Chapter Five
1193 Words
Chapter Five
He couldn't look into her eyes.
Damn it all to hell. He couldn't.
She sat there so solemnly, sans expression, her face betrayed no emotion. He wanted to bang his head repeatedly in the wall till he bled dry. He might as well do it if she didn't stop looking so small and vulnerable.
Her spirit had vexed him, frustrated him and tested his patience like nothing before. She'd ran roughshod all over his controlled and disciplined lifestyle.
Not that he'd ever been the one for rules and regulations but he drew his lines at some point.
He felt like a bastard. Contrary to the fact he was one. He'd proven he had his father's blood in him.
Now when he saw her he could picture her previous self, so full of life and so beautifully amazing. Fit to be a queen.
Now she felt like a rag doll who'd been thoroughly used by a child of mere 6 summers.
She was just playing with her food, not eating it. Casual conversation was going on between his relatives. He saw Leif's slave on her knees, while he lovingly fed her food.
He didn't like what he saw and he could tell his wife would have words for Lief but he didn't want a confrontation with Lief. He could not conciliate Leif easily. His anger didn't subside no matter what Thorkel proposed as a gift in exchange for forgiveness.
Gawd. He said under his breath before abandoning his seat, ignoring the curious gazes of many onlookers, he quietly slipped around the table and reached his wife to gently pluck her arm, drawing her up. To his surprise she made no protest, he almost sighed in relief. She obediently followed him out the room. Her hand was limp in his and quiet cold. He rubbed slow circles on it as he led her out the castle, making his way towards the gardens across the lake.
Once there, he was at loss for words.
Damn, damn, damn.
What one says to a wife they violated not a day ago?
Sorry wasn't prone to fix this mess. He'd traumatized the girl on her second day in a new country, new life....new everything.
He made her sit on the bench behind them and knelt down in-front of her to take her slipper cladded feet in his large and clumsy hands. He saw her hands tighten in the fabric of her skirt, he instantly longed to take them in his hands and soothe her.
She had such tiny feet, he was almost afraid to touch the fine porcelain skin.
For now he took her slipper off and began massaging her feet. "Do you hurt?" He pleaded to Odin in hopes she wasn't. "From yesterday." He added, regretfully.
She remained quiet.
"You must hurt, I wasn't the least bit gentle," he slipped her shoes back on, "come here." With lithe and grace he captured her into his arms, swinging her body as if she weigh less than the sword he carried.
She twined her arm around his neck subconsciously, she didn't have much choice.
He felt her hot breath right below his neck where she seemed to lay in a trance. He knew that look very well. Many times he'd been like this when his father had beat him till he begged for mercy while his mother watched, utterly helpless.
He ignored every person who eyed him with eyes widened enough to be mistaken for stones. He'd never carried a woman through his manor before nor had he ever felt guilty about something.
He took what he wanted, what he desired because he thought he had a right to to it. The girl in his arms had changed that point of view of his. He had rights to his wife, to demand his martial rights. He shouldn't be ashamed of indulging in what was his, but he was. She wasn't a mere slave girl. She was his wife. Her status demanded respect.
The sad part was that not even his slaves were treated this badly. Never raped. Never.
In his religion you could rape a slave girl but on his land, not without consent and what did he do to his wife. He felt lower than a snake's belly.
He kicked open the chamber door and proceeded towards the bed. He put her down and discarded her shoes, head veil and shawl before pulling furs over her body.
"Do you need anything?" He asked gently. He didn't remembered speaking this softly to anyone. Not even when he was in throes of passion whispering lewd suggestions in his partner's ear. To his surprise he flushed, somehow thinking such things while near his bride made it so absurd. Her innocence and his lewdness clashed.
She shook her head, again.
He had always felt that whenever he was around her it quiet seemed as if he was treading on thin ice, one wrong move, one wrong word and he'd have to swim back or drown then and there.
Earning her favor was something he had failed at. Repeatedly.
He sat down on the bed and began taking his clothes off. When he looked at her to make a joke hoping to get a smile from her, he met her frightened look. Then he knew.
He was taking his garments off and she was afraid he'd pounce on her. There was nothing he'd like more but never again. Not with her so unwilling.
He just got in and pulled her towards his body, ignoring her whimper of dread. He had been a master at seduction, he'd made many a princesses and slaves succumb to him, to dance to his tune, to crave his touch, to pant like a cat in heat while he made torturous love to them.
His skills were rendered useless here.
"Little pussycat, scared, are you?" His warm breath hit her forehead. "I shall never hurt you again, I promise you." He pressed a kiss between her eyebrows.
"Liar." She accused before turning her head away. For a moment Thorkel felt irritation but he tampered it down. He needed to go slow.
"I never took your virginity." He knew he was being a bastard but he needed to play that card. Anything. He just wanted her to talk to him. Wether to abuse him or lecture him, anything, he'd make do.
"But....you....you did!" Her face showed incredulity, she was indignant as well.
"I most certainly didn't. There are--" He never saw the slap coming until his cheek burned with it. He locked his teeth hard and hunted for control.
"You're a monster." She hissed, trying hard to control her ever flowing tears.
He had treated her like a w***e!
"You treated me like I'm a lady of sport! Not your wife!" She cried and curled into a fetal position in hopes of blocking him from herself, the restriction was useless. For he could still touch her.
She weeped in earnest now while Thorkel called himself every sort of fool and low down skunk.
How was he to ever atone for his mistakes and make it better for her?
~
- Writer
