Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

His eyes were the most dazzling color, bright like the water in the bay when the sun shone directly above and the tide swept the sea over the pale sands. Not blue exactly, nor green, and filled with shifting, shimmering glints, as if illuminated from within.

Eyes vibrantly hued and expressive, yet unseeing.

I cannot imagine how he feels!

Signy’s heart ached for him. It mattered not that she knew nothing of his life, his family, nor of the place he hailed from. Even his nature was a mystery to her—though it was plain, he was a man of great emotions, which he made no effort to hide.

She didn’t even know his name.

Because I haven’t asked.

We’ve been treating him like an injured beast, my mother calling for him to be put out of his misery, but he’s a man, not an animal.

She removed her touch from his cheek, instead seeking out his hand. “I’m Signy, and I promise to protect you.”

He cast his eyes upward, seeking out the face he couldn’t see.

“And your name?” She gave his fingers a light squeeze.

He hesitated, as if needing to search his memory to recall who he might have been before his misfortunes began.

At last, he gave the simple answer. “Viggo.”

“There.” Signy was determined to be cheerful. “Now we’re acquainted, we can’t be strangers. You’ll be here for a while, so you must be a good guest, letting me make you comfortable until you’re well again.”

The ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on her—treating a grown man like a poorly child—but it seemed to work, for his crumpled brow relaxed a little.

She’d scant experience with menfolk, other than living with the rough ways of her brother and father, but here she was, taking charge of what fate had thrown at her.

Signy applied herself to leading him to the table, seating him with his hands firmly about a bowl of broth. There was no more conversation as he concentrated on raising the spoon carefully.

The quiet between them gave her another chance to study his features—particularly the softness of his lips.

This is the man I will take inside my body so that I might conceive a child.

It was the reason why the shipwrecked strangers had been carried up from the beach and brought into their homes. If consensus had gone against them, Viggo would not be there, but the goddess Freyja had guided the women’s minds, making sure enough of them saw the wisdom of her plan.

What would come to pass was Freyja’s will, but Signy believed in her own choices, too, and this was hers. There was something about this man, this Viggo, that made her want to be closer to him.

When he lay with her, in the way her mother had explained, Signy felt sure the union would be fruitful.

These past nights, in her bed, she’d touched her body, going so far as to push one finger within herself. The sensation was intriguing, though it left her feeling restless in a way she couldn’t describe.

Viggo’s staff was far larger than her finger, of course. ‘Twas beyond her imagining how it would feel to have his manpart slide between her legs. Her mother had warned there might be pain, but Signy sensed it would feel good to have him inside her.

“Where are they?”

The abruptness of his question brought Signy back from her reverie. A look of alarm had entered his eyes again.

“The women? They are gone, remember? ‘Tis just you and I.” Setting aside the empty bowl, she brought his hands together and wrapped them in hers, wanting to reassure him.

“Nay, not them! The other men. You said there were six of us!” His expression was intent.

Signy was uncertain of how to reply. It had been made clear to her, and to the other chosen women, that the men were to be kept separate—from the rest of the islanders as well as from each other. Given the scene that had so recently unfolded, she’d little doubt the rule would be enforced for some time to come.

“They’re much in need of rest, some wounded.” Signy chose her words carefully. “But they’re safe. Others have their care.”

Viggo appeared to ponder the explanation. “My jarl is among them, he of the red hair and beard? Eldberg.”

“Aye.”

Gods help him, the copper-maned giant was under Hedda’s roof, and she’d been told Hedda would allow none near.

Just the day before, Ulva and Agneta had tried to take a look at him—for reasons Signy found uncouth, having some wager over the size of the man’s staff.

Hedda, apparently, had sent both away with a flea in their ear.

“‘Tis something,” Viggo muttered, as if to himself.

“Of the rest, I’m afraid I don’t know their names,” Signy added.

“But wounded or not, you can take me to them?” He looked hopeful. “They can tell me of what occurred, perhaps.”

Naturally, he’d want to meet with his fellows from the ship to discover who had survived and to clarify what remained clouded in his mind. They might even shed light upon what had caused Viggo’s blindness.

But it could not be.

She moved one of her hands to his brow, smoothing away his hair.

“Such things are not for this day. You must rest, and so must they. Before long, you shall be well, as will your friends.”

“Nay!” He pushed her hand away. “You mean to keep me here alone as your captive!”

Signy flinched at his emotion.

Be calm. He cannot hurt me! If I have any doubt, I need only to make for the door.

“Hush. You’re merely a guest who must follow certain rules, at least for the time being.”

“And these rules include you riding my cock?” he spat the accusation. “The others acted as if I were deaf as well as blind, but I heard all. You think to use me like a whore, is that it? You’re the first, then the others have their turn?”

Signy shuddered. His words were crude, but there was truth in them. He was hers only for three cycles of the moon. After that, another would take him for mating, and likely another after that. He would have no say in the matter, nor could Signy vouch for how he would be treated.

Bothild had inferred that any of the chosen women might petition to keep her man if they desired a marriage, but that was something Signy would never do.

She’d seen enough of the wedded state to know that it rarely brought happiness. Her own father and mother had given daily evidence of that, and Hedda and Einar had been no different. She didn’t blame Hedda, but their jarl from the days before The Great Happening had ever been discontent with his wife.

Had it not been so, he would never have pursued Signy, asking her father for a betrothal, regardless of her personal wishes. Clearly, Einar had cared nothing for Hedda’s feelings. She’d have been forced to make a home with her sister Frida, Signy supposed, or with Bothild, their grandmother.

No man would have offered for Hedda after the jarl had scorned her in such a way. Not that Signy believed Hedda would have desired another. How could that ever be when she’d been treated so badly?

Viggo made a sound of disgust. “No answer then? That tells me all I need to know!”

“You must have faith in Freyja. Whatever happens is by her design,” Signy pleaded.

“A goddess sends us to our doom, and you ask me to have faith?” He turned away from her.

Signy hated seeing him so distressed. She’d refused to bind him, but he might as well be chained.

The shipwreck may be the work of the gods but ‘tis we who rob him of his autonomy.

“Viggo, hear me.” Signy came around the table, dropping to her knees before him. “I won’t compel you, but it is a child I wish for. In this, I’m at your mercy.”

Her mind was made up. There would be no forced copulation. Just as Freyja had sent Viggo to her, the goddess would also turn his mind to welcome the mating. Only then would Signy guide him to enter her, as her mother had described.

When Viggo raised his head, there was a detachment to him, as if he’d lost his fight, and naught was of consequence anymore.

“You are young, are you not? Someone will take you to wife. Would you not prefer a true husband to care for you and the child? Or are you wed already, and the man has no potency? Is it his wish that you lay with me?”

A heated shame rose to Signy’s cheeks. “Nay, nothing of that sort.” It was awkward to admit she’d never been wed. The Great Happening had prevented that—with Einar or any other.

To her knowledge, of the women upon the island, she was one of only a handful who’d never lain with a man. Her father had seen to that, making sure no suitor approached her. He’d had other plans for Signy, whose virginity had been of value to Einar.

“I have no husband nor wish for one.” The best way was to state things plainly. “You are my only hope, and I shall be indebted to you. ‘Tis with my mother’s blessing, if that matters. She knows I shall never have a child unless…”

She’d told no lie except by omission. Viggo had dealt with enough revelations for one day. He didn’t need to know, yet, that Signy’s lack of prospects with a man was due to the island lacking any men whatsoever. Or rather, that none had been available until the wreck of the ship, which had delivered Viggo to her.

“You’ve no father, no uncle, nor brother with an opinion on this?” His voice held a note of disbelief.

“All are deceased.” Signy did not often tell untruths, but this one came easily. Her father and brother had been alive when last she’d seen them, but they were long gone, and she doubted they’d ever return. Too much time had passed for such a thing to be possible.

Viggo rubbed his chin. His expression was still despondent, but he spoke with a new resolution.

“Useless as I am, there’s one part of me that likely works well enough to do as you ask. But we must strike a bargain. You agree to help me with something in return for my seed.”

Signy’s stomach gave a strange flutter. He was going to do as she asked… willingly! The thought filled her with sudden apprehension, anxiety rippling through her belly in waves.

“Anything, though you must know I cannot give you your liberty. ‘Tis the one thing beyond my power.”

“There are more ways than one to free me.” Viggo’s mouth compressed in a hard line. “Once the child grows in your womb, you must promise to aid me.”

Signy felt a faint nausea, as if she already knew what he was about to say.

Viggo extended his arm, trembling, seeking her out. Finding her hand, he interlaced his fingers with hers.

“A sharp knife is all I need, or you may lead me to a high place. Only then will there be nothing more to endure.” The anguish had gone from his expression, replaced by a forlorn emptiness.

Tears welled in Signy’s eyes.

She understood what he was asking.