The Fortress of Time

by Stone, Mariah

  From a distance, Donna saw Sigurd walk out of the longhouse. She hoped he’d see her, but he walked off towards the center of the village. Fully armed with a shield, a battle ax, and a sword, he looked glorious, like an ancient warlord.

  Breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Where was he headed? If Donna wanted to go back, she needed to have the arch repaired. And for that, she needed Sigurd to do something now, not whenever he got around to it. Donna followed him.

  Sigurd stopped at a small square where a dozen or so teenage boys with wooden axes, swords, and shields battled each other in mock fights. Sigurd yelled “Shieldwall!” and they dashed towards each other, building three rows of shields. Donna’s throat caught at the thought that these adolescents—these children—were training for war. Sigurd barked commands, and they grouped, regrouped, fought with each other, and with him. He corrected them, praised them and gave them bruises. They watched him as if he were a god.

  And he looked like one. Who was the god of battle? Thor, wasn’t he? Well, it might as well have been Sigurd.

  For the first time since she’d arrived, she had a moment to think and really wonder what sort of man he was. He must certainly be a great warrior, a strong man, and a good leader if he cared so much about his people that he had put everything on the line to build the fortress. He worked with his own hands alongside his people—he’d said he was building the palisade with Floki and Asa when she’d appeared there. And now, he was taking personal care to make sure these boys stood a chance against whatever enemy threatened them. He seemed to be a good man. Her heart squeezed and warmth spread through her.

  No, she should not allow these feelings. That was all good and nice, but he was still a discriminating, stubborn, arrogant—

  Someone grabbed her wrist and spun her around. A Viking she had not seen before loomed over her. He was younger than Sigurd, and shorter, less impressively built. A violent curiosity was written all over his face. Fear gripped her throat.

  “Are you the goddess that fell from the sky yesterday?”

  Donna tried to free her arm, but the man was as strong as an ox. She should kick his butt, but she did not want to escalate the situation. “Get off me!”

  He wore a homespun tunic, though his was older than Sigurd’s, and he reeked of stale sweat.

  “You don’t look like a goddess. You look like a Freyja’s whore.”

  Donna gasped, and the hair stood on her nape and arms. He pulled her towards him. “You better come with me,” he whispered wetly into her ear. “Fulfill your destiny.”

  That was it. She’d had enough. Donna swung up the arm he was holding her with. He lost his advantage as his arm suddenly was raised high. Using his confusion, she grabbed his wrist with both hands, twisting his arm into a straight line and making him turn with his back to her. Then she pushed on his straight arm and he fell to one knee on the ground, growling in pain.

  “Maggots in Loki’s skull,” Sigurd’s voice behind Donna rolled like thunder.

  She glanced back at Sigurd, and the shock written on his face was priceless. Donna smirked internally. Self-defense and Krav Maga had paid off. If she could force a Viking to his knees, she could deal with whatever else this time-travel nightmare had to dish up.

  “Geirr, you just put your hands on another man’s woman. But I see she does not need her man to protect her.”

  Donna’s skin tingled at the look of respect in Sigurd’s eyes.

  “Let me go, you wench!” Geirr moaned. “Jarl, I did not know she was claimed.”

  Sigurd stopped next to her. “She is claimed. By me.”

  Donna’s breath caught. A forbidden thrill went through her. His words sounded so wrong and so primal, but, oh God, it made her want to throw herself into his arms and let him show her exactly how he claimed her.

  “Let him go, Donna. He won’t harm you. No one will.”

  She released Geirr, and he rose, facing them and eyeing Sigurd from under his heavy brows.

  Sigurd gave a curt nod. “Should you not be at the fortress?”

  The man backed away and disappeared behind the corner of the next building.

  Sigurd slowly turned Donna around. He loomed over her like the mountain over the fjord, his eyes as gray. But they were not full of desire as Donna had secretly hoped.

  They were full of fury.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Odin and Thor, she was trouble.

  He had thought maybe women from the future were different, more trustworthy. They had clearly been given greater responsibility. But a small woman like her had brought one of his best warriors to his knees with just a couple of clever movements.

  Sigurd was furious. At her, but mostly at himself.

  He should have been more careful with her, should have just locked her up and posted guards to make sure she would not wander around the village, confusing his men, creating chaos, and distracting him.

  But he had no men to spare and no time to lose.

  As she stood so close to him—her eyes big, her lips full and juicy like ripe cherries begging him to kiss them, her scent enveloped him.

  He’d told Geirr he’d claimed her.

  Right now, he did not want anything more than to do just that. To take her, make her his, plunge into her scent like he plunged into the waters of the fjord, forget himself in her arms and find release in her depths.

  Sigurd swallowed and looked up to distract himself. He needed to get her under control and get back to work on the fortress.

  He walked towards the great hall and pulled her after him. “I told you not to talk to anyone.”

  Donna’s eyes widened. “He came to me! He grabbed me and—”

  Sigurd growled. “I told you to go to the longhouse. Just stay there. Not take a step outside.”

  They arrived in his great hall, and Donna started to struggle, but he led her towards his bedchamber, ignoring the curious glances of the slaves.

  When they were in his bedchamber, Donna pulled her arm from his grip and spun to face him, her eyes a blue fury in the darkness of the room.

  “You are such a dictator! You have no right to tell me what to do. And what about that thing you said about claiming me? No one—you hear me—no one can claim me! I belong to myself. I claim me. I claim… ”

  Sigurd did not know half of what she was talking about. Dictator? What was that?

  “I have every right to do anything I see fit with you. You are under my protection.”

  Donna scowled and crossed her arms. Freyja and Frigg, her lips looked so kissable right now.

  “Make yourself useful and help with cooking and cleaning, like I told you.”

  Her chin rose. “And warming your bed?”

  He swallowed and glanced at the object in question, which was full of soft furs and so inviting. “And warming my bed.”

  Donna drew in a sharp breath. “You can forget it.”

  Sigurd took a step towards her. Would she fight him in everything? “I don’t think that I can.” His hand rose to her face and he traced the gentle curve of her cheek.

  Her skin felt like that of a goddess. No woman he had ever met had skin like that. Her sweet lips parted slightly at his touch. She could say whatever she wanted, but she was affected as much as he was.

  Before the voice in his head could roar at him to stop and walk out, he lowered his head towards her. He needed to claim her, Sigurd said to himself, before she could create more havoc.

  But he knew it was just an excuse.

  The real reason was this.

  His lips touched hers, and she welcomed him as if he was a long-lost part of her. She moaned, barely audible, and her body pressed against him. He breathed her in, his tongue ravishing hers, the sweet taste of her mouth making him crave her even more.

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed. He sat on the edge and placed her on his lap, turning her so that her legs wrapped around his hips. Her body pressed against his, her soft breasts and belly—her heat against h
is. Their eyes locked, and there was hunger in hers that mirrored his own. But also the shadow of doubt.

  No, there would be none of that now. No thoughts, no questions, no hesitation.

  His lips covered hers before the doubt could win her over. He tangled one hand in her hair as he let the other travel down her graceful spine, trace the hemisphere of her backside and move down her thigh, before slipping under the hem of her dress where it had gathered right above her knees. His fingers glided along her smooth skin.

  She felt like a goddess, but he knew now that she was just a woman…and what a willful woman she was. He rolled her hair on his fist and pulled her head back a little, exposing her graceful neck to his mouth. He kissed it, devouring every inch of the skin. Then he reached a spot just below her ear, bit it gently, and Donna gave a throaty cry of pleasure. She was strangely connected to him. He did not know how, but he felt what she wanted, what would make her feel good.

  And he was happy to oblige.

  Sigurd’s hands slid under her hips, supporting her, and he rose up with her. He turned to the bed and threw Donna on it, joining her right after. Her lips were full, her mouth parted, her eyes half-closed. Sigurd leaned over her with his arms straight, pushing against the mattress at each side of her shoulders. He knelt between her legs. She gasped a little, her legs spread, at his mercy. She bit her lip, and her head rolled back slightly, their eyes still locked. Sigurd lowered himself to her, pinning her to the mattress. He grasped her wrists in one hand, pulling her arms above her head, wanting to finish what they’d started that morning.

  Donna wriggled a little, rubbing herself against him. He kissed her again, and she moaned against his mouth.

  Sigurd was pressed against her completely now, throbbing and hard, at her hot entrance. His mouth found hers and devoured her. Her body began grinding itself shamelessly against his.

  Sigurd undid her brooches and ran his hand down her leg, then returned to the hem of the dress. He lifted for a moment, pulling her dress over her head and off. Her milky white body lay before him, her full breasts, delicate waist, round hips. Her skin…oh her skin… And the triangle of light-brown hair between her thighs.

  Sigurd groaned. And then he was surprised to feel her hands on his waist, pulling at his tunic and trying to raise it up.

  He glanced at her, and she whispered, “Why should you do all the work?”

  The tunic flew to the floor. Then her fingers reached for the rope tying his trousers together and touched the skin on his stomach, so close to his erection. Both electricity and a jolt of panic shot through Sigurd, and his cock jerked. He never allowed a bedmate to give him oral pleasure. He just could not give a woman that control over him. He needed to be careful. What was she going to do?

  Her fingers touched him. Intense pleasure spread through him. Sigurd clenched his fists and had to call on all his strength to not throw himself on her and take her. He let her explore his length, play with it, but he would not last long. Did she even know how wild she made him feel?

  Donna looked up at him and licked her lips, making a movement to go down, but alarm shot through him, and his hands gripped hers. She blinked in surprise, and he put her palms back on his chest.

  He imagined his shaft in her mouth, her tongue teasing him, sliding up and down, and he hardened even more.

  But he wouldn’t allow it. This is what it always would be. A fantasy.

  He pushed her further back along the bed, pressing his body over hers and nudging her legs further open as he trailed hot kisses along her neck.

  He pulled back slightly before sliding into her slowly, watching her. She was so sleek and hot, so tight. Her head rolled back as he drove into her inch by inch, and she gave a low moan of pleasure. Freyr, she was so beautiful it was hard to believe she was mortal.

  When he was fully encased in her tight core, he had a strange feeling of being home. If he had not been so turned on, he’d have stopped. But he could not.

  The only thing he could do was move.

  He plunged into her and pulled back, slowly at first, then faster. Her legs wrapped around his waist, bringing him impossibly close, making him feel as if they were one.

  She moaned and cried and begged for him not to stop, to never stop.

  “I do not intend to,” he groaned.

  He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked, and she arched her back to give him better access.

  He moved faster and faster, knowing his release would come soon and not wanting it to. But she was close, too.

  With a few final hard thrusts, he felt her insides quiver, and she breathed quickly, erratically, and gave out the sweetest cries of ecstasy. She sent him over the edge, and he spilled in her, making her truly his.

  As he collapsed on her after the most intense orgasm of his life, Sigurd felt their chests rise and fall in unison and her silky body in his arms. And for the first time he did not want to let a woman go.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Donna woke up next morning, Sigurd was gone, and the bed chilled her skin without his warmth. Yesterday she had experienced, undoubtedly, the most mind-blowing sex of her life. Her body felt sated and alive, as if every cell had been awoken after a long sleep. As she stretched, a quiet, primal rhythm beat in her very core and gave her strength and energy. She could not quite believe she had given in to Sigurd, but if she ever got back to New York, she’d think back on this as if it was a little adventure, a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

  Right. New York. Home. She needed to find a way back. The thought sobered her up, and she quickly dressed.

  Was Sigurd still somewhere in the great hall? Donna opened the door and surveyed the giant room, but he was not there. He must be at the construction site.

  Women in simple clothes did housework: cooking at the long hearth, sweeping the floors, sewing. Traditional gender roles. Donna shook her head but reminded herself this was not her battle. Thank goodness she lived in the twenty-first century.

  Donna approached a woman who sliced carrots and threw them into a cauldron that smelled of stew and made Donna’s mouth water and her stomach growl.

  The woman glanced at Donna. “Ah, Goddess.” She gestured at the place on the bench next to her. “You seem better. Did you want to eat?”

  Donna frowned. “I’m not a goddess.”

  The woman eyed her up and down. Her face was weathered, reddish and dry, wrinkles deep. Yet her eyes gave away a younger person, and her hair shone like gold. “You do seem like a mortal to me.”

  Donna chuckled. “And as a mortal, I am, actually, very hungry and thirsty. Where can I find something to eat?”

  The woman looked around the room. “Hilde! Bring something for our guest to eat. And don’t forget the mead.”

  A young woman with a short haircut, in clothes that reminded Donna of a sack, nodded and hurried to the furthest corner of the room.

  “My name is Asa.” The woman returned to her carrots. “Do you have a name?”

  “Donna. Are you the Asa who saw me appear by the arch?”

  “Just the one. How did you get here? Jarl thinks you came here to help us with the fortress.”

  Donna swallowed. What did Sigurd want people to know about her? What would be safe to share with Asa, who seemed friendly enough? “It’s a long story.”

  Asa raised her brows but did not pursue the question, and Donna was thankful. She looked around. While many women worked, some seemed to chat while doing their chores leisurely. There wasn’t a single man in the hall.

  Hilde came with a bowl and a wooden cup that smelled of honey. Donna thanked her and drank the mead. It was delicious. Sweet and cold, only slightly alcoholic, it refreshed her. Her tongue tickled as tiny bubbles went down her throat. Her head buzzed a little. She began to eat, but the food—a combination of cheese and yogurt with oatmeal—was not as good. It was a bit salty and pungent. Still, it was food.

  “Why isn’t there enough of a workforce?” Donna asked through a full mouth.

&n
bsp; Asa’s knife froze for a moment, then continued its chop, chop, chop but slower. “Last year’s raid took the lives of many men—at least half. The old jarl’s, too. But the enemy retreated with their tail between their legs. And now all men are working on the fortress, every single one of them. We are in a hurry to raise it by the end of the summer so that next raiding season we have protection against our biggest enemy, even though there are fewer men.”

  Chills ran down Donna’s spine. These were harsh times. While war, violence and death still tore apart countries and communities in her own time, they had, so far, been at a distance—on TV or social media. She couldn’t imagine that half of the male population of Brooklyn would suddenly die like the men had in this village. Her chest tightened.

  “Let me guess. Sigurd does not employ women to work on the fortress.”

  Asa’s eyes met Donna’s. “He does not.”

  Donna rose to her feet, an idea lightening her mood. Oh, so Sigurd did not want women to help. But he didn’t have enough men, and some women did not seem to have important things to do.

  “But he could ask you ladies to help, couldn’t he? That would give him enough workforce, right?”

  Asa shot a sideways glance at her. “Yes, it would.”

  Donna knew now why the Norn had sent her here. Her inner discrimination lawyer sang. She fought for women’s equal rights, and Sigurd was discriminating.

  “Asa, could you please gather the women here for me?”

  Asa frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I am here to help with the fortress.”

  Asa squinted, then a little smile put dimples in her cheeks. She nodded and put the knife on the cutting board. Then she went around the room calling for women and gesticulating towards Donna, and they began gathering around her. Soon, there were thirty or so women. Some had come in from outside; all watched her with curiosity.