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

down on the bed, fiddling with the bearskin covers. To stop it hurting, he glanced up at Ifay, as she’d made him feel better. If he invited her into his bed she couldn’t refuse, but ... He’d just won her trust, and he didn’t want to scare her off again. He stood up.
    “ I just have to go and – and - do something. Will you be alright here?”
    “ Of course. I am always alright.” She smiled. He couldn’t just leave, so he wandered towards her, shifting from foot to foot in front of her.
    “ I’ll be back in a few hours.”
    “ Why are you telling me? I am a slave, remember? What you do is no business of mine.”
    He hesitated, then strode out, cursing himself, feeling frustrated, unsatisfied.
     
    *  *  *
     
    Saehild headed out of the village, but walked into her sister and nephew, carrying a bundle of kindling.
    “ What’s wrong?” asked Aelfwyn, shading her eyes against the sun, warmer now as the spring was at its height.
    “ Nothing. I’m fine.”
    “ Is it Bjarni?”
    “ No!” She turned her head away, impatient to go.
    “ Because if you leave him alone too much, he’ll stray.”
    “ What do you know about it? How dare you judge me and Bjarni?”
    “ Because you’re acting like a fool. You need to be a better wife.”
    A couple of passers-by stared, but it didn’t affect Saehild.
    “ I don’t care! Leave me alone! Go back to your perfect little house and carry on with your perfect duties. It’s enough for you, but not for me!” She tossed her hair and flounced off.
    How dare her sister interfere with her life? How dare her husband play around with a slave? Wasting her hand cream. She’d show them. She didn’t need any of them. She lived her own life now.
     
    *  *  *
     
    In a dark cave, yet another of those hidden in the hillside, all the men took it in turn to drink from the cup passed round by Ljotr. The dark red liquid simmered, but it didn’t put his brothers off.
    Saehild turned her nose up at it though.
    “ Go on,” he murmured. “It’s like the wine we drink, only better.”
    She took a sip, then a gulp. What did it remind her of? Something bitter, but with a spicy after-taste, like parsley followed by black pepper. Ljotr drew her gently to the centre of the room, and his brothers encircled her.
    Standing in the middle of the twenty, she looked at each in turn, still not used to seeing clean-shaven men. Some had completely smooth chins, some the beginnings of stubble. Ljotr stood among them, smiling, a complete contrast with his longer hair and beard. They all paused, ready for something, watching her.
    She slowly undid the brooches holding up her apron dress, to see what they would do. The first let the side of the dress sag, then the other allowed the whole piece to drop to the floor, leaving just her under-dress and tunic.
    The men gasped and some stepped forward but she raised her hand.
    “ You must all do what I do before I can choose one of you.”
    In haste, they took off their tunics and she admired the sight. Men of all shapes and sizes. Could they be her slaves? A quiver of excitement began inside her, not entirely sexual, but something else.
    She removed her under-dress easily, as Bjarni had paid for the best quality linen he could afford.
    The men exchanged glances in confusion, then the bolder ones began removing their trousers and boots. Saehild stood in her cream tunic, which reached to just below her knees. Her golden hair swung loose as she shook it out, and the men gulped in unison, some sliding their hands to their erect cocks. She slowly removed her tunic, little by little, looking round at their intense expressions, and by the time she raised it over her head, they were all caressing themselves.
    She posed in the middle of the circle, enjoying their attention. How long since she had been admired by so many? It must have been before her wedding to Bjarni a year ago. The bounty of admirers stopped the minute she married him, like a bereavement, or