Chapter Nine
“Who is that?” Nyle straightened from his labours on the footings for the new longhouse. It had been agreed that, when completed, the dwelling would be occupied by Kristin since she had made known her intentions to settle permanently in Agnartved. Both he and Bowdyn divided their time between the dwelling and assisting in the construction of their shared knarr. Nyle did not relish the prospect of dragging lumps of stone and rough timber around but welcomed the opportunity to gain skills in boat building. Who knew when such talents might prove useful? Now, he shielded his eyes with his hand to better observe the party approaching from the east.
“I do not know,” murmured Kristin who had come to stand beside him. “I do not recognise any of them.”
A tall man clad in dark trousers and a cloak led the group of half a dozen riders. Nyle knew enough now about the Nordic way of life to recognise their mounts as being of foreign origin. A trader, perhaps, and a prosperous one by the look of it. The visitors did not brandish weapons and appeared peaceful enough, so it did not appear that Agnartved was under attack. This view was reinforced when he spotted Mathios and Merewyn walking out to greet the newcomers.
“It is Torsteinn,” Bowdyn announced.
“Torsteinn? Your previous master?” Nyle narrowed his eyes to better scrutinise the man.
“Aye. Well, that was his view of the matter though not one I entirely shared.”
Nyle nodded. He was aware of the somewhat imprecise nature of the accord between the two men. Allegedly they had been master and slave but their relationship had been conducted as much on Bowdyn’s terms as on Torsteinn’s. “Is Deva with him?”
“I expect so. She had already started to accompany him on his travels by the time I left.” Bowdyn hesitated, then, “If this is awkward for you I could—”
“It will be good to see her again after all these years. I hope that she is well.” Nyle genuinely bore no ill will either toward Deva or the man she now appeared to care for but meeting them in the flesh might still be difficult. He had adored his bride to be and such feelings did not merely fall away. Or perhaps they did. For certain, he did not feel anything like the man who had believed Deva would be his bride, and he supposed she, too, had moved on.
He laid aside the hammer he had been using. “Come, let us be sociable.”
Bowdyn quickly caught up with him and fell in step alongside. “Perhaps you should allow Mathios to greet them first. I am not even sure that Torsteinn and Deva know that you are here. When last they were at Agnartved we were still searching for you.”
“All the more interesting, then.” Nyle quickened his step.
It was clear by the stunned expression on her pretty face that Deva had not expected to encounter her former betrothed striding toward her. She paled and stepped closer to the tall man at her side. Torsteinn laid an arm about her shoulders and bent to murmur something in her ear. Whatever he had said appeared to calm the Celtic woman and she had regathered some of her composure by the time he and Bowdyn joined the gathering in the centre of the village.
“You are welcome here, my friend.” Mathios offered his hand and Torsteinn took it. “What brings you to Agnartved so unexpectedly?”
“I had business in Ravnsklif and decided to make a detour to visit you on my way back. It has been a while…”
“Aye, it has,” Mathios agreed, “and much has changed since last you were with us. May I introduce my wife’s other brother, Nyle.”
Now Torsteinn turned his steady, assessing regard on Nyle. He could detect no rancour, but there was distinct interest there. The man offered his hand in greeting. “Deva has told me of you. It is good to be able to meet you at last.”
Nyle was not yet quite convinced that he could say the same, but he accepted the proffered hand.
Mathios continued the introductions for Nyle’s benefit. “This is my friend and comrade, Torsteinn. You are aware of the part he played in returning Bowdyn to us?”
“Of course.” Nyle turned his attention to Deva now. She flushed under his scrutiny. “And Deva, you look well.”
“I… I am. Thank you. As do you.”
Nyle grinned and stroked his smooth-shaven jaw. “You should have seen me a couple of months ago.”
“We heard you had been sold as an oar slave,” said Torsteinn. “A hard life.”
“I can attest to that,” agreed Nyle, his gaze never shifting from his former betrothed. “But you, Deva, you appear to have found slavery a far more congenial way of life than either Bowdyn or I did.” At her confused frown, he relented. “And I am glad of it. It pleases me to find you well and happy. You are happy…?”
“Yes,” she affirmed. “I am.” She reached for Torsteinn’s hand and grasped it.
The tall Viking tilted his chin in silent challenge, but it was the expression on Deva’s features that convinced Nyle. She was safe with Torsteinn, she was well, and she was content. She loved her new Viking master and Nyle found himself genuinely glad of it.
“Do you have a hug for an old friend…?” He opened his arms to her.
Deva glanced up at Torsteinn. Nyle did not see any communication pass between the pair but had to assume it did because Deva stepped forward and into his embrace. He closed his arms around her, kissed her hair, and in that moment, he finally let her go.
Torsteinn, Deva, and their party remained at Agnartved for two days. There was feasting, music, dancing, news to exchange, and ample opportunity to renew old friendships.
Nyle found Deva to be sweet as ever, a little timid perhaps. Maybe she had always been so though he did not exactly recall that. At first, she was apologetic for having accepted Torsteinn’s attentions while she was still betrothed to him. Nyle took a more realistic view, made easier by his newly discovered lack of emotional attachment to their shared past. It was only by incredible good fortune that they were thus reunited. He did not blame Deva for the choices she had made in extreme circumstances. She had found happiness with her Viking master, and it could so easily have been very different for her. For all of them. They had much to be thankful for and he saw no reason to squabble with fate over this.
More surprising, perhaps, was the realisation that he felt no lingering desire or resentment. Deva had been lovely when they became betrothed and she was lovely still. No doubt she would have made a fine bride and they would have been happy together at Cynwrig but, somehow, she seemed too meek to him now. Too obedient, too ready to please. Torsteinn was by no means harsh with her, but it was clear that she deferred to him in all matters. Once, Nyle might have relished such submission in a bride, but no longer. His desires had changed.
He wanted something else now.
He wanted Kristin.
Fiery, obstinate, wilful, belligerent, none of that mattered to him. Or maybe it did. Perhaps those were the very qualities that endeared the Norsewoman to him. Whatever the roots of his attraction to her, Nyle desired Kristin Lofnsdottir with a passion he was barely able to comprehend.
* * *
Nyle crouched beside the fast running stream, his gaze intent. He was alert for any movement beneath the rippling surface, any indication that a fine trout might be lurking in the submerged reeds, waiting to be flicked from the depths by a swift hand. Since he was a boy he had been adept at catching trout this way, a skill learned from his father. It was the older Connell who filled his thoughts now as long buried memories haunted him.
Connell of Cynwrig had been a wily character, strict with his sons, indulgent with his wife and daughter. That was as it should be, Nyle thought. Men bore responsibilities, including the care of those females who depended upon them. He and Bowdyn had been wild as lads. They required firm guidance and stern discipline, and they had it from their father. Connell of Cynwrig had been a good man. He had taught them that men, brothers especially, should be loyal where it was warranted. They should work together, collaborate for the good of all. He and Bowdyn had been brought up to aid and support each other, and to share what they had.
Nyle missed his father, and never more than in these moments of doubt when he would have loved nothing more than to seek Connell’s counsel. What would his father have done in his situation? On one thing, at least, he was clear. Connell of Cynwrig would never have endangered the bond with his brother, his twin, for a woman. Yet was that not what Nyle was contemplating?
He was no fool. He saw with his own eyes the growing friendship and beginnings of affection between Bowdyn and Kristin. Perhaps, because the pair had been enemies once, their attraction now was all the stronger for it. They desired one another. It was there, in the glances they exchanged, the sensual laughter and playful teasing.
Nyle found it difficult, impossible even, to define his own feelings. He expected to experience jealousy but was quite certain that this was not what he felt. Quite the reverse, in fact. He was oddly aroused by the sensual byplay he observed between the pair, and was tempted to join in. His rational side told him it would be unnatural to do so, but his instincts insisted otherwise. He did not perceive Bowdyn to be his rival, yet he could not define what he did see.
His confusion was not aided by the fact that Kristin seemed drawn to him as much as she was to his brother. She flirted with him, joked with him, smiled at him. Once, overcome by excited exuberance, she had even kissed him on the mouth when they first managed to raise the mast on their vessel. He had kissed her back and would have probably tumbled her to the ground and risked another blow to the head had not Bowdyn cleared his throat behind them and brought the pair of them to their senses.
He and Bowdyn rarely discussed their different views of life, but that was of no consequence. They knew. Nyle was the visionary of the pair, Bowdyn the strategist. Whenever they got into trouble as boys it would have been he, Nyle, who instigated the mischief, and invariably it would have been Bowdyn who came up with the means to carry out whatever Nyle’s imagination had conjured up. They were better together, stronger. They needed each other, and it seemed, now they both needed Kristin.
Nyle wanted her so much it was becoming akin to a physical ache, but if he acted upon his desires all their shared plans would be in tatters. It would drive a wedge between himself and Bowdyn and he could never risk that. He would die before he would hurt his brother and he knew Bowdyn felt as he did. To make matters yet more complicated, it was far from clear which of them Kristin preferred, if she had a preference at all.
Perhaps all three of them were doomed to be ensnared within this warped web of misguided passion for the rest of their lives.
A sudden flash of movement on the bed of the stream captured his attention. Nyle shot out his hand and slipped it beneath the unsuspecting fish, then flicked sharply to send the trout flying from the water to land, flapping, on the grassy bank. Nyle appraised his catch critically. The fish was small, but there would be enough meat on it to please Rowena. Maybe he could take a couple more before the light failed and he had to return to Agnartved. They would share what fish he had.
Just as he and Bowdyn had shared Bessie, the blacksmith’s daughter, all those years ago.
God’s bones! Could it truly be so simple?
The trout lay gasping its last. Nyle stared at it, unseeing, as the solution that had been dangling right in front of him suddenly became clear.
Could it work? Could he and Bowdyn share the same woman? Not as youths, playing at a tumbling a bawdy wench in a hay barn, but as men, both in love with one woman and all that this would mean?
Nyle would never, not for a moment, contemplate sharing his woman with another man, but Bowdyn was not merely another man. He was his brother, his twin, identical to him in every way, including their shared taste in tall, Nordic goddesses with a lust for adventure and a fierce tongue.
In the past their fumblings with Bessie had been innocent, nothing serious. This would be different. This would matter.
He lay on the grass, his need to supplement their supper this night forgotten as he began to imagine what this could mean. He might fuck Kristin while Bowdyn watched. Or he might look on, offering comment or assistance as Bowdyn sank his cock into her willing body. They might even fuck her together.
His fingers found his engorged cock as he paraded such delightful notions through his head. The three of them, enjoying each other. The erotic possibilities were heady to say the least. Nyle’s imagination was never lacking and he gave it full rein now as he fisted his erection and started to pump.
After, he found a clump of dried grass and cleaned up his clothes as best he might then rinsed his hands in the stream. He slung the solitary trout into the bag he had brought for the purpose and started for home. Nyle was a man with work to do, and he knew the task facing him would not be easy.
Still, he had persuaded them once before to do the impossible and to join forces. Maybe he could be equally convincing on this.
He would start with Bowdyn.
* * *
He was compelled to wait several days for his opportunity. Both brothers, along with several more of Mathios’ karls, had been working from dawn to dusk to complete Kristin’s new dwelling. Mathios’ longhouse had become impossibly crowded and whilst he and Bowdyn were content to sleep on rough pallets in the main room, this was not fitting for a lady. Kristin had not complained, she appreciated the hospitality she had received, but Mathios, or more probably Merewyn, was determined that Agnartved’s newest resident be properly housed.
Nyle and Bowdyn were skilled in making and repairing turfed roofs and content to complete the final details by themselves when the rest of the men returned to their other labours. From their perch astride the wide apex of the turf they could see Kristin herself striding the length of their knarr now bobbing in the harbour. She was well out of earshot but Nyle fancied he could hear her barking out her commands. Kristin Lofnsdottir was a difficult woman to please, but he saw no reason to suppose he and Bowdyn would not be equal to the task.
“A fine female,” Nyle observed as he followed her progress with his eyes.
His brother did not look up from his labours. “Aye, if you like having your ear bitten off several times a day.”
“I would not strongly object were she to express a desire to bite me, provided she would permit me to taste her in return.”
Now Bowdyn shrugged. “A man may dream, I daresay.”
Nyle laid aside the sharp dagger he used to hack the edges of the pieces of turf used to thatch the longhouse. “So, you, too, dream of the pleasure to be discovered between our she-Viking’s thighs?”
Bowdyn quirked an eyebrow. “Our she-Viking?”
“Aye. Ours. I see no other sniffing about her.”
“They had better not,” growled Bowdyn.
Nyle nodded his agreement. “So, how are we to proceed, then?”
Bowdyn hauled another square of turf into position then turned to fully face his brother. “You want her.” It was not a question.
“Aye, I do. You too.” Another statement.
“Yes, but I’ll not fight with you. Not over this.”
“I know that. I have no desire to come to blows either.”
“So, that leaves us with a game of chance to settle it, perhaps. Or mayhap we should let Kristin choose since we cannot.”
Nyle shook his head. “I have a better idea. One which would result in victory for both of us.”
Now he had Bowdyn’s undivided attention. “Go on.”
“I propose that we do as we have always done. We share.”
Bowdyn glowered. “Share? She is a fine Viking lady, not a leg of mutton.”
“Hardly. I am thinking of Bessie, the blacksmith’s daughter.”
“The comparison is not entirely obvious, brother.”
“Bessie possessed a particular fondness for dallying with the pair of us, together, did she not?”
“It seemed to be so, I agree…”
“Perhaps Kristin might be so disposed also.”
Bowdyn’s jaw dropped. He gaped at Nyle, his expression one of pure incredulity. Then, he laughed. A deep, resonating belly laugh that drew the attention of several passing villagers. Indeed, he might have rolled from the roof and cracked open his thick skull on the ground below had not Nyle grabbed him and delivered a helpful cuff to his jaw. Bowdyn ceased his mirth and rubbed his bruised chin.
“What was that for?”
“I do not care to discuss this with the entire settlement,” Nyle ground out, his patience ebbing.
“Discuss what? In any case, I doubt that anyone else would even understand your lack-witted attempt at humour.”
“I am not joking.”
“You think not? It certainly sounded so to me. You actually seemed to be suggesting that Kristin Lofnsdottir might look kindly upon an offer to pass her between the two of us like a mug of fine ale.”
“There is no accounting for the vagaries of the feminine mind,” murmured Nyle.
“It is the vagaries of your mind which bear some scrutiny. Are you quite deranged? She would likely drown you in the well if you suggested such a thing to her, unless she took mercy and brained you first. Come to think of it, that is her preferred method of dealing with your clod-headed attempts to woo her. Please, do not bring Kristin’s wrath down upon me also, I do not believe my poor skull would withstand such an onslaught.”
Nyle was unperturbed. He had not expected his brother to agree immediately. Bowdyn was ever inclined to seek out the flaws in a scheme before he could acknowledge the prospect of success. “Just give the matter some thought. That is all I ask.” He picked up his knife and set to work again.
So far, so good.
* * *
“Thank you again for your hospitality, Merewyn.” Kristin set down her empty mug and rose from the table. “Now, I shall leave you if I may. It is late and there is much we need to accomplish tomorrow if we are to sail the following day. I have furs to load, and copper.”
“My brothers will help.” Merewyn nudged Bowdyn, none too gently he thought.
“Ah, yes, of course. We shall aid you. It is, after all, our cargo too.”
Was Kristin’s distracted nod a little too distant? To Bowdyn’s way of thinking she was far too long accustomed to relying on none but herself. He returned her polite wishes for a good night and watched her leave Mathios’ longhouse to return to her own small dwelling. Merewyn and one or two other women had provided her with enough benches to set up her own household, some pots and other household items, and a decent bed to tuck away in her sleeping alcove. The place was small but comfortable. Best of all, it was private.
Bowdyn exchanged a knowing glance with Nyle and the pair rose from the table also. “I shall check the horses before finding my own bed,” Bowdyn announced to the room at large.
“I shall come with you,” offered Nyle.
No one made comment when they left the longhouse together.
“I am glad you eventually saw the good sense in my suggestion.” They were already halfway across the village when Nyle spoke, and they were not headed in the direction of the stables.
Nyle’s smug expression grated on Bowdyn’s nerves. He was not about to admit he actually agreed that they could both fuck Kristin, though in truth he had rather come around to the notion. Nyle might be the one with the most vivid imagination but Bowdyn was not exactly lacking in this respect either. Once the initial surprise receded he began to visualise the possibilities and they were tantalising indeed. It had not taken him long to seek out Nyle, return the punch to the jaw, and start to formulate their plans.
They had both agreed that it would be best to approach Kristin in the seclusion of her own longhouse since there would be precious little privacy to be found once they were at sea. This was the first time such an opportunity had presented itself, and it was not to be squandered.
“You would have never shut up about it had I not,” he retorted.
Nyle chuckled. “I’m looking forward to this.”