Ragnar the Murderer Page 8

  “There, now we’ll be warmer.” He stood up. “Take your wet shoes off, kisa.”

  She had forgotten her shoes in her relief at being alone with him. Quickly removing them, she decided to remove her leggings as well. They were wet from the stream and she could take them off under her skirt with modesty. Looking up, she saw Ragnar observing her surreptitiously. He blushed when she noticed. Gazing at each other, she held out her hand and drew him towards her as she moved backwards onto the makeshift bed.

  Tiene

  “I don’t want Eadbald to be the first,” Aelfwyn whispered. “I want you.” She lay back on the bed, pulling him down with her. He kissed her gently, on her lips, her cheeks, her neck, then she loosened his clothes. They were both so wrapped up against the early summer night that it took a while to undress, but they didn’t delay and were soon naked under the bear skins.

  She pressed herself against his firm body, lightheaded with lust, and he pulled her on top of him. Her breasts fell gently onto his chest, so soft against his hard muscles. She could feel his erection pushing at her thigh and teasing wetness surged between her legs as she wriggled on him, quivering with desire. He held her tightly and rolled carefully over, so he was poised over her, supporting himself so as not to squash her. Her dark hair spread out on the bear skin, she breathed in his wavy auburn locks as they fell in her face.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, hanging on to the last minute, knowing if he didn’t stop now, he couldn’t.

  “Yes, I’m sure!” Her voice squeaked with desperation, she had to have him, she couldn’t wait.

  He edged himself inside her, half worried about hurting her, half wanting to just thrust it in, not care about her feelings and just satisfy his long suppressed lust. He could never hurt her though!

  She gave a low moan, on the verge of animal and he shuddered with the effort to keep still.

  “Alright?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Yes! Just do it, please, please!” She wanted to feel like she had last time, she had to! His fingers had not been enough, she wanted the ultimate, the prize just out of reach. She spread her legs wider, feeling she would explode if he didn’t move.

  The last shreds of his self-control disappeared and he thrust into her as hard as he could, again and again, feeling free at last.

  She writhed with pleasure, trying to open her legs more and more to let him in. She couldn’t get enough of him inside her. He rubbed every part of her, scratching every itch she’d never known she had. Unaware of the alluring sounds she was making, she could only hear his groans, feel his body all over her, smell him.

  His muscles glistened, every part of him hard, the promise of their previous time together coming true. She was overcome by the feeling of fullness, as if something she had been missing without knowing fitted there at last. She arched against him, her hair fanning out on the pillow, her eyes shut with satisfaction, primitive, animal sounds coming from her parted lips.

  He had wanted her for so long that it became too much very quickly. His seed burst into her after only a few deep thrusts, filling her with his heat and wetness to add to her own. He carefully moved off her, his heart pounding.

  Both breathing hard, she grinned at him while he lay by her side. She felt like she had been cleaned, her head felt light and she couldn’t think clearly. Whatever petty little events had she been worried about before? Everything would all be fine, there were no problems she couldn’t solve.

  He pulled the bear skin over them both and they snuggled down for a while. She felt a bit shy, but when she cuddled up to him, he was keen to hold her.

  “I can’t marry Eadbald.”

  “But-your parents. Won’t they force you?”

  “No, they won’t if I really resist. I can manage them if they ostracise me. It is my life, not theirs.”

  “Then I’d marry you. If you don’t object to me as well.”

  “Hm, well, I’d quite like to keep my property for myself, if I get any from my parents. Then there’s my status in the village, a Danish husband might make me unpopular.”

  His face fell.

  “Oh, you’re teasing me! You cruel woman.” He hugged her to him tightly in a bear hug and his cock sprang up, pushing against her thigh.

  She quivered and looked into his eyes, giving consent, a wish, a desire. So he laid her down again and this time, slid himself inside her much more confidently. He moved slowly, teasing her with his deliberate pace, then when she gasped for more, suddenly speeded up, hammering into her until she panted.

  Her heart pounded, she wanted him to get as far into her as he could. She squirmed with desire, stretching her legs apart as far as they would go, then curling them up over his back, disturbing his rhythm.

  But he wasn’t to be put off. He moved slowly again, circling inside her, every move getting so near to a thrust, but tantalisingly resisting.

  She dug her nails into his back, clawing at him, making him catch his breath and pause.

  “Sorry,” she gasped, not wanting to disturb him, fearing he would stop.

  “Don’t be. It doesn’t hurt.” He thrust into her, again and again, so fast that she couldn’t breathe, the air knocked out of her.

  He suddenly realised he was squashing the breath out of her and slowed so she could gasp it in again. Light headed for many reasons, breathlessness being only one, she loved the feel of his weight crushing her.

  He continued slowly for a while, then made a few more quick, hard thrusts, making both of them gasp and cry out in shared pleasure. Then he shuddered and filled her with his heat again, pulsing into her, bonding them together.

  Panting, they lay side by side, then gazed at each other in something like awe.

  “I will never love another man,” she said, running her finger down his cheek, pushing back his hair, which tangled round his face, dark with sweat.

  “And I will never love another woman.” He gulped, an unfamiliar sensation rising in his throat. Was it… emotion? What was the matter with him, allowing a woman to make him weep? What would his comrades say if they saw him?

  She saw it in his eyes and tears gathered in hers.

  “I am your woman. I swear it.”

  “I swear I am your man.” He kissed her gently on the lips and it turned into a long kiss. Then he pulled her against him and they settled down under the bearskin, falling into a satisfied sleep, dark red hair mingling with light brown.

  *

  The next morning, Aelfwyn set off home. Ragnar walked with her as far as they dared towards Byrnstanham, then they parted after very heartfelt kisses. Torn between emotions, she held back tears. Would she see him again? Would she lie with him again? She thought of lying with him and grinned. She had become wise: a woman, no longer a girl. She knew things now. No one could take that knowledge away. She felt as light as a bird’s feather, even though the quivery, wet tenderness between her legs made her take care with each step. But any discomfort there had been worth every precious second.

  At the entrance, an old man sat, the eldest of the village.

  “Good morning, Madam Aelfwyn,” he croaked. “You are about early.”

  She couldn’t help beaming at him, and he gave her a knowing look. Why had he called her Madam? Usually he said Miss Aelfwyn.

  She made her way towards her family hut, feeling giggly and light headed, as if she had been drinking ale the night before.

  Her mother waited in the doorway, watching her progress.

  “Where have you been?” she snapped. “This is the second time you’ve been away at night.”

  Aelfwyn smiled. She couldn’t help smiling at everything, and slumped against the doorpost.

  “What have you been doing?” Cwenburg glared at her, concern growing in her eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

  She shrugged. What a glorious day it was. Summer hurried on its way, leaves lush and green, birds singing, the sun climbing. What did it matter what her mother thought?

  “Aelfwyn!” Cwen
burg led her inside the hut. “Have you been with that Dane?”

  “What Dane?”

  “People have seen you with him. The red haired one. Tell me the truth.”

  Aelfwyn gazed defiantly at her, then looked away. She didn’t realise people knew about her and Ragnar, but village life thrived on gossip.

  Cwenburg tutted. “I’m shocked at your behaviour! It is well that you are to be married tomorrow. I hope we can keep this secret until then. Eadbald is expecting you to be a virgin, not a whore. You must not tell him.”

  “Why, mother? I’m allowed to have some enjoyment before marriage aren’t I?”

  “Your marriage is for your enjoyment. We’ve already lost one daughter to the Danes, we don’t want to lose another!”

  “What are you arguing about?” interrupted Sigulf, arriving for breakfast. He had already helped his father in the fields for two hours, now he needed more food. He grabbed a hunk of rye bread and cheese, and stuffed it into his mouth hungrily.

  “Do you know who Aelfwyn’s Danish lover is?”

  “Er-no- er-“

  “So you do. It’s all been going on behind my back, has it? Aelfwyn and Saehild making merry with Danes while the rest of the family works hard?”

  “No, mother. Aelfwyn is-“

  “She is what? Whatever you know, Sigulf, you must keep it to yourself, or this family will be shamed and outcast. We have already been mocked for Saehild running off with that Dane, we can’t stand yet another daughter doing the same!”

  “But mother, the Danes aren’t bad!”

  “They are. They are violent and dishonourable. My children will marry Anglisc and have decent lives.”

  Sigulf and Aelfwyn exchanged glances and he patted her on the arm. Their mother turned away to bread making.

  Aelfwyn felt like running back to Ragnar then, but her sensible nature knew that this would be very unwise. She turned and strode out of the hut, not knowing where she intended going.

  “Don’t forget we must fit your wedding dress for the last time today,” called Cwenburg after her.

  She ran out of the village, found a thicket of bushes, crawled inside and cried until her eyes were dry and itchy and her breath coming in gulps.

  *

  The day passed slowly. She thought of Ragnar and their night together to take her mind off the wedding, going through her duties as if watching herself from a distance.

  At last bedtime came. She lay in bed with her younger sisters as the darkness enfolded her, still thinking about him and remembering what had happened between them. Oh, how she wanted him again. The thought of Eadbald, his thinning hair, his shifty look, his rotund, flabby body made her feel sick. At last she managed to fall asleep, by thinking that one day, she could divorce Eadbald on grounds of bad treatment, take her recompense and use it to set up home with Ragnar.

  “Wake up girl!” Cwenburg shook her from her dreams, still in the dark of night.

  “What is it mother?”

  The little sisters were waking too, rubbing their eyes and yawning.

  “Get dressed and come with me. Go back to sleep, little ones, it is merely wedding business for Aelfwyn and Mother.”

  Hurrying to obey, Aelfwyn dreaded hearing that Ragnar had been hurt. Had he been so upset at the thought of her marriage he had got into a fight and lost?

  She went to the hearth with her mother.

  “Eadbald is dead,” she hissed. “Murdered most brutally.”

  Aelfwyn gasped, both in shock and relief. Ragnar had not been hurt! But poor Eadbald, he didn’t deserve death.

  “So now, your marriage will not happen, obviously. Promise me you did not lie with that Dane. Promise me!”

  “I-I did not mother.”

  “So any gossiping can be refuted. Oh, my good girl, the reason for your giggling yesterday must have just been excitement about the wedding.”

  “Yes. H-How did Eadbald die?”

  “I don’t know, your father just said brutally. There is much unrest in the village, it doesn’t bode well.”

  In the morning, her father called her to him and they walked out of the village along the path.

  “Eadbald’s throat was cut and a sword thrust into his buttock. It is a Danish way of humiliating an opponent.”

  “W-what are you saying, father?”

  “Your mother tells me you have been seen with a Dane. If he is your lover, he must be a suspect in Eadbald’s death.”

  She gasped. Ragnar surely wouldn’t-would he?

  Endleofan

  Aldulf observed his daughter coolly.

  “This news has spread round the village and the people are angry. Eadbald was a good man and popular. They are angry with the murderer and probably you for inciting the murder.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Oh, leof, why did you get involved with a Dane? Is your sister’s example not enough warning?”

  “I-I can’t help my feelings father. I am made of flesh, not stone.”

  *

  Ragnar had been called to see Jarl Thorvald in his official room. Roused from his bed in the night as mystified as Aelfwyn he went to the Jarl’s hall.

  The Jarl sat in his usual carved seat, the wood worn smooth by generations of his family using it. His room had the only window in the hall, as befitted his status, and the chair stood by it. A door led to the bedroom he shared with his wife. The cooking smells from the hall wafted into the room, and Thorvald took a deep breath of fresh air from the window.

  Ragnar approached and stood awkwardly in front of him.

  “My lord?”

  “Sit.” He gestured to the small bench at the side of the room, so Ragnar obeyed.

  “An eminent Anglian has been murdered. He was betrothed to an Anglisc woman you have been seen with. What do you know about it?”

  “I-I don’t know anything.”

  “Who can vouch for you being in the Huskarlr longhouse all night?”

  Ragnar paused. He hadn’t been on duty, he had been asleep. He used to share a bench with Bjarni but of course he now slept in his hut with his wife. The other Huskarlr had been coming and going, had any of them noticed him?

  “I don’t know. Have you asked?”

  “I wanted to ask you first. Can you swear on your sword you had nothing to do with this murder?”

  “Of course I can! I didn’t murder Eadbald! I wouldn’t do that.” Ragnar suddenly realised he had left his sword, Hauknautr in the longhouse, as he’d rushed so quickly to answer the Jarl’s call. Hauknautr, the only weapon his blood father had left him.

  “How did you know I meant Eadbald?”

  “I-I assumed you meant him-my woman is Aelfwyn, I haven’t any others. She is betrothed to Eadbald.”

  Thorvald gave him a long, cold stare.

  “I will question the others. I hope you are telling the truth as I have always thought of you as a son.” He stood up and strode out, his cloak flapping the dust into eddies as he walked.

  Ragnar remained in the Huskarlr longhouse that day, prohibited from his normal duties until the Jarl’s investigations had been completed.

  He wished some miracle would happen and he and Aelfwyn could live happily ever after, but fantasising wouldn’t get him anywhere.

  He sighed as he cleaned his boots. What had he been thinking of, walking in the stream wearing them? They wouldn’t be the same again, he should have walked with bare feet. He knew well what he had been thinking of, however, and it had come about that night. Such a night would remain with him forever. He smiled at the thought of Aelfwyn, her supple, slim body opening to take him inside, and… But would that be the last time he would see her, hold her, make love to her? He must stop thinking that way, he had to see her again. Eadbald’s death would change everything, surely.

  The Jarl called him again later.

  “I’m sorry to say that no one can say definitely that you were in the longhouse all night. In fact, it is worse than that. One of your comrades saw you stealing out of there i
n the night, is this true?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I cannot say. Is this true?”

  “Of course it isn’t! I was sleeping all night. I had bad dreams but I didn’t leave my bench.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “I dreamt Eadbald took Aelfwyn far away, across the sea, away from me and I never saw her again.”

  “You didn’t dream of murdering him?”

  “No! I didn’t murder him, even in my sleep!”

  The Jarl paused.

  “I am sorry to say that until further investigations are finished, you must be confined in my hall. As you know, there is a room there for those awaiting trial.”

  The Jarl’s bodyguards took Ragnar by the arms and escorted him to the hall, locking him in to a small room off the main one, but fortunately not restraining him. He did not resist, fearing it would suggest guilt, and make him look unworthy of the Jarl’s patronage. But how he wanted to rip himself away and knock them unconscious!

  *

  Talk in the village spread. Aelfwyn’s lover had murdered Eadbald. She had murdered him herself. Her friends had murdered him. Some Danes had murdered him for money. His first wife had come back from the dead to take revenge for his forthcoming marriage. So many rumours.

  Wherever Aelfwyn went, people whispered and turned away.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Eadbald was a good man,” shouted Geatfleda after her.

  Aelfwyn remembered him sniffing her skirt and shuddered. A good man maybe, but not one she desired. Could she go to Ragnar instead? Her heart fluttered at the thought.

  That evening, the thegn called the villagers together. Aelfwyn and her family attended, trying to ignore the hard looks and whispers.

  “I have spoken with Jarl Thorvald. He informs me that the murderer has been apprehended and detained.”

  “Who is it? Who? Who?” called the people.

  “It is Ragnar Long Reach, one of the Huskarlr.” Thegn Framric looked directly at Aelfwyn, who clutched her neck.

  “It cannot be!” she called.

  Jeers and catcalls began, and Aelfwyn’s parents turned to take their children home. The little girls and boys cried, Aelfwyn struggled to hold back tears, and Sigulf glared at the hostile villagers.