Page 7 of Claimed By the Viking

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.

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