Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

I n the end, Eyja did not have to pretend to struggle to make it back to the shore.

Once she passed the bridge the current picked up, sweeping her away from the mayhem at great speed, and it took all her dwindling strength and more time than she had expected to steer the barrel toward the riverbank. Eventually, she made it. Panting hard with exhaustion, she allowed herself a moment of respite on the grassy shore before dragging herself up and starting the long walk back to the site of the battle. It took a while, because she was wet and shaking in the aftermath of her shock, and she had a cumbersome spear in her hand. Moon, who would have to go into the melee with the others from the start, had kept both axes. While she walked, she tried to find comfort in the fact that he was as armed as he could be. Who could survive an attack by a man like him wielding two blades? Who would even dare approach him? Only madmen.

No, he had to survive. She could not think of the alternative.

By the time Eyja reached the battlefield, more exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life, the fighting was almost over. The field was littered with corpses, the few Norsemen still standing had been herded into a corner and the king was discussing what was to be done with them. Everything and everyone was tainted with blood. It was a nightmarish vision.

She understood from what bits of conversation she overheard that both Hardrada and the king’s brother had been killed, but the news failed to raise any reaction out of her. There was only one thing on her mind.

Or rather, some one .

Moon. She had to find him before she went mad.

She searched the field for the only man she wanted to see, not knowing whether to look on the ground amongst the dead or ahead, amongst the exhausted warriors stumbling around covered in blood and dirt.

The more devastation she saw, the more unlikely it seemed that Moon could have survived such a massacre. How would she bear it if he had died and she toppled over his mutilated corpse? Would she even recognize him if he’d been butchered? A thought crossed her mind. Even if his face had been hacked at out of all recognition, at least she would know him by the moon mark on his wrist.

She forced herself to put the grim thought from her mind. She would not despair until she knew for sure that he was dead. Her heart stopped for a moment when she spotted braided, long blond hair streaked with blood on a man lying face down in the mud. Fighting back nausea, she turned him around. Seeing a dead man’s face was the last thing she wanted to do but it was the only way she could ascertain his identity. To her relief, the warrior she stared at was not the one she had dreaded to recognize.

And then she saw him.

Towering over the others, his glorious blond hair shining like a beacon, he was standing some distance away, with his back to her, an axe in each hand. Solid. Alive. She ran, then stopped when he turned to face her, as if warned by an inaudible voice that she was headed his way.

“By the gods,” she thought she heard him say.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms but at the last moment remembered who she was supposed to be. A man. Men did not do that. They nodded, or slapped one another on the shoulder at the most. She stopped inches away from him, not wanting to do that when she felt so emotional. It would be ridiculous. They looked at each other for a few heartbeats then, heedless of who might see them, Moon wrapped an arm around her neck to bring her close.

Eyja could not have drawn away if her life depended on it. The embrace, rough and masculine as it was, was perhaps more intimate than cousins would share, but would probably not be enough to raise suspicion amidst men who were busy wading through the dead. If Moon thought it plausible for him to act in that manner, she would not question it. It felt too good to be in his arms after fearing he had died. His voice reached her, rougher than usual.

“You did it, Imp. I knew we could trust you.”

“You made it,” she almost sobbed against his shoulder. “I knew you would.”

For a moment they basked in each other’s warmth and the relief of knowing they were unscathed, then they drew away, looking rather self-conscious. A manly embrace in the wake of battle was one thing, a prolonged cuddle quite another. Eyja raked her gaze over him, while he did the same with her. It was only then she saw the blood on his tunic, the grime on his face, the sweat on his brow—and the cut on his thigh.

“But, you’re injured!”

“Yes,” he said tersely, as if it didn’t matter. “Like everyone else. But ’tis nothing. We won. Both Tostig and Hardrada are dead. The Norsemen were annihilated. The only thing left for them now is to run back home with their tails between their legs. We’ve made it.”

Just then, as if to confirm his words, someone slapped Moon on the shoulder. “A great victory, hey, Norseman! I’m glad to see that no one cut you in half.”

Farmon, obviously. Eyja stifled a scream when she saw the wound splitting his cheek in half. It was horrific and would be painful. He paid it no more mind that she would to a scratch, however.

Moon took a step away from her before answering. “More than one man tried. But I hit them first.”

“I bet you did. Well, I don’t mind admitting I had my doubts about you and your cousin. They have now been put to rest. You certainly did your share in disposing of the savages.” He laughed as if he’d said something very witty. No one laughed with him. “Let’s go and wash the grime away. We finally have time to relax and see to our needs. I should think we’ve earned it, after so many days with barely enough time to piss.”

Eyja and Moon exchanged a glance. Though she was desperate to rid herself of the blood, dust and sweat crusting her body, she obviously could not undress in front of the men. But how to refuse to join them without raising suspicion? A good number of Saxons had already stripped down to plunge themselves into the cool river below.

“You go. Eirik and I will wash tonight in the moonlight, like all Norsemen do,” Moon said matter-of-factly.

“You wash at night?” Farmon sounded incredulous, as well he might.

“Of course. The moon is sacred for us people, we wouldn’t dare to risk Máni’s wrath by washing at any other time than when he’s pulling his chariot. We wouldn’t want the wolf Hati Hrodvitnisson to catch him up and devour him because of a mistake we made, now would we? My family is especially devoted to Máni. Why do you think my people call me Moon when you know my name is Halfdan? No, battle or not, we’ll honor our traditions and wait.”

The men stared at the avalanche of foreign names and ideas. Eyja worked hard not to stare as well. Where had all that come from? Since when did her people wash at night? Would Farmon not think them mad? Perhaps. But at least there was no more talk of them joining the people bathing.

Once the Saxons had gone away, grumbling to themselves that Norsemen were decidedly too odd to be believed, she turned to Moon, brow arched.

“Well, did you have a better idea?” he asked before she could even open her mouth.

“No.” It had been genius on his part. Indeed they’d had to make up a reason why she could not strip in front of them without raising the men’s suspicions and he’d come up with the perfect one.

“The Saxons already see us as savages, with customs and habits they don’t understand. I could have claimed that we like to bathe in salted goat milk and whip ourselves with ropes afterward, they would have believed it. Why not make the most of it?”

Why not indeed?

“Thank you. I had no idea how to refuse the offer. But you don’t mind waiting to get cleaned up?” She could not join the men, but he didn’t have the same problem. It was a hot day, and he would no doubt be itching to plunge his body in the cool water.

“No. After waiting five days for it, I think I can wait another moment. Night will fall soon enough. And first, I’d like to eat and drink. I’m ravenous and we finally have time to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

Eyja sighed and looked at the sky above them. “Yes. We do.”

“What are you doing?”

Moon stared at Eyja, who stared back at him as if he’d gone mad for asking the question. “I’m getting undressed. Isn’t that what people do before they bathe? Or do you think that, as eccentric Norsemen, we should only be naked when we eat cheese or feed the chickens?”

He cleared his throat, ignoring her teasing. Well, yes, getting undressed to have a wash was the normal thing to do, but...

Suddenly, being naked seemed the last thing she should do in his presence.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He barely managed to get the words out. There seemed to be an egg-sized lump in his throat—and an unwelcome bulge in his braies. No, not again! It was like the other night, only this time it was even more inexplicable. They weren’t touching, and he hadn’t seen as much as her bare feet. What was happening to him? It had to be the aftermath of the battle that affected him, he decided. Hadn’t he heard that people who narrowly escaped death experienced a surge of desire, the need to express their joy and relief at being alive?

Yes, that was probably what it was.

“Come. Don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy? How many times have we bathed in front of each other?” She let out a giggle and reached for her other boot.

“Dozens of times, but we were children.”

“So?” She didn’t seem to see his point. But he saw it only too well. Now he was a grown man, and in his grown man’s brain, seeing a woman naked, no matter how legitimate the reason, was no innocent act. That Eyja was a friend he’d known all his life did not change facts. She was a woman, and in the last few days he had become acutely, painfully aware of the fact. After the other night, when he’d been aroused to feel her atop him, he was not ready to see her naked. He was not at all sure he would handle it well.

He shrugged, as if he didn’t really mind one way or another, but simply had to be sensible.

“We’ll take turns to bathe. That way I can keep watch in case one of the men chooses this moment to have a wash as well,” he said with decision. “It wouldn’t do for them to see your body, as they would understand what you are, and that’s what we’ve been trying to avoid all along. Stay under water while you wash, and keep your shirt on for as long as possible.”

He fully expected her to argue but, to his relief, she nodded. He turned around, ostensibly to keep an eye out for intruders. In reality, he was making sure he didn’t get even the slightest glimpse of her smooth, white flesh gilded by the moonlight and wet from the river water.

But not seeing her did not stop his imagination from running amok.

Although he had always chosen his lovers for their voluptuous figures, he had to admit that there was a certain grace about Eyja’s lithe form. He could not deny being curious. How would she look, with her small, pert breasts and slender thighs? How would she feel under his palms? All taut and muscular probably, nothing like a woman who spent her days sewing and cooking inside the hut. His fingers were itching to find out. And with her fiery nature and impressive strength, he guessed she would be a most adventurous and vigorous bed partner, one who would not shy away from the boldest caresses and be able to ride him for long moments without tiring.

Yes... perhaps he’d had it all wrong. Perhaps a petite, impetuous woman was the lover he needed, not a soft, pampered one.

When he heard the splash of water announcing she had plunged into the river, he willed himself not to look over his shoulder but he heard her sigh of relief as she washed away the grime of the past few days. He couldn’t wait to do the same.

“It’s your turn,” she called after a moment. Moon couldn’t have said how long she’d been in the water. All he knew was that his body was on fire. A plunge in the icy river was just what he needed right now. “Hurry. You wouldn’t want Hati Hrodvitnisson to devour you, now, would you?”

“You really are an imp, you know that?” he muttered between his teeth.

“I would be hard pressed not to, as you keep calling me that.”

He ignored the retort. Of course she knew she was an imp.

“Are you dressed?” he asked instead. She’d said it was his turn, which didn’t necessarily mean that she had put her clothes back on. For all he knew she was stark naked and stretching, oblivious to the temptation she represented for a hot-blooded male.

“Yes. It’s safe for you to turn around,” she answered, sounding mightily amused. “You won’t be turned into stone upon seeing me.”

Well, he was not so sure about that, Part of him already had turned to stone.

“Really, you’re impossible, you?—”

Moon turned around and stopped mid-sentence because, though she was not naked, Eyja was not quite dressed either. All he could do was stare at the pure white column of her throat, revealed by the gaping collar of Ari’s oversized shirt. It was so big on her that he could see the top of two round breasts which appeared to be just as pert as he’d thought. Even worse, the cold of the water had made her nipples hard as pebbles and they were pointing straight at him, as if to challenge him to take a bite. He lowered his gaze before he surrendered to the urge to do just that. A mistake. The hem of the shirt only reached mid-thigh, drawing attention to the two slender legs he tried very hard not to imagine wrapped around his waist while he plunged inside her.

Damn and blast, she was delectable, it wasn’t safe to look anywhere , not even her feet! He knew because he’d already noticed that they were as perfect and delicate as any he had ever seen.

“I wish I had other clothes to put back on now that I am clean,” Eyja said, oblivious to the workings of his overheated mind. “Everything is filthy but I cannot wash them as I have nothing else to wear and cannot sleep in wet clothes.”

She sighed and bent down to pick up her braies. As she lifted one leg to put them on, she let out a small groan. All lewd thoughts instantly vanished from Moon’s mind and he planted himself in front of her, steadying her with his hands at the shoulders. What was he doing, gaping at her instead of enquiring after her health?

“What’s the matter? Are you injured?” She hadn’t seemed to be, but he could not be certain. Under the grime, she could have hidden all manners of cuts and bruises. He should have asked before, but when he’d seen her standing, alive and whole on that battlefield, he’d forgotten everything.

She shook her head. “No, I’m just a bit sore everywhere, that’s all. I fear that now it’s all over, my body will make me pay for what I put it through these last few days.”

Yes, he could well imagine. His might as well.

“Go and get some sleep now. It’s already late.” To keep up the pretense they weren’t avoiding the others, they’d had to wait until the moon was high in the sky to go and have a wash, thereby forgoing some precious resting time. “I won’t be long.”

Eyja started to walk back to the place they had selected for the night then realized she would rather wait for Moon. She felt safer amidst the men when he was around, all strong and dependable. He must be as exhausted as she was, and eager to get some sleep, so he would not be long.

A little delay couldn’t hurt.

She retraced her steps and skidded to a halt when his naked form appeared through the branches. He was standing knee high in the water, looking into the distance, still as a statue. For a brief moment, she considered averting her eyes. Then, as if to ensure her gaze remained fixed on him, he bent down to gather water into his cupped hands and let it trickle down over his head. In that instant, King Hardrada himself could have come back from the dead to charge at her, she would not have found the will to look away from Moon. It was a vision of pure decadence, one that did odd things to her insides. Wet, his hair was darker and even longer than usual, fanning over his shoulder blades in a sheet of silk. He was perfection, except for one thing. The smooth skin was mottled by cuts and bruises scattered all over his body, proof that the battle had been hard fought. But it did not distract from his beauty in any way, if anything, it even enhanced it, since it proved his courage and strength.

Would she ever be able to get that image of masculine beauty out of her mind? Eyja snorted when she realized that she would not even try. Why would she do such a foolish thing? It could be something she would cherish until her dying day.

The noise she made must have alerted him to her presence because he turned, and saw her.

Oh. My.

The back had been perfect, the front was... spectacular. The God of the Moon Máni himself could not be more chiseled, more perfect than this. Moon had been right. Everything was different now. They were not children anymore. His body was definitely not that of a child anymore. The muscular shoulders, the broad chest, the blond hairs following the contours of his taunt stomach, the...

All the air left her lungs when her gaze landed on the member gracing the apex of his thighs.

No, he was most definitely not the boy she had known before, but all man. Had he not been her brother’s friend she might well have stepped forward and asked if she could touch him. As he was Torsten’s best friend, and they had grown up together, she refrained from throwing herself into his arms and begging him to let her stroke him.

“I told you to go,” he said, his voice hoarse. She noticed that he made no move to cover his nudity, for which she was grateful. Such beauty should never be hidden.

“I stayed.” Obviously. Why has she said that? He could see that for himself.

“Do you ever do what you’re supposed to do, Imp?”

“I don’t know.”

Another stupid answer. But all her thoughts had scattered at the sight of his glorious body. Her blood was singing in her veins and her mind had definitely ground to a halt. And perhaps she was not the only one affected by the moment. Because since he’d seen her, Moon’s attitude had started to change. His breathing had gone faster, the member she had admired earlier was no longer lying limply against his thigh, and it was getting even thicker, harder. She knew what it meant.

Heat burnt her cheeks

“Are you?—”

He disappeared under the water before she could finish the sentence. When his head broke through the surface again, Eyja still had not taken a breath, as if she’d been the one submerged in the stream.

“Go,” Moon barked, remaining hidden from the neck down. “You need to sleep.”

“I... I don’t want to go back to the camp without you. It doesn’t feel safe.”

This was not a lie or an excuse to stay by the river and ogle him. Cleaned up, in front of a man who felt desire for her, Eyja had never felt more like a woman, more vulnerable. It seemed to her that all the men would see through her disguise in that moment, something she could not afford, now even less than before, because now they had time to make the most of the discovery.

Being a woman amongst warriors drunk on their victory was no place to be.

Moon muttered something under his breath. It was probably for the best she couldn’t catch what it was because she had no doubt he was cursing her for disobeying his orders.

“Turn around then,” he ordered sharply. He seemed as aggravated as the night she had tried to tickle him. “And make sure you do what you’re supposed to do for once.”

She turned her back without a word of protest but in truth, she wasn’t sure she could have handled watching him emerge, wet and glistening, from the water. Then, friend or no friend, she would have thrown herself at him.

There were a few splashing sounds, then silence, followed by the rustle of clothes. Eventually, Moon joined her. She didn’t look at him, or he at her. They simply stood side by side a moment, breathing hard.

“Come then, let’s go sleep.”