Free Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane) by Lily Byrne

stupid.”
    “ I don’t know why you’re keeping me prisoner anyway. Are you going to present me to the Jarl and get me executed for killing Eadbald?”
    She shook her head.
    “ I did you a favour. You’re much happier with the brawny warrior than you would’ve been with the fat potter.”
    She blushed.
    “ I promise, I’ll never come back once I’ve got my -”
    “ Your what?”
    “ Something I need from the cave. Go on! Let me go and you’ll never see me again. I won’t come back to this shit-filled place.”
    She remained silent.
    "Or, you could come with me and have a more exciting life. You needn't leave your baby. We could take him too."
    He eyed her, half smiling.
    She glanced round at her home. Alvi slept in his cot. She’d swept the floor and the most exciting task waiting for her was washing the dirty dinner plates.
    "I can't run away with you," she shouted, surprising herself with her anger. "I love my husband and my child and my life. What the hell could you offer me?"
    He smiled even more. "Are you sure you're happy here? Doesn't sound like it to me."
    She glared at him, then Alvi began to cry, and she rushed over, all thoughts of Kjartan forgotten as she fed her beloved baby.
     
    *  *  *
     
    That afternoon, Ifay gently cleaned the minor spear wound on Bjarni’s outer thigh, her touch light and tender. How careless he’d been to let Solmund injure him during their demonstration fight. First Ljotr last year, now Solmund. Maybe he was truly weakening and losing his skills.
    As she dabbed and patted his thigh, his head swam. He tried to think of boring things like axe hacking practice this morning, and cleaning his boots after a muddy walk, but he couldn’t. The exotic slave girl rubbing at his thigh made his cock spring up. He put his hand over it, trying to press it down. Had she noticed?
    “ There.” She finished cleaning and sat back on her heels. “Is there - anything else - you need, master?” She glanced from Bjarni’s face to his lap, her brow furrowed, biting her lip.
    With a huge effort, he pulled on his trousers and stood up.
    “ No, there isn’t. But your hands are so rough.”
    “ Oh. Oh - I - I’m sorry, master.”
    “ Call me Bjarni. I’m going to do something for you instead. Stay there.”
    He picked up the largest bowl he could find and strode out to the stream to fill it, ignoring the difficulty he was having walking.
    When he came back, she cowered on the bed, her eyes huge.
    “ Have I displeased you? Have I -”
    “ Shh. Show me your hands.”
    She held them out, shaking as he examined them. Darkest brown backs, warm pink palms. But he didn’t like them being so rough and calloused. She worked too hard.
    He warmed the water by the fire, then sat down next to her. He put her hands in the warm water and she gasped with pleasure.
    “ Keep them there.”
    He went to Saehild’s secret store of beauty treatments. She thought he didn’t know of her obsession with anything which would make her skin smoother or her hair silkier. Picking up some handmade soap and a jar, he took them back to Ifay, who obediently still held her hands in the water, her glance following his every move.
    Taking her right hand, he smoothed soap onto it. Saehild spent hours charming the soap maker for a free supply, but he thought for once Ifay should benefit. He rubbed the lather over the dry back of her hand, the dark brown skin so thin that the bones showed prominently.  Scars too, from previous punishments. Not by him, though.
    Her nails were short and filled with dirt, so he took a cloth and cleaned it away, intent on his task.
    “ Master? I mean – er - why are you doing this?” Ifay’s hand shook.
    “ Because I want to. Keep still.” He smiled at her. Had she given a tiny smile in return? He looked again, but her glance slid away.
    Turning her hand over, his eyes widened at the contrast: two colours on one hand. Her pink palm was lined and dry, roughened by endless manual work.