by M. E. Sháen
“When you are ready, Halfdan.”
He laughed, the noise soft. “It is when you are, I have said.”
“Rest. You are not well. And we will never know if you do not get better.”
It was Frida’s concerned eyes he woke to next.
“Nerds Elen says that you may die.”
As a way to wake a man, it seemed hard. He shook his head at her. “Nerys Elen is wrong in this, dúllan mín. I will heal.”
She put her hand to his forehead. “You are hot.”
“Little one, do not worry over me.”
“You cry out in your sleep. Bjorn and I hear. Even Blythe can hear you.”
“It is the poison that speaks.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Where is Nerys Elen?”
“She and Blythe washed the bedding. Now she fixes the meal. I was to sit here.”
“I am glad that you are here.” He pointed at the table. “There is a small cup. Mead?”
She left long enough to retrieve it.
“Nerys Elen said to give this to you.”
“You are a dutiful child. Thank you.”
He struggled to one elbow to drink, then lay back, exhausted.
She sat by him on the edge of the bed. “Will you make her your wife?”
“Who, dùlla?”
“Nerys Elen.”
“Is it what she wants, you think?”
I could tell the herbs did their work. His tongue rolled lazily over the words.
“You watch her the way she watches you.”
“Mm.”
When next I looked over, he slept. I sought not to wake him, as sleep would help him heal more than anything else.
I fed the children and after sitting beside his still form to work on patching one of Frida’s dresses.
“Odin,”
I set aside my work to put a cloth to his forehead and wipe his sweaty hair back.
“Halfdan?”
His eyelids fluttered. “Vixen? I am dead.”
“You live.”
“Geri and Freki are in the forest.”
I wet the cloth again and dabbed his face. “Rest. Geri and Freki will wait.”
Bjorn tugged the furs higher atop Halfdan.
“He is yet ill, child. Let him rest.”
“He means the wolves of Odin.”
Bjorn nodded to the carvings that circled the chest of Halfdan’s weapons.
“You see? Greedy for the corpses on the field,”
“Why would he speak of them?”
Bjorn took a step back from the bed, where Halfdan lay senseless once more. “He speaks to Odin in his dream.”
“Odin cannot have him.” I smiled at the tow-headed boy. “I will see to that.”
19
Time progressed in days that dragged. One moment, Halfdan was alert and aware of his surroundings and spoke with clarity to whichever of his household happened to be closest. The next we lost him to a world of gods and monsters, mysteries and magic. And, for us, there seemed little difference.
“Do you treat him as the healer said you must?”
I turned a dry gaze on Eowils’s unsmiling face. “Perhaps you prefer tending to him?” I offered him the warm and damp cloth in my hand. “He pissed the bedding.”
Eowils shut his eyes at that, hands tapping a staccato, yet tuneless, song against the edge of the table. “I would have left you for dead on that land, bitch.”
The glint in his eyes unnerved me. This was a man who would kill were it not for his brother.
“Perhaps it is good you were not the one nearly speared in half then?”
When I turned, Halfdan’s steady gaze met mine.
He gave me a wink, then shut his eyes once more. Fever glittered in his eyes, but I knew he listened.
“Why do you tend to him?” Eowils’s booted feet came to rest on the edge of the bed.
I knocked his feet away. “He is your brother, show respect.”
He laughed, but let his feet drop to the floor. “Answer me.”
The damp furs landed in a pile on the floor before I bent to shove Halfdan’s hips to one side. “He showed me a kindness,”
Eowils sat forward to stare at me. “He stole you from your home.”
“He stole me,” I grunted at the weight of Halfdan as I moved him. “From a life of unceasing boredom and beatings. Who am I to mistreat him in thanks?”
“Had you been my thrall, you would never receive such freedom as he gave you.”
I wiped my hair off my cheek, then slid a dry fur onto the bed. “What freedom, Eowils? Tell me of which you speak, because surely I would know your thoughts on it.”
I had to climb onto the bed to shove Halfdan into the now dry furs.
“He taught you to use an axe, gave you leave to send my thrall to her god. He takes you around because he,” at this he hesitated. “You share his bed.”
“It is no simple thing, I assure you,” I retorted.
“Has he, does he?”
“Do you mean to ask if he enjoys the warmth of my thighs?” I smirked.
“There was a time he did not,”
“And you are now uncertain of it?” I sat on the edge of the bed to run my hands over my head, stray hairs smoothed back beneath them as I met his leer with a knife blade thin grin.
“I do not,” Halfdan murmured. “I am weary and would rest.”
Eowils rose to tower over me. “See to it he yet lives. It will be your head should he die.”
Then he was gone.
Halfdan’s hand found my hip. He squeezed lightly.
“Why did you take me around?”
He squinted. “I know not.”
“A well thought out idea, then.”
He managed a weak grin. “I like you, vixen. You amuse me.”
“Would that I could bathe you, for you reek, Halfdan of the Danes.”
“You do not have to yet share this bed. The pallet where Blythe rests her head is big enough for two.”
I breathed out a laugh. “The healer came today. Do you recall?”
“No.”
“He thinks you may yet live if the poison does not reach that heart of yours.”
His eyes shut. “Mm, it is good.”
It was nearly another week before Halfdan got out of bed under his own power.
He stared into the barrel of water as I fetched a cloth with which to wash him. Deep purple circles now lived beneath his eyes. He looked unwell, though he was recovering.
The healer had come and cut the catgut, the wound knit together though still red and evil-looking, the streaks that had so sought his heart once more gone back into the wound.
“You are too thin, Halfdan.”
“Feed me then, vixen.”
“Look at me.” I dipped a cloth into the water, causing his reflection to waver away on the ripples.
He lifted his head, and I wiped his face, smoothing his beard and wiping beneath his chin.
“You smell of the sickbed. I will air it today but it means you must remain up.”
“I can.”
“The fields need harvesting. I will see that it is done.”
“Thank you.”
I rubbed the cloth across his shoulders.
“Eowils is to take the children this night.”
“Hm.” He watched me work in silence for a moment. “You have never had a man.”
I paused, then continued soaping his chest. “You know I have not.”
“Twelve was too young,” he agreed. “And the Christ god makes it an evil act so surely none of those men who lived there sought you out.”
“I would find out for myself if it is evil,” I said with a laugh.
I reached his lower belly. Though I’d seen him naked before, this time felt different. This time, I looked upon him with more interest than contempt. This time, I looked upon him as a possible lover and mate. He tensed beneath my ministrations, muscles going taut as I rubbed soap into his skin.
“Will it hurt?”
> “No.”
“They used to tell the women who were to be wed that it would hurt. That when a man took her, it would make her bleed and cause her pain. That it wasn’t supposed to feel good as it was a sin and meant only for the having of children.”
“Stories.” He shook his head. “Stories and nonsense.”
“So you say. They say otherwise.”
“What do you say, Nerys Elen?”
I could not look away from those grey eyes. His gaze held me captive.
“I find it not to be a sin. You seem to enjoy it and,” I shrugged. “I think it must feel good.”
“Better than when you touch yourself?”
“You speak in your sleep, did you know?”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“What is it that I say?”
I moved to wash his back. “That you want me. You have said to Odin as much many times now.”
“Hm.”
“You dream me.” I set aside the cloth to work at unbraiding his hair.
“At times.”
“Because you want to bury your cock between my thighs.”
“That certainly.”
“What else?”
Was I more to him than a slave, a servant, a thrall? Was I more than a woman upon whom to relieve his needs?
“I see you when I sleep. I see you touch yourself like you did that night.”
“You want to see that.”
“Mmhm.” He dropped his head back to peer up at me.
“Why?”
“Because it is you. And because you wanted me, thought of me with longing.”
“How do you know what thoughts I may keep?”
He shrugged. “I just do.”
“I did not call your name. Perhaps I thought of some other.”
“I believe it not.”
He lifted his head so I could continue working with his hair. “It is me you think of, vixen.”
Always so sure of himself, so certain he knew what others wanted, or needed.
“You brought back no thralls from this raid that so nearly took you to your gods?”
I sought some confirmation of his motivations. He kept things close to his chest as if to release them into the world would be to undo them utterly.
“Men. I keep them in town to be sold.”
“And will you have a new one?”
“No. I will have coin for my efforts. I owe you and Blythe coin for your help in our success.”
“I am glad you think of us.”
My fingers sank into his hair at the base of his skull. He shivered at the touch, earning my low laugh.
“It feels good, vixen.”
I poured a bucket of water over his head. “It is lust you feel.”
He sputtered and turned his eyes up as I crossed to stand in front of him and flipped the furs off his lap.
Methodically, I washed him from waist to toes, leaving him erect though I’d not done more than clean him.
“You want to see it now?” I murmured into his hair as I dried it.
“I, yes.”
“And will it make you want me more?”
He offered a slow nod.
“You are not well enough.”
“I can watch.” He shrugged. “I am not too unwell for that.”
“Do men touch themselves as well?”
He snorted a laugh. “You amuse me, vixen. Yes. We do.”
“You’ve yet a full day to stay out of your sickbed. You need rest.”
“Watching is restful.”
I snorted. “I doubt that.”
I moved behind him then to braid his hair.
The feel of his warm shoulders beneath my hands did things to me, made me weak despite myself. The lingering illness from his wound seemed not to weaken him at all, for he remained as powerfully built as ever.
As if the conversation had not occurred, as if my thoughts had not strayed in that way, I helped him into his tunic and trousers without a word.
My curiosity had started an ache in me, but I would not betray myself to the trust he’d gained, though gods knew I could almost taste the lust that churned within.
Eowils arrived, made talk about how improved he looked, how pleased Jarl Thorsson was in their success, how the fields were near ready to harvest.
But the ache wouldn’t go away.
20
Night. I went to bed restless to toss beneath the furs as if stuck by knives.
Halfdan seemed unable to find sleep, too. He turned over and over on his side of the bed. Eventually, he fell still on his back.
Just rollover. See if he is yet awake. No. An oath was still an oath. I would not give him the satisfaction of being the one to make the first move.
With a huff, he rolled to face me, and my heart missed a beat. He put his arm around my shoulders to let me rest my head on his chest.
“Nerys Elen.” What did he mean to say? “You are certain of this? Of me?”
I nodded, then hummed when he kissed next to my ear.
Heat stole through me like a strong drink to inflame my senses. I could smell the faint bitterness of the lye soap and beneath it the deeper smell of him on his skin.
“Show me, Halfdan. Teach me.”
“You want to have me?”
“Yes.”
He came to rest half atop me, as if not to re-injure the newly formed scar. His lips were soft against mine, and he whimpered against my mouth.
“I hurt you.”
“No.”
He drew me into another kiss. His tongue brought the faint taste of mead from the evening meal.
I responded, my mouth hard on his, full of my need. It sang in my mind, shot through me until I could take no more.
He moaned into the kiss and lifted my shift up my thighs to plunge his hands between my legs. He shoved my thighs apart to sink his fingers into the soft flesh as if to tear me asunder.
I worked the tie of his tunic loose and a shiver shook him. He kissed harder still, insistent and demanding. Oh, this. This, now.
His head back tipped, and I broke away from the kiss to tongue a sharp line from beneath his ear, down his throat, and nip the pulse that throbbed under the exposed skin. The low growl that escaped from between his parted lips sank into me to build the heat between my legs.
He drew one finger up between my thighs. I was wet, already as aroused as he was. I moaned when he traced small circles against me and lifted my hips to his palm to drop me onto his fingers with a sharp intake of breath.
By all the gods, I was ready for him.
“Patience,” he murmured against my mouth when I brought it back to his. The lie of it was there in the way he shook with longing. He had no more patience than I.
“Now.”
“Shh,” he kissed my neck.
My head fell to the soft straw mattress at the feel of his fingers sliding in and out of me.
“It feels good?”
“Yes.” I rocked against him now.
“Halfdan, yes. This, by all the gods, do this,”
He crooked his fingers deep inside me, and I moaned and thrust my hips, impaling myself on his hand. His thumb rubbed circles into me until I whined his name and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
I pushed his hands away and sat atop his thighs.
“Show me how,” the breathless syllables uttered in a voice I barely recognized to be my own.
He put his hand over mine to lead me to stroke him the way he liked, and I took over, fisting him until he was thrusting into my hand.
And again, “Show me,” whispered against his open mouth.
He bit the edge of my mouth, then tugged me forward, hands planted on my hips. “You must get on,”
There was no need to tell me twice. I grasped him at the base of his manhood to hold him steady and sat atop him, sinking him into my waiting flesh in a way I was sure would hurt but only left me wanting more.
“How?” This was a breathless gasp as he rocked my hi
ps into his.
He let me set the pace, and hold him deep inside me as once more I tightened, the rhythm an excruciating pleasure that stole my breath away and left me hungry for more.
He held me atop himself, glided my hips atop his a moment more as if to savor the utter mess I had become.
Then he flipped me onto my back and speared me. The motion lifted me up off the bed until my head smacked into the wall.
H ground against me, then pushed one of my thighs up to hold open.
He bit the flesh where neck and shoulder met, grunted against my skin when I drew my nails down the center of his spine.
Gods, the tingling that consumed all and pushed us together. He thrust harder and moaned my name.
Something in me let go, the release like alcohol on a flame. It threw him over the edge, and his hips froze as it spilled from him to fill me. The guttural sound of his release shattered the silence.
Satiated, he stared at me, kissed me when I drew close enough. I breathed in the scent of him, now salty and musky until it imprinted on my mind.
“Halfdan?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Hm.”
“Do it again,”
He managed a laugh that sounded wild in my ears. “Mm, later.”
“I want you more.”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “It is too soon for me, vixen. You must wait awhile.”
I buried my face in the hollow of his neck with a little sigh. Who knew this could be so nice?
21
Eowils sat on the porch with his back to the house, hands busy with honing the blade edge of his axe. Halfdan dropped next to him.
With a sniff, Eowils set the sharpening stone atop his knee. “You reek of her.”
Halfdan remained silent.
“You will make of her a wife?”
“It is at her hand I am healed.”
Eowils shook his head as if weary of the denials. “You must go into town. They must see you as whole and well, brother. Jarl Thorsson uses this to drive your wordfame down. Will you allow that to happen?”
“This raid strengthened him.”
Eowils turned to stare at Halfdan. “He fears you seek to usurp him. Do you not know?”
“I want for myself a winter of good harvest.”
Eowils snorted, and Halfdan could see the other man’s jaw twitch with anger.
“Brother, these men are not mine. I can offer nothing more than another season of raids.”