Page 15 of Claimed By the Viking

“‘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 forher to let her feelings become entangled in his fate, he mattered to her, and she would see no harm come to him.

Viggo sat closeto 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 toswiveher 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.

---