They took the new path created to the spring and reached it in what seemed like no time at all. They stood, bathed in moonlight so bright that Sif squinted against the glare. It even reflected off the water, which seemed to double the glow. Imagination? Or some blessing from Freya?
Gunnhilda bowed to them, said one last blessing and retreated with the torch, leaving them alone before the goddess.
A night breeze, moist and crisp, blew through Sif’s loose hair. The breathing of the men beside her seemed loud enough to drown out all other sounds. Someone should move, do something, and it should be her but she didn’t know what should be done or how to break out of this trance.
“Goddess,” breathed Ragnor, and she couldn’t tell if it was a prayer or a curse word.
Her knees buckled and took her to the ground. The moonlight seemed to be pouring blessings into the spring. She reached a hand forward, cupped the water into her palm and drank. Liquid magic, bubbly, poured down her throat and into her.
The men followed her example and drank too. Gerhard threw back his head and screamed, equal parts anguish and challenge. In the forest, something screamed in return. Gerhard seized her shoulders and scrambled to his feet, pulling her with him.
He crushed her against him. Her hands flailed out in silent protest at his fierceness but stilled the instant that his mouth came down on hers. A wordless moan traveled from her throat all the way through her body. Her toes curled. Her hands clutched at his forearms for balance, her fingers welded around strong, corded muscle.
Gerhard’s tongue probed inside her mouth, licking at her teeth, winding around her tongue, demanding more, as if he was trying to possess not only her body but her soul. She kissed back, demanding more from him, not conquest, but equal sharing. He groaned and tightened his group on her shoulders.
Hands ripped her deerskin vest, tearing it apart at the seams. Her headband was tossed aside. Night air, moist and warm, caressed her bare upper body. A pair of hands covered her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples. Her body convulsed, trying to get away and yet wanting to feel more.
A hand pulled at her skirt and her last bit of clothing slid down her legs. So sensitive was her skin that the hide felt akin to the soft touch of a lover. Too many hands. Whose were where? Her head fell back, breaking the kiss with Gerhard. She gulped for air, her chest heaving under the hands that still possessed her breasts.
“Sif.”
The word, breathed into her ear, nearly brought her back to crushing reality. Ragnor’s hands on her breasts, Gerhard’s hands, sliding ever so slowly down her stomach, banished reality again. Gerhard used his fingertips to touch everywhere, explore every bit of skin, sending waves of magic to engulf her body. She’d expected some gift from Freya to help her through the ritual but this…this was…too much?
Gerhard’s fingers stroked the hair between her legs, soft and careful, just at the edges of the tiny curls. She breathed a long sigh and curled her shoulders into Ragnor’s chest. Her husband pulled her tight against him, his hands still cupping her breasts from behind, his thumbs teasing her erect nipples, sending warm shivers through her. His erection, hard and long, poked against her bottom, eager.
Gerhard’s touch abruptly vanished from her body. She blinked, trying to clear the brightness from her eyes. Had he run off, had he—
Ooooo… A warm, moist tongue explored the area between her legs, turning her body in a boneless, quivering mess. Gerhard’s hands tightened on her thighs, pushing them farther apart, offering her no choice but to allow him access.
“Are you well, Sif?” Ragnor whispered into her ear.
Well? What was well? This was something one gave in to and felt with one’s soul. Whether it would be well in the end, only the goddess knew.
She nodded, her throat too thick for words. Ragnor licked her earlobe, worked his tongue down her neck, causing another wave of shivers through her, combining with the ones from between her legs and somehow increasing them twofold. She groaned, long and loud. The sound echoed around the clearing and reverberated back from the rocks around the spring.
Gerhard found her nub and enclosed it within his mouth. His lips suckled it and the tip of his tongue teased it. The first wave of the orgasm tore through her. She opened her mouth with a wordless cry. Her body stiffened, shivered, convulsed. She wanted to curl into herself but Gerhard kept licking, kept her body going over the edge, again and again.
Thought broke apart, shattering.
Her hands clenched into fists and her nails tore into her palms. Her toes dug deeper into the moist soil around the spring. Gerhard slid his fingers into her. She bucked, wanting more. The pressure grew tighter as more fingers joined the first inside her. She thrust her hips, pushing against them.
Ragnor’s hand traveled down her back to between her legs, almost touching Gerhard’s fingers. Ragnor rolled his fingers in her wetness, coating them. The sensation almost sent her spinning away from them. She squirmed and fought, unable to control her body. Ragnor and Gerhard both held her fast, preventing any fall, any escape, for which she was thankful.
Ragnor slipped one of his wet fingers inside her other hole. Her body went insane, her hips dancing in rhythm with the orgasms. Her screams found voice, filling the clearing. Her body no longer belonged to her, it belonged to the waves of heat and magic filling her. Red appeared in her vision, then black. She raised one hand, tearing at the hold Ragnor still had on her breast.
“Stop,” she whispered, voice spent. “Please.”
Ragnor lowered his hand from her breast to her stomach. He spoke quiet endearments in her ears but she couldn’t seem to translate the sounds. Ever so slowly, he took his finger out of her. She hissed, her body relaxed and her knees began to give way. As she fell back against Ragnor, Gerhard let go. But his fingers came out of her so quickly that she convulsed again, reaching for them.
Ragnor lost hold of her and she fell to her knees once more, gasping for air, for life.
Hands reached for her. She waved them away and, for the first time, touched the men. She put her hands around their erections.
This was Freya’s ritual. A woman’s ritual. I will take charge.
Ragnor was on her right, hard and familiar. She knew every tiny ridge of his penis, every indentation by simple touch. Gerhard, in her left hand, his member fully as hard, pulsing, new, different. His skin somehow felt just a bit smoother, his tip just a little strange, maybe wider. Both men stood quiet while her hands explored them, smooth skin sheathing great hardness. They both groaned when she dropped her hands away from them.
She reached between her legs and gathered all her moisture, rubbing her sensitive nub as she did, bringing herself close to the edge again. She bit her lip. Yes, she was ready for more. For them to take her.
She closed her hands loosely around their erections again, pumping gently, trying to prepare them, prepare herself.
Gerhard discarded patience once more.
He lifted her up against his chest. He’d grabbed her so quickly that it felt like she’d flown, but that sensation vanished as he thrust his erection inside her.
Powerful. Overwhelming. The orgasm started immediately, and she lost control of her body with her next breath. Her vision clouded and her breath came in short, desperate gasps. Gerhard buried his face in her neck. Her hair covered his head and shoulders. Each thrust brought shudders of pleasure so intense that it was impossible to separate them from pain. Gerhard lifted his head and the moonlight showed his face, his mouth tight, his blue eyes open and intense, focused not on her but on something else entirely. The goddess? The shade of his wife?
Sif wrapped her hands around his neck to keep from slipping off. It kept her from falling to the ground but not from falling more into the orgasms. Hands gripped her hips from behind, steadying her. Something hard and warm poked her backside, seeking, until it found the other entrance. Ragnor slammed into her, joining Gerhard in possession of her soul.
She shrieked, long and loud, unable
to contain anything within. Both men wanted more, faster, harder, anything that she could give. Her body became liquid, a vessel for both of them, overburdened by the sensations of them touching places inside that she had never even known. They touched just…so…they even seemed to meet and brush against each other through her body. They froze in that instant, and the three of them were one.
One more thrust and they both came.
Gerhard threw back his head, eyes closed, his mouth sealed shut in silence. Ragnor moaned, loud, deep, guttural. Her head lolled to the side, her arms fell slack. Ragnor cupped her breasts, more supporting her than fondling her. Gerhard opened his eyes and took a step back. They all lost balance and fell, tangled together, into the spring.
The water woke her up, brought back consciousness and thought. The men slipped out of her. She went under, lacking the energy to swim. Once more, hands reached under her arms, pulling her to the surface. She broke into the brilliant moonlight, feeling immeasurably pleased to be alive. Her husband stared at her.
Ragnor.
She cupped his face with her palm, looking for something. Approval? Forgiveness? Love, maybe. But his face did not change expression. Instead, he pulled her close and kissed her, hard and bruising, just like Gerhard had done. Water splashed around them. Bubbles on her tongue tickled her mouth and lips. Under the water, more bubbles took on a life of their own, seeming to deliberately caress her skin and all her parts. Nearly spent for real, she went limp, moaning under Ragnor’s kiss, letting him pull their hips together. He slipped into her, filling her once more, sending spikes of pleasure through her. Her head snapped back, going under. She broke the surface again. Gerhard took her shoulders and steadied her. He prevented her from going under as she splashed, lost to the last bit of magic within her.
Gerhard didn’t attempt to caress her, he merely lent support. Perhaps he sensed that this part belonged to Ragnor.
Ragnor grunted, pulling almost completely out with each thrust, only to return, with more force. Her legs snaked around his hips, to pull them even closer. He came with a wild howl into the darkness.
He let her go and dunked himself under the water, drinking deep from the spring. She followed his example, slipping down, letting the water soothe her throat and bubble down to her soul. One kick took her back to the surface but she lacked the energy to climb out. Perhaps sensing this, Ragnor scooped her up and carried her to land. Spent, she let her head loll against his shoulders. She could barely keep her eyes open. Sounds came to her ears all faded and distorted.
She looked to the side and saw Gerhard pulling on his leggings. Ragnor stilled, watching, holding her. She swallowed and took a long look at Gerhard, naked in the moonlight, dripping wet from the spring, his short hair plastered to his head, his powerful chest rising up and down, slowing its rhythm with each breath.
Gerhard was still hard, the blond curls surrounding his erection now limp and dark from the water. Was it the goddess who’d made her want Gerhard so completely? Or the drug Gunnhilda had used? Perhaps it had been some secret desire of her own that she’d cherished, unknowing, since the first stirrings of lust in her childhood.
It did not matter. What was between them was done. But she would remember this sight. Always.
The leggings on, Gerhard threw his tunic over his shoulder. He stared at the two of them for a moment, a curious half-smile on his face, bowed and left.
She hugged Ragnor as tightly as she could. He bent his head and kissed her nose.
“Home, husband,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
But he did not say “wife”.
Chapter Twelve
The last few months had been torture.
But now Sif had proof that it had all been worth it.
Sif dropped her gaze from the afternoon sunlight beating down on her, taking the now-familiar path to the spring. Gunnhilda had simply confirmed what she’d felt from the start.
Freya had answered her prayer.
But, she still did not know how Ragnor would react. He’d been so careful with her through the spring planting and into the summer. Unfortunately, the playfulness had gone from him, at least with her. Not angry but not close either.
She longed for the return of their intimacy. Would he see their child as the gift that it was? Or would he be consumed by jealousy? He was the child’s father, by the magic of the goddess.
The path was more trodden now, though her people had been careful of the wildflowers. They treated the spring with reverence, as she hoped. There were signs near the pool that others had taken the sacredness of the grotto to heart and had their own rituals. Perhaps there would be many pregnant women in a few months. Perhaps her child would have friends and eventual lovers among them.
She knelt just before the water, cupped it in her hand and lifted it to the sky in the direction of the rocks where the three cougars had appeared, calling out to Freya in thanks. After, she let the water dribble from her hands. Then she knelt and drank, letting the bubbles fill her mouth and throat. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“Thank you.”
A footstep sounded behind her and a branch broke. Ragnor? She turned her head.
Gerhard.
They stared at each other for a time in silence. The only sounds were the rustling of the trees and the gurgling of the water. Gerhard finally nodded.
“I did not wish to disturb you. I should have been more careful.”
“You don’t disturb me. I need to speak to you. This is the best place.” She stood. She should tell Ragnor first. But Gerhard was here, now, and he had a right to know. He knelt down and drank some of the water, perhaps not wanting to look at her so directly. Gerhard remained, as ever, hard to read, despite what they’d shared that night.
“I am going to have a child.”
He drank deeply before standing to face her. There was the shadow of a smile on his face. “The goddess was generous.”
“She accepted our sacrifice.”
Gerhard shook his head. “The sacrifice was yours and Ragnor’s, not mine. For me, it was…” He looked at the sky. “A healing. I can think again and breathe without pain. Well, sometimes.”
“That is…very good, Gerhard.”
“I think so.”
She took a deep breath. “We owe you, Gerhard. But the child is ours, mine and Ragnor’s child.”
“And not mine. As it should be,” Gerhard said. “For whatever reason, Freya wanted three. Perhaps it took three of us to make the magic. I have received my healing. The child will be the healing for you and Ragnor.”
She drew in breath. She had not thought of it that way. “I hope that my husband sees it as the same.”
“He is a fool if he does not. He has you. He has a child. What more could a man want than a woman who loves him and their child, a warrior to pass on his sword to?”
“This was not easy for him.”
“Sacrifices never are.” Gerhard looked into the sky again. “If I had been Ragnor, I could not have done it. It makes him a better chief and a better leader than I could ever be.”
She laid a hand on Gerhard’s forearm. “You are younger than Ragnor was when we married. There is time, you may find a woman and have a family.”
He drew up her hand, kissed it and let it drop. “Among our tribe, I won’t find another. But I will enjoy watching your child grow, Sif. I will enjoy knowing that I was there that night the goddess touched us. It warms me.”
“It warms me as well.”
He nodded. “Ragnor will understand.”
“I hope so.”
“I do not know if I do.” Ragnor stepped from the trees.
Chapter Thirteen
Gerhard clasped his hands behind his back. Ragnor scowled and wished he could break Gerhard in half, but Gerhard seemed to not want to give him a reason. Instead, Ragnor was forced to turn to his wife.
“You tell him about our child before me?”
“He was here and he had a right t
o know.” But her face flushed.
If Ragnor hadn’t heard her name the child as his, he wouldn’t have bothered to keep his temper. Instead, he only clenched his hands into fists, uncertain what to do. He’d agreed to this thrice-damned ritual. If he punished them, he punished himself. But was he not already being punished?
Why shouldn’t they suffer with him? “If you want the leadership of the tribe, Gerhard, you will have to fight for it. And if you want him, woman, I’ll not allow it.”
Sif’s flush disappeared. “If you heard us, you know what I said. You’re not making sense.”
“I did not hear you. I only saw you, talking together. I came closer and heard of the child.” I should have been the first to know.
Rage roared through him, drowning out all other sounds in his ears. He put his hand on his belt knife but it felt like slow motion, as if he couldn’t control it.
Gerhard stepped in front of Sif. “You’re like me, or what I would be like, if I had to share my wife with another. Or have others whisper about whether our child was my child in truth.”
Gerhard raised his hands and opened them, palms up, to Ragnor. “Freya help me, it felt good to touch your wife. Strike me down. If I were you, I would.”
Rage receded. Ragnor could hear properly again. He took his hand off the belt knife. “No. I agreed. I chose the ritual. Only someone weak blames others for their choices.”
Sif slipped out from behind Gerhard. “You’ve never been weak.”
“Neither have you.” Ragnor sighed. “I did not hear all you said. Just the last exchange, when Gerhard talked of being happy to watch a child grow. It seemed like you were offering the child to him.”
Sif walked to him, head held high, looking much like a goddess, as she had that night. She stopped just in front of him, took one hand and put it on her stomach.
“We are going to have a child. Our child. Freya’s reward for the ritual. My son. Your son.”
His hand grew warm and he braced his arm at the elbow to keep it from trembling.
“Gerhard is warmed and healed from that night. But the fire was ours, husband.”
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