Hurrying to the bake house, she entered and asked the baker, "Where are the men? There is no one in the yard."

"I do not know, lady," the baker replied nervously. "I have not left the bake house since the intruders came. I am safest here, I think."

"Aye," Cailin agreed, "you are. Do not fear, Wulf Ironfist will come soon, and then these men will be driven from Cadda-wic."

Cailin left the bake house and hurried to the storage barn. "Come out," she called to the women servants. "It is morning, and the invaders lie drunk in the hall. It is safe now."

The women climbed up from the cellar beneath the barn and stood before their mistress. She viewed them carefully. Two were young and very pretty. They were still apt to be in danger, but the others, older and plainer, would not be unless the men were very drunk and very randy. She sent the two pretty maids to the bake house.

"Tell the baker you are to remain with him. You should be safe if you stay there. If any of Ragnar Strongspear's men come in, keep your heads down, your eyes lowered, and if you must look up, twist your faces to look ugly. It may be your only protection. Go now. The yard is safe and empty. Our men seem to have disappeared."

The two girls ran off, and Cailin then told the remaining women, "Go about your duties as you normally would. If Wulf Ironfist does not come today, then you must hide here again tonight. I will not be able to come for you when the time is right. You must help yourselves. It is all I can do to stay out of Ragnar Strongspear's clutches."

The trespasser and his men finally awoke and stumbled from the hall to relieve themselves. Cailin and her women swept the hall free of debris and all signs of sickness. Fresh rushes were laid, mixed with fragrant herbs. The morning meal was served, but eaten by few before being cleared away.

Ragnar sat at the high board, a large goblet of wine gripped in his fist. "Where are your men?" he demanded of Cailin.

"I do not know," she said. "I thought, perhaps, that you had locked them up somewhere. When I awoke this morning, they were gone. If they knew a means of escape, I am angry at them that they did not take me with them," she concluded, and her irritated tone convinced him more than her words that she was speaking the truth.

He nodded. "Very well. I see your women have returned."

"I sent them into safe keeping for the night," Cailin answered tartly. "I will have no rape or abuse of the women in my charge. Where is Aelfa? I have not seen your niece all morning."

"She is to marry Harald at Lugh. They are probably somewhere making the beast with two backs. Aelfa is a very passionate girl."

"She has the morals of a mink," Cailin observed dryly.

"Aye, she does," Ragnar said with a hearty laugh. "I have warned Harald that she will make him a very bad wife, but he is determined to have her, so what can I do? My brother has given his permission for the marriage. I could not withhold mine."

The remainder of the day seemed to pass more slowly than any day she could remember. As the sun began to set, Cailin was pleased to see that the women had all disappeared once again. She hurried to reach the solar before Ragnar Strongspear could find and stop her. Her breasts were near to bursting with her milk, and it was already leaking through her clothing once more. Quickly climbing the ladder, she pulled it up behind her, closing and bolting the door. She shoved the clothing chests atop the door and sighed, relieved. Stripping off her garments, she reached for the basin and began to relieve herself of the pressure that was making her breasts ache so unbearably. Where was Wulf? If he didn't come soon, her milk would finally run dry. Then she would have to give her precious Royse to some other woman to nurse.

"What are you doing?"

The sound of Ragnar Strongspear's voice rendered her icy with fear. Her eyes widened as he climbed from her bed space. "How did you get in here?" she demanded. Her heart was beating wildly.

"I climbed the ladder," he said simply, and she silently cursed her stupidity that she had not hidden it. "What are you doing?" he repeated, his dark blue eyes sweeping admiringly over her lush form.

It was then Cailin recalled her state. She was naked before this man's eyes, but it was done and there was no helping it. "I must express the milk from my breasts," she said, "as my son is not here to take its nourishment." Her voice was cold and emotionless.

A slow smile lit his face, and moving to stand before her, he clamped his big hands about her waist. Lifting her up, he positioned her so that her breasts hung over his face. Then lowering her slightly, he began to suckle upon her.

It was to Cailin's mind as great a violation of her body as if he had raped her, which she knew he fully intended to do next. "Don't!" she cried out, anguished, but it was as if she had never spoken. She writhed desperately, but the mouth on her breast could not be dislodged.

When he had drained the first breast, he looked into her eyes with a smile. "I like the taste," he told her. "It is said that if a man takes the milk of his lover's breasts, he is rendered potent beyond any other man." Then his greedy mouth grasped her other breast and he began suckling hard on it. When he had taken every drop she had to give, he carried her to the bed space and threw her roughly upon the feather bed. She watched horrified as he pulled his clothing off to match her state. "I've never had a completely naked woman," he said.

Cailin attempted to escape the bed space. She was in a total panic. Ragnar laughed uproariously at her efforts. Holding her down with one hand, he climbed atop her, positioning himself upon her breasts. "Open your mouth," he commanded her, and when she shook her head, refusing, he pinched her nose tightly until, unable to breathe and starting to lose consciousness, Cailin gasped for air. As she did so, he thrust his organ into her mouth. "If you bite," he warned her, "I will have every tooth in your head pulled out," and she believed him. "Suckle me, my little fox vixen, as nicely as I suckled you," he ordered her.

She shook her head in the negative, but he only smiled, and reaching back, found her little jewel with his fingers and began to pinch it cruelly. Cailin cried out with the pain, and beaten, began to comply with his desire.

"Ahh, yes, my little fox vixen," he groaned as she stirred up his lust. "You're skilled beyond any I've ever known!" His eyes closed with his pleasure.

Cailin stealthily moved her arms back over her head even as she continued to tease her captor with her tongue. One hand began to surreptitiously feel beneath the feather bed in the straw. She moved carefully, slowly, terrified that she might attract his attention to what she was doing. Where was it? Had he found it himself?

"Enough!" roared Ragnar Strongspear, drawing his engorged organ from her mouth. "This randy fellow wants to seek his proper place!" He began to slide himself down her body so he might couple with her.

She couldn't find it! Cailin's fingers sought desperately. It had to be there! She must delay him in his intent. "Ohhh, my lord," she pleaded prettily with him, "Will you not give me a bit of the same pleasure I have given you? Ohh, please! I must have it!"

Laughter rumbled up from his chest. "Then you shall have your desire, my russet-haired little fox vixen! I will not disappoint you!" Yanking her legs apart, he almost dove between them.

Cailin attempted to block the feel of his wet tongue on her flesh. Frantic, she dug into the straw beneath the feather bed, and just when she was certain that he must have found it and removed it earlier, her hand was sliced slightly by the blade she sought. Relief pouring through her, Cailin grasped the weapon, ignoring the pain of her wound. "Ohhh! Ohhh!" she cried, remembering he would expect something of her for his obscene efforts. "Oh, it is good! I am ready for you, my lord!"

Wordless, Ragnar Strongspear positioned himself.

"Ohh, kiss me!" Cailin cried to him, and when he leaned forward to cover her mouth with his, she plunged her knife several times into his back. With a surprised grunt, he rolled off of her onto his back. He was wounded, but not mortally so, she saw. "Bitch!" he growled at her. "You'll pay for that!"

Cailin quickly straddled him, grasped his head by the hair, and yanking it back, swiftly cut Ragnar Strongspear's throat. The look of total amazement in his eyes faded so rapidly that she wasn't even certain she had actually seen it. She scrambled off of him and stood shivering, staring down at the dead man, not even sure he was really dead. She was afraid for a long moment that he would jump up, but no. He was dead. Very dead. She had killed Ragnar Strongspear. She had killed a man.

Cailin began to weep softly with relief. When at last her sobs subsided, she became aware of the fact that she was covered in blood. His blood. She shuddered with distaste, and forcing herself to function, moved across the solar, poured water into a basin and washed, washed, washed, until finally she was clean again. Being clean and having fresh garments seemed to help a little. She avoided looking across the room to the bed space where Ragnar Strongspear lay sprawled in a widening pool of his own blood. Instead she sat down by her loom, eventually dozing with exhaustion, until the birds, twittering excitedly in the predawn, roused her. Starting awake, Cailin remembered what had happened the previous night.

What was she going to do? When Ragnar's men discovered that she had killed their master, and they certainly would, they would kill her. She would never see Wulf and their children again. Nervous tears began to slide down her pale cheeks. No! She would not allow herself to be slaughtered like a frightened rabbit.