For her second lesson, Rollo took Edithe to a meadow far outside of Kattegat's walls and the walk was pleasant in the sunshine. Out here it was just the two of them and, after yesterday, she preferred it that way.
Watching Rollo fighting the other Viking had served as a stark reminder of how barbaric his people were. Her father would have never allowed such senseless violence to take place in her village. While here in Kattegat, everyone was clearly prepared to fight for their lives over any dispute which wounded their pride.
Perhaps that was why her people were slaughtered and his were still standing.
She watched him, his eyes carefully scouring the treeline before he pulled his tunic over his head and threw it to the long grass. By now she was becoming all too accustomed to the sight of his bare chest and hardly batted an eyelid at it.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Carrying his weapons he moved across the field several paces before stopping and standing directly in line with her. Silently they watched each other, armies of one, holding down their line with the battle ground stretching between them.
Anticipation shivered along her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck.
What was he doing? What was he waiting for?
After what felt like a long pause he held up his sword and beat it against his shield. Wood clattering with wood, a hollow sound on its own but it seemed to reverberate around the meadow and a scattering of birds fled to the trees.
Was he trying to frighten her? She held her sword a little tighter.
Then he began to chant, his heathen words and the clattering sword growing faster and louder. His rhythm was hypnotic, intensifying until his voice was thundering in her ears and her heart was pounding in her chest.
He was the stuff of Christian nightmares, a wild barbarian man. Tall and brutal, tattooed and fierce. Edithe couldn't take her eyes off him even if she wanted to.
Suddenly he stopped and the tightness in her chest loosened. Why had she been holding her breath? She felt foolish now. What did she think he was going to do?
"Edithe," he called, hitting his sword against the shield a single time, encouraging her to do the same.
She glanced around the empty field, her palms slick with nerves. Even with only Rollo there to watch, she felt strangely inhibited. It was immodest to draw such attention to herself. But he was Viking and had no regard for modesty.
"Edithe," he repeated, encouraging her again.
Carefully, she tapped her sword to shield and he laughed, even from here she could see the way his eyes wrinkled with pleasure.
So she hit her shield again, louder this time.
"More," he urged, unrelenting, until together their drumbeat pounded fiercely to the tune of his foreign song. The same words over and over, and after a while, she chanted it too.
"Up unto the overturned keel,
Clamber with a heart of steel,"
Their voices and the endless rhythm consumed the meadow, frightening away any creature who dared to approach their battle cry.
"Cold is the ocean's spray,
And your death is on its way."
Now her heart didn't beat with fear but with excitement. All her life she had been encouraged to be gentle and obedient, quiet and thoughtful. Now she was shouting so loudly her voice could reach the very heavens. Perhaps it was immodest, but she revelled in the freedom of it.
"With maidens, you have had your way,
Each must die someday!"
When they stopped an eerie silence filled the meadow and laughter wanted to bubble freely from her lips. But she held onto it fiercely. The joy she found belonged to her, and she would not share it with him.
On silent steps, he broke from his line and began to circle her, a large circle at first but with every movement he drew closer. Crouching like a beast stalking its prey, while she stood stiff and unsure of how to hold her body, or her weapons.
Should she strike? Should she run?
Fast as lightning he slapped his sword against her rear and she yelped, quickly turning to face him.
How dare he? She seethed.
Anger fuelled her arm, her sword lashing forward to find reprisal. But her attack was surprised by his shield. The heavy impact jarred in her hand, forcing her grip to loosen and allowing her sword to fling uselessly across the field.
Cradling her hand she moved to retrieve it but the tip of Rollo's sword pressed into her neck, halting her and proving just how quickly she could be bettered by him.
He laughed at her, his words teasing and playfully spoken yet they annoyed her just the same.
"Heathen," she hissed and Rollo's smile only grew brighter.
He retrieved her sword and reached for her hand, taking the time to carefully clasp her fingers around the hilt until she was holding it with more authority.
Then he moved behind her and when his arms snaked around her waist she jumped, trying to get away from him.
"No," he laughed, holding her firm.
One hand controlled her arm, showing her how to ready her sword and swing it easily left to right. The other rested on her hip steading her as his leg inched between her thighs, spreading her feet into a better stance.
"Good," he praised, his lips so close to her ear that her heart skipped a beat.
She was now well aware of the way her body moulded to Rollo's, his movements controlling hers, showing her how he danced in battle.
If she had been a man, would he have shown her this way? With his chin resting on her shoulder, his beard tickling her cheek? Certainly not.
He was taking liberties and she was not here to be his plaything.
This time when she pulled herself from his arms she did it with greater force and he allowed her freedom, smirking with mischief.
Despite his questionable methods, she composed herself far better than before and when his sword clashed with hers she held it steadfast.
Rollo praised her, his smile never ending.
"One day I will wipe that smile from your face," she promised. But he seemed oblivious to her curses and the scowls she gave whenever their eyes met.
Why did he have to take so much pleasure in teaching her? It only dampened her own enjoyment and she'd intended on finding pleasure in learning how to wield a sword. But if he enjoyed it, then she must hate it. There could be no in between.
Frustrated, she grew tired of defending herself from his slow, deliberate movements and lunged forward to attack.
He jumped away, narrowly avoiding the edge of her weapon before rewarding her effort with another sword slap to the rear.
She shrieked, pain smarting across her skin. Now she was even more determined to land at least one blow on his stupid, smirking, arrogant, heathen head. Or anything else she could hit.
She threw her shield down and grasped her sword with both hands. But it was like chasing the wind and every swing she took only brought her more humiliation and again his sword slapped her rear. Tomorrow she would be purple with bruises and he would be the same smirking heathen as before.
"I hate you!" she seethed, lashing out and missing him again.
Rollo chuckled, throwing his weapons down, his arms spread wide. He was toying with her, inviting her to try him once more. But she was in no mood to make herself look like even more of a fool. She was sore and tired and couldn't stand the thought of making him laugh again.
She picked up her shield and began marching back towards Kattegat with purposeful strides. But with every step, she regretted being so hasty in finishing their day's lesson. Back home, she was never such a slave to her emotions, but with Rollo, it was almost impossible to contain them.
Tomorrow she would do better. She had to if she wanted to learn anything.
Luckily the next day was far more tolerable. Thanks entirely to the fact that Rollo was stung by a wasp almost immediately after they arrived in the meadow. Edithe praised God for little mercies while the big heathen cradled his sting like a child.
This time it was her turn to laugh and tease at the red lump which swelled in the centre of his chest.
"Perhaps you should wear more clothing?" she mocked, feeling smug.
He didn't understand her words but he sulked at her lack of sympathy and that only made her smile more. Feeling in such high spirits she hardly noticed when his brooding turned into playfulness or the way his hands lingered on her body every time he found cause to touch her.
Out in the meadow, it became surprisingly easy to forget she was in Kattegat and over the next week they settled into an easy rhythm.
Rollo took her to train in the mornings and left her with Haedde for the afternoon. In the evening he'd return home and they'd sit by the fire eating supper while he talked about a number of different things. Ragnar, fishing, the God's.
As each day passed she understood a little more of what he said but she tried not to reply or add to the conversation.
Spending time together fighting was one thing, spending time talking in the evenings was something else. Though she could not force him to leave his own house, she wouldn't encourage his company either, even if his anecdotes sometimes piqued her interest.
When it was time to go to bed he'd strip his clothes and she would bury her face in the mattress, her eyes squeezed shut. Each night she wondered if he would reach out to violate her, but each night was the same. She'd fall asleep and wake to an empty bed and the smell of food cooking over the fire.
Except today. Today she woke at dawn and Rollo was still sleeping, his naked body spread across the bed for all to see.
For Edithe to see.
Immediately her curiosity sought only one thing and she gasped at the sight of it, squeezing her eyes shut before intrigue compelled her to look again.
A dull throb tightened in her stomach and slowly she sat up for an even better view.
His manhood rested languidly against his thigh and, though she had no basis for comparison, she thought it seemed too large to be tolerable.
Still, despite this, sinful thoughts consumed her. She was only human, she told herself. She could not control her imagination. It was natural to look and wonder and…
Under her scrutiny, it seemed to lengthen in size and thickness. Alarmed, she turned to see if Rollo was still sleeping only to find him awake.
Watching.
His eyes burning into her.
Catching her in her hour of sin.
God save her.
She tumbled from the bed in a heap before running from the bedchamber and slamming the door shut.
Her cheeks heated to unstoppable proportions. Mortified and angry at the stupid, naked heathen she shared a bed with.
"Why must you always be naked?" she shouted through the door but she didn't want an answer to her question. She never wanted to see him again.
