Kneeling down next to him, Aelfa kissed Bran-hard’s mouth, startling the man awake. “Did you not want to see me?” she murmured seductively at him, and his eyes widened at her nudity. “I have brought you some fine wine from the lord’s own barrel. It will not ever be missed,” she reassured him, and handed him the full skin. “Have some.” She kissed him quickly a second time.
“Aelfa,” he said in a strangled voice. “You should not be here. Where is your clothing? What if someone should come?”
“Albert would not be so faint of heart,” Aelfa taunted him. “He met me on the hillside today and tried to have his way with me. I fought him off and refused him, for it is you, Bran-hard, that I really want. Let Albert have Nellwyn, who is so cow-eyed over him.” Her small hands reached down and fumbled beneath his tunic. “You are a real man! I know you are!” Then she kissed him hard. “Do you not want me, Bran-hard, my big, strong warrior?” Aelfa ran her tongue over her lips seductively.
Bran-hard found, to his surprise, that he was holding his breath. He let it out with a slow hiss as her hands found his manhood and began to play with it. She was skilled beyond any he had ever known. His eyes closed, and pure pleasure such as he had never experienced filled his being. Her little fingers stroked him slowly, lingeringly at first. Then pushing the covering from his battering ram, she worked him swiftly. He began to ache with his great need. “Aelfa,” he groaned hungrily, catching his hand in her hair and drawing her closer to him. “I want you, Aelfa!”
Giggling, she took his cloak and spread it upon the narrow floor of the tiny gatehouse. Laying down upon it, she opened her legs wide and said huskily, “Come, stuff me with that great pole of yours, Bran-hard! You want me every bit as much as I want you! No one will come and find us. All are abed, and we may take our pleasure. As much of it as we like!”
He could not have stopped himself if he had wanted to. She was beautiful, and she was hot for him. No man in his right mind would refuse Aelfa’s plea. With a low cry he fell upon her, pushing his engorged organ into her hot, wet sheath; humping her almost violently while she encouraged him onward, murmuring a soft stream of foul yet madly exciting obscenities into his ear as she writhed wildly beneath him. He was astounded that she would know such words, for she looked so pure, but it lessened his guilt at using her so enthusiastically.
She seemed to fill him with incredible strength, and his lust knew no bounds. He pumped and pumped and pumped himself into her, while Aelfa twisted and moaned beneath him, her little cries arousing him even further. Finally he could no longer contain himself and his passions burst violently within her throbbing body. He collapsed upon her with a groan of satisfaction. “By Woden, wench, you are the best! I have never had better, I swear it!” His oniony breath assailed her.
“Get off me, you oaf,” she said, “you are crushing me.”
He rolled away from her. “Where’s that wine you brought?” he demanded, feeling relaxed now and more in control of the situation. “Let’s have a drink together, and then I’ll give you another bit of a poke if you’re of a mind. You will be, won’t you?” he said with a leering grin. “I’ve never known such a woman as you, Aelfa. You be one of those girls who cannot get enough, aren’t you?” He sat himself back down upon his stool, pulling his garments into some semblance of order again. Then reaching out for her, he drew her near, tweaking the rosy nipples of her full, fat breasts. Her clothing had never given him any indication that she had such fine teats, but they were magnificent.
Rutting fool, Aelfa thought as she smiled up at him. She lifted up the skin of wine and pretended to drink before handing it on to him. “Hmmmm, ’tis good,” she said as he swilled away, some of the purple-red liquid drizzling down into his thick blond beard.
Bran-hard let the sweet, cool liquid run down his throat. It was the best drink he had ever tasted. Wulf Ironfist lived well. He handed her back the wineskin and began to fondle Aelfa’s big breasts. “You’ve the best pair I’ve ever seen, wench,” he said by way of a compliment, “and your cunt is the tightest of any I’ve ever reamed. I swear it! You really know how to give a man his pleasure, Aelfa. I can hardly believe it, but I’m ready to have at you again. On your back, my girl,” he said, as loosing his organ from his clothing once more, he pushed her down to the floor.
What he lacked in subtlety he more than made up for in endurance and brute strength, Aelfa thought, as she pretended to be overcome with passion. She had taken her own pleasure with him the first time, but now she could not allow herself the luxury. When his lust exploded again and he rolled away from her, she offered him the wineskin once more, smiling encouragingly as he gulped down the potent liquid. This time, within moments, Branhard fell into unconsciousness. Aelfa sighed with her relief. She was actually sore with his enthusiastic attentions. A third bout with him would have certainly rendered her raw.
She rose from the floor of the gatehouse, and after much effort, managed to drag Bran-hard’s limp, heavy body back onto his stool. His shaggy head lay upon his chest. He appeared to be dozing. She slipped from the building and ran quickly back across the courtyard to the hall. Letting herself in, she hurried to her bed space. The hall was quite silent, the contented snores of its inhabitants the only sounds she heard.
Aelfa put on her clothes and then returned to the gatehouse where Bran-hard sat, unconscious. Seating herself upon the floor, where she would not be seen, she waited for the predawn. When it finally came, Aelfa stood up, stretched, and then leaving the gatehouse went directly to the great gates of Cadda-wic. Slowly and with great difficulty, she pushed the heavy bar that lay across one of the gates to one side. Above her the sky was quickly lightening. Perspiration, half due to exertion, half to fear of discovery, rolled down her back as she struggled with the bar. When at last she succeeded, the single door swung open to reveal a large party of armed men.
“Uncle,” Aelfa said archly. “Welcome to Cadda-wic.”
“You have done well, niece,” Ragnar Strongspear said, and then led his men quietly through the gates into the courtyard. “Where is the mistress of the hall? And how long before Wulf Ironfist’s return?”
“Cailin sleeps in the solar with her children,” Aelfa replied. “As for her husband, he should return in a few days’ time, I expect.”
“Secure this place,” Ragnar said to his second-in-command, Harald, and then he turned back to Aelfa. “Fetch the lady Cailin to me, girl, and her children, too. I will want food also.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Aelfa said. She hurried off back into the hall to do his bidding, only realizing too late that Cailin always drew the ladder to the solar up each night. There was no other way into the room but through the trapdoor. As Ragnar strode into the hall, she ran back to him and explained the dilemma.
“No matter,” he said. “She must come down eventually, and I will be waiting for her. The lady Cailin is a most toothsome wench.”
“You desire her?” Aelfa was surprised. She thought Cailin far too prim and proper for her lusty uncle. She was also too old, being past twenty.
“Do not be fooled by her dignity and manners, girl,” he told her. “Beneath it all she is a woman, and a fiery woman, I will wager.”