Page 97 of A Tale of Two Vikings

“Hardly,” he boasted. “In truth, dearling, your enthusiasm in the bedsport gives me much pleasure. Thank you.” He patted her hand which lay over his heart. “You heal me.”

What a touching thing to say! Tears welled again in her eyes, and this time he noticed.

“Tsk tsk tsk! What kind of lover am I to make you weep?”

“The best kind,” she said, “but do not let your head get big. I am sure I would be just as pleased with any other man…Finn, for example.”

“Liar!” he hooted, obviously believing that what existed betwixt them in the bed furs was unique. Smart man!

She nestled herself into a more comfortable position with her face against his chest, one arm across his waist and a leg thrown over his thigh. Sleep was fast approaching. She loved sleeping in Vagn’s arms, though she must be sure to awaken before dawn and return to her own bedchamber.

But Vagn brought her fully awake with his question, “Helga, what do you have against marriage?”

She moved her leg off his but still rested her face on his chest and her arm over his waist. “I don’t think there was any one happenstance that made me mistrust marriage. My mother died when I was only three. My father did not raise me as a boy, as many sonless men do with their girlings, but he did breed independence in me.”

“’Tis unusual, you must admit that.”

She nodded, and breathed deeply of his skin. He had his own unique skin scent, like salt and leather, masculine, and not at all offensive. But she was being distracted from the subject at hand. “I know my father gives the impression of being a crude oaf betimes, but he really is a fair-thinking man. He taught me—and all his people, really—to use their gods-given talents. In my case, that talent lay in a needle and thread.” She shrugged.

“How does your plan for a child fit in with all this? Is it yet another notch in your goal to be independent?”

“Of course not. When he taught me independence, my father’s only miscalculation was in his yearning for a grandchild…something he did not realize till recently. I truly think he does not mind my being husbandless. He knows I could carry on for him when he is gone. I may not be a soldier, but there are soldiers aplenty who would work for me.”

“But what about you, Helga? You speak of a child for your father’s sake. What about you?”

“I want a child, too. I did not realize that afore. The maternal instinct came late to me, apparently.” That was all she would say for now…all she could say, as her throat closed with emotion.

“Is it fair to the child not to have a father? Why can’t you do both—marry and have a child?”

“Really, Vagn, how many men would allow their wives to have such independence? What man would allow me to continue operating my trading stall in Jorvik? What man would allow me to travel to the trading towns of the Norselands seeking new fabrics and dyes and threads? What man would allow me to be a woman, a mother, and a merchant, too?”

“You are looking at this from the wrong angle.”

“How so?”

“The right man would relish your independence. The right man might want to protect you from the dangers of solitary travel or trading in a risky manner, but he would find ways to cooperate with you in your endeavors. Compromise—that is the key to a good husband-and-wife relationship methinks, and thus far you have not considered budging even the slightest bit.”

“So it’s my fault?”

He laughed. “Just a little.”

“You’re saying I need the right man to husband me and father my child, and I need to compromise my too-high standards?”

He gave her a one-armed squeeze. “That about sums it up.”

Was Vagn saying he could be that man? Was that what this was all about? Oh, she had to admit the prospect filled her with foolish hopes. But she waited a good long time, and he said nothing more. He must be thinking of some other right man for her.

Ah, well, ’twas what she had expected. Time she changed the subject lest she burst into tears, as was her wont of late.

“Well, my wordy Viking, now that you have awakened me from my near-slumber, methinks ’tis time to try another of Rona’s tricks.”

“I thought you had tried all of Rona’s tricks already, numerous times,” he said with a chuckle.

“There is one more. ’Tis called the Butter Churn.”

He laughed outright.

“You see,” she said, swinging her legs so that she straddled his thighs and taking his hardening penis in her fingers, “the trick is in the grip, like the pole of a butter churn, two hands, up and down. The skin will move thus.”