Helga breathed a sigh of relief. Not separated, after all.
"Actually, Gorm, I think I will stay here," Vagn said.
Helga's heart constricted. There was no way she could stay behind, too, without her father becoming suspicious… if he was not already.
"My side still pains me betimes, and I am not sure I could stand a full day on horseback," Vagn said, reaching low where no one could see his hand to pinch her buttock… probably a signal to her to attempt to stay, too… which she could not do.
She let out a little yelp of surprise at his pinch.
Her father raised an eyebrow at her.
"Indigestion," she explained.
Her father nodded, being an expert on chest pains. "I can understand your concern about traveling too soon, Vagn. You have been looking peaked of late, and you have dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. Nightmares, I imagine. Actually, I have an ulterior motive for wanting to go." He winked slyly at Helga.
"What? What have you done now?"
"I have done naught," he said as if wounded. "But Lord Ravenshire's son John from Hawk's Lair will be there, and methinks 'tis time for you to give him another look."
"For what?"
"Husband."
Helga slanted a surreptitious glance at Vagn and noticed with satisfaction that he looked rather green. He squeaked out, "Marriage?"
"Father! John is too young for me."
"He is twenty and five," her father argued.
"And I am twenty and eight."
"Pfff! Three years! 'Tis nothing."
"It is, when the woman is three years older."
" 'Twould be like robbing the cradle," Vagn concurred.
She cast him a glowering look.
"On the other hand, I am thirty and one. A good age," Vagn said.
Everyone turned to stare at Vagn. Where had that irrelevant remark come from? It was irrelevant, wasn't it? A good age for what?
Then her father threw in more irrelevant remarks. "I understand that John has grown into quite a handsome fellow. On the down side, he's a Saxon through and through… grim and way too serious, unlike us Vikings who enjoy a good jest."
"I enjoy a good jest," Vagn said.
Helga sank lower in her seat. Why was he calling attention to himself this way? Did he want people to know of their relationship?
"On the up side," her father continued, "John has his own estate, which is said to be prosperous. What say you, Helga? Will you at least reserve judgment till you've had a chance to look him over?"
Before she had a chance to answer, Vagn told her father, "Actually, I think I will go to Ravenshire with you after all. Eirik is an old comrade of mine, as is his brother Tykir, who lives in the Norselands. There are sure to be other Vikings of my acquaintance there. Yea, 'twill be good to meet up with old friends. We will all have a jolly good time."
"Lackwit!" she mouthed to him in an aside. She'd like to show him a jolly good time.
He just winked at her and pinched her buttock again.
"So, it is settled then." Gorm raised his cup of mulled ale high in a toast. "We will leave for Ravenshire five days hence. Will that be enough time for your sewing ladies to make fine garments for us all, or refurbish the old ones?"
Helga nodded. Sewing duties were the least of her concerns. Somehow, deep down, she knew that her time with Vagn was coming to an end. And she suspected that the end would come at Ravenshire.
Why should it matter? She'd known all along that this was to be a short-lived affair. In that instant, she realized what was bothering her.
I love him. Oh, my gods! I love him.
And that was the worst thing that could have happened.
Men and their epiphanies!…
Oh, my gods, I love her!
Vagn came to this amazing revelation while buried deep inside Helga, trying to fight off his fast-coming peak. He'd stopped his long, slow strokes seconds ago in hopes of slowing himself down before starting the short, hard strokes that would bring them both crashing to ecstasy.
Helga was staring up at him adoringly. All right, she adored the things he did to her body. And he adored the things she did to his body.
But Oh, my gods, I love her!
In the midst of this mind-shattering tension, Helga asked him a most irrelevant question. "Vagn, you once mentioned that you have been celibate for a year. Why? I mean, I cannot imagine a man of your skill giving up the delights of the body."
Vagn liked her mentioning his skills and the delights of the body, but, good gods, how could she put together so many words when engaged in the heat of coupling?
When he was able to speak above a croak, he said, "We were Jomsvikings. They lead celibate lives whilst at the island fortress. It was a bad idea, believe you me."
"What are Jomsvikings precisely?"
"Helga, my sword is planted in your sheath up to the hilt. Your sheath is quivering around me. Can we not discuss this later?"
She laughed seductively, and he realized she was distracting him with these questions deliberately. The witch! Mayhap she was right. 'Twas best to prolong the peaking as long as possible. In truth, there was sometimes as much ecstasy in the anticipation as the end result. And so he began to blather like an idiot.
"Jomsvikings are an elite group of military men of proven courage, none older than fifty years. They live in a huge circular fortress on the island of Trellenborg on the west coast of Sjaelland… the Danish lands. Jomsvikings adhere to strict rules of fellowship. Each must avenge the other as a brother. None must ever speak a word of fear. No man can be absent from the fortress for more than three nights, unless engaged on a military campaign. And, most important, no women are permitted in the castle itself."
"Sounds like foolishness to me."
He pinched her behind for making light of serious men's business and went on. "It is quite an honor to be admitted to this society. A foster brotherhood, some call it. At the initial swearing-in ceremony, a large ring of turf is cut from the ground in such a way that two ends are still held fast and under it is laid a razor-sharp spear. Four men are required to pass beneath it till they draw blood, lots of blood, and their blood mixes with each other's and with the earth beneath. After that, they clasp hands and pledge an oath to the brotherhood."
Her eyes widened with disbelief. "That really is foolishness. Men! What utter nonsense, that they would spill blood just for the sake of making an oath. I tell you, women would never do that!"
He laughed. She was probably right.
"In any case, that is why I was celibate for a year… that, and my battle injury."
"Ummmm," she said.
He was not certain if she said "Ummm" as an indication that she understood or as appreciation of the throbbing of his cock inside her tight channel. Talented fellow, his cock was. He continued to hold himself as still as possible inside her, trying to control the game as much as he could.
She stared up at him, waiting.
While he held himself rigid over her, she did not question him. The woman trusted him implicitly. That he would not hurt her. That he would bring her pleasure. That he would keep his word as a man of honor. That he would hide her secrets.
Vagn knew she was ready—nay, anxious—for impending bliss because her inner folds were already clutching at him, but still she trusted him to know what was best for them in the bedsport. A heady compliment, that was: trust. It carried responsibility, too. Did he want that responsibility? Did he have a choice?
Apparently, I do, became, Odin help me, I love her.
As if reading his troubled thoughts, Helga reached a hand up and caressed his cheek, trailing her fingers over his parted lips. "Vagn," she murmured huskily.
He began to pound her then, as if in punishment, but in reality to drive home to her what he could not say: I love you. To some men that might not be such an amazing revelation, but to Vagn it was mind-shattering. He had never thought love would come to him… love of the man-woman kind. And he'd never
needed it before, not while he had his brother.
Helga flailed from side to side now, keening with the continuous pleasure he gave her. Her body went from one peak to another as the inner ripples went on and on. He'd never known a woman to have multiple peaks like this, but his Helga did. The anticipation of his own peak went on and on, too, to the point of pain… painful yearning, wonderful torture.
I love her. He could not say the words. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But he showed Helga that he loved her in the best way he could. With a roar of male exhilaration, Vagn shot his seed inside Helga's welcoming womb.
And it felt so right.
Making sweet butter, Viking style...
Tears welled in Helga's eyes, which she hid from Vagn by pressing her face against his heaving chest. What a miracle lovemaking was! What a miracle lovemaking was when love was involved, as it was on her part!
I love you, Vagn. She wished she could say the words aloud, but she would probably scare him spitless. Not that he would abandon her to her own devices, but it would make their relationship strained. She wanted to relish this peace between them for a while longer.
But there was something more important to consider. Vagn didn't have to say the words for her to know what he had just done. For the first time in what seemed like a hundred bouts of lovemaking, he had stayed inside her body and given her his seed. And it was deliberate, she knew it was.
What does it mean?
And what a joke on him… because she was probably already with child. As careful as he had been in spilling himself into a cloth, he had made love to her so many times that the chances of her conceiving accidentally were high. Oh, she did not know for a certainty that she carried his babe, but her monthly flux was late. She would not tell him. Not yet. Not till she was sure. Mayhap not even then… nay, that would be dishonorable of her. If she was indeed pregnant, she would let him know. But not yet.
He kissed the top of her head and said, "Helga, you are going to wear me down to a nub."
"Am I too much for you, Viking?" she teased, nipping at one of his flat male nipples.
"Hardly," he boasted. "In truth, dearling, your enthusiasm in the bedsport gives me much pleasure. Thank you." He patted her hand which lay over his heart. "You heal me."
What a touching thing to say! Tears welled again in her eyes, and this time he noticed.
"Tsk tsk tsk! What kind of lover am I to make you weep?"
"The best kind," she said, "but do not let your head get big. I am sure I would be just as pleased with any other man… Finn, for example."
"Liar!" he hooted, obviously believing that what existed betwixt them in the bed furs was unique. Smart man!
She nestled herself into a more comfortable position with her face against his chest, one arm across his waist and a leg thrown over his thigh. Sleep was fast approaching. She loved sleeping in Vagn's arms, though she must be sure to awaken before dawn and return to her own bedchamber.
But Vagn brought her fully awake with his question, "Helga, what do you have against marriage?"
She moved her leg off his but still rested her face on his chest and her arm over his waist. "I don't think there was any one happenstance that made me mistrust marriage. My mother died when I was only three. My father did not raise me as a boy, as many sonless men do with their girlings, but he did breed independence in me."
" 'Tis unusual, you must admit that."
She nodded, and breathed deeply of his skin. He had his own unique skin scent, like salt and leather, masculine, and not at all offensive. But she was being distracted from the subject at hand. "I know my father gives the impression of being a crude oaf betimes, but he really is a fair-thinking man. He taught me—and all his people, really—to use their gods-given talents. In my case, that talent lay in a needle and thread." She shrugged.
"How does your plan for a child fit in with all this? Is it yet another notch in your goal to be independent?"
"Of course not. When he taught me independence, my father's only miscalculation was in his yearning for a grandchild… something he did not realize till recently. I truly think he does not mind my being husbandless. He knows I could carry on for him when he is gone. I may not be a soldier, but there are soldiers aplenty who would work for me."
"But what about you, Helga? You speak of a child for your father's sake. What about you?"
"I want a child, too. I did not realize that afore. The maternal instinct came late to me, apparently." That was all she would say for now… all she could say, as her throat closed with emotion.
"Is it fair to the child not to have a father? Why can't you do both—marry and have a child?"
"Really, Vagn, how many men would allow their wives to have such independence? What man would allow me to continue operating my trading stall in Jorvik? What man would allow me to travel to the trading towns of the Norselands seeking new fabrics and dyes and threads? What man would allow me to be a woman, a mother, and a merchant, too?"
"You are looking at this from the wrong angle."
"How so?"
"The right man would relish your independence. The right man might want to protect you from the dangers of solitary travel or trading in a risky manner, but he would find ways to cooperate with you in your endeavors. Compromise—that is the key to a good husband-and-wife relationship methinks, and thus far you have not considered budging even the slightest bit."
"So it's my fault?"
He laughed. "Just a little."
"You're saying I need the right man to husband me and father my child, and I need to compromise my too-high standards?"
He gave her a one-armed squeeze. "That about sums it up."
Was Vagn saying he could be that man? Was that what this was all about? Oh, she had to admit the prospect filled her with foolish hopes. But she waited a good long time, and he said nothing more. He must be thinking of some other right man for her.
Ah, well, 'twas what she had expected. Time she changed the subject lest she burst into tears, as was her wont of late.
"Well, my wordy Viking, now that you have awakened me from my near-slumber, methinks 'tis time to try another of Rona's tricks."
"I thought you had tried all of Rona's tricks already, numerous times," he said with a chuckle.
"There is one more. 'Tis called the Butter Churn."
He laughed outright.
"You see," she said, swinging her legs so that she straddled his thighs and taking his hardening penis in her fingers, "the trick is in the grip, like the pole of a butter churn, two hands, up and down. The skin will move thus."
"Holy Thor!" Vagn said within seconds. "I will show you what this pole can do when it does its own churning." And he did.
Unfortunately… or fortunately… there was no more talk of marriage or babies that night.
And then the other boot drops…
Vagn knew that Helga was pregnant, but she did not tell him, and it hurt him deeply.
Obviously, she wanted him to play no part in her life or that of the babe. His heart wrenched at the thought. No wonder he held off telling her of his growing affection for her. She would no doubt interpret it as directed toward his child and not her… which was far from the truth, although he did feel almost weepish whenever he thought of a child of his loins. Where these newfound paternal feelings came from, he had no idea—possibly from his love of the mother.
There was only one thing of which Vagn was certain. He would marry Helga, come hell or high water. They would raise this child together, no matter what notions of independence she held close to her heart. His son or daughter would know both parents. That was a fact she would have to accept.
How this would fit in with his plans to search for his brother, he had no idea yet. First of all, he had to make absolutely certain that Toste was really gone to the Other World. Once they returned from Ravenshire, he would settle everything. He could wait that long before making his proposal to Helga, and her father.
In the me
antime, Helga could keep her secret if she wanted. And she could churn his butter all she wanted. He didn't mind one bit.
Daddy dearest…
"Helga, this has got to stop," her father said sternly.
He was standing in her sewing solar, being fitted for a new tunic. It would be black wool, embroidered with a hem of silver briars in honor of Briarstead. Everyone was getting at least one new garment for the trip to Ravenshire, including Vagn, who wore fine raiment like he was born to it, which he was.
"What has to stop?" she asked distractedly as she let out the seams to make more room for her father's massive girth.
"Your diddling with Vagn."
She gasped. Did her father know about their clandestine lovemaking? Did everyone know?
"You cannot tease a man so and not expect him to want something from you. Like marriage."
She breathed an inner sigh of relief. By "diddling" her father meant teasing, not… well, diddling.
"Vagn is not interested in me that way," she said.
"I am not so sure of that."
She stopped fussing with his garment. "What makes you think that?"
"The way his eyes follow you everywhere. The way he refrains from bedding any of the women about the keep. The way he teases you incessantly."
She decided to make light of his warning. "Teasing equals a desire to wed? I think not. Otherwise we would have lots more marriages at Briarstead than we do. Teasing is an innate part of the Viking man's personality. I swear, Viking males must come out of the womb laughing."
Gorm shrugged at her easy dismissal of his views. "Teasing can be the way of lovers. I used to tease your mother."
"You did?"
He smiled dreamily in remembrance. "I teased her and teased till she gave in and—"
"Father!"
"—and agreed to marry me." He widened his eyes at her. "What did you think I meant?"
"Tsk tsk, now you are teasing me."