A restless sleep

Isa awoke from a disconcerting dream. Light chills had gooseflesh up and down her arms despite being in the warmth of her love’s arms. Eyes darting around with urgency, she counted all the crew she could see. Everyone seemed to be in place, including Father whose slight tilt of his head asked her if she was alright. A small, fake smile fluttered across her lips and her father turned back to guiding the ship through the seemingly placid river.

Her right hand instinctively wormed its way up the opposing sleeve, tugging on the rosary wrapped around her left wrist. Once the beaded string had fallen, the fingers on her left hand started to habitually rub the small coral and amber balls adorning the fine silken thread. It's silver cross had warmed from her body heat. A few steady breaths later, her heartbeat fell back to a more reasonable level.

Stormy blue-grey eyes met the smattering of stars across the night sky. Isa knew without a doubt that her mother was looking down at her right now, wishing her daughter peace and a gentle descent back to sleep. Mother had died a year before Magnus and his family moved to the village. The poor woman had never been used to the northern winters, despite having some northern blood running in her veins. Isa tried to summon her mother’s face in her mind’s eye, but all that came were vague shapes of warmth and love. Anguish and guilt pooled in her heart as it always did when she attempted.

Amaltheia Ákidottir was the illegitimate result of a fate-crossed love affair between a minor Byzantine noblewoman and a Varangian. Her father was banished immediately upon discovery of the now swollen romance while her mother died shortly after birthing Amaltheia. She was sent to a convent where she grew up in the ways of Christos, leading her life as a devout and holy sister until Father came across her one day. Neither parent would tell Isa exactly what happened, but Mother willingly eloped with Father the day his oath had been fulfilled to the Emperor. Memories and the rosary are all the things Isa had left of her mother.

Centering herself, Isa summoned happier thoughts like that of Constantinople where hopefully more than one dream of hers would come to fruition. Marriage to Magnus was at the forefront of those fantasies clamouring for attention, but another part of her wanted to yet again go through how she would strive for independence despite being a married woman. Illusionary coins, accounts, and trade goods flitted past her sight.

Envisioning herself manning not a stall in the market but owning a whole trading house on the docks dedicated to the importation of her people’s goods. Benefiting not just herself, but all Norse who came through to experience but a minuscule fraction of the wealth the Queen of Cities had to offer. Almshouses and soup kitchens would be sponsored; children would not know hunger or live in the streets if she could stop it.

The thought of children made her reflect even more inwardly, leaning against her beloved as he shifted, apparently having sensed the call of consummation nearby. Isa wanted many pattering feet running throughout the house, all the little boys and girls properly educated and given an equal chance at life. Isa had no regrets about the way she was raised, she was mightily proud of Father for trying his best to pick up the pieces after Mother had been called home by God. She just hoped and prayed that she could see the last of her brood through their marriage ceremonies before she left if called.

While Magnus supported her, he had mentioned frequently that he would prefer her to focus on the act of growing and raising their family first. 'Why not do both?' She mused, lightly pinching the boy beneath her. He grunted in response, his arms tightening their hold over her. Tilting her head back, she kissed his chin. Small, light giggles escaped her when his head tottered forward and trapped her even more.

Isa could not wait much longer; the primal and sinful urges burned her loins in the most shameful of ways. The hot breath tickling her neck, the deep masculine smell of her love, the feel of his dormant yet formidable malehood pressing up against her like the snake from the Garden of Eden to tempt her into one small, harmless thrust.

An internal battle was fought, all the while her right hand slowly slinked past her cloak and started pulling her dress up one fistful at a time. Tuning out the moral quandaries of self-gratification, her salacious pathos triumphed over her chaste ethos. The shy, delicate touches of fingertips on maidenly petals stole a sigh from her. Isa bit her bottom lip to try and silence any further noises as her fingers grew bolder, more confident. Soon, they dipped into her folds, feeling the growing wetness as her pulse quickened at such brash and risky behavior.

Soft kisses peppered Magnus’ face as she took slow, measured breathes of scented air. Her toes started to curl in pleasure, especially when she accidentally touched her maidenhead full on. Frozen in fear, not wanting to accidently break it and disappoint her beloved, Isa could not help but imagine her lover mounting her and looking her in the eyes as he pushed forward just enough to claim her forever.

Violent shudders wracked her body, thankful that Magnus’ grip only seemed to tighten in response to the squirming. Her bottom lip cried out in pain, but she ignored it as her fingers were massaged by another pair of needy lips that were craving the man she was atop of. Maybe she could? 'Is it really that important?' Her blissful thoughts teased her. 'I could just slide down his breeches just enough to grasp at his huge cock and-'

The sudden tilt of the ship sent both of them falling sideways. She groaned as Magnus’ weight landed fully on her. His confused grunt only added to the chaos as more calls of surprise and indignation filled the air. Fingernails scratching into the wooden boards, Isa clawed her way free as Magnus tried to untangle himself from the bundle of rope that slid along with them.

Her eyes turned towards the stern, wondering if Father had seen some rock or sand bar and narrowly avoided it.