Donna’s stomach quivered. What if she was wrong? Was she really assuming she could intervene in the lives of the villagers? She was an outsider, someone from a different time.
But no. If she could bring a positive change, this would be it.
She cleared her throat and imagined she was in front of a jury because the jury usually liked her. “How many of you want to see your families and neighbors alive and well?”
The women nodded and exchanged glances, murmuring approval.
“How many of you think that the men won’t be able to finish the fortress by the next raiding season?”
The women’s eyes widened with fear now, and their voices rang louder.
“Jarl Sigurd needs more hands. Is the work on defenses not more important than scrubbing that pot till it shines? Would it be so bad to let the floor stay a little dusty if it meant that your brother or husband or son would live and breathe next year?”
She looked around the room, making a point of stopping to meet the eyes of every woman. “Here is what I suggest. Every single one of you who can spare a few hours to go and build the fortress with the men, come with me.”
The women stood silent.
“Jarl Sigurd forbade us to touch the fortress,” Asa said.
“Did he say why?”
“He said, women can’t do important things right.”
Donna shook her head. “Sigurd is so wrong! Women can’t do important things? Look at you! You are doing them all day long! Cooking, taking care of children and animals, making sure everything is in order… I’d like to see the men left without your work for one day.”
They murmured.
“If we don’t help, no one will. And if no one will, there will be no one to protect.”
Asa nodded. “You are right, Donna. We have strong arms. Each of us can help much. There are more of us than all the men combined. The jarl must see that.”
The women were nodding and cheering now. Donna smiled. “Let’s go! Asa, lead the way.”
They walked through the village towards the fjord, calling for other women that they saw along the way to join them, and by the time they arrived at the construction site that bordered the beach, their numbers had doubled.
The men were busy. They carried logs, chopped branches from the trunks of the trees, dug the ditch, sharpened the logs to make stakes, and planted the stakes in the ditch. The palisade wall was then caked with mud, and from behind, supported by logs that were planted in the ground at an angle. A wooden watchtower stood a few feet to the left, but it lacked a roof.
Once the men saw them, they stopped their work and scowled.
Donna walked on. “Asa, who is the foreman?”
Asa waved to a man. “Thorsten! We are here to help with construction.”
“Did the jarl really approve of this?” he said when he approached them.
“Jarl needs help, he’s got help,” Asa said.
He hesitated, throwing glances at the palisade and back to the women. “Jarl will skin me.”
“Good. You won’t see your wife and daughters raped and killed.”
His face reddened, his eyes bulged.
Donna intervened. “Just give us the simplest tasks.”
His gaze lay heavily on her. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. If the goddess thinks so, maybe he’ll change his mind. You five, go cut the branches from those trunks. You three, sharpen the edges of those logs. Amba, take six women to bring mud and hay and mix them for the caking…”
The women nodded and rushed to do what Thorsten told them. The men watched them with stern faces.
Asa and Donna approached two men standing next to a log and got into position to lift it with them. On a count of three, they raised it, and the effort knocked the breath out of Donna. She was grateful now for the Krav Maga classes that gave her strength and resilience.
Time flew, and when Sigurd’s roar hit the air like a slap, Donna shuddered. She was in the middle of carrying another log together with three other women, and they stopped, carefully laying the log on the ground.
Donna turned around. Sigurd’s eyes circled the construction site, his eyebrows knit together and his nostrils flared. Oh, he was glorious, all danger and muscles and passion, and a thrill ran through Donna’s body. His gaze locked on her, and heat struck Donna’s cheeks. He loped towards her as if she were prey, and Donna ignored an urge to run and hide. When he stopped in front of her, he watched her as if no one and nothing else existed—just like last night when he’d been inside of her. Donna’s lips parted, desire to be taken by him spilling through her veins like lava.
“Loki, take me to Helheim, what is this?” Sigurd growled, and Donna gulped down her breath.
Why was he so tall? It was so hard to fight him when he always loomed over her. Her chin rose. “We came to build—”
He took a step closer and she took one back, but they stood half an inch apart, and the heat from his big body warmed her skin. “What did I tell you? Do not take a step out of the longhouse! Do not talk to anyone!”
“Oh, you would forbid me everything if you could! But you are convinced that I came here to help you finish the fortress in time.” She gestured around herself. “So there it is. My help.”
Sigurd grabbed her by the arm, and his touch sent a wave of desire through her. “This is no help. Women can’t construct the fortress.”
Donna snatched her arm back from his grip, and a part of her sank in disappointment from breaking the contact. But only a small part. Because he was being a stubborn ass again, one who would get them all killed. And she had to stop him. She stabbed her finger at the fortress. “Constructing. That is exactly what they are doing.”
If only he could see that! Since the female task force had joined the construction, the number of logs and stakes had tripled, the palisade had been caked with mud, and skilled builders, freed from simple tasks, had started working on the roof of the watchtower.
Sigurd bared his teeth. “Everything here needs to be checked and rechecked, and redone. You doubled the amount of work for the men.”
Donna gasped. She itched to kick him. “Are you kidding me? We did simple things—anyone can do them!”
“How many fortresses have you built, Donna? Or you, Asa? Or any of these women? None.” He turned to the construction site. “That’s it. There will be no more help from the women! If any of you even touch the fortress, you will be banned from my jarldom. Does everyone hear me? Banned!” He turned to her. “And you.” His eyes pierced her, and her stomach flipped. “Tonight, you’ll be sorry for what you did.”
CHAPTER NINE
Sigurd growled from fury and frustration on the way to his bedchamber after a hard day of work. It was good that he’d had to work physically the whole day, otherwise he’d need to start a fight because he itched to punish someone. The stubborn female drove him crazy. She’d almost started an open resistance against him. But, despite himself, he could not help but to admire that she’d managed to make Asa and Thorsten side with her, and convince practically all women of the village to act against their jarl.
She had a nerve.
A nerve, and a brain, and a tongue.
He was looking forward to teaching her a lesson.
The bedchamber was empty.
Disappointment hit him like a blow to the gut, then worry knit his eyebrows together. Where was she? He walked through the great hall, but she was nowhere to be seen. Muffled giggles and moans ran across the darkness: warriors had fun with their bed slaves on the benches. Servants and thralls were cleaning after dinner. She could not have gone back to her time, could she?
Sigurd’s stomach knotted. What had she gotten herself into? If one of his men wanted to repeat Geirr’s mistake— He ground his teeth, scorching heat flushed through his body as he imagined another man’s hands on her, and his fists clenched so tight, his fingers ached.
He checked that his ax hung on his belt and walked outside. It was still bright; the days of early summer last
ed as long as the song of a lousy scald. He went around the village, almost calling her name. As the prospect of her leaving became real, his stomach roiled and icy sweat broke through his skin. He sped up to a trot, and every time he looked behind a house, his pulse jumped in anticipation of seeing her figure. But each time she was not there, his chest tightened more and more until it began to hurt.
After a while, Sigurd ended up at the beach. And through the part unobscured by the palisade, he saw her figure facing the water. It was her, he recognized her even from a distance. Relief flooded him, and he began breathing easier.
Sigurd approached Donna and stood by her side.
“I looked for you,” he said after a while.
“Oh, you thought you’d find me warming your bed, did you?”
Sigurd gritted his teeth. “That’s what I told you to do.”
She turned to him, her face stiff with anger. “Oh yes? And of course, I must obey. Why?”
Was it strange to think she looked glorious when she was so angry? Her eyes shone, full lips pressed together, cheeks flushed. If she’d had a sword in her hand, she might have looked like Brunhild, the legendary shield-maiden.
He suppressed the urge to take her by the shoulders and cover that willful mouth with his.
He turned to face her. Why should she obey him? Well that was obvious. “I am the jarl.”
“You are not my jarl. You are no one to me.” Even though it was true, the words stung. She continued, “Ah. Wait. Of course. I should obey you because I am a woman!”
Sigurd studied her. She sounded like his sister. Vigdis had often complained that if she were a man, she’d already have been on raids, on negotiations, hunted with kings and jarls and had her own ship.
He clenched his fists. This was the same beach where he had learned of Vigdis’s betrayal. The same beach where his father and many more great warriors had parted with their lives because of her.
And now Donna. Same words. Same attitude.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “A woman,” he spat. “Indeed, you are a woman. I learned painfully that I could never trust one. I thought you were different because the Norn sent you to me.” He eyed her up and down. “But I was wrong.”
Hurt and confusion distorted her face. “What?”
“All you want is power, isn’t it? To have a say at the great table, make decisions, and rule.”
“What are you talking about? I want to make decisions about me. To be in charge of my life. To be equal with men. Not to be regarded as a property.”
Sigurd shook his head. “And just what are you prepared to do to gain all these privileges?”
He heard the venom in his own voice, poisonous as the Midgard Serpent—the snake that coiled around the center of the world.
Donna studied him with a frown. “They shouldn’t be privileges. And I am ready to fight for that. To never give up.”
“To betray. Backstab. Lie—”
Sigurd shut his mouth before he could say anything more that would open his wound. He groaned. Anger and hurt boiled in his throat and threatened to spill from him in a tidal wave.
Donna watched him, wide-eyed. “Backstab and lie? I would never—” She was silent for a moment, and he almost craved for her to go on, to pull the information out of him like a rotten tooth. “You are not talking about me, are you?”
Her voice brushed him like fur. Tenderness gave her more power than any force.
He swallowed a painful knot. “No.”
“What happened?”
He looked at her, searching for the final push that would tip him over the edge and make him talk. The desire to tell her about the most painful experience of his life itched like an old battle wound. Why did he feel he could confide in her? Why did he want to share with her that pain?
Maybe because she was an outsider. And a bit like a goddess.
Or maybe there was just something about her that made his world brighter and more hopeful.
She eyed him as if waiting for his next step. In her eyes, he saw pain that resembled his own.
And then he let go.
“It’s my sister. She married our enemy instead of negotiating peace. I entrusted her with the task, even though my father told me his whole life not to trust women.
“I did not want to believe he was right. I resisted. I thought maybe it was just him, that he was stuck in the old ways.
“My father often said that he could not rely on my mother in anything. She had weak health and was often in bed instead of managing the household. She lost many children, and he wanted many sons. For a long time, I was the only child.
“Still, I think he loved her. He forbade her to have any more children, too afraid that she’d die, and she promised him that she wouldn’t, that she’d take herbs. But she wanted to be a good wife. And a good wife gives her husband many sons.
“Once, when father raided overseas, a wealthy merchant came to the village. I saw them in the washhouse—back then I thought they wrestled. After he left, she soon began feeling sick. The same kind of sick she felt every time before her belly would swell.
“My father came back and became furious with her. I did not know it all back then, but now I understand that she broke her word to him. She also got pregnant with another man’s child. And my father never knew.”
Sigurd glanced at the fjord, seeing his father and himself in a fishing boat. He remembered how Vigdis and he had run around the beach as children and gathered pebbles. He remembered longships with sails of different colors arriving. He used to hold his breath in anticipation of guests, stories, and merchandise from overseas.
All that was gone now. Because he’d trusted women.
“She gave birth to Vigdis and died in childbirth.”
He turned to meet Donna’s eyes. They were wide and full of emotion.
“My sister brought death to my people. My father died in that battle as did half of the men from our village. I was such a fool to have trusted her. All my fault, I sent her to Fuldarr. My father was right after all—women can’t be trusted.”
Sigurd turned towards the fjord. Despite his bitter words, he was surprised to find how good it felt to have poured out all the venom, like pus from a rotting wound. The secret of his sister’s birth had eaten at him, corroding his faith and his trust.
Donna was so immobile, she might have been a statue, her eyes watching but not seeing the fjord. It was as if she struggled with her own inner pain. The air itself was silent and still, and in that stillness, her voice sang a spell. “Saying that all women are mistrustful is like saying that all cats are black.”
Sigurd chuckled. His heart felt light, and he had a new feeling of peace in his chest, as if his lungs could fully expand for the first time in years. Her warm hand grasped his forearm, shooting a bolt of fire through him. Gods, she had such an effect on his body. He wanted to take her right then and there, but this was not the time.
“You can start with trusting me,” she said. “I am a woman.”
Sigurd wished he could do that.
She had organized the womenfolk today like he could never have done. Even though he had growled and sent them away, he had later seen that all the work they’d done was good. The fortress had grown faster today than it had on the best day with only men. She did not have an agenda, did she? If the Norn had sent her, she must be here to help. Because the gods wanted him to succeed.
Besides that, she was an outlander. Something was so different about her… Yet it was as if some part of him had known her all his life. Maybe even beyond.
He needed to know.
He turned to her and brought her towards him, wrapping his arms around her. It felt right, like she belonged there. “Can I? Trust you?”
Her lips parted. She was as affected as he was. She nodded.
He swallowed. “Show me.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sigurd’s words echoed in Donna’s ears. He wanted her to show him—to prove—that he could trust her.
It was a test.
And he wanted her to make the first move.
Donna’s pulse quickened. Even though Sigurd had just poured his heart out to her, he was not the only one in torment. He stirred her own demons, her own maxims of life.
Sigurd had been so hurt by the most important women in his life. Just like Donna and her mother had been hurt—by men.
Maybe Sigurd and Donna were not so different, after all.
She swallowed.
Running her hands up his tunic, she felt his hard muscles under her fingertips. Her breath accelerated, and his chest started to rise and fall quicker. The masculine scent of his body drove her crazy.
Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck—gosh, he was so tall—and she reached up to kiss him. Their lips touched gently, and a wave of desire went through her. The taste of his mouth made her want to jump on him, but she also wanted to show him tenderness. This strong man had just opened his deepest wounds to her. Wounds she was all too familiar with.
He answered with a gentleness that mirrored her own. His mouth pressed softly at first, but soon he urged the kiss deeper, and his hands glided up and down her back. Bliss spread through her skin. His tongue separated her lips to dip inside, stroking hers, sending her head in a carousel-like spin and making her forget that the world existed.
Her fingers ran through the silk of his hair. His arms engulfed her as she planted delicate kisses around his lips, his beard, his high cheekbones. Then down his neck, over the violent beat of his pulse, past the Thor’s hammer pendant that seemed to be almost an integral part of him, and down his chest.
He did not let her continue, for now. His hands went under her buttocks and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped around his waist. “I want you just for my own,” he growled and walked further down the coastline away from the village, towards the undergrowth that bordered the pebbled ground of the beach, behind the last of the beached longships.
He let her down near the shrubs, which shielded them from the village and created a cozy wall of sorts. It was only them, the fjord, the mountains and the sky.
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