Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane) Read Online Free PDF Page A

find a woman who couldn’t refuse, after so many of Saehild’s taunts, he finished after a few thrusts. He relaxed on top of Ifay’s slender, brown frame, the days of frustration gone, his mind clear.
    Wriggling out of her, he glanced at her face. Biting her lip, but not in pleasure, her eyes tight shut, a tear trickling down one cheek. His stomach churned. He’d never made a woman cry with lovemaking before; they usually enjoyed it, begged for more. But slaves shouldn’t matter. He stood, fastening his trousers, unable to tear his glance from her set, tense face.
    “ I’ve finished with you.” He cleared his dry throat. “You can get up now.”
    Ifay opened her eyes but they didn’t meet his.
    “ Why are you men all the same?” she muttered. “You must have your way. Never mind how the woman feels.” She pulled down her dress and, keeping her head down, crept to her corner of the hut.
    Bjarni slumped onto the bed. Here was another woman thinking he was just the same as all the others, nothing special, dull. But he should be proud of himself. He’d asserted his manhood and place in the household, so why did he feel sick? Slaves usually had sex with their masters, so she must be used to it by now. He shouldn’t care. Gritting his teeth, he straightened his clothes, smoothed down his hair and beard, then strode out.
     
    *  *  *
     
    Ifay sat alone, so it didn’t matter if she allowed herself to cry. Her shoulders shook and tears poured silently down her cheeks.
    But someone knocked on the door. Couldn’t she even have a few minutes to herself?
    The dark haired woman - what was her name? Ale something? - stood on the doorstep again with her baby.
    “ My master and mistress are not here.” She avoided the woman’s eyes.
    “ Oh. Can I come in anyway?” asked Aelfwyn.  “I’d like a few minutes’ rest. Can I have a drink?” She sat down on a chair.
    Ifay fetched a cup of ale without saying anything and carried on preparing the meal.
    “ Do you like working here? My sister and her husband are kind people."
    Ifay made a face to herself.
    “ Do they treat you well?”
    “ They are just the same as my other owners. Better than some, worse than others.”
    “ Oh.”
    Why couldn’t this woman just be quiet and go away? She continued with her work, turning her back as much as possible. When she sneaked a glance, the baby suckled at his mother, who gazed at him.
    Tears pricked Ifay’s eyes. She was the same age. Why couldn’t she have met a man to make her happy and give her a normal life? She chopped fiercely at a carrot.
    “ What’s wrong?” called Aelfwyn.
    “ Nothing, madam.”
    “ Why are you crying? Do you miss your home?”
    That made her cry even more, quietly so as not to disturb her visitor.
    “ Does my sister mistreat you? She can be unkind.”
    “ I hardly see her. It’s the master who ...” Ifay bit her lip. How weak she had become.
    “ Bjarni? He’s always been the kindest brother to me.”
    “ He is not kind to me, though. Sorry, please forget I said that.”
    “ What did he do?”
    “ Nothing. He is just - just - the same as all other men.”
    Aelfwyn paused. “Sit down with me for a minute and take a rest from your duties. I won’t tell anyone.” She could think of a few things Bjarni might have done.
     
    *  *  *
     
    In Ljotr’s secret shelter in the woods, Saehild could feel the cloth against her eyes, the soft fur of the bearskin covers, the scratchy heather beneath her naked body. She could hear him moving around in the dark silence nearby and trembled to imagine what he was doing.
    Wetness enveloped her nipple - his mouth? She felt the prickling of a beard, then teeth nibbled at it and traced their way down her ribcage, her stomach, her thighs, where his tongue wriggled in the hair between her legs.
    She twitched and reached out for him, finding his shoulder and digging her nails in. His tongue moved slowly down between her legs, inside her just a little bit,