Chapter Eighteen
“Six weeks. It has been six weeks since Nyle was last seen. How can he survive on his own for so long?” Merewyn lay beside Mathios, the bedclothes pulled up to her chin to keep out the chill. Mathios tossed another log on the small fire in the pit in their sleeping quarters. Merewyn knew that would be enough to warm the space within a few minutes, but her missing brother could call upon no such comfort.
“We must be patient, my Celt. And remember your brother is a resourceful man, and not one who gives in easily. He survived three outings as an oars slave so I have every confidence he can take care of himself.”
“Are you quite certain that no one had seen him? In any of the places you visited?”
“Yes. No one has any reason to conceal him, and my reward is more than generous. Thanks to Bowdyn he is now likely to be recognised if he does show up anywhere. We must wait. And hope.” Mathios joined her in the bed.
Merewyn shifted along to make room for him, then snuggled up against his hard, warm torso. She adored the sensation of her naked breasts pressed up close to his chest, the soft mounds flattened against his muscled body. Of late, however, her breasts had been tender to the touch and she shifted a little, less comfortable that usual. Mathios rolled her onto her back then propped himself above her.
“Is something wrong, Merewyn?”
“No, Jarl. I am concerned for my brother, that is all.”
“There is more. You flinch from me. See?” He cupped her breast in his hand and though his touch was gentle, she tensed. “Tell me what ails you, sweetheart.”
“Nothing, I swear. I am well, and—”
“When are your courses due?”
“My…? Jarl, what is that to you?” Her husband was always sympathetic during her monthly courses, but never saw fit to engage her in conversation about them.
“Think. When did you last bleed?”
“A month ago, of course.”
“Are you certain? That would have been the week of our marriage and I do not recall the inconvenience occurring then.”
“Well, after that, perhaps…”
He shook his head. “No, not since our wedding. In fact, I am reasonably certain that you have not bled since those final days before we left your home in Northumbria. I do remember that quite clearly as it convinced me that you were not pregnant at that stage. I would not have left you otherwise.”
“That is impossible. That would mean…”
“Almost two months. I suspect the matter is settled.”
She lay in silence as the awesome truth sank in. “No, I cannot be…”
“You can. Indeed, it would be a surprise if you were not, either now or in the near future. It is the natural outcome, is it not?”
“I thought, maybe the stress of the voyage, and my horrible sickness whilst we were at sea. The wedding, and Bowdyn and… and…”
“Time will tell, and I am confident I shall be proved right. We are to have a child, my Celt.” He grinned at her as though the accomplishment was his alone. “A brother or sister for my boys. I hope for a sister if that can be arranged.”
“I do not believe we would have any choice in the matter.”
“No, that is my understanding too.” His features became serious and he caressed her tender breast again. “Are you in any discomfort?”
She considered this for a few moments then shook her head. “Not exactly. I am tender, but if you are gentle…”
“When am I not?”
Often enough, she could retort, though usually she found his rough lovemaking entirely to her taste. Mathios was a demanding, exciting lover. It had been so from the start and she had always responded to the dominance in his touch but now she craved a more muted and tranquil approach. It was as though he read her mind when he leaned down to take her stiff, hard nipple in his mouth. He pressed it with his tongue, then flicked the end as he hollowed his cheeks to create just enough suction to…
“Aaagh!”
He released her at once when she groaned. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. It just feels so intense.”
He applied his mouth to her other nipple and elicited the identical response.
“Do you prefer to stop? If you are tired…?”
“I am tired, but… no. Do not stop. Please.”
Mathios made his way slowly but surely down her body, tracing a row of kisses between her breasts and across her stomach. He paused at her belly button to dip his tongue into the small hollow and Merewyn imagined a time in the months to come when her belly would swell and he would no longer find her attractive. Men often preferred to stay away from their wives in the later stages of pregnancy, or so she had heard. She had no experience of her own to draw upon. She would miss him, she decided. She would miss him very much indeed.
He resumed his journey, trailing more kisses over her mound, combing his fingers through the soft curls at the apex of her thighs then using his hands to gently part her legs.
“Do you think we should? I mean, what if it harms the baby?” Mere minutes earlier she had been blissfully unaware that the tiny being even existed, and now she fretted about its wellbeing.
“I will do our baby no harm, I swear. Indeed, there are those who insist that the pleasure to be found in our bed is good for the growing child. I promise to do all I may to ensure she—or he—benefits from my attentions.”
“But… oh!” Her protests were stifled when he took her engorged clitty between his lips and sucked on that as he had her nipples. No bothersome tenderness assailed her now as she thrust her pelvis up to press her pleasure nub against his teeth. She gasped as her arousal curled within, right at her very core where the baby now nestled. Her womb clenched, her inner channel convulsed then tightened around his exploring fingers. First one, then two, he drove them inside her but with aching gentleness.
“Harder,” she muttered. “Harder and deeper.”
“My greedy Celtish slut,” he murmured against her inner thigh. “So demanding. Has pregnancy made a harlot of you?”
Has it indeed? Merewyn wondered if it might be so as she squirmed and writhed and bucked her hips as she sought her release. The sensations deepened, seemed to find focus at her centre, at the spot where he continued to suck and flick, working his clever tongue down one side of her clitty then the other, then curling it around the very tip.
Merewyn rocked from side to side as she chased the pleasure that dangled and danced just out of reach. One moment she had it, the next it cavorted away again. She tangled her fingers in his hair and gripped him tight as she at last soared.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she yelled, remembering too late the rest of the household slumbering beyond the curtain. But it was too late now, and she was past caring when her senses at last shattered and she found herself spinning, weightless, whirling like a leaf in autumn.
He entered her slowly, as her release still pulsed through her, while her muscles were liquid and her body boneless. She sighed, her contentment absolute. Where on previous occasions he might have drawn her knees up to her ears and pounded her with his thick, wide cock, this time each stroke was long and slow, an inner caress as gentle as the fluttering of angels’ wings. Merewyn arched her back and reached for his shoulders. She dug her fingers into his solid flesh and clung on as a second release rushed to consume her. She contracted her internal walls as though she wished to grip him and hold him inside her for ever, as though she might prevent him from ever leaving her.
The warm wetness of his semen filled her, a sudden flush of inner heat, then another, and another. Merewyn imagined she was melting inside. Perhaps she truly was, perhaps it felt different, now.
Yes, that must be it. Everything seemed different now.
* * *
Rowena was delighted at their news, Bowdyn less so.
He scowled across the table at her over dagmal. Just the two of them remained in the longhouse as Mathios had departed early on a trading visit to a nearby settlement and was not expected back until the afternoon. Rowena was watching the boys at their swordplay practice with Olav.
“You will not wish to return to our home then, with Nyle and me? Not once you have a child here.”
Merewyn gaped at him. It had never occurred to her that she might return to Northumbria without Mathios, or, indeed, that anyone would think such a thing.
“Mathios is my husband, I would never leave him. My home is here now, though Mathios has said we might return to visit if you choose to go back. I… I hope we would be welcome. Both of us.”
Her brother’s noncommittal snort was less than encouraging, but even that could not dim Merewyn’s happiness. She was to have a child. Her own child. And she would not be called upon to do so alone. She would have Rowena beside her, and Sigrunn. And Mathios, naturally. Perhaps even her elder brother, if he remained with them long enough and could quell his distaste for all things Viking. She understood his bitterness, but felt it was misplaced when directed against Mathios or any of the Vikings at Agnartved.
Childbirth was a perilous undertaking for women, she had no illusions about that. But she was surrounded by experienced women who would aid her. If she remained in good health, and of course if she offered up sufficient prayers to the Holy Virgin, then perhaps fate would deal kindly with her. She would hold on to that hope as the months progressed.
It was mid-afternoon, as Merewyn worked on her loom beside the open door of the longhouse, that she heard the rumble of wheels bumping over the hard-packed earth outside. She peered out of the dwelling to see who was here.
She did not recognise the tall Viking woman who drove the cart, which had by now rolled to a halt in the cleared area in front of their longhouse. Certainly, the woman was not from Agnartved. Since neither Rowena nor Sigrunn were anywhere to be seen, Merewyn left her weaving to greet the visitor and enquire as to what might have brought her to their village.
Her Norse was improved but far from perfect. She practised the phrases in her head as she hurried toward the wagon, which she now noted was covered with a length of sack cloth.
“Good day. Welcome to Agnartved. What is your business here?”
The newcomer narrowed her eyes and looked past Merewyn to the now empty longhouse.
“I am here to see the Jarl. Mathios Agnarsson.” She tipped up her chin and regarded Merewyn haughtily. “You will summon him.”
I will…? Merewyn allowed herself a private smile. The Norsewoman had mistaken her for a thrall. Clearly her dark hair and eyes marked her as not of Viking descent.
“Mathios… my husband,” she could not resist adding, “is not here today. May I be of assistance?”
“Husband?” The woman glared at her, then raised one elegant blonde eyebrow. “I see. That may explain his interest in this man.” She strode around to the back of her cart. “I am here to claim my reward. Twenty silver pennies, I understand, for the safe return of this thrall.” She flung back the hessian cover to reveal the prone body lying within. “I suggest you restrain him before he regains his senses. He can be quite… unmanageable.”
“Nyle!” Merewyn gripped the edge of the wagon and peered over the side at the large man who lay motionless before her. He was face down so she could not see his features. She did not need to. Tears streamed across her cheeks as she dropped to her knees murmuring her gratitude to any deity within earshot.
“Are you quite well?” The haughty Norsewoman appeared concerned now. She bent to take Merewyn’s arm and help her to her feet. “Perhaps we should summon your husband’s men…”
“No, that will not be necessary,” Merewyn managed. “I think…” She broke off when she spotted Rowena hurrying in their direction. “This is my stepmother, she will aid me. We must get him from the wagon and into the longhouse.”
“I cannot recommend it. I am sure that your husband will have a place where he secures thralls and other prisoners. Perhaps—”
“He is not a prisoner. He is my brother.” She waited, allowed that fact to penetrate, then, “Now if you will assist us, I would be most grateful. Then you shall have your money.”
“Is this true?” Rowena ignored the Norsewoman. She scrutinised the prone figure. “Is it truly your brother? Should we not turn him over to make sure?”
“It is true. This is Nyle.” Merewyn hailed a hovering slave. “Please, run and find Bowdyn and bid him return to the longhouse at once.” She gnawed on her lip as she contemplated the task before them. “Perhaps if we each grasp a leg and pull…”
They had succeeded in dragging Nyle halfway off the wagon by the time Bowdyn arrived and took over. The Celt had tears in his eyes and was grinning from ear to ear as he hauled his brother over his shoulder and made for the longhouse. Once inside he deposited the man on the closest pallet, which happened to be his own. Now that Nyle was face up they could all clearly see the large bruise on his forehead.
“What happened to him?” demanded Merewyn, already rushing across the room in search of a cloth and clean water with which to bathe the wound.
The Norsewoman tipped up her chin. “I told you, he is not a biddable man, not in the slightest. I had no choice but to subdue him in order to bring him here.”
Bowdyn glared at her. “So you hit him? Knocked him unconscious?”
The woman returned his furious scowl, quite uncowed by Bowdyn’s hostility. “It seemed the only way. I am sure he will recover his senses soon enough, such as they are. See, he is already stirring…”
It was true. Nyle let out a loud groan and rolled onto his side. Rowena crouched beside him. “You are safe now. Your sister is here, and your brother…”
She scuttled back to make room as Merewyn took her place and applied a damp cloth to the lump on his head. Nyle groaned again and attempted to shove her hand away.
“See, I did tell you…”
Rowena rose and faced the visitor. “I do not believe we have met. I am Rowena, stepmother to Mathios Agnarsson. And you have met Merewyn, the Jarl’s wife.”
“And I am Bowdyn, brother to the man you have almost done to death in your zeal to subdue him.”
The woman wisely withdrew a pace before the glowering figure of the angry Celt. “Yes, I saw you, at Ravnklif. You spoke with my husband, Baldvin Ryggiason. I am Kristin Lofnsdottir.”
“I do not remember you. In truth, I do not recall your husband either.”
“He owned the trading fleet which sails from Ravnklif. Seven ships in all.”
“Owned?”
“He died, three days ago.”
Bowdyn said nothing. It fell to Rowena to express their condolences. Meanwhile Nyle was recovering his senses fast and seeking to get up from the pallet. It took the combined efforts of Bowdyn and Merewyn to keep him lying down, and then only long enough for her to finish bathing his head. Nyle struggled to sit upright, then gingerly tested the bruise on his forehead.
“Fuck, that hurts. What did that woman hit me with? A mallet?”
“It was an earthenware cooking pot, in fact. It broke.” Kristin may be outnumbered but her pride and dignity remained undaunted as she positioned herself at the foot of the pallet. “Now, if I might have my silver pennies I shall be on my way and bother you no further.”
“Yes, of course. My husband promised it and you have brought my brother home, so—”
“What the fuck is going on here? Merewyn? Is it you?” Nyle shook his head from side to side as though trying to clear some fogginess from his memory. “And Bowdyn? How is this possible?”
“Please, you should rest…” Merewyn began.
“I shall rest when I am dead, though I am amazed to find that has not already come to pass. Or perhaps it has. Perhaps you are all apparitions conjured up to escort me to the afterlife, whatever that might amount to in this godforsaken land.”
Bowdyn crouched beside the pallet and peered into his brother’s features, identical to his own. “We are all real, and you are not dead, my brother. Look around you. I am here, Bowdyn, and our sister too. We are in a Viking longhouse, the dwelling of our sister’s husband. He is the Jarl of this settlement…”
“Husband? Viking? Now I am convinced we have all descended into madness. Fuck off and allow me to die in peace.” He closed his eyes and slumped back against the pillow that Merewyn had shoved under his shoulders.
“Nyle! Wake up. Please…” Merewyn clutched at his arm and shook it but to no avail.
“Let him rest. That is what he needs, and food as soon as he awakens.” Rowena put her arm about Merewyn’s shoulders. “The main thing, the thing which matters most, is that he is here with us and safe. The rest may wait.”
“I cannot wait.” Kristin stepped forward again. “I wish to be about my business so I will trouble you for the money I am entitled to, then I will leave you to your tender reunion.”
Kristin stiffened her spine and managed to ignore Bowdyn’s angry glower, though Merewyn could not fathom where she gained her fortitude from. But the woman was quite correct. Even if she had found it necessary to knock Nyle senseless in order to fulfil the terms of Mathios’ offer, she had met those terms. She had brought Nyle to them and she was entitled to her twenty silver pennies. In Mathios’ absence, Merewyn would have to pay it from her bride-price. “If you will excuse me for a few moments, I shall get your money for you.”
She hurried into the sleeping quarters she shared with Mathios, and where they both kept their most personal or valuable items. The chest that had once contained her mother’s herbs now housed the coins that made up her bride-price. Merewyn kept it wedged behind their pallet and concealed beneath clothing. She uncovered it and opened the lid.
Merewyn was unfamiliar with Viking coins, or indeed any coins. Trade, when transacted at all at the farm, had always been in kind. A few eggs in exchange for a fish, grain in exchange for linen or herbs. She could count out twenty coins but did not know their value. Were these the pennies mentioned, or some other coin worth more? Or less? She was quite certain that Kristin Lofnsdottir would point out soon enough if the payment was insufficient. Merewyn counted first ten, then another ten coins and slipped them into a small linen bag before returning to the main hall.
“Here, your money.” She handed the bag of coins to Kristin. “I thank you for your assistance in returning my brother to us. I know you have business to attend to, but if you have the time to remain and eat with us you will be welcome.”
“I…”
Merewyn was convinced the woman intended to decline her invitation, and probably would have if Bowdyn had not chosen that moment to mutter something that sounded suspiciously like ‘good riddance.’
Kristin’s smile was wicked and Merewyn detected a distinct gleam in her azure eyes. “Why, thank you. I believe my business elsewhere may wait. I would be glad to share your meal.”
“Excellent. Please be seated and take some refreshment now.” Rowena took over the demands of hospitality, leaving Merewyn free to hover over her brother. “And perhaps Bowdyn could make himself useful by seeing to the safe stabling of your horse.”
He shook his head. “I am not—”
Rowena stifled his protests with one of her most beatific smiles. “Yes, and then you could inform Sigrunn that we have guests for the nattmal and we would be delighted if she would join us. Oh, and she is to bring young Connell with her in order that he might meet his other brother.” She ushered him toward the door. “Ah, yes, this is quite the homecoming. I wonder if we have any of that salted pork still…?”