But now the goddess had smiled on him.
Ragnor’s hunting party burst into the village with a great shout, attracting the attention of all those in the square and bringing people out of their longhouses. Eric, his nephew by marriage, pounded up to them. The boy’s eyes rounded in awe of the dead bear. Ragnor looked around, searching for Sif.
“A fine kill, Uncle.”
Ragnor turned. Mykle, his nephew by blood. Leif’s son. Ragnor forced his hand not to reach for the belt knife. Mykle was not a threat. Not yet.
“Thank you,” Ragnor said.
A warrior came over and slapped Ragnor on the back. “And it is a fine tale to go with it, isn’t it? You should have seen it, Mykle.”
“I had things to do,” Mykle said.
Ragnor took out his knife, drying it on a piece of hide looped into his leggings. “Next time, perhaps?”
Mykle smiled and nodded. “Next time, yes.”
Promising.
Gerhard walked over and knelt to the bear. Aha. Gerhard was another possible troublemaker, possessed of more acid than even Mykle.
“A nice clean kill, Ragnor,” Gerhard said. “Excellent. We will feast tonight.”
“So I hope.” Ragnor put his knife away. Another good sign, if Gerhard talked without sneering. “We missed you on the hunt.”
Gerhard shrugged. “I fear I am little help to anyone lately.”
“Perhaps a full meal will solve that.”
Gerhard shrugged again. “Perhaps.”
“Ragnor!”
Now that was the voice of the person that he’d been looking for. Sif rushed up to him and flung herself into his arms.
“You are all wet!” He held her close anyway. Bursts of emotion from his wife, like this, were rare enough before the sickness. Since then, there had been none. What had happened this morning to change her mood?
She smiled and he set her down. Her long, dark hair lay flat against her skin and she was missing her sandals.
“I have something to show you,” she said.
“Your missing sandals?”
She laughed. He wanted to stop time and preserve the joy in that lovely sound.
“In a way. I’ll show you where I lost the sandals. You must see it.”
Sif turned to the hunting party and the people who had gathered. In short, crisp sentences, she gave orders for the central bonfire to be stoked and for the bear to be skinned and prepared for cooking, dividing up all the tasks neatly. His tribe jumped at their orders with little hesitation.
Partly, that was because of Sif. Partly, he thought, it was because they’d not had such a feast in a long time.
“Save the claws and skin for me,” Ragnor said, as several men set their knives to the pelt. “I want to make a necklace, so I remember the day always.”
The men nodded.
“You want to remember this hunt always?” Sif said. “Why?”
Ragnor took her hand and led her toward their home, the activity buzzing behind them. “It is a long story. I would rather see what has put a smile on your face.”
“A discovery.”
“Does it involve getting wet?”
“Yes, but with magic water. Come with me.”
“Ah.” Should he press her? No, let her have her fun. And he could use a soaking to wash off the blood and grime from the hunt. He followed her as she steered away from the longhouse.
“I felt like Freya led me today,” she said.
“That would be two of us.”
She stopped. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “Take me to your surprise first.”
She pushed the wet hair back from her forehead.
“Perhaps what happened to you has something to do with what I found.”
“Well, then show it to me, so I can judge.”
She laughed again. “All right. We have to go slow. I had to mark the path on the trees.”
They set off into the woods. It was well that they were married this long, because he would have lost patience with anyone else who led him on such a meandering path, especially not knowing where he was going and with constant scratches from the berry bushes. His shoulder ached from holding the spear so tightly during the bear hunt. His stomach rumbled. His joy had completely vanished by the time the fourth branch slapped him in the mouth.
“If you wanted to end me, Sif, you could have picked a faster way.”
“Not an end. A beginning. Come, we’re almost there.”
As if to echo her words, the trees opened into a clearing of wildflowers only just beginning to bud. The sound of gurgling water filled his ears. “I could have washed off in the river.”
“It would not feel the same as this water.”
“What do you mean?”
“Follow me. Strip off your clothes and you’ll see.”
She began running to a pool at the end of the wildflowers, tossing off her tunic and letting her leggings fall to the ground. He could have run after her but it was more fun to watch her run naked, those long legs striding forward, her breasts jiggling just so…
She ran right into the water, still graceful, like a deer. He walked to the pool and shed his tunic and leggings at the edge.
“Get in!” She splashed him.
He took a deep breath and smelled something different about the air. Lighter and it held a sweet scent. He stepped into the water. The pool went from shallow to deep in one step and he let himself fall into the water, not attempting to stay afloat, letting it cover his head and his hair. His feet touched the bottom just as his head was fully engulfed. He opened his mouth and drank the water. A small dance erupted on his tongue. He broke above the surface, sputtering.
Sif threw her arms around his neck. He tasted the water clinging to his lips. Salty but also sweet, like a ripe fruit of some sort. “What is this?”
“Water from an underground spring,” she said. “I was thinking on the walk back. I remember my mother mentioning them to me once. She said they were rare near our tribe but that some northern tribes, like the Mahicans, had seen many of them. They are considered a sign of good fortune.”
“It is a gift, then.” Like the cat saving his life.
“A great gift, which we must celebrate,” she said. “My mother said this kind of water had special healing elements. We will have to show the tribe.” She splashed some water at him. “But I wanted to share it with you first.”
“Sharing is good.” He reached out and pulled her against him.
He kissed her, feeling her nipples press against his chest, his desire growing as her lips parted for him and her arms wrapped around his neck. Here, in the pool, they seemed nearly the same height. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He bent his knees, pulling them both underwater, holding the kiss. Some of the bubbling water seeped into his mouth as he opened it to engulf her tongue. He wrapped a hand around her breast.
He kicked to the surface, allowing them to breathe in air. She broke the kiss and smiled.
“Is this what you wanted when you led me here?”
“Why else?” She smiled.
He moved his hand lower, between her legs. She let her head fall back, her dark hair spilling all over the surface of the pool. So few women in the tribe had been spared but his wife, his love, had lived, though neither of them had been the same. Today, they would be together again, as before.
He braced himself against the rock at the side of the pool and pulled her closer, attacking her mouth, kissing her lips, her ears, her neck and her throat. He traced kisses on her as the water bubbled around them. Her moans mingled with the gurgling of the pool.
“Sif,” he whispered.
He put his hands under her arms, pulled her up and latched his mouth onto her breast. His tongue teased her nipple, tasting her and the water together. Her body floated on the surface, and he reached his hand between her legs again, feeling for the sweet spot. He knew he’d found it when she started splashing and her moans grew louder.
&nbs
p; He pushed her to the edge of the pool, scooped her up and laid her on her ground among the wildflowers. She ran her hands down his chest, spreading her fingers out. He grasped her hands tight, holding both her wrists easily in his hand.
He licked between her legs, tasting that incredible water again, mixed now with the familiar scent of her arousal. She bucked in his arms, groaned and tried to pull her hands free, but he held them fast. She needed to let go, to completely let go, as neither of them had in a long time.
So good, she tasted so good. All that wetness, all his, and he would take as soon as she was ready. She twisted into him, surprising him enough that he rolled to his back and lost his grip on her hands.
She framed his face with her hands and kissed him. Her mouth was still full of the taste of the water. He was full of the taste of her. His hand played with her breast, teasing the nipple with the moisture from her body. She pushed at his shoulders, and he was too lost in her kiss and his arousal and his hand on her breast to object to her taking charge.
“Now.” She straddled him. He’d wanted to take her, push her into the ground, feel her writhe under him, but—
His head fell back as she began riding.
“Not…what…I…planned,” he gasped, watching her breasts move up and down.
She grinned. “Shall I stop?”
He shook his head and grabbed her hips, digging his fingers into her skin. “No.”
“Good.” She tossed her wet hair about and lost herself in the ride, her eyes closed, her throat utterly exposed, her hips thrusting over and over into him. He rose to meet her, holding back, not wanting this to end, wanting to keep his hands on her forever. He watched her, hair flying as she moved her head, her breasts bouncing, her body convulsing. He drew in a deep breath, his body jerked, his fingers clamped down on her hips and he thrust into her, letting it all go. His seed spurted into her.
She cried out, a low quiet scream, and kept moving, drawing it out until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He reached up, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down against his chest. She sighed, deeply, and entwined her fingers in his loose hair.
“If that is the influence of the spring, it will soon become very crowded with our people.”
“All to the good.” She sighed again. “I am glad that I fell in.”
“I am glad to be in.”
She giggled and ran a finger along his chest. She snuggled into his chest, settling in. “What is it that you wanted to tell me? Now that my surprise is over?”
“Not completely over, I hope.” No, he would not let her move off him. He would recover, soon. And this time, he would be on top.
“It will be over if you don’t tell me, Ragnor.” She lifted her head. “Something happened on that hunt. The men looked different.”
He should not tease about the gifts Freya had provided. He cleared his throat and told her of the first bear, and the second that had charged, and the cougar that had leapt from the trees to save his life.
She sat up, eyes wide. “Freya. Freya saved you.”
“Yes.” He steadied her, making sure to stay inside her. “So the others thought as well.”
He fondled her breasts, watching her face flash with all sorts of emotions. Even naked, with him inside her, she could think of the implications. Ah, not for long. Soon, he would make her not think at all.
“Do you think that could mean a child? The cougar, this sparkling water…”
“I hope,” he said. “Until then, we keep trying, eh? I would not want to disappoint the goddess.” He put a hand around the back of her neck, trying to drag her back against him, so he could roll on top of her.
“Trying, yes. I—”
Her body stiffened, her face paled and her eyes widened again but this time with fear. “Ragnor,” she whispered. “Look up, at the top of the rocks. But don’t move.”
Without moving his head, he looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin.
The cougar.
It stood at the top of the rock, silhouetted against the sun. It might even be the same cat that had saved him. It was not looking at them but instead was looking into the sky. Ragnor tried to keep from breathing. He dared to hope that this was another goddess blessing and not a prelude to an attack. He could not save Sif without weapons.
The cat snarled. Ragnor rolled them both to the side, pushing Sif against the rock, where he might be able to protect her with his body. He twisted, putting his back against Sif, covering her as much as he could. Could he reach his knife, several handspans away, before the cat leapt for them?
The cat snarled again but it still made no move to attack. What was it waiting for?
Tree branches rustled and a second cat appeared to the right. Both of Freya’s cats! What did they want from him? Had the goddess led them here, to a spring, to sacrifice them?
The second cat stared at the first. More branches rustled and yet another cat jumped to the top of the rock. Three of them!
He heard Sif gasp behind him, though he couldn’t tell if it was fear or awe. Perhaps a little of both. “Three,” Sif whispered. “A trinity.”
A trinity was unusual for Freya. She was a twin. All tales told of that. What did three mean, other than his certain death, if they attacked? He kept his eyes open but sent out a wordless prayer for his life, for Sif’s life, and a last plea that if he was to die, it would be as a warrior.
For what seemed like forever, the three cats stood there, looking at the sky, to him, and back to the sky. And then, between one heartbeat and the next, they were gone, leaping down to the other side of the rock, away from them.
Ragnor scrambled to his feet, grabbed his knife and put it in his teeth as he dressed. Sif moved as quickly, snagging her clothing and pulling out her knife as she dressed. But there was no further sign of the cats. They both turned for home, following Sif’s marks on the trees, knives in hand, alert for the entire walk.
“They could have easily killed us,” Ragnor said. They still could. What was that noise, there?
“That’s only a deer,” Sif said. “Three. Freya wanted to tell us something, not to kill us.”
“What does it mean?”
She shook her head. “It is for me to interpret, I think. I found the pool.”
“There were three cats. Freya never has more than two. Maybe they were just ordinary cougars. Maybe they were not from Freya.”
“Do you believe that?” she said.
“No.” He knew that the cat who’d saved his life on the hunt had been divinely sent. That leap from the tree, too fast for him even to see, proved it. He shook his head. “But why three?”
“Three may have something to do with what I saw earlier, before I found this place.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “No, no, until I am sure, Ragnor. If it means what I think it does, then Freya is asking for a sacrifice to grant fertility.”
He took her hand, leading the way back. “What kind of sacrifice? Blood? Three…?”
“Not death,” Sif said. “Life of some sort. A sacrifice, something sacred to be shared by three, I think. I need to be sure, Ragnor, before I tell you. I will have to consult Gunnhilda.”
“She would know.” Gunnhilda, their wise-woman, was responsible for the tribe’s worship.
Ragnor put his knife back into its sheath. He would not feel safe, however, until he reached his longhouse. “The signs are from a goddess. It is for a woman to be sure about.”
Sif dropped her head, avoiding a tree branch. “It is for all of us to be sure about. And I do not think it will be easy. Gods never are.”
Whatever this sacrifice was, Sif knew more than she was telling. But he would trust her. He’d always trusted her.
“Whatever you are thinking, you do not like part of it, that I can tell. But whatever it is, if the goddess wants it, it must be done. Freya saved my life, Sif. I must pay her back for that.”
“Pray that you do not regret those words, husband.”
Chap
ter Seven
Was she wrong? Perhaps the goddess had not meant what she thought. But why else had she stumbled on Bera, Mykle and Torger, only to immediately be shown the three cougars by Freya, including the same cat that had saved Ragnor?
Freya needed Sif to do what Bera had done.
Sif did not know if she could.
She went inside her longhouse to stoke the fire and to warm her body, now a little chilled from the walk home and her fears. At the very time that she and Ragnor might regain what was special to them, she might have to do something that could tear them asunder. So much could change in a few hours.
She poked the fire with a stick, turning the embers, and stirred the stew in the pot hanging over the fire. What would being with another besides Ragnor do for the tribe? She thought back to what Gerhard had said. He thought what Bera did might cause jealousy.
This must be what Freya wanted to prevent. Freya wanted the choice to reside with the women, a choice that was goddess-blessed and could not be denied or altered by men. A goddess might be the only thing that would keep the men from fighting.
Sif sighed. The whims of goddesses were hard to interpret. She wanted another opinion. She laid her wet clothing on the bench and changed into something dry. Gunnhilda would know. Hopefully, the wise-woman would tell her this was wrong, that she was misreading the signs, that it was something else.
Because there was no way that Ragnor would agree to this.
Sif walked outside to the sound of a spit turning over the fire. Bera, in charge of the meal, had done well. The fire blaze had been controlled, cooking the bear slowly. Other women were to the side, still working on the rest of the carcass and harvesting anything usable.
Ragnor was with a group of his hunters, repairing his spear shaft. Others were making new arrows. They all cast sideways glances at Ragnor when he was not looking. If they’d looked at him with awe earlier, it was doubled now.
Sif found Gunnhilda in the clearing where the maize would be planted. It would be time soon, now that the ground had thawed.
Gunnhilda leaned on a rake and looked up at the sun. Sif frowned. Why would she be doing the work of hacking at the soil? The men should be doing that. As she drew closer, Sif saw that Gunnhilda worked only on a small, narrow row, mixing seeds into soil that had already been turned.
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