Page 9 of Seduced by the Viking (Bound and Betrothed #5)

CHAPTER 8

The thirty-eighth day of the men’s sojourn on the island

“Ah, here you are! Rangvald will be so pleased.” Elin stood upon the threshold of her home, beckoning to Rutger.

Grethe had accompanied him thus far, but when he looked back to speak to her, she swiveled abruptly on her heel, giving not so much as a farewell.

“Goodness! How quickly you’ve been working.” Elin took one of the crutches Rutger was carrying and ran her fingers over the smooth wood.

“‘Tis nothing. These, and the ones I crafted for Gunnar, were the work of a few hours only.” ‘Twas not entirely true, for Rutger was somewhat of a perfectionist. He’d worked late those past days, polishing away the rough knots. However, he never had been one to court praise. ‘A job well done is its own reward,’ his father had always said, and Rutger held it as his own maxim.

The gods had blessed him with carpentry skills, and he saw it as his duty to use them for the benefit of others wherever possible. He’d offered to make several more stools for Grethe, for example, in a style shaped to offer greater comfort. She’d declined, protesting, in her usual slightly gruff way, that she’d no desire to encourage a host of people to come visiting, purely for the pleasure of testing out his new designs.

Elin looped her arm through his. “Come now. Rangvald is waiting. I’m sure he’ll enjoy hearing your news. It gets very dull for him, being confined indoors.”

‘Twas welcome, Rutger thought wryly, to see a woman smiling at him rather than scowling. He’d thought he and Grethe were beginning to rub along nicely, but there had been a change. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, but she’d suddenly grown snappish. Every conversation seemed to end in her berating him about something or other. Even their frolics had come to a standstill, with Grethe refusing to let him touch her.

Odin only knew how he was supposed to get her with child!

His jarl would have his guts if he knew the state of things. Eldberg had some notion of making sure their women were ready to provision the ship, even pulling the oars when the time came.

Good luck with that!

Grethe would be as likely to set the longship alight or gift them mead laced with poison. Only a few nights before, she’d told him what was in those barrels of hers. More mead than a man could drink in a year! And had she offered him any?

Not a chance!

She’d poured herself a mug and made him watch as she drank it down, letting him know how tasty and thirst quenching it was—and that he’d be having none.

The depths of her cruelty knew no bounds.

Elin was another fish entirely—patient, gently spoken, thinking of others’ needs. His fingers were well on the way to being healed, though still a little tender. Elin had kept a check on them, making sure the linens holding the splint were tight. Grethe certainly didn’t seem to care.

And yet… when he’d been shaping the second crutch, he’d seen the way Grethe watched him at work. More than once, he’d thought she might ask him some question as to his way of doing things. She’d even inquired whether the fingers of his left hand pained him, holding the wood steady while he applied his tools with the right.

He’d offered to show her how to hold a whittling blade and had gotten as far as putting his hand over hers, drawing the knife downward in long, smooth strokes. He’d thought she was softening to him again, but it hadn’t lasted long. She’d jumped up all of a sudden, her eyes sparkling in that dangerous way he’d come to know well, making his heart beat faster. Making him want to pull Grethe close, to kiss her and much besides.

She’d snatched the blade and thrown it across the room, sending the crutch flying after. Then, she’d made a show of binding up his ankles and made him sleep at the foot of her bed.

He’d given that episode a deal of thought without being able to make sense of it.

Elin bustled about, pulling up a stool to where Rangvald was resting, his back turned to the room.

She pressed something warming into Rutger’s hands and he gave the bowl an appreciative sniff—stew, thick and nourishing, with plenty of meat.

“Rangvald, my love. Wake up.” Elin rubbed his arm. “You’ve a visitor.”

The masculine form upon the bed grumbled, shifting only so far as to peer over his shoulder.

“‘Tis Rutger, you see,” Elin persisted, plumping the pillows and obliging Rangvald to sit upright.

Rangvald gave Rutger a curt nod. ‘Twas hard to tell if he was pleased to see him, but that was usually the way with Rangvald. His moods were as inscrutable as Grethe’s were volatile.

“He has a gift.” Elin beamed, holding up one of the crutches. “You’ll be walking about in no time, though not today, perhaps. We’ll start slowly, with me to help.”

Rangvald made no acknowledgment, only saying, “I’ll take some of that stew.” He eyed Rutger, who was making short work with his spoon. “Then leave us be, woman. You’re in a fussing frame of mind, and I’ve no patience for it!”

Passing Rangvald his portion, Elin shook her head chidingly, but her smile was indulgent. “Of course, have privacy. Then, you can grumble to your heart’s content… both of you!” She gave Rutger a subtle wink. “I won’t be far off, so you can summon me if… you think of anything you need.”

“Off with you, then!” Rangvald called out gruffly, even as she was halfway out the door.

Rutger dug into the stew, looking up occasionally at the other man over his spoon. From the way Rangvald held himself, Rutger could tell he was in some discomfort.

‘Twas strange to see one of Skálavík’s most skilled warriors laid up as he was. Always, Rangvald had an air of superiority. It was there still in the set of his jaw and his unyielding stare but tempered by an innate weariness.

“She shouldn’t have gone behind my back,” Rangvald said at last. “I don’t need them… those things.” He gestured in the direction of the crutches propped against the wall.

Rutger took the ungrateful statement with a pinch of salt. Rangvald was proud. Accepting that he required physical assistance and was reliant on others to provide it would not sit well with him.

“But ‘tis me you’ll be helping,” Rutger said simply. “These are only the second I’ve crafted. Gunnar has the first, and I’ve been told there are improvements to be made. I’d be interested to hear your thoughts when you’ve time to make use of them.”

Rangvald gave a grunting reply.

“She’s a good cook, your woman. Kindly, too. You’re fortunate there.” Rutger scraped his spoon around the remnants in his bowl.

Rangvald’s mouth pressed thin. “‘Tis no more than I’m due. She gets what she needs in return.”

Rutger gave a wry smile. “You know then what these women need from us and why?”

“They want us mating with them, treating us like rams sent to copulate with the herd.” Rangvald’s lip curled in disdain.

“‘Tis the sort of thing I’d have dreamt about before coming here—being shipwrecked on a lush island filled only with women, held captive, and ordered to bury myself balls-deep day after day.” Rutger sighed.

“And now?”

“I’ve my hands full with Grethe. The thought of servicing more of these women—however beautiful they are—holds less appeal than I’d have expected.” Rutger wasn’t about to tell Rangvald that Grethe had shunned him of late.

The rest was true. There was only one woman who occupied his thoughts, and it was no longer Tyra.

Rangvald grunted in agreement. “Women are troublesome. Keeping one content is work enough.”

“Happy to mount just your own she-goat, eh?” Rutger laughed at his own joke, but Rangvald didn’t look amused.

“Elin is no goat!”

Rutger held his hands up in apology. “ Of course, she isn’t.”

Clearly, Rangvald’s feelings for the woman ran deeper than he was letting on. With Rangvald glowering at him, Rutger tried a change of tack.

“Our jarl has been to see you?” He leaned in closer. “He’s told of… our plan?”

“I know what he chooses to tell me. Our jarl gets what he wants, and we obey.” Rangvald snarled. “I’m supposed to lie to Elin… no matter my feelings or hers. Nothing else is of consequence, is it?”

Rutger was taken aback. As a member of the jarl’s personal guard, Rangvald’s loyalty should be unquestionable. Yet, the way he was speaking told another story.

Rutger wasn’t sure he wished to know why. Whatever was afoot between Eldberg and Rangvald, he’d be better off staying out of it.

“Does your woman suspect?” Rangvald probed. “Do any of them?”

Does Grethe know? Rutger pondered a moment.

He’d been working on what appeared to be the same piece of wood for several weeks now—except that he’d been carefully swapping in new lengths of timber and hiding each oar as it neared completion. As far as he knew, she hadn’t discovered his deceit, but she was no simpleton.

Does she know more than she’s letting on?

Rutger rubbed at his beard. It would explain her foul moods and refusal to let him near her.

In fairness, she’d have every right to be angry. It didn’t sit well with him to mislead anyone, least of all Grethe. Regardless of her callous treatment of him, her puffed-up ways, her argumentative nature, and her always wanting the last word, she’d wormed into his affections, and he disliked the idea of hurting her.

Grethe was a whirlwind, alright—and he’d thought he knew women! The gods only knew what his sisters would make of her when he brought Grethe home.

She mightn’t go willingly, but his mind was made up. When Eldberg declared it time for them to leave, Grethe would be coming on their ship—even if he had to tie her up and throw her over his shoulder.

He’d failed in securing Tyra’s love, but he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. For all her annoying habits, Grethe was the one for him; he knew it as surely as his own name. If he could only make her believe his devotion, he had faith she’d tell him she felt the same.

After all, no woman could be that cantankerous toward a man unless she was harboring secret love notions.

Rutger smiled to himself.

Yes, ‘twas obvious. The poor wench was smitten, and her crabby antics were due to her being unsure how he felt in return.

Lucky that I’ve a few surprises up my sleeve.

He could hardly wait to show Grethe what he’d been making just for her. All women loved gifts, and he’d wager his life she’d never received anything akin to what he’d been crafting.

All will soon be right again, and my feisty little Valkyrie will be swooning for me once more.

Rutger let out a hoot of laughter.

“So glad I’m amusing you!” Rangvald cast a scowl worthy of Thor himself. If he’d been in possession of a thunderbolt, Rutger was in no doubt he’d be struck down on the spot.

“‘Tis not… that is… I’m a lackwit!” Rutger jumped up. “And, no offense intended, but I’ve better things to do than sit here when I coul d be with my woman. I wish you well, Rangvald, you and Elin. Don’t waste time there. Who knows if we’ll ever get off this island or back to Skálavík? I’m not sure I even care anymore as long as I’ve Grethe in my arms.”

Rangvald’s gaze narrowed, following Rutger as he sprinted for the door.