Page 43 of A Tale of Two Vikings

“I remember the time you told me to lock my bedchamber door, take off all my garments and sit on the floor with my legs spread and a polished brass facing my woman-place,” Eve said. “Whoo! The things I learned about myself that day.”

Never, never, never had Helga looked at herself there. And she was not about to start now. Talk about wicked! Next they will call me Helga the Sinner.

“Caressing oneself in private is fine,” Rona went on, “but it is even better in front of your man. Men love to watch a naked woman bring herself to fulfillment.”

Fulfillment? Helga wasn’t even going to ask what Rona meant by that.

“And whilst we’re on the subject of self-fondling, let me suggest that you practice flexing your sex muscles.”

“That’s the trick I told you about earlier,” Sigrud said.

Helga’s eyes almost bugged out. “What in bloody hell are sex muscles?”

“Those are the muscles inside your female parts.” Rona pointed to the area between her legs. “Try putting a candle in there, just as you have a finger, and keep gripping and ungripping, over and over, the way you will eventually grip the man’s staff.”

“Firstly, I have never inserted a finger there.”

“Really? You do not know what you are missing, lass,” Bera said, with Sigrud, Eve and Rona nodding their agreement.

Helga’s eyes probably bugged out again. “Secondly, I am not putting a candle there.” She thought a second, then asked, “Do women really do that?”

“They do,” all four women chirped.

“Lit or unlit?” Helga asked.

Four jaws dropped open.

“Just teasing,” Helga said.

When Helga had first approached Rona for advice, she had never expected to receive such precise, intimate suggestions. She would die if Vagn heard about the candle bit, or self-caressing, or any of it, for that matter. “Need I remind all of you to keep this to yourselves?” she demanded, staring at each of them in turn.

They made motions across their closed lips, indicating their pledges of silence.

“The best part of sex is that period before actual tupping,” Rona continued.

There’s more? By thunder, I thought she was done. This is way too complicated for me. Who knew?

“I like to call it foresport…the period leading up to bedsport. ’Tis that time when the man and woman tease each other mercilessly…touching, kissing, nipping, tickling, whispering lewd words, licking. By the time the swiving actually begins, you should have your man as wild as a caged animal, hot with desire for you. And likewise, the woman wild for the man.”

“That’s enough for me!” Helga said, standing. “Methinks too much information could be a passion killer.”

“Tsk tsk tsk!” the four women said at her disdain for the sex principles.

“Oh, do not misread me, Rona. I appreciate all your advice, which I am sure is superior, but I need time to digest it all before implementing my plan.”

“One step at a time,” Rona agreed.

As she walked away, Helga tried to tell herself that it was all nonsense, but how could she explain away her aching breasts and the woman-dew gathering between her legs? Truth to tell, she’d become aroused just thinking about seducing Vagn in all the ways Rona had suggested. There must be some merit in what Rona and the other women counseled.

But did she have the nerve to try it herself?

“Come see my web,” said the spider to the fly…

By the time Vagn followed a dozen of Gorm’s men-at-arms into the great hall for dinner that night, he was physically and mentally exhausted. By design. If he was too tired to think, he could not dwell on his brother’s death and how little he had left in this world.

Gorm had called for him and several dozen of his bird of guardsmen to ride out with him that morning, circling the far reaches of his estate. They’d patrolled against intruders; after all, Gorm was a Viking residing in the midst of Saxon lands. But they’d also gathered up stray lambs, some of which had the dimwittedness to get themselves stuck in thorn bushes and mud holes. They’d even repaired a few fences that confined a small herd of beef cattle. And, in the end, the bowmen had shot three wild deer, which were now roasting on spits.

Once they’d arrived back at the Briarstead keep, filthy and weary beyond belief, they’d immediately filed into Gorm’s bathhouse, which had been built over a natural hot spring. Now, at least they were clean.