Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The first day of the men's sojourn on the island

With a hammering heart, Hedda checked the length of sealskin at the brute's wrists. She didn't know why his presence caused her to tremble nor why her blood heated at the sight of him, but for some reason, it was so.

It's only my loathing , she reminded herself. For him and those who've forced him upon me.

She didn't want to share her space with the copper-haired intruder, having no desire for him, nor any man, but his mere presence had changed things.

Not for the better , she brooded. No good shall come of this.

She'd already seen it in a number of the other women. Mesmerized by the abrupt dose of masculinity that had washed ashore, they'd run to resume their prior subservient roles. It riled her. The women were accomplished in tending their crops and livestock and had been maintaining their shelters. They didn't need men to survive. Yet many seemed blind to the benefits of being free and independent—not just from the trusses of marriage but the dominance of men. What did they think was going to happen when their newfound guests stirred and found their strength? How many would come imploring her for help before the moon's next transition?

Most of them, I'd wager.

The last thing Hedda required was another man in her life, strutting around and expecting to make the rules.

She cast her gaze once again over her captive. Fastened firmly to her bed post, the trespasser had not yet woken and was entirely her prisoner. Nevertheless, she once again tested his bonds, giving a sigh of irritation. Guarding him was going to consume valuable time.

It had already taken most of the morning to carry the men from the beach. Certainly, it would have taken longer were it not for Astrid contriving a hammock-like contraption to transport them, assembled from a small boat sail and poles.

Additional hands had been required to move the ogre thrust upon Hedda. Taller and more muscular than the others, the man sprawled at her bedside was intimidating, regardless of being bound, bloodied, and unconscious.

"I trust you not," Hedda muttered. "Just you remember that, you filthy argr ." Satisfied with the insult, and that he was not going anywhere without her assent, she perched on the edge of her bed. However, she kept her eyes riveted upon him.

As the community's healer, Elin had made an initial assessment of his injuries, declaring that none of his bones seemed broken. She believed he'd make a full recovery.

Hedda snorted. We shall see about that…

All Hedda had vowed, at Elin's insistence, was to attend to his head wound, then check for further bruising. She bristled at the thought. To do so would mean removing the remainder of his tattered clothing. She'd no desire to be so close to him, let alone to take responsibility for washing and healing the swine.

Almost as unsettling was the need to find something for the stranger to wear. Hedda had sworn never to handle her faithless husband's possessions again. At least one tunic and braies were stuffed somewhere in a chest, though she wished she'd burned the lot and been done with it.

" Dra ?t helvete !" She balled her fists. How dare the intruder come in here, causing such upheaval? Hedda had been content to live out her days without the imposition of a man. Pulling her blade from its sheath, she brandished it above the sleeping man's face.

"I could still do it, you know." Her lips curled. "I could cut your throat, and you'd meet the gods before the others discovered you."

It was enticing to wield the power of life and death, but even as she considered the act, her grandmother's words returned to her, demanding Hedda's compliance. She rarely cared for the opinions of others, but she respected Bothild. She would do as instructed… for the time being.

Running her blade through the man's drenched tunic, she peeled it back, wrinkling her nose at the rising brine-soaked odor.

"You repel me." Having finished the job, she flung the garment away. "I cannot think of a single decent use for you."

Though as she regarded his naked torso, she knew the statement was far from true. The stranger had muscles in places Hedda had not known it was possible to grow them. She took in his barely covered lower portion, drinking in the tantalizing glimpse of thigh and the generous outline of his manhood.

A flame flickered low in her belly.

Stop . She squeezed her eyes shut. Do not think of him that way. Do not think of him at all.

She'd given little thought to carnality since Einar's departure. In truth, she'd always preferred to be left alone. Nevertheless, looking upon the stranger's physique, she acknowledged a stirring of base desire.

He was larger than any man she'd known, his broad chest covered not only with inked designs but with an abundance of russet-colored hair. Hedda yearned to brush her fingers there, to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Nonsense. It does not matter how soft his hair is.

Dragging her focus to the task at hand, she dampened a square of cloth, wiping seeping blood from his head wound. The gash would not knit without a stitch or two. Hedda did not consider herself particularly adept with a needle, but she could do what was necessary. Taking up the slender point of bone, she threaded through the ribbon of animal gut Elin had brought for her use.

At the first piercing, the man gave a pained mewl. She paused, fearing his awakening, but his lids did not open.

Best to work quickly.

Pinching the edges of raw flesh until they puckered closed, she inserted the needle four times before tying off the end of the thread in a simple knot. It would likely heal unevenly—thanks to the roughness of her handiwork—but she rather liked the thought of that.

In any case, what was one more mark upon such a face? His skin bore a great deal of scarring, especially around his left eye and down the length of his body as well. She brought the cloth to the rounded muscle of his shoulder, touching it to another wound. Caused by an arrow? She was adept with the bow herself, often hunting within the island's interior. His arms were crossed with the fainter scars of slicing blades. Evidently, the man was a warrior and unafraid of battle.

Even more reason to bind and control him.

She acknowledged what she now realized was obvious. His left side was marred by historic burns. Raised welts broke the contours of his body ink, the scars speckling his abdomen and continuing downward. She caught her breath in sympathy for what he'd obviously endured.

"You really have seen action."

Hedda struggled to decide how she felt about that. Scars were unsightly, but she respected those who fought for their gods and their people. The fiend might not be welcome at her door, but it seemed as though he'd overcome struggles of his own to be there.

"What happened to you?" She worked the cloth across his torso, the hard planes of his body stirring something primal within her. However, the man bound to her bed was her hostage… nothing more. One way or another, he would soon be gone.

Then why should I not treat him as I wish?

Strong though he clearly was, he'd taken a blow to the head and was more than adequately fettered. She was at liberty to do as she pleased, and witnessing his well-built form had awoken desires she barely recalled from her marriage.

A thrill raced through her. What was to prevent her from uncovering the one place she was yet to discover?

I should not, her thoughts counseled. He's vulnerable, and it isn't right. She discarded her reasoning immediately, cutting away the remaining clothing.

There, sitting proudly between his thighs, as though the organ knew it was on display, was the stranger's cock—impressive, even in its flaccid state.

"Should I clean you as well?"

It was an impish thought, and one she'd never contemplated with Einar. The idea of handling this man, however, made her pulse quicken.

It was not that she wanted to copulate with him—far from it. She was too old to bear children and frankly, disinclined to even try. Her dominant response to his presence was resentment, but the notion of taking advantage of him while he was bound and unable to assent was alluring.

What will the other women say?

"They shall never know," she answered the unspoken question.

This moment, like the desire circling within her body, would be for her and her alone.

Brushing her fingertips along his shaft, her breath hitched, and heat swelled between her legs. She hankered to feel him harden, the way Einar had sometimes when he'd tried to impregnate her. What would happen if she excited the sleeping giant? Tracing her fingers over his sensitive skin, she was silently ecstatic as he grew, his body obeying her silent command.

Look at the size of him!

Something about the stranger's organ utterly captivated her. Taking it in her hand, she rubbed its length, reveling in the way it stiffened. She contemplated how it would feel between her legs.

"I can't." She chastised herself. "I can't do that."

"Do what?"

Hedda's heart gave a painful leap.

He's awake!

Knowing green eyes met hers.

"I…" Her words trailed away as both of their gazes headed south, toward his erection, about which her hand was curled.

"Do not speak!" Abruptly, she released him. "You're a prisoner."

"And this is how you treat your prisoners?" Tipping back his head, he took in his bound wrists before returning his gaze to pierce her. "I demand to know who has taken me as such."

"I'm the leader here." It wasn't strictly true, but he didn't need to know that. As far as he was concerned, she was in charge. "And my name is not for you to know!"

His gaze narrowed. "Where is your jarl?"

Typical! He seeks validation from another man.

"Perhaps you did not hear me." Leaning close, she met his insolent stare. "You're a captive. My captive."

"In this case,"—his voice, rough and deep, sent an ominous trembling through her bones—"you may resume my captivity." He gestured toward his arousal. "For it appears the gods have sent me to enjoy it."