Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Brute! Fiend! Monster!

Elin had never been so angry.

Looking down at him, she contemplated giving the beast a solid punch in the ribs and be damned if it killed him.

How dare his fingers bite into her neck, forcing her to take him! How dare he push his precious seed down her throat instead of the place she needed it?

Shock and shame twisted inside of her.

She'd made it clear enough that she wanted to get up, and he'd taken not the least notice. He'd used her without her assent.

As I used him.

Squeezing her eyes closed briefly, she wrestled with the dilemma. She'd sought to take what she wanted, and now he had done the same.

"All this time tending you, and that's how you repay me?" She spat the words, angry and confused at what had taken place. A well-aimed kick would serve him right for her humiliation, though she wouldn't put it past him to grab her foot. Clearly, there was more strength in that left arm than she'd realized.

She settled for booting a piss pot across the floor. It skittered and came to a stop against the edge of the sleeping pallet. He stared fixedly at her but uttered not a word.

Evidently, he didn't think she deserved an apology.

Well, let's see how you do with some time to think about it!

Turning on her heel, she made for the door, throwing it open, then slamming it hard behind her. For a moment, standing outside in the early morning light, she hesitated. Without tending, the fire would soon dwindle to embers, and she'd left neither water nor food within his reach.

He was naked still, though he might drape the linens across his manhood if he'd a mind and could probably reach the thrown-back furs to cover himself.

Ought she to go back?

Nay. Let him suffer!

The sun was full high in the sky before she made her return.

Standing once more at her own door, Elin battled a wave of unease. She'd not intended to stay away so long. Except, somehow, as time passed, she'd grown fearful of facing Rangvald.

She'd learned his name from one of his comrades, having visited each of the other five women's huts. Only Hedda had refused her access, asserting that her charge had no need of inspection. Something was afoot there, but Elin lacked the energy to argue and, truly, why should she care?

She could imagine Hedda carrying out her threats, slitting her guest's throat through pique alone. If her charge was as unpleasant as this Rangvald, Elin could almost empathize. But Elin sensed it was something other. Hedda had appeared from her chamber in the longhouse with a fevered look and addressed Elin with more defiance than deference. Hedda was not one to express appreciation nor to see when help was kindly offered. She would never change, and that was her own business. Elin hadn't been inclined to press the point.

It had been Astrid's charge, J?rgen, who'd told her Rangvald's name on being given a description of his comrade. Of course, he'd wanted to hear how Rangvald was faring and had ventured to ask if he might see him.

Elin had been obliged to shut down the request. Though J?rgen seemed a decent sort, and Rangvald was hardly in a position to present a threat, Bothild had been clear in the terms of the men's stay. For the time being, they were to remain closeted where they were, without contact with one another.

They were guests of their women for one purpose only—the begetting of children.

Elin could not help but sigh.

She still wanted a child, but from him? The man was an animal. What sort of child would he sire? One with his father's temperament?

An unsavory thought.

Besides which, it had been fanciful to think that a single coupling would do the job. In likelihood, she'd need to mount him several times, this moon and the next, to have a fair chance of conceiving.

Could she bring herself to do that? She might insist upon covering his head with a shawl while she performed the act. Nevertheless, she'd know he still bore a conceited look upon his face. Strange how one could be so certain of particular things.

She'd been at fault, acting as she had without his explicit permission and knowing he was helpless.

Though not quite as helpless as I'd imagined…

But she'd done him no harm, and he obviously liked having his arousal sucked upon. There had been a few occasions when Bj?rn had held her head more firmly than she would have liked, though not as harshly as this Rangvald!

Nay. Do not compare them. That churl has naught in common with Bj?rn, who was as good a husband as any could wish for.

But what was she to do now? Turn him out to stay with someone else?

Bothild would arrange it if she asked, but there was no guarantee that Elin would be granted an immediate term with one of the other men when they became available. If she sent Rangvald away, might she miss her chance of a pregnancy?

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. A child by that beast or none at all? ‘Twas a barbarous decision to have to make.

Besides which, in his present state, he needed close attention. The damage to his ribs might affect his breathing, and he ought not to be moved.

Nor left alone for too long.

Elin's conscience pricked her.

There was nothing for it. She'd have to keep him, at least until he recovered. Then she could revisit the idea of sending him on his way. In the meantime, she couldn't bring herself to think of coupling with him, even if it was possible without doing him injury. She didn't wish to speak to him or to look him in the face—however handsome—but it would be impossible to ignore him altogether.

However loutish this Rangvald was, he was her responsibility, for the moment.

Opening the door, she left it wide, so the afternoon sun might enter the room. As she'd anticipated, the fire had run its course. The room smelt of charred wood, overlaid with the odor of human bodies—dominated by his earthy, masculine scent.

He was not only awake but had propped himself slightly, bunching the pillows behind his back. He'd also managed to cover himself, for which she was glad.

"You oughtn't to sit like that. It will make it harder for you to breathe." She reprimanded.

"Concerned for me now, are you?" His voice was rough.

How thirsty must he be? I've left him all these hours with nothing to drink, and he barely took water in the days before. He must be parched as sand.

Without another thought, Elin poured water from the jug upon the table into a wooden cup. Moving close, she offered it to him, but to her shock, his left hand shot from where it rested upon his lap.

He grabbed her ankle tightly. His lips were pressed hard together, but his eyes were harder still, glinting dangerously behind half-closed lids.

"Stop that." He must know he was hurting her.

Rather, his clasp intensified. It was all she could do not to cry out. It was what he wanted—she could tell—to make her beg him to cease.

With effort, she kept control of herself. Looking away, she focused somewhere above his head.

"Do you wish to drink this?"

If he fails to answer, I'll dash it in his face.

His hold upon her ankle eased slightly, and she was aware of his hand moving upward, caressing the lower portion of her shin. She might have shaken from his grasp, but something held her there. Suddenly, her own throat dried, and she was aware of her heartbeat as she had not been before.

Remember, he means only to rile you, foul cur that he is.

Determined to show only calm, she raised the water to her lips and took a sip.

He removed his hand then, as if naught had occurred, and held his palm upward to receive the cup. Wordlessly, she gave it to him, then moved promptly away. He wished to play games, but she would not allow it.

She busied herself kindling the embers of the fire and dipped her finger into the cauldron hung above. Yesterday's stew was tepid, but it was thick with vegetables. Fetching two bowls, she ladled some into both.

His, she placed within his reach, if he troubled to stretch a little. Doing so would cause discomfort to his ribs, but it was no less than he deserved. When he was civil, she would behave so in return.

She retreated again, drawing up her stool beside the fire. The door she kept ajar. The breeze was warm, and the room needed an airing. Besides which, it felt safer that way.

As if he might suddenly rise and wrestle me to the ground?

Elin shook her head as she ate. She'd been living alone too long, that was all, and was unused to men's hot-headed ways. Even her husband, usually so mild-mannered, had been capable of surprising her on occasion.

But this was her home, and she its mistress. She would not be rattled. Elin allowed herself a glance at Rangvald. He'd picked up the bowl and was consuming the contents hungrily. When he finished, he set it to one side.

"Who are you?" His tone was barely polite, but she could see he made some effort since he wished to elicit a reply.

"My name is Elin, and I know yours. What memories have you?"

He did not answer straight away, and she almost felt pity for him.

"I remember what you were doing." His dark eyes fixed upon her.

"Don't speak of it. ‘Twas naught of import. I made an ill choice from curiosity alone, and you were beyond stopping, we shall say. Let's forget it ever happened." She took a deep breath, starting again. "What do you recall from just before you woke?"

"We were more than a full day's sail from Skálavík. There was a tumult upon the sea. Did we make it back?" Uncertainty echoed in his voice, but then the steel returned. "I must speak with Eldberg. Fetch him."

"That I cannot." Elin held up her hand as he began to protest. "He is alive, as are some others from your ship, but you are on H?y… our island." She gave him a pointed look. "You are our guests."

His eyes narrowed. "A fine way to treat guests. No food, no water, leaving me in the dark with no attendance. What master have you? I'll see you punished for it."

"There is no master. ‘Tis my home, and it would serve you well to remember it." She gritted her teeth.

Really, why am I bothering with this odious man?

He appeared to be mulling over what she'd said. It was natural for him to have questions, and she would answer them as best as she was able, but not until he offered some semblance of courtesy.

"I must see my jarl!" His temper ignited again. "Take me to him!" He attempted to push himself up, only to collapse back upon the pillows with a look of abject suffering.

Had she heard him whimper? He brought his left arm hard across his chest, desperation flaring in his eyes.

"Ease yourself." Elin rose, coming to kneel beside him.

The man was obviously in pain, and it was ridiculous to think of him as a threat. He would be frightened, and there was much for him to take in. He hadn't yet asked which of his comrades were alive and which were dead, but it was a question that would come.

Regardless of her personal feelings, she would not be cruel. As for the rest—the plans concocted by the women of H?y to use these men for siring children—Elin had no intention of revealing that as yet. Certainly, she wouldn't be telling him of what she'd planned earlier that day before he woke and…

‘Twas a mistake I won't be repeating.

This time, when she reached close, he made no attempt to obstruct her.

"You tended my wounds… my arm, my chest?" His voice was soft.

"Aye, and you must be patient, for there is much healing yet to be done."

He nodded. Though he offered neither apology nor thanks, he was less angry, it seemed.

For now, it was enough.