Mastered By the Viking King by Lily Harlem

Chapter 13

“Why have you visited me, King Njal?” the seer asked, rocking back and forth, fiddling with a necklace of bird bones.

“Today, I have great news: the safe return of my brother, Leif.” Njal squeezed Leif’s shoulder. “But also, terrible news.”

“But the village in Wessex was burned.” The seer sighed. “I know of this.”

Njal hesitated. Had word got up the hill to the seer quicker than he had? Or had the wise old man—who had the ear of the gods—known all along? “Aye, seer. Did you know that would happen?”

“I saw a bountiful harvest under a blood-red sky. Men who spoke not our language, but another took the blood from the sky and stained the soil with it.”

Leif looked at Njal and raised his eyebrows.

“I seek vengeance,” Njal said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table between him and the seer. Heat from the stack of candles licked over his face. “I must have vengeance.”

“As any king should.” The seer nodded. “But beware the…”

“The?”

“Beware the god of the sea. He is restless, he is itchy for death.” The seer rolled his shoulder and twisted his face as if uncomfortable. “His appetite is big even though he has eaten recently?”

“Aye,” Leif tutted. “Two fine warriors, just days ago.”

The seer pointed at Leif. “You must make a sacrifice to him, to all the gods.”

“I will.”

“And you.” The seer angled his crooked finger at Njal. “You are a good man, but can you be a great king?”

“I want to be.” Njal raised his chin. “My people believe I am.”

“It is what you believe, in here.” The seer banged his chest. “And the gods, they see what is in here. You must do what you think is right. Follow the course fate has laid out for you.”

“But how do I know that course?”

“How do we know anything, King Njal?”

“I came to you for answers.” Njal’s irritation was growing, scraping over his skin and twisting his guts. “You have told me nothing.”

“I have told you what I see.” His milky eyes stared straight ahead. “The sea god is hungry.”

“In the name of Odin.” Njal stood. “Let’s go, Leif. We have many things to do.”

Leif pressed a coin into the seer’s hand and stood.

“Oh, and my king…” The seer coughed, clearing his throat.

“Aye?” Njal tightened his cloak in preparation for the walk home through the forest.

“Beware of storytellers.”

“Storytellers? You mean when I get to Wessex, I will be told a saga—and not the truth?”

“I cannot begin to explain. All I know is once again you must beware of storytellers. Now, go. I am tired. It has been a long day; the gods have filled my ears and my mind.” He yawned. “I must sleep for a long time.”

Leif stooped and placed a big log on the fire in the corner of the drafty cabin. “Sleep well, wise one.”

“I never sleep well. The gods are there in my dreams talking, probing, asking questions. Their riddles never quiet.”

Njal wished the gods would speak more clearly to the seer. It would make life much easier. Because now he was wondering exactly what story King Egbert would make up about the farm. Would he deny all involvement? Claim rebels had taken out their anger on the Viking farmers? Njal didn’t know, but the sooner he got to Wessex—and started demanding answers—the better.

He stooped, bowing his head against the hail and made his way down the hill along the forest path.

“The seer’s words will become clear,” Leif said. “I am sure of it.”

“So am I, but it is always with hindsight. I want to know what is going to happen, not what has happened.” He paused. “Wolf.”

A long, sorrowful howl echoed above the wind.

“We should get more furs,” Leif said.

“We haven’t time to hunt before we travel. We’ll make do.” Njal carried on down the hill. Elk tracks crossed their path, and he wished he’d made time to hunt since the snow had fallen. He’d been so caught up in his new wife, in sex—and exploring her willing little body—that he’d thought of little else.

He smiled. The chill wind couldn’t take away the warmth in his soul. Every other woman he’d ever been with had been leading him to Tove. She was the queen his heart beat for. She was the breath in his lungs, the cunny around his cock. She would be every beat of an oar as he journeyed over the sea.

Halsgrof came into view. Njal anticipated a horn of mead, the feast, his wife’s naked body beside his when they took to their bed later. He’d have to make the most of her. Soon he’d be gone—his cock as lonely as he would be without her.

The Great Hall was a hive of activity, Wanda, Halfdan, and other workers busying around like bees. He spotted Tove beside her throne, setting out plates of food on a small table that was just for Knud and Forde.

He smiled and admired her rump.

His sons loved her already, as did he.

Where are they?

Leif handed him a horn of mead. “Here, brother. Drink to our vengeance.”

“Aye, to vengeance!” He held up the horn, then drank deep. His attention slid to the shadowy corners of the barn. In one he spotted his sons. They were huddled together, and appeared to be listening with rapture to a hooded stranger.

“Your sons,” Leif said, also noticing them. “Who are they with?”

“I do not know.” He stomped over the trough fire, not caring about the heat from the embers. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice booming.

The hooded man looked up. A weather-worn face Njal had never seen before.

“Who are you?” Njal demanded again.

“I am Gorm.”

“He is telling us a saga about a serpent that is as big as the earth,” Knud said. “And he is a very cunning, very clever serpent.”

“As are all serpents.” Njal drained his horn. “You are Gorm of…?” This man wasn’t local. He’d never seen him before.

“I am of the mountains, the valleys, the fjords, and the forest.” Gorm waved his arm through the air. “I sleep where I find myself each night. My feet take me where they want to take me.”

Njal’s jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. “You are a wanderer.”

“Some might say that,” Gorm chuckled. “But not all who wander are lost.”

“You need to get lost now,” Leif said, reaching for the man’s upper arm and dragging him to his feet. “The king does not like wanderers.”

Gorm staggered under Leif’s rough handling. “I am doing no harm. I am entertaining young boys.”

“I do not wish you anywhere near my sons.” Njal spun around. “Who let this man into the Great Hall?”

Wanda studied her feet.

Halfdan turned to the fire and stirred a huge pot of broth, a job he wouldn’t normally do.

“I did.”

Njal stared at Tove. Had he heard right? Surely not. His ears must be broken. He’d told her he would not tolerate wanderers in Halsgrof. He’d been very specific about it.

He shook his head. “My queen.” His brow creased. “What are you saying?”

“I did it. I let him in.” She straightened and tipped her chin. “The hail was bruising his old skin. He was in need of food and shelter, and in return would tell the boys sagas while I prepared for the feast.”

And in the name of all the gods she didn’t appear in the least bit remorseful.

“I cannot… believe… you disobeyed me this way.” He fought to keep his temper.

“I didn’t disobey you, I—”

“You did!” he shouted. “As true as I stand here now, you disobeyed me. You cannot deny it.”

Her eyes widened, her jaw tensed, but still she held his gaze.

He spun around. “Get this man out. Take him to the boundary and banish him. If he comes back, slice off his head—inch by inch—and feed it to the wolves.”

“Aye, King.” Leif nodded. “Come, wanderer, you walked the wrong way when you came to Halsgrof.”

“What? No… This is not my fate. I—”

“Quiet!” Njal roared. “And you!” He gripped both boys’ clothing, tugging them to their feet. “Go with Wanda. I want you out of my sight, too.”

Frode whimpered and ran to Wanda. Knud hesitated a moment, his little lips pouting, then he did the same.

Wanda scooped them close, tucking them into her tunic. Quickly, she left the Great Hall.

He pointed at Tove. “Go to our chamber. I will deal with you there.”

“But—”

“Go!” His growl hurt his throat but he hurt inside more. His wife, his sweet, innocent wife had let a wanderer into their home. A man, who—if he was like the last wanderer that came to Halsgrof—could take everything away from him in a heartbeat.

Njal wasn’t prepared to go through that pain again, or take any risks with Tove. She was too special to him. She’d melted his heart when he’d thought it frozen forever.

He was angry at her, scared for himself. His energy bubbled inside him, like the hot springs bursting to be free of the earth.

Tove strode past him, chin still annoyingly lifted, her shoulders down, footsteps clipping the floor.

“Do not start the feast without your king and queen,” he barked at Halfdan.

“We won’t, m’lord.” He bowed. “You have my word.”

Njal dragged at his cloak, tossed it aside, then followed his disobedient queen.

His palm was already tingling in anticipation of the hard punishment he’d give her.

* * *

“What if I had not been here?” Njal demanded, yanking the curtain into place so hard it nearly came off its wooden pole.

“You were here.” Tove’s heart was thudding.

He stormed up to her, nose to nose. “Why are you so unremorseful?”

“Because.” She paused, swallowing, trying to stay composed in the face of his anger. “I saw an old man in a hailstorm who needed food and shelter. He was willing to repay that kindness.”

“By spinning sagas to my sons?” He huffed. “Who knows what he filled their heads with. The last wanderer that came by was a liar, and a cheat, and a thief.”

“I am sure that old man… oh!” Tove staggered as her tunic was ripped clean off her chest.

Njal yanked her bodice again, her breasts coming free.

“You will be punished. You can expect no less.”

“Njal. I am sorry.”

“Words are not enough… and I don’t believe you are sorry.” He continued to drag at her clothing, ripping it with haste.

Tove’s stomach churned. She’d never seen him so angry. She’d been a fool to think she’d get away with letting a stranger into the Great Hall.

Cool air washed over her bare skin. He gripped her wrist and dragged her to the table of treasures.

In one fast movement he cleared the surface, swiping at it with his free hand. An empty horn, an earthenware bowl, and a comb clattered to the floor, spreading wide. A mug of mead splashed up the wall.

“Bend over.”

He didn’t wait for her to do his bidding. He pushed her to the cold surface, flattening her breasts with the weight of his hand upon her back.

“Oh… please, no…” she gasped, her bottom tingling already.

“You should have thought of the consequences,” he snarled by her ear. “The consequences for your rump!”

He swiped it, hard, with the flat of his hand.

She jolted forward, biting on her bottom lip. Heat flared, her sex clenched.

He stooped and retrieved something from a basket beneath the table.

Her breath caught. “No, not that… Njal. My king.”

“You will take what I give you, and you will learn this lesson.” He held up the flogger, one used for stubborn horses whose will would not be broken. It was a stick bound tightly in leather; the leather was then split into many strands, each one a whip.

“You will wish you never set eyes on the wanderer.”

“I already wish that! Please, I’m sorry, I… ah!”

He brought the flogger down on her ass. It created a shockingly hot sting that had her rising onto her tiptoes and tears springing to her eyes.

“It’s too much…” she gasped.

“It is what you deserve. Take it.”

He brought the flogger down again, layering up the pain. Her spine arched and her cunny quivered as her sweet spot rubbed against the wooden table.

A tear escaped, running swiftly down her cheek. How would she stand this searing heat? There was no escape; he had her pinned down, she was no match for his bulk.

“Your bottom will be on fire by the time I have finished.”

He flogged her again, and again. Each strike had her crying out and jolting forward.

A dampness formed between her legs, slickening her thighs. The high-pitched crack of the wicked leather hitting her flesh rang in her ears as her body danced in pain.

She thought briefly of how humiliated she’d be if anyone walked in now and saw her, the queen, naked and bent over, her bottom being so severely punished with something that was meant for animals. The image filled her with mortification and shame, tears welling in her eyes.

“Oh, please, Njal, no more!” She could hardly speak for sobbing.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

And then it stopped. She dragged in a breath.

“This is what you deserve,” he grunted.

But there was little respite. The flogger struck again, the strands curling over her skin, sharp slices of deep heat.

She groaned and her body tensed. Her body temperature rose with each stroke of the cruel leather. She was sweating, her mouth dry. “Njal… oh…”

“Are you on fire yet?”

“Aye, my king… please, no more.”

For a moment, she thought he’d hear her plea, but then the flogger resumed, smacking down on her bottom, covering each buttock every time. Tove hadn’t known a wife would have to endure such agonies.

She wept, her throat tight, heart racing. She clenched her buttocks but that didn’t help. It was impossible to release the tension when the thwacks were landing so swiftly.

He was breathing hard as he loomed next to her.

“Oh, oh, my king.” How much more could she take? Her ass really was on fire.

Suddenly, the flogger was flung across the room, and he quickly moved behind her, gripping her poor, burning ass cheeks in his big hands.

“You will take this now.” His voice was ragged.

“What… oh…!” His cockhead probed her entrance. Her eyes flew open and she stared at the timber wall.

“And this is not for your pleasure,” he said, still clasping her sore ass. “It is my cock claiming your cunny, it is part of your punishment. You will not find pleasure as I take mine.”

Her sex, fluttering and very wet, was already reacting to her husband’s cock.

He grunted, gripped her tighter, and drove forward.

She was trapped against the table as his cock filled her utterly. He was so big, so dense and heavy. A wail caught in her throat, her breath driven from her lungs.

Abruptly, he withdrew, then thrust inside again, even deeper this time.

“Oh!” Her sweet spot was dragged on the table as his cock rode over a deep place inside her that begged for more.

“Mine,” he grunted. “Mine—and you will obey.”

“Aye! Aye!”

He picked up the pace, the thrusting of his hips now wild, feral. He wasn’t giving her any of the usual attention, solely focused on his pleasure now.

But somehow this had Tove’s body reacting all the quicker to the pressure inside her. It was growing so quickly, his cock working her body into a frenzy.

“Njal,” she gasped, unsure if she’d be able to obey him, and not release her pleasure. “Oh…!”

He released her ass cheeks and leaned forward, his chest to her back, his weight pressing against her sore bottom. “Your body is mine. Your heart is mine.” He paused to thrust. “And so is your future on this earth—and in Valhalla.”

“Aye! I am… yours.”

He bit her ear, not hard, but enough to stop her from moving her head.

Still, he curled his hips under, his cock stabbing deep each time. It was so thick at the root, stretching her entrance. She was sure he’d come soon.

So would she, and there was nothing she could do about it; the pleasure was too intense. His rough handling of her, his claiming of her with such wild passion, had her losing control.

He released her ear, straightened, and dragged her onto his cock.

Tove recognized the grunts of his release, and gave into her own. She knew her orgasm was forbidden, but she hoped her transgression would go unnoticed as he succumbed to his own.

Oh, but she was spasming around his cock, tightening and releasing.

He growled, a low guttural sound, and continued to plunge into her as his seed filled her cunny.

Had he noticed? Tove didn’t know, and she was too caught up in the bliss spreading over her body to care.

Suddenly, he stopped and withdrew, stepping away, leaving her cold and quivering.

She dropped her forehead to the table as his release slid down her thighs. Her sweet spot was pulsing, her sex trembling.

“Get dressed,” he said breathlessly. “Your people are waiting for their feast.” He stepped into her line of vision, tucking himself away. “And you look a mess, Queen Tove.”

“Aye, my king.” She straightened, her knees weak and wobbly. “I will be there.”

His jaw tightened as he studied her. “Did you…?”

“No.” She shook her head, pressing her legs together. “I swear. I took my punishment, that is all.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed, his lips a thin line. “Do not be long.”

He strode across the room, then disappeared through the curtain.

Tove wrapped her arms around herself in a hug. Her breath came fast and hard, her ass burning as if she’d sat upon hot embers, her body drenched in sweat.

She must never let Njal know she’d found her pleasure during her punishment. Goodness only knew what new way he’d find to reprimand her.