gave him hope for the marriage. A union of only lust was likely destined for failure, but one built on mutual respect had every chance of thriving.
Resting one hand on her back, Jerrik massaged the soft flesh gently while he contemplated her delicious arse. He couldn’t wait to claim that place for himself, but right now, he would have to make do with reddening the delightful cheeks instead. He smiled to himself as he lifted his right hand, knowing he was more than able to do the task justice.
Jerrik brought his palm crashing down against her upturned and vulnerable behind. It wasn’t an especially hard smack, but he relished the sound of the impact, the sting of his hand, and the breathy yelp that left his wife’s lips. Glancing down to her face, all he could make out was a waterfall of her long, dark hair, but she appeared to be settled. He raised his hand and swatted her arse once again, more than aware of the way his cock throbbed at the contact. This strike was harder, and it produced something of a whimper from Brigid.
“Tell your husband,” he demanded, spanking her exposed cheeks again with a succession of smaller, rapid strikes. “Why do you find yourself nude and spanked this day?”
Brigid gasped at his words, though the noise was almost lost to the sound of the swats raining down on her pale skin. Evidently, she had been mentally prepared to tolerate the physical hurt of the punishment but had not given any consideration to his other likely demands. However, to Jerrik, this vocalisation was just as important as the act itself. The lesson could only be learnt if Brigid understood how she had erred. That way she could actively avoid the error in the future. That made this part of the process absolutely essential.
“I…” Brigid’s voice caught as a particularly tough blow landed against her bottom. “I was disobedient.”
Jerrik smiled. So, she did know the answer. “Correct,” he replied, swatting her left and then right cheek in reply. “And how did you defy me, wife?”
He looked on while her hips bounced over his lap. Instinctively, Brigid squirmed, trying to avoid the sting of his palm, but the weight of his free hand ensured her complete compliance as he continued the onslaught.
“Oh!” she panted, reacting to the way he peppered her glorious arse with relentless strikes. “I left the house when you told me to remain. I went looking for Bram when you asked me not to. I’m sorry!”
“That’s right,” he purred. “When I give you an instruction, it is always for a good reason. I know you have been alone, but you’re not on your own anymore, Brigid. I will look out for Bram now, and I will be in charge of his discipline.”
He spanked her hard after that for good measure. “Are we clear on these points?”
Brigid drew in a deep breath, and he wondered what pained her more—the hurt caused by his hand or the indignity of having to surrender those things she had previously had control over. Or, perhaps it was both, he mused, rubbing the warmed flesh of her behind.
“Yes, Jerrik,” she mewled, the timbre of her voice stirring his swelling erection. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good, then this spanking is nearly concluded,” he told her. “The lesson has been learnt, and I just need to make sure it is not forgotten.”
His palm crashed down against her prone backside again, and this time the swat was intentionally hard. Jerrik meant what he had said. The spanking would only be effective if it also acted as a deterrent for Brigid. She had to know what awaited her if she defied him in the future.
“Jerrik, please!” she gasped, trying to twist her body from over his legs and shield her vulnerable arse with her hands.
He swatted the palms away, pinioning her more firmly with his free hand. “Enough,” he barked. “I will add spanks if you cannot accept the punishment you are due, Brigid.”
“But it hurts so much!” she wailed, kicking her feet on the hard floor as though the act would in some way remedy her problem. “Please, Jerrik.”
“No.” His voice was stern. “This is a punishment, Brigid. It is supposed to hurt. Now, do as you promised and yield to my palm.”
Something about those words seemed to resonate, and he watched as some of the fight slipped from Brigid. The tension was still there—the tautness of the muscles at her thighs and shoulders—but she seemed to cede the point, and a moment later, the first low sob came from the woman over his lap. Jerrik relaxed the hand at her back, caressing the wonderful flesh there while his other palm delivered the lesson. He spanked her again and again, mesmerised by the way her cheeks danced to the beat of his palm, but also aware of how fragile and delicate his little Pict was. She appeared for all the world to be strong and resilient, raising her son alone, caring and providing for them both, but Jerrik knew better. He had borne witness to a different side of Brigid, a soft, helpless aspect of the woman who would benefit from the assets Jerrik had brought to the marriage. And he wanted to soothe and comfort that part of her now. He wanted to hold her, caress her, and once the tears had dried, he wanted to claim her again.
“Five more, Brigid.”
Jerrik’s words rang out in the bedchamber, and she inhaled at the sound of them.
“Count them for me,” he instructed in a softer tone. “Let us work together to conclude this penance.”
His palm struck the curve of her arse again, the noise echoing around them for a moment.
“One,” she croaked from over his legs.
“Good, little Pict,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the small of her back.
Jerrik raised his palm again, sending it down over her reddening behind. Duly, Brigid numbered the strike, her voice caught somewhere between hurt, resentment, and arousal. He heard it in her husky, breathless tone, and that thought piqued his interest. The fact that she might actually enjoy surrendering to him was an unexpected and fruitful addition to their union. He concluded the remaining swats quickly, pausing only for her to name the strikes. Once she had called out for the fifth, he shifted his arms around Brigid’s body, drawing her up for an embrace. She resisted him at first—a fact that hardly surprised him—but Jerrik gave the little Pict no choice. She had been punished, and now she needed to be held. He had spanked enough women to know how important it was for them to feel comforted after the act, and none of those had ever been his wife before.
It was the least Brigid deserved.
“Just let me be,” she insisted, lowering her tear-stained gaze as she tried to push herself out of his arms.
“Hush,” Jerrik told her, creating a prison with his arms that she could never escape from. “Let me hold you now.”
“No.” She sobbed. “I just want to be left alone. You can’t erase this hurt—you were the cause of it!”
Jerrik planted a chaste kiss
on the top of her soft hair. “Your wilful behaviour was the cause,” he reminded her. “But, as you say, I was the one to deliver your spanking, so I should be the one to remedy the pain.”
Brigid’s watery eyes blinked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time since the punishment. Her face was flaming with what he presumed was a torrid mixture of both embarrassment and desire.
“How?” she whispered. “How can you make this better?”
“I can love you,” he promised, “and cherish you, as I vowed to do just two days ago.”
She slumped against him, her legs adjusting so they straddled his hard groin, her head resting at his shoulder. “This is tough love,” she replied with a sigh. “It was much harder to bear than I had anticipated.”
Jerrik ran his stinging palm down the length of her beautiful hair. “Sometimes that is what is needed,” he answered. “Sometimes the swat of a hand, sometimes the swing of a birch, and sometimes the caress of lips.”
Jerrik raised his hand, drawing away the dark curtain of hair from her neck and allowing his mouth to descend. He was on her before Brigid even had time to register the deed, his insistent lips kissing the side of her neck until a soft moan escaped his wife.
16
Brigid
She was heady at the sensations of his mouth. Never in her twenty-six summers had Brigid experienced anything like it, but then the same could be said for virtually everything Jerrik had done since he’d stomped to her door after the wedding feast. The man was impossible to keep up with. He had already unravelled her with the strength of his will and that godforsaken palm, and now he was bent on destroying her with the soft caresses of his lips. Any chance of resisting him seemed futile, and at that moment, Brigid lacked both the will and the inclination to even try.
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