Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Frida peered over her shoulder. The stranger was stretched out on the makeshift bed she'd created with his eyes closed.

She lingered on the hard lines of his upper body before letting her gaze wander to his angular face and dirty blond hair. He was every bit as appealing as she'd first thought, though gods help her, she didn't know what to make of the simmering energy bubbling inside her. Did his muscular form now command the rhythm of her heart, and what of the heat furling at her core? Was that too controlled by the stranger?

She turned back to the fire, fearful of him catching her staring.

She'd expected his shock and grief after the shipwreck but not his strangely vacant expression.

Perhaps he doesn't remember what happened?

That was worrying. If his memory had lapsed, then he might be more injured than Elin realized. That was perhaps why he'd collapsed back onto the bed at the mention of giving her a child.

She pulled in a steadying breath as she ladled water from the cauldron into the bowl of herbs Elin had given her.

Yes, that is surely the reason.

Frida knew little of men. She'd never felt their keen touch nor any adoring gaze, though she'd noticed the way they sometimes looked at other women—with desire in their eyes. She'd seen something of the sort when she'd climbed out of the tub. He'd wanted her, hadn't he?

Anxiety clawed at her insides. No man has ever wanted me.

Gripping the ladle, she bit back a spike of shame and self-loathing. Shunned by the men of their island, Frida had been either overlooked or feared. Most had misunderstood her gift, thinking her some sort of sorcerer. Some had even blamed her for the fate that had befallen their community.

"Something smells… interesting."

It was a relief to hear his playful tone, though there was a weariness to it. No doubt, he needed to recover from his ordeal, and whatever comforts she could offer him would help with that.

Their coupling might be Freyja's will, but it would be wise not to rush things. The stranger needed to heal, and for her part, she wished to know him better before she gave herself.

Having stirred the strongly fragranced tea, she came close again, kneeling to bring the bowl to his lips. "No doubt you're hungry, but first, I'd have you drink this. ‘Tis something for the pain."

He sniffed the concoction with an air of suspicion. "I'd rather a mug of ale or mead, if you have it."

"Nay!" Frida answered abruptly, then chastised herself for being snappish. "At least, not now. ‘Tis a drink for the highest celebrations."

It wasn't strictly true, but an overfondness for such refreshments was not to be encouraged. In fact, Grethe made a very good mead, and the gatherings at which it was drunk were much anticipated. Even Hedda seemed less uptight when she'd partaken of a cup of the honeyed beverage.

He looked crestfallen.

"The water here is wholesome, so you need not fear, and this brew is recommended by Elin, our healer. Your ankle hurts, does it not?" She offered it again, and he wrinkled his nose before sighing deeply.

"‘Tis most kind." He shook his head. "But I do not think I can accept."

"What? Why so?" Confused, Frida glanced at the bowl. ‘Twas true it smelled bitter, and the floating pieces were off-putting. Perhaps she ought to have sieved them out. Still, ‘twas odd for him to refuse the tonic when she knew he must feel pain. Had she inadvertently caused some offense?

Faen I helvete! If only I knew and understood men better. Then I could make sense of this riddle.

"‘Twould be ungracious to accept more from my host until I know her name." His brow lifted as he cast his eyes to meet her own. "Especially when she is so fair."

"Oh." Heat crawled to Frida's cheeks. His manner was overtly mischievous, and she could not fathom it. Something about the way he was looking at her was undecipherable.

"‘Tis nothing." She did her best to dismiss his compliment. "I'm only doing what's right by taking care of you."

"Yet I cannot accept the drink without your name." One blond eyebrow rose. "Let me begin." Touching his hand to his chest, he introduced himself. "I am Gunnar, and once I am healed, I am at your service."

At my service?

Frida could only imagine the stunned expression on her face as she struggled to comprehend his meaning. She'd already indicated Freyja's purpose, yet the glint in his eyes inferred there was more on his mind than procreation. She knew not what to think, but he'd imagine her a fool if she didn't respond.

" Hej , Gunnar." She forced a smile. "My name is Frida."

"Meaning beautiful or beloved. What a perfect name for you, Frida." He tried her name for size.

"Well…" In all of her years, Frida had never known such praise from anyone, let alone a man. A peculiar giddiness overtook her, though she knew he was only being polite—no doubt to garner her favor and heal faster.

Meanwhile, his pledge to be ‘at her service' was surely no more than a vow to provide her with a child. A bargain, of sorts, in return for her tending him.

"Drink, then." She thrust the bowl once more in his direction, trying to still her trembling fingers. His gaze locked with hers. Had she ever seen eyes so deeply blue?

" Takk , Frida." This time, he sipped at the tonic. "I'm grateful for your aid and not used to being so well cared for. It is something I could grow used to."

"You have no woman?" Had she really just asked that? "I mean, a wife who is waiting for you at home?"

Not that it mattered. If Freyja had selected Gunnar, that was good enough for Frida. It helped that his honed body was easy on the eye and that unknown imps danced in his alluring eyes, but she would have surrendered to the goddess' will, regardless. She had no desire to seize a man who already had a wife, but she trusted in the divine.

Freyja knew better than Frida.

She knew better than anyone.

"A wife?" He spluttered into the bowl. "Gods, no. My horses are company enough. They have more of my time than any human."

She nodded, adopting what she hoped was an earnest expression. Strange for a man to prefer the company of animals, though if any were to understand such a thing, it would be her. She oft wandered the cliffs of the island and some of its inner reaches, spending time alone with the birds and other creatures that crossed her path.

Of more import was the fact that he had no spouse waiting. At least, she need feel no betrayal for another woman when this man lay with her. And she need fear no comparison with some beloved who would no doubt be prettier, fiercer, or more talented in pleasing him.

"I've heard of those creatures…great and noble beasts, are they not?" she said at length.

"Aye." He nodded. "They are fine and amiable creatures. But you've only heard of them, not seen? Have you no horses here?"

She hesitated, wondering how much to tell him. She supposed he would know all eventually, and there couldn't be much harm in it, though there were some things she'd rather keep as her own secret.

"There's little use for such animals here. The terrain makes it so, for the interior of our island is very steep. ‘Tis far easier to traverse by boat, although most of what we need is accessible on foot, in any case."

"Strange indeed…a place without horses." Looking somewhat disappointed, he returned to the brew, tipping back the final drops.

She was struck by how full his lips were. Frida couldn't recall thinking that about a man before. The rest of him was equally attractive. She let her gaze travel down his bared chest, with its light covering of hair, taking in the inked patterns upon it and those about his arms—circles and arrows and elongated animal heads with nostrils flaring. Were those the horses he spoke of? She supposed they must be, although they looked not quite as she'd imagined them.

The furs had fallen to bunch at his waist, so the lower portion of his abdomen was visible, with its trail of darker blonde leading downward. Tilting her head, she pondered how different his body was from her own—so much harder and muscle-laden and with hair in the most unexpected places.

She had an idea of what lay between his legs and that it was in some way vital to the act of coupling, though the mechanics of it were a mystery. It was beyond her fathom how a man sired a child since neither Hedda nor her grandmother had explained it to her, and she'd never dared ask. She supposed they hadn't thought it important since she'd no man of her own.

Yet, here was a man, and he was hers—if she wanted him to be—at least for a time.

"You see something you like, Frida?" Gunnar looked at her with amusement.

"I just…" Blushing, she fumbled for the right words. "I was just making sure you have no other injuries." That was nonsense. She and Elin had done a thorough job of assessing Gunnar while he lay in fitful sleep. Elin had run her hands quickly along his limbs and declared him sound, while Frida had only watched, somewhat disappointed that Elin hadn't deemed it necessary to remove the man's braies .

"I see." His lips curled, but thankfully, he didn't press the point.

"You must be famished. Let me bring you some nourishment." Taking the bowl from him, she was glad for the opportunity to turn away. This feeling of wanting to gaze upon him and to touch was disconcerting, though she knew she oughtn't to do so without being invited. Nor did she want him to notice her interest, though it would be worse, she supposed, if he did not notice her at all.

Frida rubbed at her temples. Was an ache coming on? Hardly surprising with so many contrary thoughts in her head.

"‘Twill be good to fill my stomach." His reply came from behind her as she moved to where the victuals were kept, but her mortification ensured she didn't glance back.

Frida had already prepared a plate, including some pickled mackerel and the best of her cheeses. She'd thought to speak more with him while he ate, but perhaps she ought to remove herself for a while, giving time to restore her dignity.

Carefully, she ground up more of the herbs, ready to add the heated water. There was comfort in being of service to him, offering these small acts of kindness. ‘Twas a novelty, of course, since she'd not had a man to care for in the past, and this man needed her—at least until he was stronger—but Frida felt the rightness of it in her bones. Freyja had sent him to her surely with the intention of nursing him back to health… besides other things?

Part of that would involve helping him bathe, for his skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, no doubt from enduring the pain of his injury.

And for that, his braies will need to come off. It's only right that I wash him everywhere to make him as comfortable as can be.

That thought made her hands tremble so much, she dropped the pestle, which clattered into the bowl.

Pull yourself together! He's injured, and he needs your help. Remember that, and all will be well. As for other matters, Freyja will guide us.

Slowly, Frida turned to face him.

From across the room came the sound of gentle snoring. Her patient had slipped back into slumber.

"Not so hungry, after all." Shaking her head, she looked down upon him. "Never mind, my handsome stranger. I shall be here when you wake."