With Our Eyes Shut

Part 3

"Genevieve," he repeated her name, his thick accent tripping over the pronunciation. Releasing her chin, he stood in place looking at her. Everything; her intelligent eyes, open face and soft figure, so much fuller than the women who fought for him, made her name somehow perfect.

She stared back, barely breathing and he guessed she was waiting to learn what depraved things a claimed slave had coming. He knew her well enough now to know, she did not have dreams of being spoiled or set free, she just wanted to blend in to her surroundings, be forgotten, and survive.

Letting out a weary breath, he took a half step back, "From tonight forward, you sleep in this room. Here," he motioned with his blade to the daybed pushed against the wall. "Do your work each day and then come back."

Glancing over to it, she said nothing but he could tell her mind still reeled, attempting to find some explanation. He, himself, did not understand.

"That is all," he muttered before nodding and leaving her to stand in the dark, her arms full of a dead woman's clothes.

----

"For a man with a Frankish beauty you do not at all seem sated," Erik glanced over as he spooned hot oats into his mouth.

Grumbling, Sigefrid did not respond.

"How is she? I have heard what wanton lovers her kind make."

"I do not ride her," he replied, with just a hint of exhaustion. "She is our translator... I simply did not want her out in that barn where those slaves could poison her mind to mislead us."

"Ah, makes sense," Erik's eyes drifted back. "For a man who is not bedding her, you seem incapable of pulling your eyes from her ass," he smiled, his blue eyes alive and playful.

Sigefrid attempted to laugh but it came out more like a snort.

"I would not cock spear a slave," he announced, chewing his breakfast with his mouth open. "Why would I want to give a Christian that much pleasure!" he said loudly, with an equally loud grin. "Hey?"

"So moving her into the room next is simply to make your lessons more... convenient?"

Sigefrid's spoon stopped mid-air and he looked at Erik, feeling and no doubt looking caught.

"Dear brother," Erik flashed a look of understanding. "Your voice is as loud as a war horn. You think I would not notice," he laughed. "I commend your enthusiasm for a scholarly life though," he chuckled again, shooting his brother a glance. "I really do."

Grunting like a woken bear, Sigefrid's eyes drifted back to Genevieve as she lay a tray down on one of the tables, piling it high with empty bowls.

"Haesten has returned with another scroll," he said, steering the conversation away from her.

"Perhaps this one will be of interest," Erik suggested. "Either way we will, again, put your pet to the test."

Looking over, Erik's own eyes settled on the young woman, watching her sneak glances at his brother.

----

The silence between them as they sat, side by side, felt somehow deafening. He had already decided there was little point to the lesson. His mind was elsewhere, conjuring assumptions of what unspoken words hung in the air.

It was so idiotic, he nearly groaned, feeling his cheeks warm as he stared down at the flimsy paper, holding a fucking feather in his hand.

Despite the strain, what he was most aware of, more than anything and possibly for the first time, was the sensation of her eyes on him.

Frustrated at nothing in particular, he threw the quill down and watched her get up and move about the room, refill his cup and continue to translate the names of various items she randomly picked up. All the while he watched, he wondered, in the heat of loving making, if he were inside her, what words would tumble from her lips? Would she whimper his name and hang off his neck, rut her round hips against him? Would her soft mouth feel like Valhalla and would her taste stay on his tongue like a memory?

Sighing under his breath, he pressed his stiff erection, straining in his pants to the underside of the table.

Her voice continued to tease his ear as she seemed to speak just enough for him to want to hear more. That accent.. fuck...he audibly grunted. It had the sweetest tone and each word seemed to touch the other, blending without interruption with the hint of some unknown sound that he did not recognize from the Saxon's sharper tongue. He must be going soft in the head.

"Your arm bothers you today, yes?" she asked quietly, coming back around and sitting down. "You look in pain."

Saying nothing, he looked down at the table, needing to get his mind straight and stop lamenting over a young girl. A slave girl at that, with no family, no wealth, one who could vanish and it not even raise a question.

Except in his mind....he would notice. The thought made him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

This was just restlessness, surely, he had not killed in some time. That explained it. He needed to spill blood and scream into the air, wake his usual prowess and fuck something. Glancing over at her, he realized it had been months since he celebrated the siege of Beamfleot by taking three of his maidens to bed. He was a generous lover, not a total animal. He slammed into each one of them that night, made sure they came, finished by having them kneel before him, tongues out like hunting pups, thirsty and howling for his seed.

He sighed again, pushing the image of her pillowy tits out of his mind. "I need you to do something for me," he opened his leather vest, reaching inside, and withdrawing a rolled piece of paper. It was held tight with a round of wax and stamped with a royal seal. "Tell me what this says."

----

Reaching down he slid his fingers into her hair, his swollen head slipping out of the side of her mouth. Quickly, she sucked it back in, her tongue rolling over the crease below his tip, her hand coming up to stroke his shaft.

Grunting, agitated, he squeezed his fist in her hair, lifting her off. Through the darkness, he could just make out the whites of her surprised eyes looking up at him. Her name was Ulfhild and she was a good warrior, quick with a sword and pretty if she did not smile. Normally, she could suck cock like a champion but tonight it all felt...flat. Waving her off, he told her to go and turned onto his side with a huff.

Alone in his private chamber and lavish bed, he felt anything but settled. For some time he lay still, listening to his own breath, attempting to push away his frustration and call forward sleep. Annoyingly, her, Genevieve, continued to float in his thoughts.

He did not understand it. Did not know what it could be about her that had infected his mind so. Yes, she was beautiful and enticingly plump but there were many available beauties. Dane ones! Ones who could fight, knew his Gods, actually spoke more than two or three words at a time. Not that he wanted to talk to any of them...

The entire thing was stupid and worse, being in the next room, with only a wall between, was putting him off of fucking one of his usuals.

Opening his eyes, he frowned....he assumed she was on the other side of the wall. How would he know if she had not returned after her work as she had been for weeks now? He expected her to be there... It was safest for her to stay close.

Growling, he thrashed onto his back and stared up at the dark slanted ceiling. Now he really could not find any peace.

Reaching up, he made a fist and held it still in the air, sighing, he knocked twice on the wooden wall. He simply had to know. Yes, his warriors were loyal and knew he claimed her but they were still men. Beasts with hard cocks that likely twitched, like his did, every time she walked passed, her curves stirring up some virile instinct to breed.

The smallest two taps on the far side of the wall jolted him back from his thoughts. Freezing at first, his body then relaxed as he shook his head at himself. What a fucking bonehead he was. Rolling back onto his side, he closed his eyes and with a shit-eating grin, finally, found some rest.