One Night with the Viking

by Harper St. George

  His words left a heavy silence in their wake and the world seemed to stop to await her answer. How could he treat the love she had offered him so coldly? It was as if it had meant nothing to him. And what of Avalt? What about their child who was so much like his father? Shouldn’t he know his father? But Gunnar didn’t know about him yet and she felt strangely resistant to talk about him before she knew Gunnar’s feelings. She couldn’t bear it if Gunnar showed the same cold uninterest in their child as he showed her. Besides, he was hardly in the right frame of mind for such a discussion.

  Instead of saying any of those things, she kept a tight rein on her emotions and offered truthfully, ‘I don’t want you to die, Gunnar.’

  Then he looked at her with eyes she hardly recognised. They were so cold that she shivered. ‘Go to your husband.’

  Could a heart that held any love for her be able to conjure such ice? It didn’t seem likely. She sat in stunned silence, surprised that he knew she had married and surprised that it filled him with such venom. There must have been talk among the men and that was how he’d found out. Surely he didn’t expect that she would not have got married, not with the way he had left her that night. How could he fault her for that?

  Incredulous, she stared at him, unable to move or think past his hateful words. Finally, she muttered the only thing that would come out coherently. ‘You didn’t want me.’

  How horrible that day had been for her. She normally didn’t think about the day of her marriage, because it had felt so wrong. The man had been wrong. He hadn’t been Gunnar.

  ‘Leave me and send Vidar with more mead.’

  Shaking herself out of her morose thoughts, she straightened her spine and stood. ‘Nay, no more mead. That’s the last you’ll get and I’ll have Vidar’s head for bringing it to you. I’m dumping it all.’

  ‘Do not!’

  The words were so strong and forceful that she was momentarily taken aback, but not deterred in her determination. ‘Eirik entrusted your care to me, not Vidar. No more mead.’ Turning on her heel, she left the alcove.

  Gunnar called for her, but she ignored him and grabbed the cask, intent on dumping its contents outside before she went to find Vidar to box his ears.

  Chapter Seven

  A fortnight passed in slow agony for Gunnar. He was left to his bench in the alcove with nothing to do but listen to the sounds of the house around him. His body had begun to return to a normal pattern of sleep, so there wasn’t even that welcome oblivion to take him away from it. Vidar had confirmed that Kadlin had made true on her promise to destroy the laced mead and she had gone a step further and even refused to send him ale.

  At least the dreadful headache had begun to fade in the past days. He suspected that she had been right in that the mead had caused it, but going without it made him too aware of the world around him, too conscious of the fact that there was nothing for him in this life. He couldn’t imagine Niflheim, a place that he was sure to see one day now that he would never battle again and earn a place at Odin’s table, would be as awful.

  The internment was all the more brutal because Kadlin was all around him: her voice, her smell, even the food sent to him had been prepared by her hand. It was the worst torment to be so near to her and not call her his, to not be able to reach out and touch her as he wanted. To know that she didn’t want him. His only peace of mind was that her husband was still fighting and not there to claim her himself.

  He couldn’t even find solace in the only indulgence he’d allowed himself when he’d been away from her. Before, his dreams of her had been an escape to a place far better than his existence. While out of reach and unattainable, they had been a comfort. Now they were torture. They came every night that he closed his eyes; a vivid imagery of their night together, made all the more intense because he could match them with her scent, voice and even the way it felt to touch her. She was everywhere.

  ‘Gunnar?’ her voice was soft and hesitant, but she was smiling at him. A shy smile that he had never seen from her before. It tugged at something buried deep within him and made a rush of heat flare in his groin. Her hair lay around her in a glorious cloud of gold and silver, recently released from the braids by his own hands.

  Caught by a subtle movement, his gaze fastened on her fingers, nimbly untying the nightdress that already rode low over the curves of her creamy shoulders. His mouth went dry as he watched her fingers work, waiting for that glorious moment when she would be revealed to him. His patience was rewarded when she slowly tugged the linen down, revealing her perfect breasts, tipped with pale, pink nipples. They begged for his mouth, but he knew if he touched her that he would lose control and she deserved so much more than that.

  Instead, he wadded the fabric in his fists and pulled it down, revealing her body to him in slow degrees so that he could properly take in her perfection. The tautness of her belly, the swell of her hips, the pale hair at the juncture of her thighs, her long legs and shapely calves, the high arches of her feet. He placed a kiss on each one, causing her to giggle before he moved upwards, his lips brushing the silken skin of her legs. Try as he might, he couldn’t tear his gaze from the sweet mound between her thighs. Just inches away, he raised up enough to urge in a whisper, ‘Spread your legs for me.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath, but she smiled a shy, teasing grin when she obeyed. Then it was his turn to catch his breath, because she was beautiful. His gaze moved down past the blonde curls to the pink lips that parted, revealing her sex, swollen and slick for him. When the sweet smell of her arousal met his nostrils, he couldn’t help but touch her, wanting to taste her on his tongue. He traced around the engorged bud and then down to dip his fingertip into her wet heat. She was so tight and already so wet and ready for his possession that a surge of blood went to his groin, causing his erection to swell even more, almost painful in the confines of his trousers.

  Gunnar awoke with a start and the dream disintegrated, but it stayed vivid in his mind because it wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory from the night he’d spent with her. The jerk made pain shoot up his leg and brought back the reality of his surroundings with startling clarity. But there was something more this time, a discomfort that, combined with the pain of his wounds, would drive him to madness. His hand went to his erection, strong and throbbing beneath the blanket.

  Throwing back the cover, he stared at the offending appendage through the firelight that snaked in around the edges of the curtain and then cursed as he fell back against the pillows. Not this, too! He’d half-entertained the notion that his wounds had unmanned him in all ways. He was crippled. What woman would want him now? Kadlin wouldn’t and she was the only one who mattered to him. Now he was to be forced to be close to her with this.

  He couldn’t do it. It was bad enough lying there day after day, existing so close to her, but he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lie there with the needs of a man, smelling her, having her so close, but so out of his reach. It was beyond what anyone could ask of him. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—do it.

  Tossing the blanket to the floor, he pushed himself up, pleased that his arms were regaining their strength. There was less pain in his ribs now, so the movement was getting easier, though it still caused some discomfort in his middle. Swinging his right leg off the side of the bench, he grabbed Harald’s hated stick to pull himself up. The lame leg was still wrapped tight and refused to give with the wood bound around it, so he grabbed it and pulled it until it joined his right. But instead of bending, it laid in a rigid, useless line from the bench to the floor. Pain shot through his shin to his knee and he grimaced, gritting his teeth against it, but he managed to not make a sound. At least there was no dizziness or nausea now.

  When the waves of pain receded, he opened his eyes and listened to the sounds of the house. He’d drifted off to sleep with the murmuring of voices around the fire, but they must have gone
to bed because all was quiet except for the occasional crackle of the fire and the gentle rain outside.

  The day before, he had demanded a pair of trousers and Vidar had provided him with a pair of his. They had been clean and fresh-smelling, making him wonder if Kadlin had washed them herself or relegated the duty to the girl, Ingrid. But when the domestic image of Kadlin performing the intimacy had come to mind, he’d banished it instantly and brutally tore the bottom half of the left leg away. Keeping his jaw clenched, he worked them gingerly over his injured leg before putting his right leg in. Happy to see that the pain and strain of dressing had taken care of his erection, he awkwardly pulled them up his hips. But the muscles of his thighs strained the fabric and tore the seam. They weren’t an ideal fit, but they would have to do. Fastening them awkwardly, he reached for the simple linen shirt Vidar had left him and shrugged it on over his head before hefting himself to his feet with the stick.

  By no means did he feel able to walk any great distance, but he knew Eirik’s farm well because they had played there often as boys, so he knew how far the forest was across the field. He would go there to hide. With luck no one would find him and then he’d travel on to a washout he knew of in a dried-up stream bed. It was hidden behind tree roots and brush, or it had been the last time he’d seen it. It wasn’t very far from the house, but far enough that he could disappear into it and not be found. He could hide there until...well, just until. Anything to be away from her.

  He’d walked a bit every day since Kadlin had taken the mead away. Hidden in the sanctuary of his curtained alcove, pacing back and forth and building up strength. The thought made him smile because his strength was that of a boy. Perhaps endurance would be a better choice. He’d built up his endurance, because every wobbly step had caused him pain and disappointment. If not for the cursed sapling, he would not have even made it one turn of the alcove. But because he had it for support, he’d been able to make a few turns, increasing each day until he felt he could take enough steps to make it to the forest.

  Kadlin had not come to see him since that last time when he had told her to go to her husband. Guilt ate at him for saying it, for causing the pain that had filled her eyes just after he had spoken those words. None of this was her fault and he was a true bastard to make her feel pain. She was simply trying to do something that only she would do—care for him. It had been his hope that keeping distance between them would make the inevitable easier on her.

  Ha! That was a lie. He was selfish and simply couldn’t stand to be in her presence if he couldn’t claim her. That was the only truth in his gesture and it hadn’t changed in all the years he had known her. Being in her company and not being able to have her was too heart-wrenching for him to bear. It always had been.

  Setting the crutch beneath his arm, he limped across the narrow space to the curtain and peeked out. It was the dead of night and quiet. A low fire flickered in the hearth, but the front room appeared to be empty, just as he’d suspected. Already, sweat beaded his brow, but he gritted his teeth and stared at the front door, determined to make it outside without waking anyone. Taking a deep breath, he reached back for the light blanket and balanced awkwardly against the wall as he brought it around his shoulders and tied the ends under his chin.

  Putting the crutch under his arm again, he pushed the curtain back and made his way into the room, not bothering to stop for food or water. He’d be unable to carry them and it didn’t matter if he had them to sustain him, anyway. Once he reached the door, he turned briefly to look down the short passageway. She must sleep in one of the small chambers there. If he could have made the walk without risking discovery, he would have gone to see her again. To sear her face into his memory, to steal that one last vision of her beauty for his own selfish enjoyment, but he wouldn’t risk the chance of discovery. Her goodness would demand that he stay and he wouldn’t hurt her again by refusing. It was best that he simply disappear.

  He un-notched the latch and gently pushed the door open. Once he was assured that he had made no sound, he made his way out through the opening. It wasn’t an easy task with the sapling and his unbending left leg, but he managed to make it and bring the door closed behind him. He paused, then, to rest briefly against the door, taking a few deep breaths. His limbs were already beginning to shake from the exertion and beads of sweat rolled down his back.

  From the light of the three-quarter moon, he could see that the treeline loomed in the distance. It seemed impossible. But there was no other choice; he couldn’t continue to be so near to her. If he could just make it to the trees, he could rest for an hour or so before moving on. Hanging his head for a moment to gather his strength, he secured the stick under his arm and moved forward. Each step was jarring, painful and awkwardly pathetic, but he didn’t stop to think about it. He simply kept moving forward until he had put some distance between him and the house.

  Sweat beaded with the rain and rolled down his face. He moved in short, measured steps because the sod was uneven and soggy, so he had to carefully scan the ground before finding a stable footing for the crutch to move forward. His arm ached from the exertion and he found himself wondering how Harald managed so well on his own crutch. His leg felt like it was simultaneously on fire while being stabbed with needles. He cursed with each painfully slow step.

  About halfway to the forest, he stopped to rest when he heard a sound that was suspiciously like that of wood knocking on wood. His first thought was that it was the door, but when he glanced back over his shoulder he didn’t see anything, although the angle of the moonlight along with the wooden overhang at the front door created a shadow. He paused long enough to watch for movement, but when he didn’t see anything he looked towards the trees again and stepped forward. With his momentum broken, the first step was particularly jarring, causing pain to explode throughout his entire injured leg. He gasped and stumbled, forgetting to watch where the stick was placed, so the end disappeared into a muddy hole which knocked him off balance.

  As he fell to the ground, he couldn’t contain the groan of pain that escaped him. His leg was on fire. Spots danced before his eyes and his fingers clenched in the mud as he tried to combat the simultaneous waves of pain and nausea that had overcome him. They caused a roaring in his ears that blocked out all sound until he heard her calling his name. At first he thought he’d only imagined it, but then it came again followed by the sounds of her feet slapping against the wet ground as she ran towards him.

  ‘Nay!’ he yelled and pushed himself up on to his one good knee. He scrambled for the crutch, but finding the useless thing broken in two, he set his sights on the edge of the forest and began to claw his way there, half crawling with his good leg, half pulling with his meagre upper body strength. Every inch of progress made his entire body vibrate with pain, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get away.

  ‘Gunnar!’ She had come close enough to stand above him.

  ‘Go away! Go home!’ he ordered and didn’t dare stop to look up at her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ When he didn’t answer, she rushed to him and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Gunnar?’

  He jerked away, jarring his leg again, tightening his jaw against the excruciating pain. He stopped then and held up his hand to warn her off.

  ‘Gunnar, you’re going to hurt yourself. Let me help you.’ The pity in her face was exactly what he couldn’t bear to see from her.

  ‘Just go, Kadlin. I don’t want help. I want to be left alone.’ But he fell heavily to the ground, his entire body betraying him as his strength seemed to seep out from his fingers and disappear into the mud. The rain poured down around him, soaking him through, and he didn’t care. Perhaps it would wash him away. The only person he had ever cared about was standing above him, watching him fall apart, seeing all of his weakness exposed. He slammed his hand down against the wet earth, wanting it to open up and swallow him whole.

  B
ut she wouldn’t leave. She stood there, staring down at him. There were so many reasons that he didn’t deserve this woman. He didn’t dare count them all. By the gods, couldn’t the woman ever do what he wanted? Then he remembered his dream when she had done exactly what he’d wanted, how she had so sweetly parted her legs for him and groaned when his manhood twitched to life. This was madness. His body was alive with anguish and he still wanted her!

  The knowledge filled him with such rage at the uselessness of his body that it gave him new strength. When she finally knelt down at his side to run a gentle hand down his back, he lost control. With a cry of rage that the rain didn’t quite succeed in drowning out, he leapt for her, knocking her on to her back and ignoring the pain in his body to move on top of her and pin her beneath him.

  ‘Why can’t you leave me alone?’ His eyes were furious as they bored into her.

  ‘I’m trying to help you,’ she snapped.

  ‘I don’t want your help. Can’t you see that?’

  ‘What I see is a warrior who would rather submit to his wounds than to fight them. A warrior who would choose death over life, even if it means that death isn’t a glorious one in battle.’

  A wave of fury came over him; she didn’t know what it was like to be injured so badly that the only life he had known was taken from him. What was left for him now but the life of an invalid? But then almost as quickly as the thoughts crossed his mind, they left him in a rush and his forehead dropped to rest against her shoulder. It wasn’t her fault that this had happened. She didn’t deserve his anger. She was only helping him. Bastard that he was, he might have deserved his injury, but she certainly didn’t deserve the burden of his care. ‘This isn’t my life, Kadlin. I was supposed to die. It was all supposed to be over so that this pain could finally stop.’

  She stiffened beneath him and he realised that his weight might be hurting her, but he was too bloody weak to push himself off her just then. ‘So that what pain can finally stop?’