Edita giggled, delighting in the juicy piece of information. “Indeed. But this is something that could never happen to me, I don’t think. I cannot imagine any man, Norse or Saxon, would find it hard to rise to the occasion in my bed. Not that I’m suggesting your friend is not attractive enough to rouse a man’s desire, of course,” she added with a swift glance in Aife’s direction. The meaning of that involuntary glance was clear.
She didn’t thinkherattractive enough to rouse a man’s desire.
Aife’s stomach roiled. It seemed she had been wrong to hope the discussion would take a turn for the better if someone else joined them. Edita had told her many times she thought her too small and slender to please a man, and it seemed her opinion hadn’t changed. “Men like to have something to hold on to while they take their pleasure,” she’d added with a competent air, looking at her own ample bosom.
“Could you share with us the name of the disappointing lover?” Edita leaned conspiratorially toward Sigrid, who giggled.
“Why would you want to know that?” Aife could not help but ask, her irritation barely concealed. Surely her cousin didn’t have any intention of seducing anyone with her next wedding already planned, did she? But perhaps she did, and that wasprecisely why she had come here, far away from her village. “You don’t know anyone here, so the name will mean nothing to you.”
“I might not know anyone but you do. It wouldn’t do for you to try your luck with him, would it? Imagine that. You finally get a man into your bed, only to find out he cannot perform. It would be a pity, don’t you think?”
Sigrid hid her smile in her son’s hair. Clearly it amused her to imagine the scene. Could this get more humiliating?
“Well, I don’t need to know, thank you.”
The only man she was interested in was Sven, and she doubted that this was whom Sigrid was talking about. His ability to perform was all too well attested—she had heard about it from at least half a dozen women. They could not all be lying.
“Tell me it’s not that one at least,” Edita whispered nodding at Knut, who had started swinging the sword this way and that to test the blade’s balance. Aife had to admit he cut an impressive figure, even if, in her opinion, he wasn’t as attractive as Sven.
“No. It’s not him,” Sigrid whispered back, clearly admiring the way the man’s muscles flexed and twisted with each movement. “It’s Torsten, Wolf’s son. I might as well tell you, since you’re bound to hear it sooner or later. I already told Gudrun and we all know she cannot keep a secret.”
“Why on earth would you do something like that?” Aife erupted, goaded beyond endurance.
She had never liked the woman, but this seemed particularly petty, even for her. Because she was right. Before the summer was over, the baker’s wife would have made sure the whole village knew about Torsten’s failing. Why would anyone want to expose him to ridicule thus? Aife liked Torsten, the quietest of Wolf’s three sons. He was one of her best friends, and she hated him being the object of such discussions. Either he really was impotent, and it was certainly no cause for mockery, or he was not, and this rumor could only hurt his feelings. In any case, hedidn’t deserve having his personal life exposed by people who had no idea what they were talking about.
Neither woman answered, as at that precise moment, Knut threw the sword in the air and caught the blade between his two palms. Edita and Sigrid cheered and started clapping. He gave an extravagant bow in their direction, Arne soon imitating him.
“Well, seeing as you don’t need me, I’ll go draw more water,” Aife mumbled, already making her way to the well.
Let the two women gossip and gawp at half-naked men all they wanted, she would have no part in it. As she walked away, bucket in hand, doubts started to assault her. Was she jealous of her cousin’s generous physique? Was she so annoyed because deep down she knew she could not rouse a man’s desire? Her lack of womanly attributes might be the real reason she could not attract a man’s attention. For years she had wondered what it was about her that made men see her only as a friend. Perhaps she now had her answer. Edita had been cruel, but perhaps she had finally allowed her to understand where the problem lay.
But her figure would not change now. It was too late, she was a grown woman. So, was she destined to live in the village where she’d been born without ever being seen as the woman she had become? As a lover, and then a wife?
Aife had the honesty to acknowledge that she was not the most stunning of women. In her mind, she had always compared unfavorably to her younger sister, Hedda, who’d always been more feminine.
It was not just her lack of curves that made her blend into the background, though. Her blonde hair and blue eyes were attractive enough, she supposed. But she did not have any special talent or trait of personality that stood out and made her unique in any way. She was sensible, rather than imaginative and wild like her friend, Eyja. Unlike Bee, who never lost patience with anyone, Aife quickly got frustrated when peopledid things she didn’t approve of or understand. She was not shy but neither did she find it easy to talk to strangers and make them feel welcome like Rowena did. She liked to help but, unlike Cwenthryth, who had become the village midwife, she had not yet found the best way to do it.
So what was she to do?
How would she ever manage to catch the man of her dreams? There had to be a way of getting Sven’s attention and make him see she could be much more than a friend.
But what?
2
Would the nails be ready? Magnus had told him he needed a couple of days to finish them, and it had been three days. Perhaps it was worth asking. The blacksmith was a man of his word, and Torsten wanted to fix the fence around the sheep enclosure as soon as possible. The animals had not escaped yet, but it was only a matter of time before one found a way out of the faulty construction and the whole herd scattered in the fields beyond. Maybe all hundred nails would not be ready yet but he could at least start with the ones that were.
He made his way to the smithy as soon as he had broken his fast.
A woman was at the back of the forge, talking to someone he couldn’t see. She had her back turned to him and her hair was covered by a hood, but he recognized her voice and her petite frame. It was Aife, his friend Moon’s sister. He would have waved to her, but she was too absorbed in her conversation to notice him. It didn’t matter, he could say hello later. Besides, judging from the lack of noise coming from the forge, it wasa good moment to see Magnus, who would not be hammering away while they talked. He extended his hand to the door, ready to push it open.
Just then, Aife laughed.
The pearly, husky, provocative sound shot straight to Torsten’s cock. That laugh… He would have recognized it anywhere. It was the one he’d heard the other morning, when he’d stroked himself to the best release of his life, the laugh he had obsessed about for days.
How had he not recognized it at the time?
Because he’d never imagined that Aife could ever set his loins on fire, that was why. She was his best friend’s little sister, someone he’d known from birth, not some sultry temptress. He should know, he’d spent enough time with her without ever once becoming aroused. She was sweet, not seductive, a friend, not a potential conquest. Except that now he knew she hid a wicked side to her. No woman could laugh thus and be only sweet innocence. She might not know it herself, but Aife had the means of setting men’s loins on fire.
