Her grandmother's sharp elbow pushed into her ribs. "Sven Ericksson keeps looking at you," she whispered. "I hope he's not thinking of rejecting you on his brother's behalf."

"Why would he do that?" Freya's sister Saila demanded.

"She may not be to his brother's taste."

Well, she knew she was his taste, Freya mused, biting her lip and hastily thrusting that wicked thought aside. What good would it do her to dwell on that?

"Don't scowl, girl. He might think you are ill-tempered. What's come over you to frown so? It's not like you, Freya."

"I don't care what he thinks of me. I'm marrying his brother. Not him. Who cares about him? He has sweaty hands and big feet." And a long tongue. She was annoyed with herself whenever she thought of that first glance through the trees and how his eyes had trapped her instantly, drawing her in, making her believe she might have created him with her own imagination, because there was a strong connection and a flare of fire. It had made her think of her grandfather's funeral, when they set him on a raft, pushed him out into the sea and fired a flaming arrow after him, so that he went to the gods in a blaze of glory, his spirit rising with the smoke. To young Freya, toddling at the water's edge, the sudden burst of fire and sparks upon the water had seemed like magic.

"Besides, the agreement is done, grandmother," Saila was saying. "The men have agreed upon all the terms. The Erickssons cannot back out of it now."

It was true. Freya would be a bride. A married woman at last and, hopefully, a mother one day soon. Nobody could back out of this now unless they shed blood to do so.

She should be very happy that at last she would have a husband.

She should be.

Her grandmother was looking at her oddly. "You are very tense, Freya."

"It's just the monthly ague," she replied bitterly. "You know how the curse of womanhood always troubles me."

"Aye." The old lady took a small leather purse from her belt and sprinkled some powder from it into her youngest granddaughter's cup. "This will help those womanly pains and put a smile back on your face. We can't have you being grim and surly to the young man who has come for you."

"I don't care."

"Nonsense. Of course you care." For good measure her grandmother added an extra sprinkle and stirred the wine with her finger. "You're going to a virile husband at last, girl. I know how you've longed for it. Now cheer up. One day soon you'll know the good that can come from these monthly pains, when you're body is able to perform as it was meant to."

Sven Ericksson now looked over at Anis again, and the slut returned his glance across the fire with a coy smile while licking grease from her fingers. The woman's reply to his glance was a clear message. One that did not require words.

But why was she thinking of Anis as a slut, when the woman only did what she wished she could do? Freya shook her head, angry with herself. With everyone and everything. Now she knew it really must be her monthly flux on its way. That was the only time she felt so disagreeable. Usually she was sweet-tempered and nothing much bothered her.

She picked up her cup and drained it.

Next time she looked, Anis was still giving Sven an encouraging smile.

Well, some women were content with a moment of pleasure, Freya thought with a sniff. Anis fucked any man that wanted her and she wouldn't care that Sven Ericksson was here for only one evening. She would enjoy herself without the slightest thought, led entirely by her bodily needs and satisfied that the man did the same— that he wanted her only for the pleasure of a moment.

But Freya was not that easily appeased.

She wanted a lot from a man. The demands had grown within her these last few hours. As a woman who had now experienced a shivering, squealing orgasm, she felt better qualified to know what she wanted, and more confident about asking for it.

Some women — like Anis—accepted what little bit they were offered. Well, Freya decided she would take what she wanted.

And she wanted that rough-handed pig, Sven Ericksson. She knew with a sharp sudden moment of clarity that almost took her breath away. Was it possible to be so sure, so quickly?

Freya didn't care about possible. She knew about want and yearning. She knew about waiting.

And she didn't care to wait any longer.