Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The fourth day of the men’s sojourn on the island

“Still asleep!” With her hands upon her hips, Ulva loomed over the man who lay sprawled upon the makeshift bed. ‘Twas near noon, and warmth flooded through the open door of their shared home. “One small knock on the head is no excuse to laze about for who knows how long!”

Though Signy lacked some hearing, her mother spoke loudly enough for the comment to carry to her daughter’s good ear. Signy didn’t bother answering. Instead, kneeling beside the poor soul, she continued pressing water to his lips, sending up a prayer with each tip of the spoon.

Please, Freyja, let him open his eyes and see me. Let me hear his voice.

Since his arrival, ‘twas a ritual she’d performed numerous times each day—sometimes with broth, but mostly with water, gently caressing his throat with each attempt, encouraging him to swallow. She’d done so untiringly, having faith he’d eventually awake. It seemed wrong to be impatient, but she was eager to know what sort of man he was, who was to live with her these coming cycles of the moon.

Not merely living but giving me a child.

The thought was both frightening and exciting.

Her mother had explained what the getting of the child would involve, and it seemed straightforward. Then, her belly would grow until the child was ready to join the world.

That was something Signy could not quite picture, and her mother had been scant on the details, but perhaps it was for the best. She knew it would be painful, and who wanted to spend time imagining something unpleasant? Better to keep in mind the gift she’d have afterward—her own little girl or boy to sing to and rock and keep safe.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering!” Ulva made an exasperated sound. “The purpose we require him for doesn’t necessitate him being conscious. Better if he isn’t, in fact! I’ve told you enough times! Your hand would be put to better use down his braies , pumping his staff to a state you might climb upon. ‘Twill take only a few strokes to do the job.”

“ Móeir !” Signy glared at her. “He’ll wake soon enough. I know he will, and then you must trust me to behave as I should.”

“Pfft!” Her mother folded her arms. “See that you do, and remember what I told you. ‘Tis only his seed you’re after, so don’t go getting ideas about being in love or any such nonsense simply because you think him handsome.”

Signy gave an inward groan.

As if I’ll fall in love!

From what she knew, it was a fleeting emotion without true substance. Hadn’t Cousin Grethe thought herself in love with Signy’s brother, and look how that had ended?

Sven had abandoned Grethe, just as Signy’s father had cast aside her and her mother. Those supposed ties of love had meant nothing when the men of the island had succumbed to illness, then taken it into their heads that the women were the cause of their woes.

There had hardly been a backward glance from Sven—not for Grethe nor his mother and sister.

As for thinking the stranger handsome, there was no denying that he was pleasing to look at, with strong features, curving, full lips, and a beard cut neatly to his jaw. His hair was a few shades darker than her own, falling in thick waves, and he’d a sturdy body, too, as she’d seen while helping her mother remove his sea-soaked garments.

His chest was dusted with soft hair. Meanwhile, the lower half, leading down toward his manhood, was ridged hard. Her mother had seemed quite impressed by that, gazing there far longer than was seemly, as well as upon what lay between the stranger’s legs.

The muscles of his arms and back were of a size that her father’s old tunic barely fitted—and he’d been of no small stature. Not that her mother had wanted to put clothes on the stranger at all. She’d said it was better to keep him naked, given the reason for him being there.

Signy had insisted upon the clothes.

‘Twas only decent!

She’d put her foot down about restraining him, too, at least for the moment—for what purpose could it serve when the man was too weak even to look about him? ‘Twas not like Signy to speak so forcefully, but in this, she was adamant.

Her mother had appeared taken aback, for only once had Signy steadfastly denied a command. Her father had tried to persuade her into Jarl Einar’s bed, telling her it was the way to make him cast off his wife and take her instead. Her mother had done naught to speak on Signy’s behalf, though she knew her revulsion for the plan.

Her father had beaten her for it, and Signy wondered if she’d have given in, eventually. In more ways than she wished to admit, it had been a relief when the sickness came, and both Einar and her father had fled the island with the other surviving men.

But I’m no more a child. I have a voice, and I must use it. For what sort of mother will I be when I’ve a babe of my own if I don’t stand up for what I think is right?

“Worry not, Móeir .” Signy rose to her feet. “However fair of face he is, I shan’t be losing my head. I’ll do what I must, then Bothild may allocate him to another. I expect nothing more.”

“There’s some sense in you then.” Ulva nodded. “Only take care to keep the rope nearby. As soon as the fellow shows signs of stirring, he must be tied, or who knows what may befall us.”

Signy sighed. ‘Twas not as she’d wish it, but there would be little choice in that matter once the stranger woke. Elin was certain he bore no injury other than the swelling above his temple and a few small grazes. To leave him unbound would be far too dangerous. They’d no knowledge, as yet, of the stranger’s temperament, and who could say how he’d react to his new circumstances?

Ulva scratched her chin. “In the meantime, I’ve half a mind to invite some of the older women to take a turn while he’s compliant. We might ask a favor or two in recompense for giving him a good bathe in between. It could be advantageous…”

“How can you think such a thing?” Signy recoiled. “I shan’t allow it!”

“Hark at you!” Ulva pursed her lips. “Were you washed upon far shores and taken captive, would any man treat you differently? Let him be grateful he’s been clothed and fed and given a bed to rest upon. I’ll warrant he’ll make no objection when the time comes for you to ride his pole. A full belly and a welcoming sheath are all men care about.”

Signy bit back her argument. Perhaps, in this, her mother had the right of it, and the man would happily bed as many women as were willing. Nevertheless, Signy would allow no liberties to be taken while he was unable to speak for himself.

Ulva was already making for the door. “I’ll set to feeding the chickens. Meanwhile, you know what to do, Signy. ‘Tis time to put aside coyness and lose your maidenhead. It shall pain you a little, but at least you’ll have the charge of how it’s done. ‘Twould not be the case if you were thrown upon your back and rough-invaded, as usually happens.” Ulva gave an indignant sniff. “The other positions are no better. My knees were rubbed raw when first I wed from being forced upon them whenever your father took the urge.”

Signy cast her eyes toward the heavens. There was no cure for her mother’s plain speaking, but Signy was glad for the most part since at least she knew what was involved in the mating act. She doubted fellow bride Astrid was as well-informed unless she’d already succumbed, as Ulva warned, and had learnt the hard way what it meant for a man to take a woman.

Signy followed her mother to the threshold. ‘Twas easiest to feign compliance, even if she’d no intention of acting upon the advice foist upon her. “Would Agneta like a visit from you? ‘Twould allow me more time…”

“That’s my girl.” Ulva turned back, giving Signy’s cheek a little pinch. “You’re in the midst of your fertile time. One good swive on his cock may do the job!”

However, her approving smile fell. Ulva grabbed Signy’s arm, her eyes widening. Whirling about, Signy saw that the stranger was no longer reclined but was staggering to his feet. With hands outstretched, he stumbled across the room.

“Where am I?” He licked his lips. “I’ve a thirst on me and a hunger, too.” Grabbing at the edge of the table, he felt his way around, sending bowls and cups tumbling. Curses rained as his shin met with a stool.

“Stand still before you hurt yourself!” Signy raced to him.

“Who’s there?” The stranger snapped in her direction and grasped her hands most forcefully. “Some wench brought to entertain us? Light a lamp and fetch me water. Then, we might go outside. A slash first to relieve my bladder before we take a thump against the wall, eh?”

“What? Nay!” Signy tried to draw back, but he held her fast.

“See! ‘Tis as I said!” Ulva cried out in alarm. “He thinks only of getting between your legs.”

“Two, is it?” The stranger turned his head. “One is enough for me, but be swift and fetch the lantern. ‘Tis darker than the pit in here.”

Signy managed to yank her hands away, and the movement unbalanced the man. He fell forward to the floor, swearing worse than before as his elbow caught the stool.

“He’s mad!” Ulva shrieked. “A few more steps and he’d have been headfirst into the cauldron. Get the rope. Quick about it!”

Signy lunged to the side, but the man’s arm shot out, grabbing her by the ankle. With a cry, she tumbled, sprawling beside him.

“What’s this?” Though his voice was hoarse, he managed to shout. “Hoy there, men! Awake and protect yourselves. These are no sporting wenches but robber women, come to make mischief.”

Desperate to get away, Signy kicked out and caught him somewhere about the chin.

“Odin’s fat bollocks!” As the man let loose her foot, Signy scrabbled away. Landing back upon his rear, he nursed his lip, from which ran a trickle of blood.

Ulva, meantime, had the rope and, in a flash, threw a loop about the man’s neck, then another, twisting them tight.

He gave a gargled cry, thrashing within the noose, his face reddening as his eyes bulged.

“Enough, Móeir . Let him breathe.” Signy was terrified that, left unchecked, Ulva would wring the life from the man before they’d had the chance even to speak.

“Look, I have the poker.” Signy took it up from where it lay beside the fire. “Any violence and I’ll hit him with it.”

Ulva’s lips crushed to a thin line, but she relented enough that the man was able to take a heaving gulp of air.

“‘Tis alright.” Signy positioned herself before him, speaking in as calm a voice as she could muster. “But you must listen. You were in a boat. There was a storm, and you washed up here. Do you not remember?”

“A boat?” The man stared back at her with a furrowed brow, but ‘twas as if he was in his own world. His eyes looked in her direction but did not truly connect with hers. “I do not recall…”

What had he said about thinking it was dark? Signy frowned. With the door wide open, the room was filled with light. Surely, he must see ‘twas day? Yet his rantings about the lamp seemed sincere. Reaching out, she waved her hand before his face. To her consternation, he did not flinch or even blink.

“You do not see me nor the brightness of the sun?”

“The sun? How can I when we’re in the midst of night? If you would only light the lamp, as I asked.” His tone was laced with anger, as if Signy were to blame, playing some cruel trick upon him.

“The blow to his head has knocked out his reason,” Ulva interjected. “‘Tis plain to see. Either that or the cur is a simpleton who knows not night from day.” She gave the rope another twist.

“Cease this!” Choking, the man plucked hopelessly at the binds which held him. “I beg!”

Has the injury near his temple robbed him of his sense? Or of his sight? Do such things happen?

More curious still that he gives in so easily. If he got to his feet, he might overthrow my mother and free himself. He’s strong, isn’t he? Yet he behaves as if he was already defeated.

Not so peculiar if all about you is dark, and you cannot make out your assailants.

“You truly cannot see me? Nor anything about you?” Signy spoke gently, motioning to her mother to relent a little.

“I see nothing.” The man rubbed at his neck. “‘Tis as if a black cloak has wrapped about me.” He twisted the base of his palms into his eyes, then blinked, turning to each side, but Signy could tell nothing had changed.

He’s sightless!

What turmoil he must be suffering, but if the gods have blighted him so, ‘tis surely a judgment upon him. What has he done to warrant such a punishment?

Signy ventured forward. “The room is bright with sun, and you should be able to see me as easily as I see you. If you do not…”

“Naaaaay!” The man’s despairing wail came long and loud. His face crumpled, and he slumped to the floor, near yanking Ulva from her feet since she still held the rope behind him.

To Signy’s horror, he began to bang his head upon the ground, using such force that his brow was soon weeping crimson. His lament grew to a mournful, aching howl.

Ulva gave a shriek of her own and threw the rope aside. “He’s crazed! Quickly, Signy, hit him with the poker before he kills us both!”

Signy could not move. She gaped between her mother and the poor wretch, unable to speak.

“You’re hopeless!” Ulva’s face was contorted with rage. “Give it to me. I’ll do it!”

Signy clasped the poker tightly, shaking her head. She had no idea what to think or what to do, but she couldn’t let this man be harmed. His sorrow was acute, and she knew what it was to be turned inward with grief, to feel bleakly alone.

“To Hel with you, then! I’ll fetch Bothild. The others will do what you’ve no stomach for! ‘Twill be your own fault if we return to find you murdered!” Ulva spat the words, heading for the door.

Signy could only stare as her mother left her, forsaken and desolate.