Page 8 of Seduced by the Viking (Bound and Betrothed #5)

CHAPTER 7

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

Tightening the shawl around her, Grethe stalked toward the hut where Rutger slept. Despite their growing fondness for bedsport, she insisted he stay there—away from her. To have him in her bed would send quite the wrong message. He was still hers to mate and restrain, but however good the intimacy was, she was glad of the separation.

The man had far too effectively wormed his way into her head—even when they weren’t together, she thought of him. Making him sleep in the portion of her home reserved for storage and mead-making was only sensible.

“Good morrow, Sweetling.” Rutger rose from the straw to greet her, jerking at the ropes secured to his ankles. “How I’ve missed you!”

She glowered at his praise, pondering again why she persisted with the illusion of bondage. It was patently obvious he could release the rope if it suited him, yet he remained.

He was always there when she returned to him.

Because he wants to be.

She stilled at the thought, balancing the dish of bread and honey she’d brought for him to break his fast.

That’s why he stays! He must like me.

If only she could bring herself to truly believe it.

“I was wondering when you’d come and feed me.” His eyebrow cocked in the mischievous way she’d come to enjoy. She’d wager if she roamed his braies she’d find more than merely a smile waiting for her.

Not that she was in the mood for such play.

Her monthly bleed had returned, bringing with it the usual cramps and melancholy. ‘Twas always an annoyance but the pain seemed greater this time, perhaps for what it signified.

There was no infant growing in her womb. All that fucking had amounted to nothing.

“Stop your complaining, you selfish oaf.” Sighing, she thrust the plate into his hands. “You men have no idea how lucky you have it.” All he had to worry about was his staff getting hard. He knew nothing of her anguish.

Rutger’s chin rose at her words, a crease appearing in his brow as though he sought to argue, but apparently, hunger had the better of him.

Just as well .

She leaned against the wall as he ripped into the bread and shoved it past his lips.

I’ve no patience for him.

It wasn’t that she was disappointed not to be with child. Freyja knew Grethe had never yearned to be a mother. She far preferred her independence and could only imagine what a cumbersome bind a child would be on her time and body, but the idea that she’d failed in the one objective tasked of her was vexing.

It was as if she lacked something that would inherently make her a woman, as if she wasn’t good enough…

Just as she hadn’t been good enough for Sven.

What if one of the other women was already with child? Hedda, for instance. They’d never hear the end of her boasting about the achievement!

Life would be unbearable as, one by one, the others fell pregnant.

Grethe squeezed her eyes closed at the troublesome thought. She was only supposed to keep Rutger for three moon cycles. Suppose she needed longer? Would Bothild permit it?

With other women on the island clamoring for a man to mate with, it would be hard to justify him remaining with Grethe, but she’d die if that wench, Vangreth, got her hands on him.

And if my belly does start growing? What then? The task will be accomplished, and I’ll have to let him go, won’t I?

Unless I plead a case for making him a true husband.

Pah! As if I’ll let him be the ruler of me!

She wasn’t so deluded by the pleasures of bedsport as to believe Rutger harbored softer feelings. ‘Twas all a game to him, which he’d grow tired of, eventually.

Tired of this place and tired of me.

“What is it?” Rutger’s soft tone interrupted her woe. “Whatever troubles you, my staff is ready to put a smile back on your face.”

“Not everything in life can be resolved by your staff!” she snapped. “Eat and leave me be.”

He frowned, no doubt confused by her change of tack. Until now, Grethe had been gleeful to receive his seed as often as he could provide it, along with the consuming high their coupling provided.

She couldn’t help that her uninvited guest had crushed her desire. What woman wanted to fornicate while dealing with such pain?

Not that he’ll understand! I could be gushing crimson, and he’d still want to stick himself up there.

Rutger was no different from Sven or any of the other self-seeking swine, who’d sailed off without a care for the women they’d left behind. He could stay in the straw and fist himself stupid for all she cared.

Yet, when her body was entwined with Rutger’s, there were moments when she believed his caresses stemmed from more than lust alone. His touch was like fire on her flesh, branding her with need.

She rubbed her temples. She longed for him to want her—over Vangreth or any of the others—and it thrilled her to know he craved her body, but to think there could be more was imprudent.

Rutger was fond of sweetling words, but she paid those no mind. Men would say anything to get what they wanted. It was folly to think otherwise, and she should know better.

More fool me!

Clenching her hand into a fist, she fought to hold back her tears.

Stop! He’s not here to love me or be loved.

Rutger, like the other shipwrecked men, had only one task—to father children. All the women were in agreement.

Her irrational feelings were, no doubt, due to her bleed, or perhaps so much sex had fogged her thoughts. Either way, she needed to take herself in hand. It wouldn’t do for Rutger to see her so affected.

“We should go to my quarters.” Forcing down her emotion, she untethered the ropes from his ankles. “I’ll clean you up there.”

“I see.” He pushed the empty plate away. “You want me to take you by the fire, is that it?”

“You’re impossible.” Throwing the bindings aside, she scowled. “I mean to make you presentable. No one would swive you in this state!”

‘Twas a lie, of course. She’d ridden him in far worse conditions and not given a fig, but she wouldn’t have him going about his duties looking unkempt—as if she were incapable of looking after him.

“You are eager to have me, then?” Rutger chuckled as she hustled him forward.

“Nay, I’m weary of you.” Why did he persist in trying her patience? “Now, move it! There’s water for you in the cauldron.”

They’d only just settled by the fire when the flame-haired giant who called himself Rutger’s jarl appeared at the door.

“Rutger, Grethe…” Eldberg stooped to enter without waiting for her assent.

“What brings you here?” She folded her arms across her chest, scanning the face of the invader warily.

This is what it’s come to!

The slow erosion of our rights, now that men are back on the island!

Even in ropes, they thought to take control, entering her domain without an invitation. Such assumptions would only grow.

“A word with… your man. If I may.” Eldberg’s lips twisted as though something amused him.

Grethe struggled not to show her irritation. Rutger was hers —even if only temporarily—and she wouldn’t allow herself to be riled.

Or, at least, I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing it!

“Go ahead. I’ve other matters to attend to.” She gestured to her seat, moving away to fold some linens.

“I want to thank you for what you did yesterday, Rutger.” Eldberg lowered to the stool, which wobbled beneath him. “I won’t forget the way you and J?rgen came to my aid. Your quick thinking saved my skin.”

Grethe glanced round at the warm words, her curiosity piqued.

What was afoot? ‘Twas the first she’d heard of any incident. Besides which, it seemed unlikely a man as huge as Eldberg would require assistance from anyone. Hedda had her work cut out with that one.

“Of course.” Rutger’s sentiment seemed as sincere as Eldberg’s. “I’m at your service, always. How are you today?”

“All is well,” Eldberg assured him. “My Hedda has been looking after me.”

Grethe’s surprise grew. She couldn’t imagine Hedda being described as belonging to any man, let alone running around after him.

As for the assistance Rutger had given Eldberg, he’d mentioned nothing at supper the previous evening. If he had exhibited bravery, ‘twas refreshing to think of him keeping it to himself. Most men, in her experience, were only too keen to blow their own horns. Modesty, of any sort, was unusual .

She searched Rutger’s face, eyeing him with curiosity as he pressed questions on his jarl, appearing concerned and compassionate. ‘Twas a side of him she’d not seen before.

Have I judged him too harshly?

Then and there, she decided. Whatever was to happen, she must know his true intentions.

Did he harbor feelings for her, or was their connection born of nothing more than pleasurable circumstance? A man would take any chance to exercise his staff, of that much she was certain.

She would know Rutger’s mind. Only then might she allow herself to succumb to her burgeoning need—to open up to him, to be vulnerable.

Eldberg’s interruption might give her an opportunity to find out.

“I’m just stepping out,” she called over. “We need more water.”

Rutger’s gaze flitted to the vast vessel already housing more than enough of the resource, but he nodded, making no protest.

The conversation halted as, taking up her shawl, she made her way out into the light. With the door ajar, she crouched to one side of the entrance, keen to hear what was being said inside. Straining to listen, she tensed as Eldberg’s voice came to her.

“… you’re managing to sweet talk the wench?”

Sweet talk me?

How dare they speak of her that way!

“She can be hard work.” Rutger sighed. “But her appetite for swiving shows no sign of abating.”

“Good man.” Eldberg’s laughter rang out. “Now she’s gone, you must tell me of your oar making. Our plans to escape depend on your talents.”

Grethe’s eyes widened.

Oar making? Since when has Rutger been making an oar?

She’d seen him working with wood on more than one occasion—practicing his skills while his fingers healed, so he’d told her—but nothing had been mentioned about sculpting a paddle, nor had she seen such a thing.

Hurt twisted beneath her ribs.

If Rutger was fashioning oars, that meant… they were planning to leave…

Eldberg was using Rutger’s expertise to assist their departure .

Rutger is leaving!

She gripped the side of the hut as shock took hold.

In bewilderment, she raised her face to the sky, blinking at the waning sun. Its illumination lit the dunes and the sea beyond, but it lacked the strength to warm her anymore. The seasons were changing, their slow march as relentless as her own cycle.

And man’s fickleness is just as predictable.

Any chance of her trusting him was destroyed in that one moment of cold betrayal. Once more, she’d contemplated risking her heart and been repaid with treachery. Had the gods truly made her so unlovable? Tears welled in her eyes, though she despised herself for the show of futile emotion.

How can I have been so foolish as to believe he might have affection for me? Might love me even? No man is capable of it—not truly!

She pressed the heel of her hands to her eyes.

Rutger was running away without her—just as Sven had done.

In the pit of her stomach, she understood what that meant.

She was destined to be alone forever.