Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

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

Signy was almost late in joining the meeting in the longhouse. Bothild sent her a nod of greeting as she entered. Her mother appeared merely displeased, as if she had a piece of sour fruit under her tongue.

The Council usually comprised Bothild, Hedda, Elin, Agneta, and Signy’s mother. This morning, they were joined by the remaining women who’d taken a stranger into their home—Astrid, Frida, and Grethe, beside Signy herself.

Elin touched her shoulder as Signy came to sit between her and Ulva. Bothild then urged them to join hands while she offered up a prayer for Freyja to guide their wisdom.

Signy looked about the circle. Of them all, Elin knew best what she’d endured. ‘Twas she who’d tended Signy when her father had given her the beating, insisting that she lie upon her front well beyond a full cycle of the moon. Daily, Elin had visited, applying an unguent of honey mixed with oil of pine and lavender.

Knud had tried to refuse Elin’s help until her mother had pointed out there would be no husband at all for their daughter if she weren’t given time to heal. Then, of course, The Great Happening had occurred, and neither Signy’s father nor brother had cared what state she was in.

Elin had been the one to truly help her, though there was nothing to be done about the loss of hearing on her left side, where Knud had slapped Signy. These days, Signy hardly noticed the deficiency. At least, when her mother was being especially fractious, Signy had only to turn that side toward her. Then, she could almost pretend she wasn’t there.

Bothild was addressing Elin, requesting a report on the strangers. Dread occupied Signy’s stomach as each man’s circumstances were detailed. They were all making progress. Some were hardly injured at all.

Whereas Viggo…

It seemed nothing could be done, since Elin found no significant sign of outward injury. Beyond the bruises, and a small contusion above his ear, he was unharmed, so it seemed, except his lack of vision persisted. A blow to the head could cause such things, Elin had explained. There might be a bleed within the skull that could not be seen.

Nevertheless, Elin tried to give her hope. The ways of the gods were mysterious. As swiftly as they took a man’s strength, it could be restored, and the body had an uncanny way of renewing itself.

Signy was shaken from her reverie by the intruding voice of her mother.

“He ought to be put out of his misery. What use is he, being blind!”

There could be no mistaking that it was Viggo she spoke of.

How long had they been discussing him? Signy had heard not a word!

Was that how the women all saw him—as an injured animal, a worthless burden, just as Viggo seemed to view himself?

Tears sprung to her eyes. “It’s not his fault, Móeir . He does want to get better.”

“That hardly changes anything! Besides which, everyone knows that a certain person among us never wanted any part in this.” Signy’s mother glared pointedly at Hedda, then continued her rant.

Signy listened in silence as Ulva argued for Hedda’s man being given to her daughter as a replacement—as if these men were interchangeable, without will of their own.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep out of my affairs!” Hedda glowered at Ulva.

“There’s nothing to argue over.” Bothild’s counter was calm. “As for this Viggo, injuries of this nature are sometimes purely of the mind. Give him time, and he may respond to Signy’s kind treatment.”

Signy took a steadying breath. Thank Freyja for Bothild’s compassion.

Signy, however, felt heat burn on her cheeks.

How kindly had she been? His mood remained low.

With the first dawn light, when they might be unobserved, she’d encouraged him to help her by carrying firewood from where it was stacked beside the hut. Having him water the growing patch directly behind had been less successful, resulting in the trampling of a slew of vegetables.

Signy tried to be patient, finding him small tasks to keep him busy, but she’d avoided being physically close to him again.

Her mother had been pestering her, asking how often they were intimate. She was pretending all was well, but Signy knew she was wasting the days. Viggo was hers only for three cycles of the moon. After that, he was supposed to be partnered with another woman—though, if he had his way, there would be none of that.

No more of anything…

She ought to set aside her pride and ask him to couple with her again. ‘Twas only an act of mating, after all, but she was unable to forget the look upon his face when he’d encountered her scars.

Why did that make her feel so forlorn? So angry?

His reaction was only to be expected.

As to their bargain, it was she who was desperate. For a child, she’d thought, although she was beginning to feel herself in need of something else.

Viggo had stirred feelings within her, evoking restlessness and yearning. No matter that she distanced herself, she could not cease thinking of him…wanting him to touch her, wanting to caress him in return.

His way of coupling had been rougher than she’d anticipated, but it had been awkward and painful only for the first moments. Her breath came tight in her chest, thinking of the desire that had overtaken her once she’d become accustomed to the feel of him thrusting deep.

Signy was shaken again from her thoughts by a burst of mirth about the circle.

“This jarl she’s bedding must be doing something right!” Agneta slapped her knee in mirth.

Hedda was scowling at them all and trying to cover her neck.

Was that… a lover’s kiss-mark on her throat?

Signy blinked in surprise.

Hedda had been so disdainful of this plan of mating with the men. It seemed unlikely she’d have changed her mind, but the look upon her face indicated otherwise.

“‘Twas all him!” Hedda was attempting to tighten her neckerchief. “The cur has been incapable of restraining his lust.”

More laughter ensued.

“‘Twould not be the worst thing to enjoy a man’s company, granddaughter.” Bothild smiled.

“‘Tis nothing of that sort,” Hedda replied hastily. “But I may have been wrong in my first desire to simply kill these men. There is work to be done, and some are capable.”

A sudden thought came to Signy. Viggo had made no further request to meet with his jarl nor any of his comrades since he’d first woken, and she hadn’t raised the subject. The island’s women had agreed it was safest to keep the men apart. However, it would surely lift his spirits to be in the company of those who must be his friends. It occurred to her that it was cruel, this isolation. Moreover, any task that could be granted Viggo to make him feel purposeful would surely be welcome.

“They must be lonely,” she interjected. “They should be allowed a meeting. And I agree, giving them something useful to do is a good idea. Even my Viggo can help. It will be good for him.”

Murmurs of assent arose until Bothild raised her hand for quiet, agreeing that such arrangements were possible.

“As long as they show themselves pliant and no danger to our women, all will be well.”

“Aye!” Signy’s mother set back her shoulders. “Let them work, but if they step out of line, I’ll stand with Hedda in wielding the knife!”

Signy’s stomach twisted.

Ulva had taken against Viggo. Signy would have to be careful not to leave him alone in her company, for she didn’t trust her mother. It would be like her to provoke some aggression on his part—or to invent the attempt—to justify whatever deed she took upon herself.

Viggo professed to wish for death, but Signy was resolved to raise him from that desolate place. However unwise it was for her to let her feelings become entangled in his fate, he mattered to her, and she would see no harm come to him.

Viggo sat close to the threshold, waiting for her return. Signy had said she’d not be long gone, but time dragged slow as a cart through winter mud when he was alone.

She’d allowed the door to remain half open that he might feel the sun and listen to the high tide upon the beach. There were other sounds, too, of children playing and livestock. No other person came near—man nor woman—at least, not within his hearing.

Signy had made him promise not to step outside. Only when she was with him was he permitted that liberty, then only venturing a short distance. She refused to explain why, but he could guess well enough.

Without his sight, he was a danger to himself. That much was plain. Even the job of helping her bring in firewood had gone awry, for he’d tripped upon some obstacle and sent the logs flying. Luckily, no child had been near to be knocked insensible! As for helping her tend her smallholding, he’d been unable to discern weed from vegetable, walking upon a row of seedlings before she’d managed to stop him.

He was useless!

Signy berated him for saying such things, but she must believe it.

She surely thought him boorish, too, for the way he’d reacted to the scars upon her back. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, inferring she was blemished.

He’d upset her, and that troubled him. He wanted to make amends, but ‘twas obvious she didn’t wish to speak of it.

Someone had hurt her; of that, he was certain. Such scars could only have been made from a whip of some sort—as used to drive cattle—or a leather belt.

Hot rage rose at the thought of someone treating her so badly. The wounds were well-healed, from what he could tell, but the extent of the welts made him feel sick.

Who would use her so?

He hadn’t forgotten how it had felt, holding her close—softly curved in his arms, hot and wet around his cock, and eager once she settled into a rhythm. How could he have known she was an untried maid? True, she’d been tight, but her supplication for him to swive her belied the facts. Even when he’d given her what she asked for, she’d pleaded for more. What virgin did that?

As for when they’d argued and she’d near fallen from his lap, righting herself by flinging her arms about his neck. His heart had near jumped from his chest. For a moment, he’d been sure she would kiss him.

He’d wanted it.

One kiss from her mouth, and he’d have done anything she asked. His rod had leapt at once, more than willing to do her bidding. He’d ruined it all with the way he’d spoken of her injuries, treating her as if she was less than perfect.

Idiot that he was!

He’d told himself, from the outset, that there would be no pleasure in the act. The coupling was a deal between them—a trade between two desperate strangers.

Yet, ‘twas all he could think of—this longing to touch her, to smooth his hands over her skin while her agile body yielded to his. Her femininity was more alluring than it had any right to be. He was bewitched… and not merely by her body.

These past days, he’d become accustomed to her voice and the gentle way she cared for him, despite his clumsiness. He could not follow her with his eyes, but he was aware of her every movement.

He wanted to know her better, this woman who might one day bear his child, even though he wouldn’t be there when the babe was born. If these were to be his last days, he wished to live them well, to relish Signy’s company and, if the gods were on his side, to hold her again. He desired that comfort above all else—to be inside her body, as close as two people might be.

Would she be persuaded?

She hadn’t let him near her since he’d spoken so tactlessly.

A woman liked a man to show that he cared for her welfare. She liked to know that he was capable of looking after both himself and her, and that he’d set aside his own comforts to promote hers.

Viggo gave a hollow bark of laughter.

In his current state, he couldn’t be relied upon for much at all, but there must be something he could do.

Though the day was warm, he knew Signy had banked the fire well, laying extra logs into the pit before she left to heat water for washing. ‘Twas in the center of the earthen floor, surrounded by stones, and she’d attached the largest of her cauldrons to the long chains that hung above, secured into one of the beams.

Thoughtful in all things, she’d made sure to describe the room in detail to him some days ago and had led him around so that he might become familiar with not only the furnishings of her home but with where essential items were kept.

She’d warned him sternly about the hearth, saying he was not to approach it. Burning himself was hardly desirable nor was setting fire to his braies . So, tending to the fire was out of the question, but there must be something else that needed doing.

Before she left, Signy had received a caller, someone who’d given her a catch for the pot. He’d kept out of the way but had heard the exchange. A rabbit in return for honey. Signy had also told him of that—a collection of hives that she and her mother managed.

She’d left the animal on the table, hadn’t she, muttering about attending to it on her return? ‘Twas not a job she favored, by the sound of it.

Rising, he placed his hand upon the wall, feeling his way to the far side of the room, then turned, taking several steps inward. Once he’d located the table, he let his fingertips skim the surface. He met first with the rough skin of vegetables—turnips, swede, and carrots. A knife was alongside. Taking hold of it, he made short work of cutting them.

Following the table’s edge, he brought himself round to the opposite side, and sure enough, his exploration brought him in contact with soft ears.

He drew his hand down the body, ascertaining its size. It was still warm, undamaged, but for a broken neck. Whoever had brought it to Signy must keep them penned.

‘Twas a while since he’d skinned such a creature, but he knew how. The cleanest way was first to scrape the blade around the neck, then to remove each foot above the joint, and the tailbone. Carefully, he did so, then bunched the loose skin upon the animal’s chest. One incision was all that was needed—from throat to lower abdomen, shallow enough to avoid puncturing the flesh but deep enough that you could slide your fingers inside. Once you eased back the fur, you laid bare the muscle.

From memory, his fingers worked, dragging the blade to sever sinew, then working the skin apart from the membrane beneath. In his mind’s eye, Viggo pictured the anatomy, taking pains not to rush. He drew the creature’s front legs through, then slowly pulled from the neck downward, removing the hide from the connective tissue. A final tug released the hind quarters.

The smell of meat, earthen raw, met his nostrils.

He laid his palm against it.

With his sight, he might slice the length of the belly now, feeling inside to remove the organs. As it was, he didn’t trust himself to do it cleanly. A misplaced cut and Signy would not thank him for the mess it would make.

But there was one thing he might yet do.

The blade was broad. Placed correctly at the animal’s throat, he might slice clean through to remove the head. There would be an oozing of crimson, but not so much as couldn’t be cleaned easily away.

Viggo angled the knife’s edge, holding the creature firm against the table.

When the blade met his knuckle, he hardly felt it at first. It took a few moments for the fierce, stinging pain to register.

Thor’s flaming bollocks!

Tossing away the knife, he brought the damaged finger to his mouth, sucking where he’d sliced his own skin.

How bad was it? He couldn’t tell—only that it hurt like fuck!

Tentatively, he bent the joint, then gasped as the pain shot through. He brought it again to his mouth and tasted iron on his tongue.

‘Twas bleeding, of course.

Viggo gripped the table with his other hand.

Stupid! That’s what he was! Thinking he could do this without being able to see! He was worse than useless. A danger to himself. A danger to others even. There was nothing for it but to keep him locked away where he could do no harm.

He took a juddering breath.

What sort of life was that?

He’d been right to make the pact with Signy. Give her what she needed, then end this foolishness. She’d promised to help with that, and he had to believe she’d keep her word.

Except that, I don’t need to wait nor be beholden to another. The blade is sharp. I’ve only to slice my wrists or plunge it to my throat.

Can I do it?

He let his hands travel, seeking out the knife he’d thrown upon the table, and his fingers met the slickness of blood. There was more than he’d anticipated, draining from where he’d half-severed the rabbit’s head, pooling upon the wood.

I think to empty my own lifeblood, just the same? I’d let her return to that? Defiling her home with my selfish, reckless end?

With a groan, he covered his face with his hands, dragging them upward to tear at his hair.

There would be no such escape.

He was trapped like this until she released him.

Throwing back his head, he howled his despair.

A wail that was echoed by the woman who appeared at the door.