Chapter Text
Prologue
For as long as he could remember, he had wandered.
Somewhere he had had a home, a mother, a father, or some adult who cared for him. Someone had fed and clothed him, someone had taught him to read and write and figure, but he had only the vaguest memories of being a child. He had always lived in these northern lands, he was certain, and he had wandered now for many years. How old was he? He could not say.
He was strong and clever and willing to work. A man who was willing to put his hand to almost any job could find shelter and regular meals. Most people were hospitable and would offer at least a meal and a night out of the weather to a passer-by. If he passed through empty places, he built shelters of pine boughs, hunted or fished a little, found mushrooms and berries. He kept moving, always, and never wore out his welcome.
He was also a man who knew how to please women, and that made him more welcome than most.
I. The Shy Maiden
Everyone always needed more help with the harvest. That was a good time of year--hard work, but abundant food, a place to sleep, and in many places a chance to bathe or relax in a sauna if the weather was already cool. He'd been in the village for four days, bringing in wheat and barley, doing more than his share of the hardest work, when one of the older women, a matron who he thought was on the village council, invited him to use the bath house before the night meal. She even offered to launder his clothes and gave him a spare tunic and trews along with a towel.
He wasn't surprised to see the same woman lingering outside when he emerged, thoroughly clean for the first time in weeks. He'd even unbound and washed his hair, borrowed scissors and trimmed back his beard.
He was surprised, however, by her request.
"We've a shy girl who needs her first bedding done right. She ought to go off to the spring fairs and look for a man, but she's scared. I have a feeling that if she went with the right man now, she'd be bolder come spring and want to find a lover. Or if she got with child, she'd have that to think about, and be a better catch for someone who wants to get married."
"Why me?"
"You're passing through, won't be around to brag that you were her first and hold it over her. And besides," the matron grinned slyly, "you seem like a man that would enjoy it."
He grinned back. "That I would."
Later that night she pointed out the girl to him in the mead-hall: young, fair-haired, tall, her face soft in the way of youth, as if her bones had yet to form. Her eyes met his and then fell, more than once. Shy, indeed.
The next night he took a shorter bath and put on his own clothes, given back to him by the matron. After the night's meal she met him with a jug of wine and two cups on a tray. "Come with me."
He followed her out of the mead-hall to one of the smaller houses in the village. A lantern waited in a single small window; when he knocked, a boy answered the door.
"We've come to see your sister, Leith. You've arranged to sleep at a friend's, right?"
He nodded. "Aye, ma'am." He ducked into the dim house, then darted past them with a small bundle under his arm, off into the night.
"Her mother is dead," said the matron, in a low voice. "Father... he comes and goes. Most of the time it's just her and young Leith; we keep an eye on them. That's why I spoke for her."
She led him across the room, around a central hearth well smoored for the night, and over to a curtained doorway. "Laeyn," she said to the thick wool curtain.
It twitched aside an inch or two. "Wait," she mouthed to the wanderer, and went in. After a moment of muffled conversation, she came out, empty-handed.
"She's as ready as may be. Be kind to her."
"I will." Clearing his throat, he stepped past the curtain.
He stopped just inside the room. It was a proper bedroom, likely her parents' bedroom once, with a handsome bedstead, an embroidered bedspread. The cradle that stood by one wall was carved to match the bedstead; there was a small high window that faced east. Probably the girl--Laeyn--and her brother slept beside the hearth.
She was standing beneath the shuttered window with her back to the wall. Yes, she was a tall girl, with long fair hair not unlike his own; it hung loose about her shoulders, but she was still dressed, her dark green gown neatly kirtled, the usual apron put aside for a heavy necklace.
The sight of her seemed to waver when the candles on the stand flickered in a draught. He took one step forward. "That's a fine necklace."
Her hand rose to touch it--square, sun-browned, stroking pieces of blue stone and golden amber, small beads of gold. "It was my mother's." Her voice was surprisingly deep.
He took another step, watching her shoulders rise and drop. "Your name is Laeyn?"
She nodded. "A fine name," he said.
She did not ask for his name. He did not offer it. He took a couple of steps and sat down on the bed. Took off his shoes and put them aside before turning to look at her. "Will you sit with me?"
After a moment she came around the bed and sat next to him, head down, hands in her lap. Her hands betrayed her, toying with her finely woven sash.
"Everyone wants to marry me off," she said, in a tone of gloom.
He laughed softly. "I don't wish to marry you. I only want to please you. Bedsport is a fine thing when both partners are willing." He paused but she said nothing. "You are willing for this, are you not? Because if not, I'll not force the issue."
She was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath and burst out, "I'd feel more willing if I knew what was to happen! No one would tell me anything. It's been all hints and jokes and winks and snickers. Of course I've seen animals fucking, but there must be more to it than that?"
He couldn't completely smother his laughter. "Oh, there is much more to it than that! For one thing, women can enjoy the deed far more than a mare or a sow does. There's an art to it, and room for variety."
She was looking up at him--she was tall, but he was still taller--and met his eyes. Hers were a grey like steel. "Tell me, then. Tell me what we shall do."
He thought for a moment, then remembered the tray with the wine. He rose and filled the two cups; took a sip--a good vintage, and offered her a cup before sitting down again. He drank more. "Have some wine. A little wine makes things go smoothly; too much wine makes things go nowhere."
He waited until she had obeyed him before he went on. "To begin with, there's kissing, and embracing. Either one can come first, or both together." He sipped more wine, thinking of his breath. "Then there's touching, and undressing, they can go together. I can help you undress, and you me, or do for ourselves. I'll want to touch you, your breasts, and your cunt, but not only. Touch you, kiss you. A man can do wonders between a woman's legs with just his fingers or his mouth."
He watched her drink wine, turning the cup round in her hands, turning his words over in her mind.
"You might want to touch me, which I'd be happy to allow. Not just my cock, either. There can be many kinds of touching and kissing before I put my cock inside you. A woman can get just aroused as a man even though she doesn't hang up a sign in front of her."
That got a flash of a grin from her, brightening her face like the blooming of a flower. Then she frowned. "But what about my maidenhead?"
Ah, this was often a sticking-point. "What about it?"
She seemed to ponder her words before coming out with, "They say it hurts the first time a woman takes a cock."
He shook his head, slowly. "It doesn't have to. Not if the man knows his business and makes sure the woman is well roused. A busy girl like you could break her maidenhead with no pain just doing a day's work, or dancing fast, or galloping on horse. There's no door to be broken down before you let me inside."
He had her interest; now he must gain her trust. "Sit on my lap?"
She got up and first turned to put her cup down out of the way, then approached him, her arms wrapped awkwardly around her middle. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat down on his lap sideways, like a child. He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her just a little closer. "There," he said, brushing her hair back from her face. He laid a hand against her cheek and saw her blink, felt her skin begin to warm. "Not so bad, eh?"
She did not speak, but she met his eyes with a long, searching look. When she lowered her lashes, he leaned in and touched her lips lightly with his.
She shivered. "Kissing first," he murmured, and laid his mouth to her cheek. "To get to know each other a little."
She accepted his kisses well enough, but it took a while for her actually to return them. But he was truly in no hurry; he sensed fire buried deep in the girl, a wild passion that perhaps no one else had glimpsed, and he wanted to kindle it into a lasting flame.
Once their kisses had turned wet and deep (and he was already fully hard, but not going to mention it yet), he drew away and cupped her face with one hand. She leaned into the touch, cheeks red, breathing a little faster, and when his hand drifted down to her breast, she did not flinch.
Her breasts were small, firm, and high, their nipples already showing through her gown and shift. He rubbed his thumb carefully over one stiff peak and heard her stifle a tiny gasp. Keeping back his smile, he caressed one breast and then the other, teasing her nipples, waiting hopefully for the moment when, without his prompting, she shifted on his lap and reached for the strings of the shift.
He lifted her to her feet , smiling now, and began to undo her kirtle. He helped her lift the gown off and lay it aside, but instead of trying to take off her shift, he coaxed her back into his lap. She nestled closer now, letting him finish opening the neck of her shift so he see and touch her bare breasts.
Ivory skin and pale rose tips. This time she cried out softly when he touched one nipple, brushing his fingers over it as a harper brushes the strings of his harp, then reaching for the other and pinching it lightly.
"Yes?" he murmured into her ear, and she tilted her head and breathed, "Yes."
He took her invitation and began kissing her neck as he fondled her bare breasts. She was trembling delightfully by the time he got his mouth on her nipples.
"Lie down?" She slithered away and settled with her head on the pillows, watching him with wide and eager eyes. He stood up and took off his tunic, facing her and letting her see his body, the hard muscle, the fine hairs across his chest, the scar over his ribs, his back as he turned to lay aside the garment. But she had not taken off the shift, so he left his trousers on and joined her on the bed.
She raised her mouth for his kiss and for the first time raised her hand to touch him--his bearded jaw, the long braid that fell over his shoulder. He kissed his way down to her breasts again, letting his hand fall carelessly, as it seemed, on her waist. It seemed good to linger there a while, kissing and suckling at her breasts, running his hand slowly up and down from ribs to thigh, until he could practically smell the desire on her, rising like perfume. She only watched his face, her gaze almost fierce, as he reached for the hem of the shift and pushed it up.
She had good long legs, a rounded belly. She was slim by nature, not from hunger. The curling hair over her mound was reddish; he went just to cup the little hill with one hand and his fingers sank into wetness.
"Aaahhh, there...." He let just one finger slip a little lower and then showed it to her, shiny with her dew. "That's your pleasure." Holding her gaze, he licked his finger clean. "Mm, don't fuck a man who doesn't like the taste of your honey, that's my advice. Will you spread your legs for me?"
She did, lifting her hips for a moment but keeping her legs flat on the bed. He shifted so he could take a good look at her: so tender and pink, the lips like petals just beginning to open, her clit pushing forward, just a hint of the opening that poured out her juices. He felt a spike of desire to push inside her, possess her, with his fingers, with his cock; he held still until it settled, then stroked his thumb along her slit.
She moaned out loud and spread her legs wider, without even meaning to, he thought. He stroked her repeatedly, opening her up, then circled her clit until she began pushing into his touch.
Not taking his hand away, he captured her mouth for a deep kiss, then kissed her breasts again, too. "I want to put my finger inside you now," he told her. Her hips lifted again and she nodded.
Sitting up, he eased her thighs further apart, her knees bending. She was glistening beautifully now, she must be ready... his finger slid into her as easily as into water.
He heard her sigh. Watching her face, he moved his finger inside her, stroking, caressing, sliding out and dipping back in. She was tight, but not the tightness of anxious muscles, not clenching and trying to push him out. He had no fear now that she wouldn't take his cock. He withdrew for a moment and rubbed her clit, hearing the rise of her need in her rising voice, then with palm upward pressed two fingers inside.
"Oh!" A cry of surprise, followed by a long sigh--of satisfaction? That was the goal, to make a woman want a cock inside her, to need the fullness and the friction. Her hips moved with his strokes as he carefully fucked her, seeking the sweet spot, her cries encouraging him until she peaked.
He gave her a moment to catch her breath and open her eyes again. Then he got up and deliberately untied his belt, freed his cock, let his trews drop.
He studied her face as she studied his manhood. It was in proportion to the rest of him, hard and ready, the tip glistening with his own dew. He wanted very much to spend inside her, perhaps give her a babe--if she wanted; he could restrain himself if she asked him. He was fairly certain that he could. Her shyness, her wildness, had a powerful effect on him.
He did not move to cover her right away. Instead, he lay down again with his head on her thigh, his cock near her face. Easy to turn his head and lick at her swollen clit, her slick parted lips. She drew back her to knee to give him way and, as he had hoped, laid a curious hand on his cock. He did not think she would take it in her mouth, but it was good that she stroked him, drew back his foreskin a little, cupped his bollocks and then wrapped her hand firmly around his shaft, trying, testing. He pushed into her grip, not hard, letting her feel him, the size and shape of him, the firmness of his girth and the softness of his skin.
When she was close to another peak, he left off licking her and moved to kiss her warm breast. "Let me put it in you now?"
She nodded, saying nothing but spreading her legs wide. He knelt between her thighs and lifted her legs from behind the knee, pushing them back. She grasped her own knees and held them out of the way, watching him with wide, dilated eyes. He inched forward so he could lift her and, without putting his weight on her, press the head of his cock into her slit.
Her eyes went wider still and she gasped as he slid in an inch or two, smoothly and without pain. Instinctively she moved, taking more of him inside, and he pushed gently until he was sunk to the root, his ballocks against her bottom.
The expression on her face was somewhere between pleasure and disbelief. He shifted to get one elbow on the mattress, one hand under her back, bent his head and whispered in her ear, "And this is how we fuck."
She began to climax as soon as he began to move inside her. Her moaning went on and on as he thrust slowly and steadily, savoring the feel of her smooth walls rippling around him, the music of her pleasure. When she began to shake her head, not in refusal but in affirmation, he stilled himself, took a breath and held it, and pulled out.
"No, what--"
"Turn over, sweet girl, get on your knees. There's more than one way to fuck." He gave her a quick kiss.
Once she was ready, he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her, wet and swollen, parted lips a deep rose, the opening that beckoned him forward, and the smaller opening that some other lover would open for the first time. Then he slid home again, gratified to hear her wail and feel her shift her knees and grind against him.
"Like a mortar in a pestle," he laughed, "only it's the mortar that moves!" He moved in and out and in and out and held, letting her buck and grind and moan. Then he began to fuck her a little harder, a little faster, paying attention to her noises but more and more distracted by his own peak building up, demanding his attention.
He pulled out of her rather quickly, before it was too late for him, and dropped onto his back beside her. "One more trick you ought to try, before I'm done for," he panted. He took hold of his shaft with thumb and finger. "Come and ride me, lass."
She moved quickly to do so. What a lovely sight she was, her small breasts heaving as she rolled her hips back and forth, side to side, her head thrown back in abandon. When he could take no more, he took her by the hips, saying, "My turn now--" and thrust without restraint until he spent hard and long within her.
She lay prone atop him for a little, until her trembling stilled. He stroked her hair and her back, did not cling when she moved away. She stretched out close to him, sighing, and laid her head on his shoulder.
"Well satisfied, sweet girl?" He kissed the top of her head.
"Indeed...."
"Can we sleep here? If you want me to stay with you--"
"Yes, we can--and please--"
He slept soundly with Laeyn in his arms, and so did she.
When he got ready to leave the following day, Laeyn came out as he was heading for the south gate and walked with him. She said nothing, but she carried her head high and walked with a bit of sway in her hips that had not been there before. At the gate he turned to her and she gladly rose on tiptoe to wind her arms around his neck and give him a passionate kiss.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice shook, but her gaze stayed steady.
"Thank you," he said, kissed her cheek, took her hands and kissed them, too, and went out the gate without looking back, hearing her latch it behind him.