Chapter 35
We arrive at the tent. Ylvin and Elof are sleeping. I’m just happy they don’t know what has happened. Ari had offered me his fur when I was finished with my convulsions. I hadn’t complained, walking back to camp in solemn silence with his arm around my shoulder.
Now, I tug his fur closer. I almost died.
I almost lost my breath to the thundering river.
Almost sank. A foolish child attempting to defy the forces of nature.
Defy the waters flowing from Yggdrasil. Even worse, I’ve lost my blanket.
Ari’s fur won’t cover my legs. My eyelids are heavy.
My thoughts groggy. I’m freezing. Shaking. He should have let me die, let me—
Ari’s voice. He says something but the rain hammering down on the lavvu drowns out his words.
What’s he saying? I glance at him, but he isn’t looking at me. He is pointing at his blanket. A flame ignites in my chest as I realize what he is suggesting.
“I can’t slee—”
“Lie down. You will freeze.”
Usually, I would laugh at him. Spit in his face.
Ridicule him for trying to lure a young girl under his blanket.
We only have Ari’s blanket, hide, and fur to keep us warm.
Even so, every fiber of my being resists getting under the blanket with this charming skald.
How many girls have fallen into his trap?
He walks to his knapsack, taking out a large linen cloth. His expression is serious as he starts roughly drying my hair. I accept it. I don’t have the energy to tell him how stupid he is. How futile his plans are.
He quietly dries my hair from all angles, shaking the sides of my head before massaging the hair on the nape of my neck. Waves of pleasure wash down my back and sides as I relax.
“You need dry clothes,” he says, returning to his knapsack and pulling out a long linen shirt. He holds it out to me. I stare at him blankly. What is he expecting?
“I won’t look,” he promises as he turns around.
It takes me a second to realize what I’m about to do, but the situation is so surreal—I’m not sure how slipping into his linen shirt will make a difference.
I take off my own drenched linen, feeling goosebumps grow on the wet skin of my back, chest, and stomach.
A quick glance is thrown his way—his back is still turned.
I actually trust him to keep his eyes to himself.
My leather pants are harder to take off, sticking to my body like mud. I wriggle hurriedly as I pull them down, not wanting to stand naked in Ari’s presence. Ari’s shirt is long, reaching down to my knees. He actually brought a kirtle? What was he planning? A leisure trip?
I slip it on. It sticks to my humid skin, making me blush as I notice my nipples are visible beneath it. Panicked, I lift the linen just to watch it return to its position and highlight my breasts. Folding my arms will do the trick. I’ll pretend like nothing.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Can I turn?”
“Yes.”
His gaze is worried and stern. Perhaps he cares. Perhaps he wants my best. He could have let me drown, but he decided to—
“You’re still wet,” he says as he picks up the drying linen.
He falls to his knees next to me. My body goes rigid in anticipation. Should I let him help me or smack him over the head for his perverted insolence?
He dries my feet, first one then the other.
Moving up my legs, he sends tingles running through every nerve.
I’ve never been tended like this. Never had a man on his knees in front of me.
Most men would find it humiliating to kneel for a woman, but not Ari.
My flower blooms slowly to his touch. He stops at my knees.
“You should dry yourself,” he says without looking up at me.
“Plea…” I hesitate, every honorable custom says I should stop him, do it myself. “Please, continue,” I whisper.
His hand slips under the kirtle without lifting it.
His fingers move in firm strokes, massaging my flesh.
Wincing as he reaches a sore spot, I hide my pain, not wanting him to stop.
He works his way up my thigh, staying on the outside, careful not to reach the sensitive skin between my legs.
My breathing grows heavy. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want him to rub the inside as well.
His movements are soft, yet purposeful. It’s an intimate act without being colored by sexual expectation. A warm vibration develops beneath my belly button. A cat purring as it’s stroked. Without thinking, I place a hand on his head, closing my eyes. Engrossed in the feeling.
He arrives at my hip bone, carefully swiping it a few times before his covered hand strokes my rump. His fingers move dangerously close to my split, making me straighten my back in reaction.
I release a light gasp. He pulls away.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“It’s… It’s okay.”
“Shall I continue?”
“Yes, please.”
He walks on his knees in front of me. I get the impulse to grab his head and push it beneath the robe.
Open myself to him. My body yearns to feel him there, to let him worship at my altar.
Like one would worship Freya. Let him taste me, as Ylvin said.
I control my lust, again placing a shaking hand on his head as he begins drying off my other leg.
The man has a way of being powerful yet tender. A caring dominance. Without imposing. We are enjoying this shared moment as equals. We both decide. I would decide for him to take me. Ravage me. Have his way. Like Elof for Ylvin, he could be my monst—
He arrives at my buttock. His fingers’ light grip sends shivers up my spine. A moan escapes my lips. My own sound shocks me back to reality and I cover my mouth as I step back.
“Sorry, Ari, I—”
“No worries.”
“I don’t know what came over me.”
But I do know. I still feel it now. If I had not been so battered, so exhausted, I might have considered sharing my body with him, sharing his. I imagine his cock in my hand as I help him in.
Ride him, a Valkyrie on her trusted steed.
“You need sleep,” he whispers as he stands, awkwardly adjusting his leather pants. My eyes glide down there but I quickly correct them. Hopefully he didn’t notice.
“I do,” I state simply.
“Take my blanket.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, Kilda. Lie down.”
I tuck myself under his woolen blanket. It smells musky. Strong. Without thinking, I lie on my side as I rub my face into the wool. Safe. Smells like Ari. My body calms down. The soreness between my legs dissipating. Thank the gods. I need rest.
Ari lies down on the ground, partially covered by his own fur. It’s cut to cover a man’s shoulders. Here I am using the man’s blanket because of my foolish mistake, and he’s supposed to freeze?
I open the blanket.
“Come,” I whisper.
“What?”
“We can share.”
He lies next to me. I turn my back to him. There’s quite a bit of space under these. I hadn’t noticed it before. Narve and I had always fucked in the woods, never under a blanket. Ari lies on the opposite end. Our bodies don’t connect.
I shuffle my hips backward against his pelvis. He grunts in surprise.
“Sorry, I’m cold,” I whisper.
“It’s okay,” he says as he lays his arm around me.
“Ari?”
“Kilda?”
“Will you tell Ylvin?”
“No, but she might already know.”
“You think?”
“She would let you go anyway.”
Would she? I’m not sure. What would Jarl Sigurd say? Would he have punished Ylvin had I managed to escape? He could try.
“Will you tell Sigurd?”
“Of course not, Kilda.”
“Will you tell anyone?”
“I will never tell anyone you almost drowned in the river like a drunken baby.”
I snort, enjoying my rump pressing against him.
“Sing me a lullaby then, if I’m a baby.”
I’m joking of course. No one is expecting this grown man to sing a belligerent slave a lullaby. Yet Ari clears his throat and whispers in my ear.
“Ride, ride your Iceland horse
Ride it south and ride it north
Ride it east and ride it west
Ride it where Kilda finds rest”
That’s cute. Very charming.
He sings the same verse again as he shakes me lightly, like he’s soothing a child in its cradle. What does he think? That I’m going to fall asleep to his song like an actual baby? That I will be lulled into dreams by simple tri—
Finished. Done. Knocked out. No chance.
A dreamless sleep follows.