Ragnar the Just (Ragnar the Dane #3) (4 page)

Cast aside, Kjartan had lost all restraint
; he drank alcohol all the time; he
took henbane, mandrake
, deadly nightshade, and datura
;
he
made dangerous enemies;
he fucked everyone in sight, i
ncluding that male slave.

At the time, he’d been half-asleep, half-drunk in a brothel, lying on a heap of cushions, rugs and skins. Everyone around him was groaning and laughing, the air filled with the musky and spicy smells of sex and burning incense. But he’d done it all before; he was jaded.

Then he’d seen the slave standing in the doorway.
Black hair but surprisingly pale skin, strikingly different to his Danish companions’ blond, tanned appearance.
As he stared, the slave inclined his head towards the door. Curiosity encouraged by drink, Kjartan picked his way towards him
over the writhing bodies and was taken by the hand into a chamber. He couldn’t remember what the slave had said but he’d felt a hand on his cock, which surprisingly responded.

“You should try me,” the slave whispered. “I know you want
to
.”

The smooth feeling of oil being rubbed up and down Kjartan’s cock made him ready in an instant and he easily slid inside the slave, who lay on his back with his legs up. The tightness had taken him by surprise, so after a bit of hesitation he’d thrust as hard as he could, reaching satisfaction quickly, especially with the slave’s vocal enjoyment and encouragement.

Panting, he drew himself out, staring at the dark-haired figure lying in front of him, grinning.

“What do I owe you?”

“I do not want your money. Get me food. I am hungry.”

Kjartan fastened his trousers and hurried out. Grabbing some bread and meat from an unattended plate, h
e took them back to the chamber
where his accomplice was now sitting up, straightening his clothes.

“Here.” He shoved the food at him.

“Oh, sanks.
I sought you would not come back.” He devoured it, smiling.

His foreign accent reassured the Dane. It was alright to do that with a foreign slave be
cause it didn’t mean anything. H
e should just forget about it. He nodded to the man and retreated, trying to think about what he would do tomorrow.

*
 
*
  *

As Kjartan continued cutting the hay, he told himself he mustn’
t remember the past like that. I
t was just something stupid he’d done once. He couldn’t have sex with Lini in that way. Slaves were such low status it didn’t matter what you did with them, but Lini was a respectable Dane, not a slave or a defeated enemy. He pushed his lustful thoughts aside, thinking of easier subjects.

Last year his fortunes had changed when Ragnar turned up in Gippeswick, reminding him to go back to Hallby for the treasure he’d left there. Joining in the fight against the wolf cult had led him to Mildrith, who
m
he’d married. So why was he thinking about Lini now?

*
 
*
  *

That evening the weather was humid, the heat trapped under a grey layer of cloud. A storm threatened but the boys arrived for their fight training as usual and Kjartan threw himself into it, trying not to think. Slice, chop, cut, thrust, parry,
turn
. That was all he needed to think about.

The
y mostly played games: Stigandi -
the stepping exercise with swords and shields, step
ping round each other to practis
e agility without actua
lly fighting; the engaging exercise
-
where
one had an axe and shield, the other a spear, and they fought to see who was victorious. The boys left happy and excited, pushing and shoving each other as they set off home for supper.

Lini helped clear up as usual.

“You’re very quiet,” he remarked.

“I don’t have to talk all the time.”

“No, but -
what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Lini tried another tack.

“You’re really doing well with the boys. They fought hard today. Better than me, but I’m no fighter.
More of a lover.”
He laughed.

Kjartan looked at him properly for the first time. He had avoided doing so throughout the session, but now he met his eyes, aware that the thoughts of the night before were returning.  He could feel his cock hardening, a feeling that should only happen when he looked at a woman. He clenched his fist, hoping Lini had not noticed the growing bulge in his trousers.

“You should learn to fight
,
then.” He grabbed his own sword, Verrdrepa, and threw his spare
one to Lini. He slashed at him
and Lini was forced to defend, backing away. “You should always take someone by surprise.”

“You got that right.” Lini was out of breath already. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Kjartan struck again and again.
Right, left, below, above.
He entered the trance-like state of the warrior and forced Lini back further and further.

The amber smith struggled, unused to this, and panted, unable to suck in enough air on such a sultry day. He
stumbled backwards, eyes wide in fear as Kjartan speeded up, his strokes increasing.

Lini tripped and fell onto dry grass that had been hardened by weeks of sunny weather, and raised his sword in a final desperate defence. But Kjartan’s fighting brain saw an opportunity and struck, cutting Lini’s arm.

“Stop!” he shouted. “What’s the matter with you? Now my wife will have to sew and clean my tunic. She hasn’t got time to do that.”

Kjartan stopped, panting, sweat pouring down his back. His arousal had disappeared and he told himself it hadn’t really happened.

Tutting, Lini took off his tunic to examine the wound and Kjartan turned away, trying to ignore his lean, lightly-haired chest. He must be perverted. What would his Viking ancestors think? The thunder growled closer
and he wondered if that was their way of
showing their disapproval.

*
 
*
  *

Lini strode off home through the first drops of rain, carrying his tunic. Halldora would not be pleased; she liked
everything in order and tidy.
And the ra
in would ruin the hay harvest. H
e’d be ordered to help out to get all the hay in more quickly. What else could go wrong today?

But Kjartan’s actions preoccupied him. What had got into him?
Lini’s heart hadn’t p
ounded so much for a long time.
He’d thought his friend was going to kill him. His crystal blue eyes had looked frighteningly hard and cold when he’d come close.

But
,
in another way, he’d enjoyed seein
g Kjartan at his fighting peak.
How an enemy must cower before him! Despite b
eing thrown out of the Huskarls, or perhaps because of it,
he was still a warrior to be reckoned with. The way his arm muscles flexed and his ashen plait swung a
s he turned, struck and parried, the way his …

“Lini!”
Halldora snapped, making him jump. “Why are you half-naked?”

“I – er -
caught my sleeve on a branch. It needs mending.”

“As if I haven’t enough to do,” she sighed, ruffling his hair. “The children are in bed at last. It’s time for supper.”

That night, the threatened storm turned out to be only
a slight shower of rain b
ut the heat remained, keeping everyone awake
,
except Halldora, who snored loudly.

Lini lay there, his thoughts going back to the time he’d first seen Kjarta
n years ago, fighting that tree,
then la
ter to his escape from justice,
to his return and apparent acceptance of domestic life. He sighed, wishing Kjartan hadn’t returned, but at that his heart missed a beat. The Kjartan-shaped gap in his life would have still been there. He couldn’t escape feeling like this anymore.

*
 
*
  *

The next fighting school lesson went the same way. Kjartan threw himself into the training and only spoke to Lini briefly. He finished the lesson with a game where the swords were left in the middle of the ground and the boys had to run forward to grab them while holding shields,
then
attack each other.
Great fun and good to tire them out, especially in such stifling weather.

“What was that about last time?” asked Lini
as they cleared up at the end. “You went mad. Don’t do that again, will you?” He
fiddled nervously with his hair
which was damp with sweat.

Kjartan shrugged.

“I don’t think it’s going to work out with us both running this school.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too – too -
argr
.” He glanced at Lini, then quickly away. Accusations of effeminacy were strictly forbidden in Danish society.

“What? You can’t call me
argr
! You’re joking, yes?”

“I’m n
ot. You can’t fight like I can. Y
ou don’t know how. That’s why I fought you last time, to prove it. I need another soldier to help me run this.”

“It’s illegal to call me
argr
.
I could kill you for that.” He stepped towards Kjartan, not even sure what he was going to do, feeling the sweat run down his back infuriatingly.

“You?
Kill me? As if you could! I’m just telling the truth. You should go and I’ll find someone else.”

Lini glared at him, bottom lip trembling, which Kjartan couldn’t bear. He looked like a kicked dog.

“You don’t deserve to be exiled, but you do deserve th
is!” he shouted
and punched Kjartan in the face, then strode off shaking his hand out angrily. He wasn’t sure what hurt most, Kjartan’s words or his own hand from the punch.

Kjartan had known that was coming, but instead of relief at Lini’s departure, he just felt emptiness. He sighed, cleared up the fighting gear and went home, wishing the weather would cool down.

*
 
*
  *

When he reached his house, no one was there. Mildrith must be visiting her aunt again as she wanted reassurance about the impending birth.

The flagons of ale he’d been saving for a special occasion sat invitingly on the floor, so he picked them up. Why not just drink them now? He set off to find somewhere he could be on his own.

When he reached the bathing lake, he settled near the edge behind a bu
sh. Drinking alone was not good
but he didn’t want company. Well, the company he wanted, Lini, wouldn’t want him after his accusations. He was so
confused,
he might as wel
l throw himself into the lake.
Clouds hung low in the sky, hiding the stars as night drew on.

He contemplated the depths of the lake while swigging from the flagon. The dull muddiness of the water was not
inspiring. What the hell had happened to him? After all the women he’d had, now he was lusting after a man.  It wasn’t right. Y
et, that male slave … H
e shivered as he remembered him.

A noise made him jump. Bjarni’s black-haired, dusky-skinned wife was struggling over the stones, her belly rounded with child. She had been a foreign slave before Bjarni freed her and married her.

It would be silly to really throw
himself
in now. His own wife and unborn child depended on him. The thought of the baby cheered him
. He hoped it would be a girl,
t
hen
she wouldn’t have to worry about
argr
or being manly all the time.

He hurried over to help Ifeyinwa, who was always called Ifay, as he didn’t want to be responsible for her falling and losing her baby.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He helped her across the stones without answering.

She smelled the alcohol on his breath. “Drinking alone?”

“None of your business, woman.”
He let go of her hands.

“You are a friend of my husband, so it is my business if you are unhappy. What is wrong?”

He sighed.
“I’m just an unnatural man.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He explained his thoughts about Lini, too drunk to care about her disapproval.