Chapter 13

Morning, on the fortieth day of the men's sojourn on the island

It was the part of the day Elin most savored, rousing to the warmth of Rangvald in her bed. She brushed lightly over his chest, toying with the dark hairs masking inked patterns.

Rangvald was growing stronger and had insisted they remove the wraps about his ribs, as well as the cast upon his arm. Elin believed it was too soon but understood ‘twas a matter of pride. Before long, he'd be exerting true force over her—a thought both thrilling and frightening—though Elin's instincts told her this man would never knowingly cause her harm.

She trailed her hand across the tautness of his abdomen, through the soft thatch at his groin, to the heaviness of his half-erect cock. Encircling there, she gave a gentle squeeze and was gratified to feel it grow within her palm.

Settling between his thighs, she lowered her head, inhaling the scent of his masculinity and the lingering tang of her own musk. Yesternight, he'd made her take her peak multiple times, bone-weak and quivering, before driving inside with slow, controlled thrusts, grinding deep against her pelvis while holding himself on the edge.

Her sex clenched at the memory—of begging for release from her ‘master' while he dominated her so utterly. Where did a man learn such skills of pleasing a woman? Elin tried not to linger upon that thought. For now, he was her lover, and he made her feel as if she was the only woman who existed for him.

Moving lower, she took one of his sacs into her mouth, humming against the pliable flesh encasing the hard nut within before releasing it to take the other. His hand, pressing to the back of her head, told her he was awake. Having thoroughly attended there, she swept her hair across his manhood, then followed with her tongue, stroking upward toward the slit, where she licked away the brine. She probed where his saltiness beaded, teasing the tiny opening, and a shudder went through him.

He growled his approval, so she wasted no time in gliding wet heat down his length, lathing him repeatedly before sucking the smooth head. She wiggled the tip of her tongue upon the underside, where she knew he was most sensitive.

Rangvald groaned again, widening his legs. He was fully hard now, his shaft thick and the flared head engorged. She relished the size of him while he pulsed his hips and his hand tightened in her hair. Elin made her jaw relax as he forced himself deeper, preparing for his release.

"Mount me." Rangvald's voice was rough with desire. "On top, now!" He pushed aside the furs, then dragged her upward until her waist was within grasp. Immediately, his staff found her, entering where she was wet and eager.

She gasped as he lunged, impaling her with an upward thrust, but she was soon moving with him, tilting so his thickness rubbed where she most needed the pressure.

Always, their morning ritual ended with him releasing in her throat or upon her breasts. This was unexpected—for him to relinquish reaching his peak in her mouth.

Elin arched back, wanting him to watch her and admire, to have him hold her like this while she performed for him, undulating, stretching, bucking. His eyes were darkly upon her as she rotated her hips.

"Ja!" He urged her on, his breathing as ragged as her own.

Elin drove down as her first peak hit, tumbling her like a piece of driftwood. As the cry left her, she was acutely aware of her body and beyond it, stiffening under rolling spasms, wave after wave, while he continued to pump skyward, holding her fast.

"Fuck me!" With a shout, Rangvald jerked, his face contorting as he held her firm upon his staff, filling her sheath to the utmost.

‘Twas both painful and blissful, taking him so deep while the ripples left his body, and Elin's inner muscles clenched in response, drawing him inside her.

Yes, she'd fuck him! As many times as he lusted for her. She'd take everything he gave and always want more.

As the last convulsion subsided, Rangvald murmured again, "Fuck me…" His eyes were languid with passion spent, his features soft.

When she lowered to lie with him again, he pulled her close, keeping her pressed to his side. His hand rested possessively in the hollow of her back, and, for some reason, her tears prickled.

She'd taken pleasure and given it in return—not for the sake of a child, for her fertile time was passed these several days. She wanted him, she could not deny it, and she wanted him to long for her, too, to hunger to climb inside her, to seek out all she was. She wanted him to care.

Foolish thought!

For all his lust, Rangvald had never tried to kiss her. He'd never once shown curiosity over her past nor offered details of his own.

They'd shared so much, yet still, they were strangers.

‘Twas some hours later when Elin helped Rangvald bathe and dress. They ate ravenously of the stew remaining from the day before, sitting in the warmth of the late morning sun, their stools placed by the open door.

Rangvald was pensive, but whatever thoughts occupied him, he wasn't ready to share them with her.

She wanted everything, all at once—to better understand and know him—but such things could not be rushed. She could only pray his trust would grow.

Rangvald was too proud to bemoan his situation—that much was obvious. Nevertheless, Elin recalled his mention of the harbor guard. There, he must be valued for his strength and for his ability to wield weapons. Now, though his arm was healing, its flexibility was limited, and his grip was weak. The bruising upon his chest was receding but there was tenderness about his ribs.

Several days ago, Elin had asked Grethe's man, Rutger, to craft a support as he had for Gunnar, who was recovering well from his wounded ankle. Rangvald's injuries were quite different, yet a crutch would help. She'd been unsure at first, worrying how Rangvald would view her intervention. However, upon receiving Rutger's handiwork, Rangvald had seemed quietly uplifted.

Elin prayed to Freyja that a turning point was ahead.

Having finished his meal, Rangvald rose unsteadily and collected the crutch from where it was propped against the wall. Lodging the padded piece beneath his arm, he took a turn about the room.

"There! Better, you see! ‘Tis only practice I need to build the muscles. The fresh air is what I need and the movement."

"Aye, only…" Elin knew she must choose her words carefully. "Not too far. It may cause a setback."

Rangvald looked displeased but did not contradict her.

"I need to see Viggo. You might come with me, if you wish it." Mixing between the men was still strictly monitored, but it could do no harm for Rangvald to visit the poor creature. Of them all, Signy's charge had shown the least progress in overcoming the affliction the wreck had wrought upon him. He'd benefit from speaking with one of his own, and Rangvald would, too. She could only hope time spent with Viggo might distract him from his own troubles.

After a rather tortuous amble along the bay's curve, Elin and Rangvald reached Signy's hut. Elin gave her usual inspection of the patient, finding Viggo unchanged. The case was puzzling. He'd suffered a blow to the head, and though the gash was healing well, and his memory seemed unaffected, he'd altogether lost his sight. Perhaps his vision would return, but who could say?

Rangvald was now alone with his comrade while she and Signy stood outside. With the door half-open, Elin had a view of the pair.

"I'm so glad you came." Signy clung to Elin, and there was an unmistakable quiver to her voice.

Gently, Elin detached herself. "How goes it… not just for Viggo but for yourself?"

Elin couldn't help but worry, for Signy had barely entered the first bloom of womanhood and lacked experience of men.

Well, that wasn't entirely the case.

Signy had plentiful experience, but all the wrong sort. Her father had been a brute, regularly beating the girl, and her beauty had brought unwelcome attention from their jarl—most especially in the months prior to the great curse that had befallen the menfolk.

The girl's mother was temporarily residing with another of the older women to better facilitate the mating that was expected between Signy and her man. A blessing, Elin thought, since Ulva was so domineering. Signy would only benefit from being given peace.

Signy attempted a smile, though it was far from convincing. "I'm fine, more content than I've ever been, though so much is different. Even the bees seem to feel it. I was up by the hives, and they were clustered there, as if reluctant to search for pollen farther afield. It's not like them at all."

"The bees?" Elin knew Signy took her honey-making seriously, but it seemed unlikely the bees were bothered about the arrival of six strangers to their island.

Signy gave herself a little shake. "Pay me no mind. It's probably of no matter."

"I'm sure you're right." Elin nodded. "And how are you and Viggo getting along?"

"Very well. That is, I'm glad to have his company. ‘Tis only that Viggo's moods can be low. I want to make him believe all will be well, but sometimes, he's so deep in darkness, he can see naught else. He's a good person, whatever my mother says, and if I'm to have a child, there's no other I'd wish for its father. Once a baby is coming, it may stir him to more positive thoughts. He'll have both me and the child…" Signy faltered.

A vain hope, though fatherhood does sometimes bring out the best in men.

Elin didn't like to pry, but it seemed clear—the two of them had been intimate. ‘Twas for the best, though Ulva would give her daughter no rest until the desired outcome was assured.

As to Signy forming an attachment to this man, Elin was unsure of the wisdom of it. She'd seen the despair in Viggo's blankly staring eyes. What use was strength in the body if the mind was weak and the heart anguished? It could not bode well for Signy's happiness.

She darted a glance to where Rangvald sat beside the man. He was leaning close, holding Viggo's hands between his. ‘Twas a small gesture but one of decency. For all his foul temper and brusqueness, Rangvald wished to bring comfort.

No matter that his own heart must be heavy…

A surge of something painful rose in Elin's chest, a rush of feeling that brought with it a stern ache.

She looked back at Signy and nodded. "Freyja shall surely bless you, and ‘twill be a great solace… one well-deserved."

Elin wanted to believe it, for Signy and for herself.

Frida had told her it would be so, that a child was to come, but all too soon, these glorious couplings would exist only in her memory.

Rangvald's days with her were numbered, and only one circumstance might change that fact—if they formed a closer bond. Then, she might plead her case for him to become hers alone—a true husband.

Was such a thing possible? Could Rangvald ever be other than he was, always so commanding and cold, holding himself aloof even in the throes of passion?

Elin wanted to believe, but she needed some sign of greater connection. Though she fulfilled his lusts, as he did hers, and she thrilled at the way Rangvald commanded her submission, it was not enough. She needed him to give her more.

And what of myself? Have I truly opened my own heart so that he might learn what lies within?

She was unsure of her readiness. Dare she lay herself bare, letting him see all that had shaped her?