Brigid sat rigidly at the table opposite this man who was now her master. The girl Astrid returned with the drink she asked for earlier, and then assisted her with changing into the provided clothing. Brigid had no desire to wear the Norse clothes, which had no doubt been worn previously by some unwashed Norse female, but her own clothes were filthy and becoming smelly. After helping her to change, Astrid left carrying her old garments, with a promise to have them returned once cleaned.
The new clothing, consisting of a dress with long sleeves and an over tunic the colour of ripe apples was surprisingly fresh smelling and not at all as she suspected. The tunic had two ornately decorated brooches, with the appearance of gold, holding the straps in place at the front. There was also a small linen cap, rather like that worn by babies, with ties that fastened beneath the chin. Brigid decided she did not wish to wear such stupid headwear. Her feet were now comfortable in a pair of soft calfskin house shoes. Astrid insisted that Brigid sat while she used a comb to tidy her hair, all the while telling Brigid how soft her hair was. She then asked permission to braid it so that these braids now hung over each ear. Brigid decided that the girl would suit her well. Perhaps she could even arrange it so that the girl slept in the hut to be there to cater for all her needs. This seemed a foolish notion as she guessed that the lord and master would be eager to get her alone and into his bed. A thought that brought on a fresh state of nervousness.
Once Astrid came back to assist Brigid, Rolf left the hut, a fact that pleased Brigid no end. He did not return until much later when Astrid laid out food on the table. This gave Brigid a chance to look around what must now be her home. Apart from the table, the large chair that Rolf always sat in, three stools, and of course the huge pallet where he slept, there were two large chests. Astrid looked into both and told Brigid one of these was empty, so she would use that for the belongings of Brigid. The girl seemed excited to know that she was in charge of caring for Brigid and all that she owned.
Now she sat face to face with him across the table. Astrid, with the help of a young lad, set the food on the table and then left them alone. Rolf smelt fresh, his hair still damp, proof that while away he had bathed. “You do not like the food before you?” he asked, when Brigid sat with the provided spoon held over the dish before her.
The mixture of meat and vegetables served in a wooden bowl gave off an inviting aroma and she realised that she was very hungry, but her stomach was also roiling as if she was back on the vessel again. “It smells delicious. I…” Her mouth dried, and she could not explain her feelings to him. With effort, she started to eat. After a few mouthfuls she said, “Your cooks are excellent.” This was true, the sheep meat was tender, and the variety of added vegetables and herbs made it tasty. It was comparable to the food enjoyed at home, prepared by her well-chosen cooks.
Brigid wondered how they fared. Before her father ordered the women and children into hiding, some of the others fled to the hills, her cooks among them. How foolish that they all did not follow this route. If so, then she would not now be sitting facing her captor.
At her small sigh, he asked, “Is something amiss?”
Brigid refused to answer such a foolhardy question but shook her head. Everything in her life now was amiss. Would there ever come a time when she could explain to this man how painful it was to be dragged from your homeland, and then forced to suffer a horrendous sea voyage, before ending up in this barbarian’s homeland. And now beneath his roof. Would the ache in her heart ever ease? Since birth, she had only known the kindness and wisdom of her mother and father, living in a home where she had no doubt she was well loved, with servants to wait on her every need. Even the lowly peasants treated her with respect.
In silence, they continued to eat. After his meat dish, he also ate food from a dish containing what smelt like fish, which she declined. She did not refuse the berry fruit served with cream. In truth, her nerves, already a mess, were now growing worse as it neared time for the sun to go down. The thought of what would follow once this meal was over made her feel as if she would bring up all she had eaten.
He leant back in his chair and watched her, making her feel like a mouse or small creature that knew what fate was to befall it when the hunter pounced. To her surprise he said, “On the morrow I think it might be a good thing if you begin to teach your fellow Celts our tongue. That way they will be better served to understand my people.”
Brigid was so taken aback by his suggestion that she stared at him in silence. This was the last thing she had expected of him.
“No, you think my plan ridiculous?” he asked.
“No, no, I also thought it should be done. But I did not think to suggest it for fear that you would think me too…” She shrugged, at a loss to find the words in his language to explain that she felt he would never agree to such an idea.
Standing, he walked away from the table, and stood before one of the window openings. Brigid had already noticed that one of them contained glass, something rare indeed back home. This man must be wealthy—or his people no doubt traded far and wide, to possess such a luxury she had heard of, but never seen before. When he turned he gazed down on her with a look she was becoming familiar with. A look that still confused her and made her uncertain of his intentions.
“Brigid, in your homeland, when you were given in marriage to the man your father selected for you, would you then not be allowed to think for yourself, or do what you desire?”
Another question she never expected to come from the mouth of a Norseman. When would he cease to surprise her? “Of course, I would. And also, I would have chosen the man I wed, and not my father.”
He seemed interested in that answer and came to sit again. “Tell me, was there a man of your choice that you were promised to? I did not see you rush to grieve over the body of anyone but your father on the shore that day. Were you betrothed to a man from another clan who did not join him in battle?”
“No.” In truth, no man had pleased her sufficiently to gain her love. There were a few who came visiting in the hope of receiving her regard, and one or two were favoured by her father, but none came anywhere near her expectations of a perfect mate. Most thought more of themselves and her possessions. Only one of them was near to the life mate she might desire, but even he proved to covet her father’s wealth above her affections. And that one was a mere boy compared to this man opposite her.
Now he seemed surprised. “You are beyond the age of marrying. Most of our females are wed or have their mates well before they reach the maturity you have gained.”
Brigid had to smile at that. “You think me an old crone past the age of child-bearing?”
“No, I do not, but I am simply wondering why you chose to wait. I thought women were more likely to wed the first man who took their fancy, perhaps more for security and comfort than anything.”
This was becoming such a strange conversation that Brigid wondered at his thinking. Did he expect her to produce a child for him? Was he now worried that she was beyond the age for doing such? Could it be that now he was considering casting her aside in favour of one of the younger captives who were barely out of childhood? That thought should not worry her as much as it did. “Some might, but I was freely allowed my choice by my father. He was a good man and knew the wisdom of letting me choose my own future.”
A future that was now taking a different path to the one her dear parent envisioned. Brigid stared down at the dish before her on the table as she sighed. What would her father now think of how her circumstances had changed? “Why do you ask?” she dared to question.
He spread his hands in a small gesture. “I would wish you to believe that you have freedom now as my woman. Others of my clan will now treat you with the respect you deserve as the wife of their chieftain.”
“Wife? I am not your wife, simply your slave, no better than the lowliest thrall, so why would they consider me anything more.” This she said with a small twist of derision to her lips. Now she thought him mad.
With a finger jerked in her direction he said, “You will become my wife as soon as it can be arranged.” At that announcement, he rose and walked to the door, which he opened. Astrid must have been outside for she came in hurriedly, followed by the boy who helped her bring the food, nodded towards Brigid, and began to clear the leftover food and empty dishes from the table.
Brigid was so stunned and angry that she still sat, not sure what to do next. His words should not have surprised her. After all, she was his property to do with as he wished. But marriage with him was something that never entered her head. Truth was, she was led to believe that the Norse people were far too uncivilised to go through a ceremony as sacred and binding as marriage. It seemed she had much to learn about the habits and rituals of his people. Could there be a chance that marriage was not as sacred to the heathens as it was to the Celts. She would forever be tied to this man anyway, no matter what ceremony they went through, so what did it matter what he chose to call it?
When she turned, he was gone, and she breathed a sigh of relief. With luck, he would go to the large hall where she learnt earlier from Astrid the men liked to sit and drink while they discussed the affairs of the town, and Brigid presumed the next raid they planned. How she prayed he would overfill on the strong ale and mead they loved and be incapable of walking back here. She had seen many men in the past back home get in such a condition that they slept where they sat, sometimes for hours.
Once Astrid and the boy finished clearing the remains of the meal and he went away to she knew not where to take the dishes, she presumed to the kitchen, Astrid lit two lamps. Brigid went to the outhouse behind the hut. She was pleased earlier to find it tucked away behind his home and not inside as the one in the hut the captives shared. On her return, she found the servant had set a bowl for washing, and also laid out a shift of fine cloth on the sleeping pallet such as Brigid had never seen before.
“Our Chief bought the cloth from a merchant who passed through,” Astrid said, answering Brigid’s unasked question. “I believe he said it was from a place called Arabia—or the merchant was an Arab, but I cannot be sure. It is beautiful is it not?”
Brigid felt inclined to tell the girl to take it away and keep it for herself if she treasured it so much. Had she been given orders to provide the gown for Brigid—or perhaps taken it upon herself to fetch it for her mistress? “Who made such a shift, or did it belong to someone else?” she asked. The thought that one of his other women might have worn the garment sickened her.
“Oh no, mistress, the Jarl gave orders for it to be stitched just this past day, by the woman who possesses a great skill.”
Another surprise. Why did her father not tell of these skills of the Norse people when he was telling of their vicious ways and their slaughter of children and taking of slaves? It could be he had no notion. He certainly did not know that they traded with these strange Arabs Astrid mentioned. And where was this Arabia?
“Would you like my help bathing, mistress?” Astrid asked.
Brigid waved her offer away. “No, I will take care of myself now. You go to your home.”
The girl looked doubtful. “Are you certain my lady? The master said I was to assist you.”
“I am quite sure. I will not need you anymore this night.” It was clear the girl did not wish to disobey her chief, as she lingered near the door. “Where is your home now,” Brigid asked. “I hear your father was slain and your mother is no longer here to take care of you.”
Astrid looked sad for a moment and then brightened. “I will be sleeping in the hall of Ingrid and her family. With kindness, she offered me a pallet there. But she also gave me instructions to stay with you mistress for as long as I am needed.” Still she hesitated.
If only she could stay here all-night long. For a brief moment, Brigid contemplated it—for surely Rolf would never touch her if the child were in their presence. Of course, it was likely he would not care, for Astrid mentioned earlier that entire families occupied some of the larger halls in the town. Brigid knew this also happened in parts of Britain, where the poorer folk shared a humble house. This kept them warm in winter and, so they thought, offered them a certain security. Of course, in the house of her father she always had the privacy of her own chamber.
Brigid could not bear the thought of the shame she would feel if he lay with her with the girl nearby. “Well, I am giving you instructions to leave. I can manage well on my own. I will see you at the break of day.”
Picking up the washing bowl, Astrid nodded her head in a small movement, before going out. Brigid chewed on her lip as she looked down on the beautiful shift. What would he say if she refused to wear the garment? And what would he do if he returned and she was not here but had gone back to the hall with the other Celtic women. As fast as that thought flashed through her mind, reason returned. So far, he had treated her with reasonable care, but if she disobeyed him, she had no doubt that he would simply keep to his pledge to send them all to the slave market, her included, or give them to the men of his clan.
The thought of being forced to lie with any one of the crew of his longship, even the youngest, sickened her. She would rather die by her own hand. With a huge sigh, Brigid hurriedly stripped and bathed, using a tablet of soap she was surprised to find beside the bowl. She had been taught to believe that the heathens never bathed and stunk worse than their filthiest cattle. However, had not Rolf already proved this fact wrong, because he smelt fresher by far than some of the men in their household back home.
After drying with a linen cloth, she pulled the shift over her head. As the garment slithered across her skin, she trembled. Not knowing what to do next, she walked over to the small window and looked out. Smoke now floated above the huts, filling the night air. A few lonely stars were just visible through the overcast sky.
Tears dampened her cheeks when an owl hooted nearby, its mournful cry reminding her so much of the last night in the home where she always considered herself safe. With a shudder, she brushed them away and rubbed at her bare arms. A small sound by the door heralded the return of her captor, and she turned to face him, head held high. Never would she show him meekness or cowardice.
* * *
Rolf closed the door behind him and stood looking at the woman whose presence in his life had changed the way he thought, the way he acted, and the way he now viewed life. All of this not only confused him, but also angered him. How was it that a Celtic female from another part of the world could have this effect on him? The Celts were enemies of the Norse people and thus she should be his enemy, but from the first moment he set eyes on her it was as if she held him under a spell.
Only the past night he paid a visit to the oracle in the hope that the wise one who saw all, and knew the future, could tell him. His wildest hope was that she would share at least some of this compelling feeling. The oracle offered no shred of hope, ensuring Rolf that the woman would likely bring disaster upon his head. For the first time ever, Rolf came away from the seer’s cave with a feeling the wise man was wrong. It was likely his hatred of the Celts from over the sea overpowered his visions. Determined to prove the seer wrong Rolf intended to show him and the world that this woman, Brigid, would one day share these rare feelings.
Like a goddess, she stood there, back straight, a look of defiance lighting her eyes. The shift fell softly about her slender body, and beneath the fine cloth he could clearly see each breath she took as her breasts rose and fell. A desire to see her unclothed filled him, but good wisdom ensured he take it slowly. The future he hoped they would share together depended on how he acted now.
Rolf walked slowly towards her, discarding his cape as he did so. He tossed it onto the chest at the end of his sleeping pallet, and when in front of her, lifted a strand of her magnificent hair and ran it between his fingers. Her lips parted, whether in shock or delight he could not guess.
“You find all to your satisfaction?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Glancing about, he noticed the garments that she wore earlier were nowhere to be seen. This pleased him, for while in the great hall drinking ale and discussing the last raid with his best fighting men, his thoughts dwelt with this woman as he wondered what he would do if he returned to find her still clothed, as when he left. Had she changed into the gown to please him, or out of fear of what he might do to her if she disobeyed? “The girl has seen to all your needs?”
Her small tongue shot out and ran across her lips, sending his heart beating faster, as she nodded. Running a finger down her soft face, he stared at her mouth, ripe for his kisses. This close he could see fear in her eyes, a fear he wanted to banish. “You are not afraid of me, are you Brigid?”
Her back seemed to stiffen even more as she said clearly, “Why would I be afraid of you? A man who has taken me away from all that I know and love and dragged me here to a life that is hell on earth.” For a moment, she seemed to ponder her words and then asked, “But you know nothing of hell, do you? Tell me, where do your gods dwell?”
Rolf considered this question, before answering, “Our gods dwell in Asgard, where do your gods live? And you are right—I know not where this hell is that you speak of.”
“We worship a God who I fear has forsaken me, else why would I be here, right now.” She cast her eyes about before adding, with a lift of her shoulders, “At the mercy of a barbarian.”
Rolf shook his head. It was clear that she would find it hard to see him as anything other than the worst kind of savage. Had not she seen her father and kinfolk lying dead by his weapon or those of his fellow Norsemen? A Celtic female would not understand that a man must fight to attain his place in life. Must win or perish. Some Norse females chose to become shield maidens and were prepared to fight beside the men, and even those who did not go to battle knew that it was a necessary part of life, and death was to be expected.
Now was not the time to discuss this. He tired of arguing with her. Carefully, he took her hand, feeling the trembling that shook her entire body. “Let me prove to you that I am only a barbarian when in battle. Come, let us sit.” With a gentle pull, he led her to his bed. It seemed that she made a decision, for she put up little fight, letting him push her down. Sitting beside her, he turned her head with a palm on her soft cheek. Although her eyes still showed her apprehension, she held her head proudly.
“I have found that it is best to accept what cannot be changed in this life. If I could wish time returned to where it was when my men and I beached our vessel on the shores of your homeland, and the need to fight with your father and his good men had not been necessary, then perhaps I would.” He paused as he stared into her eyes.
“Then why did you do this?” she asked, so low he barely heard the words.
Rolf shrugged. “It is as I explained, we men fight our battles. Often, we win and sometimes we lose. It has always been so and always will, I think. But then we would never have met, and it was the fates that brought us together.” She seemed surprised by his words, and truth was he had surprised himself, for never in his life had he spoken so to a woman. Certainly, never to a woman he desired such as he desired her.
As gently as his passion allowed, he pushed the shift aside to reveal the pure skin of her shoulder. Skin he burned to touch. If she fought him now, he would surely die. To his astonishment, instead of pulling away, she reached out and lay her small hand on his chest. Was she giving him a sign that she wished him to continue. Being so unused to an unwilling female coming to his bed, Rolf felt much as he had when his father, in his wisdom, first brought a woman to him many years ago. That female had been many moons older than he, and very experienced in the ways of pleasing a man, especially a boy, untutored as he was then.
He knew that how he behaved towards her at this moment would set how she would react to him in the future, and if she rejected his touch now, or was repulsed by him, then he would have lost her forever. That thought brought terror—and surprised him so utterly that for a moment he simply stared at her in confusion. Any other female would be beneath him now and he would be taking what was rightfully his. This Celtic woman was making him behave in a manner that was so unusual for him the thought hit him that perhaps she was a shaman or witch.
Many tales were told around the fire by the old men of his village—sagas about the women who practiced their witchcraft and the wiles they possessed to force men to act strangely. He certainly was acting as never before. Rolf shook his head and stood. Without his gaze leaving hers, he began to cast his clothing aside. When down to his breeches he noticed her eyes seemed to focus on his chest where the mat of hair was now damp with his sweat. The tremor in her hands was plain for him to see, but now was not the time to falter. His fingers moved to the band around his breeches and slowly he pushed them down and kicked them away.
* * *
Brigid ran her tongue over lips that had become dry while she watched him remove his clothing. Now that he was naked before her, the evidence of his desire plain for her to see, a strange feeling overcame her fear, a feeling such as she had never known. She could not put a name to this sudden thrill that ran through her. Was it simply the terror she felt before, now combined with fear of the unknown? Of course, she knew what he intended to do, had been instructed on the ways of men and what was expected of her when this moment arrived. But she had expected it to be on her marriage bed and with a man of her father’s choosing. And with a man she was well acquainted with, not a man who held her captive, and a Norseman at that.
As he moved closer until she could feel the heat coming from his large body, ever part of her body began to shake. To her surprise, his hands went to her shoulders and then slid down to lift her to stand before him, still keeping a space between them. His grip was gentle, and Brigid tried to ignore his nakedness—a difficult task with his upper body right in front of her eyes, and his lower body so near but still not touching hers.
“You know what I expect of you, Brigid?” he asked. When she gave a slight nod of the head, he went on, “It would be best for you if you are compliant. I promise not to hurt you any more than I must. You know what I mean, do you not? You are still a maiden who has never known a man.” Saying that, he stared hard at her as if a thought occurred to him. “You are still virginal are you not?”
So, taken aback by such a question, it was her turn to gaze at him. It had never occurred to her that he would suspect her of already coupling with a man. No point in denying it, he would learn the truth soon enough. “Of course,” she said low. “I am of high birth and under normal circumstances would have remained chaste until my bridal night.”
That seemed to satisfy him, although why he should be concerned about her lack of maidenhood was a mystery. Surely a heathen would take whatever female he desired, regardless of whether she was a maiden or not. After a small nod, he reached down and took the hem of her shift in his hands, slowly lifting the garment. Once it was above her head, he threw it to join his clothing scattered about the floor. Brigid hastily covered as much of her body as she was able to with her arms.
He would have none of that, and carefully took her arms in his hands—hands that were roughened, doubtless by the heavy toil of life on a vessel. As he ran those hands down to her fingertips to raise them to his shoulders, she felt every bump and groove on his skin. Brigid shivered, but not with cold. The warmth coming from his body was sufficient to warm her to the core. No doubt it was his closeness as he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her forward until they met flesh to flesh that brought heat to her body. Deep inside there was also a sense of joy that he was no pampered boy who never needed to know what hard work was, or never had the inclination to help his servants perform their chores.
Despite her brain advising her to fight him, her body obviously held other notions as it reacted in an unusual way. Her breasts suddenly felt heavier, the tips of them stiffening to match the hardness of his manhood, now pressing on her stomach. With a gasp, she allowed him to pull her closer and then his head bent, and his mouth covered hers.
It was as it was the first time he touched her amid the waves when the sea washed over them. Now a very different feeling rushed over her as all thought fled, to be replaced by such a feeling of rapture, Brigid wanted to cry out. When he reached down to lift her, she allowed him to lay her back onto the furs covering his pallet. Without words, he came down beside her, his eyes not leaving hers, before he covered her mouth again. Now he had one leg half covering her body and the sensation of his body hairs against her skin made her shiver even more.
The wind that blew up earlier now howled around the fire hole in the roof, making an eerie noise to match the raging tempest within her, as his work-roughened hand began to journey over her heated body. Beginning at her shoulder, he traced a path down across the breast that seemed to be reaching towards him, eager for his touch. One fingertip lingered there for endless moments until the tip ached and seemed to harden even more. Unable to hold it in, Brigid moaned. This seemed to please him for he smiled as he increased his caresses. When his fingers moved lower, running across her belly, it seemed that she held her breath as she waited for him to reach that part of her now throbbing in anticipation and need.
When he reached his goal, all around them vanished, to be replaced by such a rapturous burst of pleasure that Brigid could not help but react and move her body to match the rhythm of his caress. Then his mouth, hot and wet, began to suckle her breast and Brigid almost screamed with the ecstasy this brought about. This was not what she had expected or anticipated. Was this what he meant when he advised her earlier to be compliant? Surely no woman could resist or fight such an onslaught of emotion.
Brigid was in a daze of passion and need, without quite knowing what she yearned for, but when he moved to position himself above her, a tiny spark of her former anxiety returned. She was now moving into another realm and without a doubt from this time forward she would somehow be a changed woman. She thought he muttered, “Sorry,” in the moment before his lips covered hers again and he began to penetrate her body.
All previous feelings of passion and desire fled as the first sharp stab of pain made her cry out. Pushing at his chest, she called out his name, but although he stilled, he did not pull away. “This is the only time. I promise, after tonight, it will get better,” he whispered as he ran his fingers down her cheeks before sucking at the tears that dampened her face. “And by my gods I promise I will never willingly hurt you ever again as long as we both live.”