Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The thirty-ninth day of the men’s sojourn on the island

“Not much farther now,” Signy coaxed. “Mind your step here. It’s rather stony.”

Viggo uttered something between a grunt and a grumble, but allowed her to continue leading him upward.

The day was a little hot for such a hike, but Signy had been remiss in not thinking to bring Viggo sooner. Thankfully, Bothild had given no objection to the idea. Signy was increasingly worried about Viggo’s depressed spirits, but fresh air and exercise would do him good. The path they were taking would bring them into contact neither with the other islanders nor the working men.

Rules had long since been relaxed to enable three of the strangers to undertake useful jobs around the settlement, but Bothild was adamant they should never be allowed to meet as a larger group.

Reaching some shade, she paused. The fragrance of the forest was rich—that of lush foliage and bountiful blooms, fed by rivulets that ran down from the upper reaches of the mountainside.

The density of the flora was part of the reason why they’d located the hives in this area. At times, her mother complained of the effort required to climb the hill in order to collect the honeycomb, but Signy always gave the same answer—that her own legs were strong, and she’d no fear of making the trek.

Even when her father and brother had been with them, care of the hives had mostly fallen to her. They’d been busy with their own tasks, oft out fishing.

Signy peered up into the canopy. ‘Twas unusually quiet, without as much birdsong as one tended to hear on this stretch of the path.

“We’re at the place?” Viggo asked.

“Almost.” Taking his hand once more, she guided him to duck his head beneath some low-slung branches.

They pushed through ferns to where the narrow enclosure of the track opened up, revealing the meadow where the hives were situated. Looking across the flower-strewn expanse, she felt her heart lift. ‘Twas a special spot and afforded a good view of the bay.

Shielding her eyes, she cast her gaze across the vista to the glittering sea, lapping azure-blue upon white sands. Tiny figures ran across the expanse left by the receded tide—the children of the island, no doubt hooting and calling to one another, though Signy and Viggo were too elevated to hear them.

‘Twas a view she loved, made all the better by the fact that few others ventured so high above their settlement. Signy gave a contented sigh, lifting her face to the light breeze flowing inland.

“Come! We may eat the victuals I’ve brought.” She squeezed Viggo’s hand.

Choosing a place half in sun and half in shade from a lone tree growing in the meadow, she brought out the cloth she’d packed into her shoulder sack and, having laid it over the grass, encouraged Viggo to sit. She set out cheese and fruits, finally unstoppering the mead she’d collected from Grethe that morning.

Putting it to his lips, Viggo exclaimed at finding something far tastier than water, then took a long draught.

“I’d like to meet this cousin of yours.” He passed the flask back to Signy. “Her mead is the best I’ve tasted, and all the more so after hauling myself up here.”

“Perhaps you will yet.” Signy directed him to the platters before taking a sip of the brew herself. “Though, I warn you. Grethe is more likely to give you some sort of tongue-lashing than a cordial welcome. You’ll need to placate her with plenty of compliments.”

“A vixen, eh? While you’re the soft dove of the family.” Running his fingers across the space between them, he found her hand and placed his own over it.

Warmth filled Signy’s heart. Viggo continued to share his body by night but, by day, he sometimes barely uttered two words. She’d near given up hope of breaking his melancholy.

When they’d eaten their fill, she pressed upon his chest, urging him to recline. “Rest now. Put aside any worrisome thoughts.”

Only momentarily did he seem to consider arguing. The weariness he carried with him appeared to ease when he closed his eyes.

His face was one she’d come to know better than any other—his brow and jaw strong, his nose and cheekbones elegant, and his mouth so sensual.

Signy loved looking at him, could not do so without wanting to caress that cheek and to bring her lips to meet his. With the warmth upon her back and the mead softening her senses, the familiar desire was stirring. She wanted to be naked, to roll atop him and take him inside.

It would be exciting to have him here, in the open air. None would pass by or interrupt them.

Quietly, she removed her garments, then loosened her hair from its braid, shaking it out so it cascaded upon her shoulders. Nestling to his side, she leaned over, blowing gently upon his closed lids. When he made no response, she whispered his name, pressing her hip into his.

Being without her clothes like this made her feel both vulnerable and wanton. “You’re not really asleep?”

She let her fingertips wander downward, lifting his tunic to stroke the hair on his lower abdomen, then farther until she met with the outline of his phallus. “I have something for you. Something worth your while waking up for.”

Whether he was asleep or no, this part of him was alert. Brazenly, she untied his braies , tugging them down, so that his manhood sprung upright. She was certain now that he was feigning sleep, for he’d half-lifted his hips to help her.

Hungrily, she brought him into her mouth. Breathing steadily through her nose, she made a swallowing motion, so that her throat would caress him.

He groaned, though continued to lie still.

Releasing him, she gave a mock sigh. “‘Tis a shame you’re so deeply slumbering.”

Taking his hand, she brought it to her crux, guiding him to touch where she was eager for him. “Without you to help me, what shall I do?”

All at once, he made a growling sound and flipped her upon her back. Signy gave a squeal of delight as his weight settled upon her. The kiss he gave was deep and long, and she parted her legs, the better to invite his entry.

“Take me like this. Quickly, please!” He was a skilled lover, but her need for him had come to her so strongly, she didn’t seek his usual foreplay.

Nevertheless, he seemed intent on setting the pace. His tongue teased and danced upon her breast before pulling at her nipple, making the ache coil tighter in her womb.

She begged again, and he gave a low laugh.

“‘Tis not what you wanted?”

Before she could reply, he turned her abruptly, this time so that she lay upon her stomach. She was aware of him flinging away his own clothing, his tunic landing somewhere to the left and his braies to the right.

Viggo lowered himself upon her, nestling his hardness in the crease of her bottom. He rubbed his length there between the plumpness of her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” she tried to twist about, but his hand upon her shoulder prevented her.

Meanwhile, his other reached around and beneath, delving into her wetness. She gasped as he located her sensitive place, and tilted her bottom upward, hoping he’d align himself to enter her properly.

“I’m giving you what you asked for.” Viggo began kissing her shoulders.

Signy stiffened. “Don’t!” She’d grown somewhat accustomed to him touching her back during their acts of passion, but ‘twas another matter for him to press his mouth there. Every ridge and imperfection would seem pronounced beneath the softness of his lips and tongue.

“Don’t be afraid,” he purred close to her ear, then swept her hair aside, leaving her all the more exposed.

His arousal still ground into her behind, and one of his fingers had crooked inside her. She was trapped, unable to escape, wanting to cry out both in frustration and in delicious, spiraling need.

Despite his obvious readiness, he seemed well able to extend the torment. Leisurely and tender, he spared her not at all, trailing his mouth along the arch of her back.

When he withdrew his finger from inside her, Signy bit hard upon her lip. For some moments, he said nothing nor moved to touch her again, other than resting his hands to span her waist.

He’s surely repulsed. His desire for me has ceased.

She attempted to turn again. “Let me up, Viggo.”

“Nay. Remain as you are. You are lovely to me. ‘Tis for you, Signy, that I bear each day. Only for you.” He smoothed his palms over the curvature of her hips, then her cheeks, until he was cupping her bottom. He kneaded her flesh from where her behind met the top of her thighs, upward and around, covering her over and again, exerting ever-growing pressure until she was weak with longing.

He gave a low moan. “By the gods, Signy! ‘Tis no wonder I can think of nothing but you.”

“Viggo…” She uttered his name breathlessly, then wriggled as he parted the divide of her bottom and scooped lower, all the way down, until he reached her labia.

He made a sound of approval, finding how wet she was, and continued to toy with her, running the calloused pad of his thumbs back and forth over her outer lips, parting them to touch lightly upon what was within but venturing no deeper.

“Please!” She was ready to beg now, parting her legs wider and pushing her bottom in the air.

For the love of Freyja, pump inside me before I lose all reason!

Even though ‘twas exactly as she wished, the sudden entry of his phallus came as a shock. Her slickness enabled him to claim her in one long sweep.

Viggo’s hands came round to her hips, holding her in position as he set a rhythm slow in pace but entirely thorough.

Yes! Don’t stop!

His strokes sent tingles through her, radiating outward. She was already toppling, losing herself in glorious sensation.

“Sweet Signy! You’re so fucking good! I’d suffer every torment… just… for…this…” His voice broke at the very moment the tide hit her in one great crashing wave.

Pulling her hips back to meet him, Viggo stiffened, barking out his own cry of triumph.

They curled together and dozed, warm and sated, as the sun moved through the sky. Had she ever been more content or felt more protected than with Viggo’s muscular arm wrapped about her body?

Turning over, she looked into his face, drinking in every line. He was no longer young, but age sat well upon him, lending gravity to his bold features. He’d lived through much—some of which he’d yet to relate to her. She wanted to know it all, to comprehend everything about this man.

Despite his blindness, his eyes were expressive, the blue turning icy when he was enraged and darker in the heat of passion. At other times, they blazed fiercely with something she did not entirely understand—seemingly possessive when he held her tightly, yet as if he would thrust her away, torn between conflicting emotions.

His moods were volatile, and there was a mystery to him she could not fathom, some deeper hurt that made him lash out. Even so, she had faith he would never wish to truly harm her. No matter his despair, she was precious to him.

The look in his eyes oft made her tremble, made her weak with desire, and her heart ache. There was a vulnerability to him, despite his physical strength.

He needs a woman’s love.

My love.

Lifting her hand, she touched his lips.

Is now the right time to tell him?

There were so many things he ought to know, not least of which that she’d been waiting for her bleeding time. Never before had she been so late—enough to begin to think…

Her mother had told her what to look for, and those other signs weren’t yet apparent. She’d no tenderness in her breasts nor any special cravings or repugnance for smells. No nausea. But the fluttering excitement was so strong that, at times, she thought she might burst. Not that she was yet sure.

A full cycle of the moon should pass, at least.

And what then?

Would Viggo be so struck by the news that he’d forget the terrible pact he’d made her agree to?

Surely it will be so! He cares for me. I know it!

He wouldn’t abandon me… certainly not if he knew I was carrying his child.

It would be enough, wouldn’t it, to change his mind?

Still, a small voice whispered that she couldn’t be sure. He’d made it clear from the first. He hated what he had become.

He’d asked for her help, and she’d made a promise. As soon as she was confident of being with child, he’d be released. He’d given her his seed in expectation of the ultimate freedom—electing to leave this life behind and receiving her aid in making that possible.

Could I ever do it?

The thought alone made her heart feel as if it was tearing in two.

But the time will come…

He’ll be faced with the choice, and if he doesn’t choose me…

Dread sent a pang through her womb, as if the new life clinging there trembled in fear.

She couldn’t ignore the possibility she’d be left alone. Gods willing, the child would thrive, but the pain of losing Viggo would never ease. She’d be struck by that anguish every time she held the babe, looking into its dear face.

Was that an agony she could bear to live with?