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Unable to speak beyond little moans, she nodded.
He wedged her thighs wider and his mouth touched her intimate core. Wave after wave of pleasure hit her as his tongue thrust slowly into her. When she thought she was about to die from the need of him, he divested his trousers, exposing his rampant erection.
He parted her thighs and drove deep. This time her body opened, taking the full length of him with ease. She wrapped her legs about him, urging him onwards. Their bodies moved like one. And she learnt what joining could really be like as the world exploded into a million potent points.
Later, she lay in his arms. Her muscles ached, but she felt complete.
The torch flickered and sent strange shadows over his skin. Languidly she traced them. ‘Now I understand what you mean about beds being better.’
He ran his hand along her shoulder and stopped.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Her stomach dropped and she braced herself for his excuses of why he had to leave.
‘How did you get the scars on your back? Kettil swore you were never wounded, not severely. Someone marked you, Sayrid.’ He pinned her to the bed, preventing her from slipping off. ‘I noticed them yesterday when the tunic you were wearing slipped from your shoulder in the water. They are not sword cuts and they are different colours, almost like runes.’
‘They are from a long time ago.’ Sayrid hugged her knees to her chest. She should have known he’d discover them. It had been too much to hope for. All the vile predictions her stepmother had poured in her ears would come to pass. ‘They’re unimportant.’
‘From your father? Did he do this to you?’
She let out a breath. ‘Yes. I took the beatings to prove I was as strong as any man and that I had what it took to become a warrior.’
‘These go far beyond mere beatings. And there is almost a runic pattern to them. They haven’t healed like normal scars.’
‘My stepmother rubbed salt and different-coloured sand into them.’ Sayrid put a hand to her head. She’d stumbled half-blind with pain from the room after the beating, but had felt proud as her father hadn’t managed to cow her as he had Regin, only to be confronted with her stepmother.
Afterwards the only person besides Auda who had helped her was Regin. She owed him her life.
‘Can we speak of this later? I know what you will think of them. My stepmother used to make me repeat her words. She took great delight in saying them.’
‘Let me see your scars. And I will tell you precisely what I think of them.’ Gentle hands turned her over. She forced herself to lie still.
There was a sharp intake of breath and then silence.
‘I understand if you wish to go. My stepmother warned me that men would find them repulsive and flee my bed. That even if a man should marry me, he would discover them and leave.’ She shrugged slightly and drew on all of her reserves to keep her voice emotionless. ‘Somewhere in my tortured brain, I thought I could prolong our courtship and have a few days to look back on.’
She waited for him to go. He did not move, but continued to remain next to her.
‘Hush now. Relax.’
Slowly he traced the network of the scars with his fingers. His lips swiftly followed. With each press of his mouth, it seemed like her stepmother’s voice faded from her mind until it signified nothing.
When he’d finished, he turned her over and raised her chin so she was forced to look directly into his eyes.
‘These are honourable scars, Sayrid. You received them because you were defending people who were smaller and weaker than you. How anyone could be so twisted and perverted to think otherwise, I’ve no idea. And that is my honest opinion. I would like to run your stepmother through with my sword, but she isn’t worth the effort.’
Her throat worked up and down, but no sound came out. He thought them honourable. They did not repulse him.
‘I see no shame in having been a shield maiden or protecting your family. Where there is shame is in forcing you to make the choice. In the branding of your back. Making you seem like you were little more than a thrall.’
‘But…’
‘Your stepmother is lucky that I do not make war against women or her life would be at an end. Your father is dead and it will be up to Odin to judge his actions. I know I wouldn’t want a man like that to serve on one of my felags.’
Sayrid gave a little nod as she drew her knees into her chest.
‘Why would I be put off by the scars? I have a network of my own. And having held you in my arms and sampled your mouth, why would I flee your bed?’ He pressed another kiss against the nearest scar. ‘You don’t know men very well and you certainly don’t know me.’
