Page 5 of Seduced by the Viking (Bound and Betrothed #5)

CHAPTER 4

The tenth day of the men’s sojourn on the island

Grethe barely bothered to conceal her yawn.

How long had she been seated about the longhouse fire, listening first to Bothild droning on and then Elin?

Long enough to know that she didn’t care for this impromptu summoning of the island’s Council, the purpose of which eluded her.

What business was it of hers how the other women were getting along with their men or how the prisoners were faring in recovering from their injuries? She hadn’t the least interest, and her behind was already half-numb from sitting upon the floor.

Elin was enjoying the attention, no doubt, being called upon to give her verdict on everyone and everything, as if being the island’s healer bestowed her with some all-knowing power.

Grethe was gratified to see Hedda looking similarly irritated. Their former jarl’s wife wore a perpetual scowl, but there was a particular impatience to her today. Drumming her fingers upon one knee, she kept peering toward the curtain that shielded her sleeping quarters from the main body of the longhouse.

That’s where her man would be, bound up—as Rutger was back at her own hut.

Hedda had made a great fuss of the danger the men presented, but she’d fallen in line, like the rest of them, when Bothild had allocated one of the shipwrecked clods her way. Knowing Hedda, she’d be making the poor sod’s life a misery. Then again, she might be relishing having a piece of prime meat at her disposal—a giant of a man with flaming red hair.

If he’s built in proportion, Hedda will have plenty on her hands.

Grethe allowed herself a smug smile.

She’d wager a whole barrel of mead it was so, and that—for all her protestations—haughty Mistress Hedda had been taking advantage, just as Grethe had.

That very morning, Grethe had sat upon Rutger while facing the other way, giving him a most charming view of her backside while she rode to her tumult. He’d been within a hair’s breadth of his own release when she’d jumped up, leaving him pleading.

Grethe toyed with her bottom lip. She’d tied a strip of linen at the base of his cock, instructing him to keep it stiff for her. ‘Twas an amusing twist on her usual teasing games, although she wasn’t sure it would work.

Mayhap it would…

Although, perhaps not if this meeting goes on much longer.

Surreptitiously, she shifted position so the heel of her foot might press between her legs, but it only made her mindful of what she truly craved.

Am I having too much bedsport for my own good ?

She pondered upon it when the mention of her name brought her back to the present.

“The man who resides with Grethe has three fingers broken on his left hand.” Elin was speaking. “He should keep those bound until I say otherwise. However, he has no other injury of note.”

“One working cock is all he needs.” One of the old crones, Agneta, cackled, bringing a responding hoot of laughter from Grethe’s Aunt Ulva.

Grethe glared at them both. She didn’t like being the subject of such jesting.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Ulva leaned over to pat Grethe’s hand. “Crude words or no, the outcome is the same. You’ve a duty to us all in ripening with child. ‘Tis a blessing from Freyja that these men are partly incapacitated, for it shall make your coupling go easier if they’re a little weak.”

Grethe snatched her hand away.

She wasn’t seeking advice, and certainly not from her aunt. As for ‘ripening’, she’d leave that to Freyja’s will. If Grethe was destined to be a mother, all well and good, but she wasn’t sure how far she cared.

Most of the others— Elin, Frida, Signy, and Astrid—were probably on their knees from morning ‘til night, offering libations and gifts to the goddess.

Grethe wasn’t like them.

She never had been, and she didn’t wish to be.

She hadn’t ever really pictured herself with a child, even when she’d been betrothed to Sven.

Of all the women encircling the firepit, the only one with whom Grethe felt some sort of affinity was Hedda, strange as it was to admit. Hedda was a sour old thing, nearly twice Grethe’s age, but she didn’t take anyone’s nonsense and unabashedly spoke her mind.

Better than being a timid mouse—like Cousin Signy and daft Astrid—or jumping at my own shadow as Frida does. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re all still virgins.

Grethe swallowed down her laughter.

Hedda and Ulva were now arguing about something, and Signy looked mortified. Bothild, as usual, was smoothing the waters.

Grethe looked again at Hedda.

How had she not noticed before…

She’d tied a neckerchief about her throat, but Grethe could see perfectly clearly; the skin was marked with little bruises—the sort one got from those sucking little kisses Sven had once given her.

Cheekily, Grethe fingered the edge of the kerchief. “‘Tis warm today for such covering. I hope you aren’t sickening.”

“What? No, of course not!” Hedda attempted to pull up the covering, but Grethe was determined to have her fun.

With a tug, she yanked it down, revealing the telltale marks.

“Lovers’ kisses! Our Hedda has been more than enduring… she’s been enjoying!” To her satisfaction, there were a few gasps from about the circle, followed by giggles.

Agneta slapped her thigh. “This jarl she’s bedding must be doing something right!”

Hedda looked as if she’d like to murder them all. “The cur has been incapable of restraining his lust.”

Grethe gave a whoop of laughter. Getting a rise out of Hedda was priceless.

“‘Twould not be the worst thing to take pleasure in a man’s company, granddaughter.” Bothild gently interjected.

“‘Tis nothing of that sort,” Hedda folded her arms. “But I may have been wrong in my first desire to simply kill these men. There is work to be done, and some are capable.”

“I think it’s cruel not to let them speak to one another.” Signy piped up. “They must be lonely. They should be allowed a meeting, and giving them something useful to do is a good idea.”

Grethe didn’t give a pig’s scrotum how ‘lonely’ the men might be. She was content having Rutger right where he was, under her command, and she intended to exploit that as soon as she could escape this dullard meeting.

She made to protest, but her indignant exclamation was overborne by the sounds of assent made by the others.

To her annoyance, Bothild seemed to be agreeing that some men were fit enough to be assigned duties.

“As long as they show themselves pliant and no danger to our women, all will be well.”

Curses!

Grethe’s mind spun ahead.

She didn’t like the idea of him having his freedom—even if it was just to carry firewood or something of that sort .

Ulva was nodding. “Let them work, but if they step out of line, I’ll stand with Hedda in wielding the knife!”

Grethe bit her lip. She believed her aunt would do it. As for Hedda, she wasn’t so sure. Not now. Nonetheless, there were other women who’d been on her side, who wouldn’t need much encouragement to take out their bitterness on the strangers.

Rutger was a lout, but he was hers. No one else ought to hurt him.

There were other possibilities, too.

Suppose Rutger took a fancy to one of the other women. Vangreth might put herself forward as a guard while the men undertook some task or other.

That hussy would have no compunction in secretly offering herself—to Rutger or any of the others!

Grethe’s blood began to heat.

In her mind’s eye, she could see it all—out of sight somewhere, Vangreth lying back with her skirts hoisted, letting the men have their way with her.

A few days of that and she might end up with a dumpling in her belly! Before me or any of us!

Grethe clenched her fists. The final thought in her mind was the most worrying of all.

What if Rutger prefers her over me?

What if she asks to have him as a true husband, and he agrees?

The humiliation of it would be too much—being set aside as if she didn’t matter.

She couldn’t bear for that to happen again.

She wouldn’t let it happen!