Conquered from Within Ch. 04

In the morning, they returned to the hall where most of the men had slept. A few bedrolls were still sitting on the benches along the walls. Beams of light slanted through the smoke from a vent in the thatched roof. At the long table, a few men sat talking and drinking, and a red-haired woman she'd seen the night before sat on a stool by the central hearth, nursing an infant as she tended a pot over the fire.

Bjorn pointed Amelina towards her. "Maybe that woman can teach you how to cook."

He smacked her on the arse and gave her a push, going off to join the men.

Amelina flushed with humiliation as she watched Bjorn take a seat beside his friend. She was no longer a lady who was invited to sit at the table.

Bjorn grabbed the mug the other man was holding and took a deep swig, draining it.

The man punched him in the shoulder and snatched his mug back, then glanced over and beckoned to Amelina.

She walked to the table, swallowing her resentment.

"Fill it," the man grunted, handing her the empty mug.

Bjorn grinned up at her. "Amelina, this is Gunnar."

She bowed her head and took the mug. Submitting to Bjorn in the hall did not have the same thrill as submitting to him in bed. Only until they were wed, she told herself. Then a servant could fetch the ale.

Amelina refilled the mug and delivered it back to Gunnar. Bjorn gave her another smile, but said nothing more, so she returned to the fire with the red-haired woman nursing her babe.

The woman pointed at the bowl of turnips beside her as she sat down. Amelina picked up the knife and began to dice them.

"They like 'em smaller," the nursing woman said.

Amelina looked up. The woman had a thick accent. "You speak English?"

"A wee bit."

"You're from the northern lands then? Pictish?" She had heard of savage clans up there.

"From the north, aye. But of the Gaels. Muirenn of Skye. And yerself?"

"Amelina of Northumbria."

"Yer a lady though?"

"How can you tell?"

Muirenn laughed. "Who butchers turnips like that? An' such fine clean hands."

Amelina froze, feeling foolish. "How do I do it right?"

The woman checked that her babe was secure, then reached over and showed her how to properly dice a turnip.

"I lived in my father's castle up until a fortnight ago," Amelina confessed as she returned to the task after proper instruction.

Muirenn smiled. "Did the northman take ye or charm ye?"

"I was a maiden until last night," she told this woman she'd just met. She was bursting at the seams to share what had happened to her with someone. "He's been good to me. Better than any man I've ever known."

"Aye. A charmer then." Muirenn nodded knowingly as she stirred the coals with a poker, holding the babe to her breast. "Wasn't my luck."

"What's your story?" Amelina asked.

Muirenn glanced around, then leaned over and spoke in a low voice. "They came in the night, up from the sea. We had no time to hide. My father was struck down a'fore me very eyes. I begged the northman that did it to spare me wee brother's life, for he was naught but a bairn, and he told me if I took me cloak and came with him all gentle-like, he'd let the boy run. So I did. And now here I am."

Amelina stared. This was like the horror stories about the northmen she used to hear. She had begun to doubt their veracity, but now another woman was telling it to her from her own lips. "Did he at least wed you?"

Muirenn let out a loud guffaw.

Amelina's cheeks burned. "Can you run away?"

"Run where? Last I saw my village, 'twas in flames."

The babe began to squirm. Muirenn comforted him, helping him latch on to her milk-swollen breast.

As Amelina watched the tiny fist knead at his mother's skin, the thought arrived unbidden: whose son is he? She knew the answer before she finished asking it, and the answer made her stomach turn.

When the babe was happily nursing again, Muirenn looked up. In her eyes, there was a weariness beyond her years. "God sets the road, an' we can only walk it, eh?"

"Is the northman at least good to you?" Amelina asked beneath her breath.

"He doesn't beat me, or try to share me. So good as can be." When Muirenn saw the expression on Amelina's face, her voice gentled. "Aye, seems like fate's been kinder to yerself than me. Come now, tell me yer tale."

Amelina told her of the past fortnight, leaving nothing out. With no priest to forgive her, she could only hope this Gaelic woman would understand.

"Yer a bonnie lass," Muirenn mused when she finished her story. "It's likely a fool's errand, but it's not impossible that ye win his heart. Does he think of ye as his frilla or his thrall?"

"What's a thrall?"

"His slave."

"Oh! He said I'm his frilla. Though I hope to someday become his wife."

Muirenn chuckled.

Amelina's heart sank.

"I'm sorry. I suppose it's not impossible for a gentle-bred lass like yerself. The northmen give ye chance to prove yer worth. Though ye have to prove it in the ways that matter to them, and yer hands are mighty soft, m'lady."

"What do I have to do?" Amelina asked desperately.

"Well, like as not ye'll end up back here by the fire with me in a few months' time, round and full with his bairn, and ye'll just have to settle for being his pet. But if yer set on winning him, my guess is that he fancies a woman who knows her way 'round a blade."

Amelina glanced down at her knife. "Fighting, you mean? Or at the hearth?"

Muirenn shrugged. "Maybe both. Or maybe ye can find some way to fling yer life at the wall for him. They seem to fancy women who're wild that way. Screaming mad, with a berserker's disregard for their lives."

"What's a berserker?"

"Ye don't know?" Muirenn gestured at Bjorn. "Yer man is one of 'em. His name means bear."

She stared, still not understanding.

"Some of their fighting bands that go a' Viking get taken o'er by beast-spirits. Then they tear through everything in their path like wild bears in a bloodlust. The world's never seen the likes of such savagery."

"Bjorn is the gentlest man I've ever known."

Muirenn's lips curved in a smile. "Oh, lassie. The northmen wear two faces, it's best ye learn. Patient and kindly right up until the battle begins. Then they bathe in the blood of their enemies, and tear a man's beating life-blood right out of his neck."

Amelina shivered, looking over at the table where Bjorn was deep in conversation with Gunnar.

Muirenn leaned in and lowered her voice. "Take care ye don't cross him. He may be gentle-like, but you'd best mind that he's yer master. Now that he's bedded ye, ye might start to see the beast that lies beneath."

---

When Amelina and Muirenn had cleared away breakfast, Bjorn came up beside her.

"Ætlar þú að eyða öllum deginum með vini frilla Engliskr?" Gunnar called after him.

Amelina caught the words "Frilla Engliskr". English concubine.

"Ja," Bjorn replied. "Og góðr dagr mun verða."

Amelina gasped in surprise when he swept her up in his arms like a bride. She threw her arms around his neck.

Muirenn gave her a wan smile. Have fun, she seemed to say. While you can.

Bjorn carried her across the courtyard to the guesthouse, shouldering the door open. No one payed them any mind. He could've thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and no one would've raised an eyebrow.

Inside, he set her down on her feet. "Don't turn around."

Apprehension knotted in her stomach, but she did as he commanded. His fingers lifted her hair, brushing her neck. Something was placed around it.

A drop of amber had been draped between her breasts. Amelina fingered its soft golden warmth as he took down her hair. "Is this for me?"

"Mhm." Bjorn kissed the side of her neck.

She melted back against his touch as he undid the laces of her dress, letting herself have whatever gift of happiness this was. He pulled her dress off, then ran his hands over her skin, leaving behind a trail of warmth. Letting herself drift, she followed him over to the bed.

Yet when he pulled her down, he must have read something in her eyes, for he stopped. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Do you not like the necklace? It's true amber."

"I love it."

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing, my lord."

"Did that woman say something to you?"

Amelina dropped her eyes. The Gaelic woman had made her see her place in this new world the way nothing else had.

"Don't listen to thralls, they're always on about something."

"And what am I to you?" The question came out before she could stop it.

"My frilla." He brushed his finger fondly over her nose. "Do you doubt it? You're a free woman. You came freely and you may go freely."

Go where? Back to a father who would sooner see her die than take her back? She touched the amber between her breasts, then covered them with her arms, suddenly aware of her nakedness before this man.

He pulled her wrists apart, baring her to him again. "Shy now?" His hand traced up the curve of her breast, onto the sensitive peak of her nipple.

She flinched away from his touch, a surge of helpless arousal making her nauseous. "Don't." She crossed her arms back over her chest.

"What's wrong?" Bjorn furrowed his brow.

"I'm sorry, I..." She was his woman now, she had to let him. She forced herself to unclasp her arms, offering her bare breasts to him again. "I'm sorry."

He raised his hand, but took her by the chin instead. "You're acting like I beat you. Come now. Did that woman tell you we were all bloodthirsty bears?"

Her eyes betrayed the truth.

"I am, you know." Bjorn grinned. "But it is good to have a bear beside you among wolves."

She did not move as he leaned in and kissed her. He pulled back, brow raised. "My lady. What ails you? I am not going to press you to the bed and take you like a thrall, if that is your fear."

He had called her a lady. Amelina gathered her courage. "How many people have you killed?"

"Was I supposed to keep count?"

"You don't know?"

"You might have asked before you left your father's hall."

She swallowed the sting. "I was reckless."

"And brave. Do you regret it? I can mend that if you'll lie down and let me."

She had been too easily seduced. "That woman told me you've been taken over by beast spirits."

"What if I have?"

A chill ran through her. "That is the Devil's work."

"The All-Father has no business with the Devil."

"All-Father?" She did not think he meant the Father she prayed to.

"Odin. The battle-mad wanderer. Father of the Slain."

Amelina shivered. "So you worship a battle god."

"The All-Father did lay a claim upon me once." Bjorn said slowly. "But it is the Sea-Bright Lady that I pay my dues to now, for it is she who holds the beloved dead."

"A lady god?"

"Ja. And she is the most fierce and beautiful." He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I honor her, but I do not know if she will have me."

Amelina shrank away. He was looking at her with some sort of carnal reverence. "I did not think men would worship a lady god."

"Not all men. But I do."

"But if you honor a lady god..." She faltered. "That woman told me the story of how she came here. I... Bjorn, have you ever taken a woman against her will?"

He let out a long, slow breath. For a moment, she thought he would not answer. Though that was an answer in itself. Then he did.

"I tell you honestly. That, I regret."

His brow furrowed as she grew very still.

"It was years ago. I was angry. Vengeful. Wild. I had borne too many losses, and did not hesitate to inflict them. But when I met her eyes, I couldn't finish. A woman's eyes will cut you to the core, every time."

The silence settled heavily between them.

He shifted. "Yes, like that. Don't look at me like that."

She dropped her eyes.

He moved closer. "It was only once. I have more blood on my hands from the berserker years than I could wash off in a lifetime. But I have knelt beneath the rowan and pledged myself to the Lady. The bear is still in me, but I no longer let it run wild. I now only take that which is given freely."

She had given herself to a heathen who had raped, killed, and pillaged her people. Amelina looked up, desperately wanting to believe in the gentleness she found in his eyes.

He put a hand to her face.

Amelina closed her eyes as he kissed her, his beard brushing over her face. Her father would not take her back, and no God-fearing man would accept her. She had thrown away her life for pleasure and the promise of love. Naked in this heathen's bed, there was no choice left for her but to be his frilla, his concubine, his whore.

His tongue sought entry to her mouth and she simply let him, giving in to the sensation of falling as he pressed her back to the bed. She would fall into eternal darkness, and nothing would stop the descent.

But Bjorn stopped.

He let out a deep sigh when she failed to respond to him, then rose when she did not move.

She watched him cross the room.

He tossed her dress to the bed. "Spend the day with the women then."

He pulled on his shirt. Did he not intend to take her?

Bjorn paused at the door. "Don't wander too far from Harald's hall. And avoid the other men."

Then with a nod, he left.

---

Amelina spent the afternoon sitting beside the hearth with Muirenn, afraid to wander anywhere at all. The Gaelic woman had asked no questions when she'd returned, simply handing her a lump of raw dough. She'd snickered at Amelina's hapless attempts to knead it, then shown her the proper technique.

Bjorn returned with the men around dinner. He left Gunnar's side when he saw her and strode over, holding up a filled skin of some liquor.

"A cup, Engliskr," he commanded.

Muirenn quickly fetched a mug off the table, pressing it into Amelina's hands.

Bjorn flashed her a smile as he poured her a dark golden liquid from the skin. He took his drinking horn from his belt, then poured a splash into it and toasted her.

"To the brave-hearted, and to Freyja's many gifts."

Amelina took a sip, staring into his piercing blue eyes. It was a sweet, strong mead, sharp with unfamiliar spices.

"You treat that woman well, Bjorn," a man said.

"As I should." He handed her the skin. "Here."

Amelina received it from his hands. "Thank you, my lord."

With a nod, Bjorn left her to rejoin the men.

Muirenn let out a low exhale at her shoulder. "Don' waste that."

Amelina handed her the cup. "Have some."

Muirenn pushed it back. "Nay, drink up. I mean don' waste that man. He treasures ye."

Amelina drank slowly, letting the spicy sweetness linger on her tongue. A few sips, and she already felt giddy with the richness of the honeyed liquor.

From where he sat, Bjorn glanced back over at her, his eyes sparkling with a smile hidden beneath his beard, and Amelina felt her face begin to flush. She dropped her eyes and went back to helping the women serve food.

Rota, the large northern matron, sat down at the table with the men, but Amelina and the other foreign women ate beside the fire. Besides Muirenn, there were two other woman who only spoke Gaelic, an English woman who came in only after the food was served and sat apart from them, and a young pregnant girl who never said anything at all.

Muirenn pushed a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread into the girl's hands. "Ith suas."

The girl stared down at her food listlessly.

"Eat," Muirenn repeated sternly in English, placing the bread in her stew.

The girl obeyed with heavy hands.

Muirenn sighed and sat down with her bowl of stew, rocking the babe in the basket at her feet.

Amelina fingered the piece of amber at her breast as if the token of affection her man had given her would protect her from these women's fates.

After dinner, Bjorn fetched her from her place beside the fire.

"Come." He offered her his hand.

She let him lead her to the guesthouse.

Inside, he pulled her to him and kissed her.

His scent was as spicy and sweet as the mead he had gifted her, and her desire for him battled with her fear.

He pulled away, as if sensing her ambivalence. "What do you want, elskarin?"

She swallowed.

"Speak freely."

"I know I have no grounds left to refuse you..." Amelina began.

"You do."

She stared up at him. What grounds? All that savage strength, and he would decline to use it?

"With me, you have your will," he told her.

If one's will was granted at a master's leisure, could it truly be called one's own?

He stepped away from her when she did not answer. "Ah. Fine. Let's go to bed."

She remained frozen as he changed before her, tossing her one of his shirts.

"Bed. Sleep." Bjorn put her leaden hands around the shirt and went to place another log on the fire as she changed.

Amelina slid under the covers and waited for him.

He slipped into bed beside her, his bare chest gleaming in the firelight, and threw a heavy arm over her as he lay down. He pulled her closer.

Her stomach lurched as she felt the hard evidence of his desire press up against her.

"What do you want?" he asked in her ear. "Speak, woman."

His cock pressed against her hip, and she closed her eyes in fear and anticipation. It would surely be inside her again in a moment. She held her breath.

Bjorn pulled her against the solid length of him, his fingers digging into her flesh, then let out a deep sigh. He muttered something in Norse, then released her.

After that, he lay still. As they lay in the dark, still pressed close together, her silent body began to speak. She wanted him -- nay, burned for him. There was an ache inside that could not be sated, and despite the terror, despite the danger, it urged her to give herself to him again. She had to fight the instinct to grind herself against him like a cat in heat. Her own body was a traitor, she decided, urging her to give herself to a man who would not make her his wife.

They lay like that, her body throbbing, until she felt his muscles relax and his breathing slacken. In an unconscious movement, he tucked his head against hers as he drifted off into sleep.

Afraid to wake him, she cautiously lifted her hand to his chest. Beneath it was the slow and steady pulse of his heart. She listened to it for a long time, and when the night was deep, she finally joined him in sleep.

---

She woke to Bjorn still sleeping peacefully beside her.

He stirred, throwing an arm over her. When she drew closer, his eyes opened.

"So." He nudged her, his hand still clumsy with sleep. "What will it take to win you back, hm?"

Amelina tucked her face against his chest.

"Elskarin, Þú þarft aðeins að biðja." Bjorn repeated the indecipherable Norse phrase he had used once before.

She drew back to look at him. "I wish you would tell me what that means."

"You only have to ask."

"Then what does it mean?"

"'You only have to ask.' That's what it means."

Her eyes widened, and he laughed.

"I can't give you everything. But you are much more likely to get it if you ask."

Before she could help herself, Amelina blurted out her burning question. "Will you wed me?"

Bjorn raised his eyebrows. "Very bold, mey. Well asked."

Amelina's face flushed. Surely she had never shamed herself so badly. To ask a man who had already had her to wed her, while lying in his bed -- she was the most brazen whore in all of Northumbria.

"I thought you'd decided I was a bloodthirsty heathen," Bjorn said. "I could find you a good Englishman, you know. Tell him I haven't taken your virtue. And for the right price, he could pretend to believe it was true."

"You would arrange for me to marry another man?" Amelina stared at him in astonishment. She had not considered the possibility of a way out. Nor that he would offer it so easily.

"I told you from the start. I do not wish to have a woman who is cold. If you are going to end up hating me, I would rather wash my hands of the whole affair. So what do you say? Return to your own? I can't promise you a lord, but a merchant or a farmer would certainly take a well-bred lady like you."

"Surely not after I betrayed my people..."

"Who has to know you betrayed anyone? Say I forced you. Say you hated every minute of it." He grinned. "That's what they all say, you know. Of course, when your good husband tells you to lay back, you'll have to try not to remember how good my cock felt, or the way I ate you so well..." His hand slid up her thigh, leaving a trail of fire beneath it.

She seized his hand, arresting its progress.

His eyes had laughter in them. He was toying with her.

"Wed me, and I'll stay," she bargained.

"Stay, and I might wed you," he countered.

Amelina struggled to speak through her burning shame. She had nothing to bargain with but herself. "What do I have to do?" 



"It's hard to say." He pressed a hand to her flushed face. "But I swore that if I ever married again, there would be no doubt."

"You will offer me no certainty then." 



"If you want certainty, wed an Englishman." Bjorn sat up in bed, the blanket falling away from his bare chest. He slowly pulled it down, revealing her legs.

Amelina shivered as he ran his hands up over her skin.

His fingers drifted up over her thighs. "One more taste before you wed."

She watched as he lowered his head, kissing her knees, and then higher. His beard brushed up her thighs.

Almost of their own volition, her legs parted for him.

"Good girl," he whispered, shifting his weight between her legs.

She bit her lip as he parted the folds of her sex, holding her gaze.

As she felt his tongue, it was her, not him, who had to close her eyes. An Englishman would certainly never do this. How did he--

Amelina writhed, shocked each time by the intensity of the sensation he managed to wring out of her. Hot, burning pleasure. He dipped one finger into her, then two.

She grasped the blankets. As she built towards that towering cliff over which she would shatter, suddenly he stopped.

"Bjorn..."

She felt him over her, the blunt head of his cock against her wet folds. Her limbs slack with pleasure, she did not try to resist.

He slid in the barest fraction of an inch, then pulled back. "Yes?"

She groaned, part of her hoping her would override her better judgment.

He slid his cock up and down her slick folds, making her writhe. She could feel her wetness dripping down to the bed. She would not beg though. She would not.

A wild thrill went through her when he suddenly slipped in. A breach of her body, the slightly stinging stretch, then a long, slow thrust, his thickness filling her completely, until there was a deep pressure at her core. Ah. Completion. She was dizzy with the pleasure of it.

Then he withdrew.

She whimpered when he sat back on his haunches.

"Sorry," he said, grinning. "You felt too good to resist."

She gritted her teeth, then pulled the blanket over her face. Would that he would simply take her.

Strong hands descended onto her hips, turning her over. Face down. He parted her legs from behind, and again she felt his cock at her entrance. She cried out into the blanket as he thrust into her again, filling her up to the brim. How good he felt, pressed up against her womb. Once, twice, and then he was gone.

"You'll be good for your husband too, won't you." He dragged her up to her knees. "Let him fill you up like this." He pressed her face into the bed and smacked her arse with an open palm.

She hated that man sometimes. And yet she did not move.

His thick cock pressed her open again. This time he only went halfway, thrusting shallowly as his hands reached down and roamed over her breasts. Suddenly he squeezed them hard and slammed himself in all the way, making her whole body convulse at the sudden deep penetration. Once, twice. He fucked her hard and deep for a few seconds as she gasped for breath, then swiftly withdrew. A gush of liquid followed him out, seeping humiliatingly down her thighs.

She kept her face buried in the bed, too embarrassed by her body's loss of control to turn around. She was a wet mess, aching and empty. A pair of hands pried her apart. He must be looking at her. His finger stroked the ragged remains of her maidenhead, as if to remind her of what she had lost to him. It was still somewhat tender. Two days ago she had been a virgin. Now she could feel herself dripping from his casual entry into her body. What husband would want such used goods?

He swiped his finger over her entrance, then notched the head of his cock to it again. When he pushed forward, she was so wet and open this time he simply slid right down to the base, her body an open channel for him. He ground into her, making her feel the deep aching pressure against her womb, then pulled back ever so slowly. Her inner muscles tightened around him, wordlessly begging him not to leave her like this, but it was no use. His cock slid out of her with a wet sound.

"Bjorn!" She couldn't take it anymore. "What. Are you doing?"

"Using you." He pushed her onto her side, keeping her legs together. "Just a little. Do you like it?"

She pressed a fist to her mouth, unwilling to admit just how much she liked it. She was so wet he could enter her even like this. He pushed into her again, his cock nudging easily in between the slick folds of her pressed together legs. He snapped his hips forward, delivering a few hard, punishing thrusts.

Her body tightened. He felt impossibly large inside her with her legs pinned together. The cliff was rapidly approaching when suddenly he withdrew. She felt nearly on the verge of tears.

He put her on her back and pushed her legs apart. Stuck his tongue inside her. Sucked lightly on her bud until she was almost, almost...

She made a desperate sound when he stopped.

He sat up. Slapped his hand between her open legs. Held it there.

"Please!" she begged.

"Please what?"

"Fuck me."

He folded her legs up, placing her hands on the back of her thighs. She held herself open for him, legs trembling, as he put one hand gently around her neck, the other lining up his cock. He thrust into her, spreading her deliciously full. A few hard, proprietary thrusts. Then he finally began fucking her properly. She spread her legs wider for him, offering herself, just praying he would finish her this time.

The cliff he had kept pulling her back from began to rush towards her with dizzying force. Just a little bit more... And yet once more, he pulled back, slipping out of her.

She cried out, but her cry was cut off beneath his hand. He pinned her to the bed by her throat until her heart raced, immobilizing her, then slowly entered her again. Her whole awareness was filled with the excruciating progress of his cock pushing its way back in, inch by torturous inch, as she shuddered around it. When the head of it kissed the mouth of her womb, he held it there, then pressed, and she felt her body yield to him. The climax held back for so long finally exploded. A hot, rushing thrill filled her veins, and she writhed around the deep spearing pleasure of him. Wild noises escaped her as he released her throat, her body clenching and rippling around the hard, motionless rod of him lodged deeply inside her.

He closed his eyes and supported his weight above her as he endured her climax. 


"Freyja," he breathed. "Just like that."

As the wave receded, leaving her breathless and limp, he pulled back.

"Did you--"

"No." He gave her another hard thrust. "Hush."

It was his turn then. She let her legs fall to the sides, trembling with each thrust as he used her for his own pleasure. There was a wet puddle forming on the blanket beneath them from her effusively flowing sex, but she could not bring herself to care. The man had fully mastered her. He would do with her what he would.

Not breaking his rhythm, he kneaded her breasts, then dropped his head and took one into his mouth, capturing her nipple. She cried out as she felt his teeth and tried to push him off, but he only pinned her hands and gave the other the same treatment. Her cunt was weeping around him, spilling more fluids in response to such brazen use. She made undignified noises.

He let her go and found her eyes. "Come for me again, elskarin."

She couldn't look away, and as her body tightened around him, she knew the battle was lost. She would take this man's cock, bear this man's children, whether he made her his wife or his concubine, his slave or his whore. Because she loved him, and because she was lost. She dug her fingers into his arms as the devastating force began to rip through her, making a sound she didn't recognize.

Uncontrolled, shivering spasms took over her body as he rode her through her climax. Then he suddenly fought himself free of her thighs.

Amelina panted in dazed abandon as he painted his seed across her sweat-slicked skin. There it was, the worst danger of him, and he had spilled it outside her body again. She could scarcely believe it.

They collapsed to the bed, breathless and spent.

She was swimming in pleasure and covered in filth. Defiled by him, grateful to him, debauched by him, enthralled with him.

He laid a heavy hand to her face, turning her to him, and kissed her. "How do you fare?"

She tried to tuck her face against his chest, but he wouldn't let her hide. He pushed her head back and found her eyes.

"Well? Want me to marry you off to an Englishman?"

She groaned. "You've ruined me."

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

She could not imagine going to any other man after this, even under the blessing of matrimony. "May the Lord forgive me for my sins..."

Bjorn slid his fingers up through the seed he'd left upon her. "It's the furthest thing from a sin."

"What is it then?"

He brought his fingers to her lips, wet with his spend. "A sacrifice."

Her lips instinctively parted for him, and he pressed his fingers in. The earthy saltiness touched her tongue, and it was his. It was him.

Bjorn watched avidly as she licked his fingers like a cat, then spoke in his indecipherable tongue. "Þú ert mín nú. En ef in góða frúin vill þat, þá skal ek vera þinn."

"What are you saying?"

He smiled. "Nothing. Just a little prayer."

"To whom?"

His hand traced the curve of her hips. "The Sea-Bright Giver. Lady of Love, and Mistress of Death. Freyja."

A shiver ran through her.

He rose. From the table, he fetched the mead and poured it into his drinking horn. She could not look away from his naked form, his skin gilded by the morning light.

He returned and sat down beside her on the bed. "Once for Freyja." He lifted the horn up into a beam of golden light.

If God had not already forsaken her, He surely would after whatever was meant by this. But when the man before her lifted his horn to her lips, she took a sip. The mead was rich and sweet.

Bjorn tipped the horn to his own lips, then raised it again. "Once for the dead."

Amelina drank again, thinking of her mother who had never known such love as this. A love worth trading away your eternal soul.

"And once for your wish." Bjorn lifted the horn to her lips.

"What wish?"

"The one you make in your silent heart." He tapped her on the chest.

Amelina looked into this man's clear blue eyes and wished she could have him fully, forever, in all of his beauty and savagery. She drank.

Bjorn smiled and took back the horn.

"Wait." Amelina reached for it as he raised it to his lips.

He let her take it into her hands, watching her with interest.

She offered it to him. "Will you drink for me?"

He nodded, eyes sparkling. She brought the horn to his lips and tilted it back until he'd drained it. As the last drops fell into his mouth, he pulled her down on top of him.

Amelina made a distressed sound as the mess he'd left upon her smeared onto both of them. "Oh! I've gotten you dirty."

"Ja. Dirty. Soiled. Absolutely filthy," Bjorn laughed, pressing her to him. "But do you know what we do in the north, Engliskr?"

"What?"

"We bathe." He rolled her beneath him.

"Ugh. Dirty heathen." But she let him knee apart her legs, watching in confusion as he got between them again. "What do you want? You've already had me very thoroughly."

Bjorn grinned. "There's no limit to a woman's pleasure, did you know? Only a limit to a man's skill and strength."

"A bold claim."

"Then let me meet it." Bjorn sank between her legs.

The sun climbed higher, the room grew unbearably hot, and the sheets grew slick with their sweat as the hours of the day bled away.