Page 16 of Claimed By the Viking

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 hecoulddo.

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 hisbraies. 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 thehide 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.

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