‘Aye. I don’t tell you this to tarnish him in your eyes. Many men would have done the same and without the coin at that. I only tell you so that you know there is no future with him...if that’s the way your thoughts are going.’
‘I know there is no future with him.’ An ache welled inside her as she admitted it.
‘Good. I do not want to see you hurt, Ellan.’
Somehow it was already too late for that. She wanted to believe that Henrik’s intentions were mean-spirited, that he said these things to discredit a potential rival. Except there was something about Henrik that made her think he was being earnest and simply trying to help her. He seemed honest and his eyes, at least, were not able to lie.
‘Why do you suppose he’s that way with women? Why don’t you think he’ll ever settle down?’ Why wouldn’t he choose me?
Now that the tension had passed, Henrik eased back a bit, though he still kept his voice low when he answered, ‘Hard to say. I’ve heard that he had a wife once. Some say he left her, though I don’t credit that rumour too much. He is a man of honour once he gives his word.’
Except when it came to leaving behind a woman with child, she silently added.
Henrik continued. ‘Others say that she died. Perhaps, now that he’s free, he doesn’t want to bind himself to any woman again.’
And perhaps there was no chance of ever making Aevir see that he needed her in his life. Perhaps she wasn’t even certain any more that she wanted to be there. Perhaps Henrik was her only choice.
‘Thank you, Henrik. Truly.’ Needing to be alone, she gripped his arm and started walking towards the door.
‘You’ll think about my offer?’ He gave her the same hopeful smile from earlier.
‘Aye. I will think very hard and tell you my answer soon.’
His smile broadened and he touched her cheek again. She allowed her eyes to drift closed and tried to will herself to feel a tiny portion of the awareness that Aevir’s touch sent through her. There was nothing.
‘I promise to do my best to make you happy,’ he said.
‘I know that you will.’
She forced a smile and pushed him out the door as fast as she could. She believed that he would do everything he could to make her happy. Her hesitation was that she might make him miserable.
* * *
The farmhouse’s door closed and Aevir shut his eyes so that Ellan would think he was asleep if she came over to check on him. She probably wouldn’t believe the ruse. His heart was pounding so hard it was threatening to break out of his chest and he had to work very hard to slow his breathing so it wouldn’t give him away. There was no way she would think him asleep if she saw him now.
It was nearly impossible to pretend sleep with all the emotions flooding through him at the moment. Anger and frustration were at the forefront of the deluge. Somewhere in the back of his mind were the thoughts that Henrik had overstepped by telling Ellan about the Saxon girl and about Sefa. But those weren’t the thoughts that had driven his anger to its current state of frenzy. Nay, the blinding fury pouring through his veins was completely driven by the fact that Henrik had offered for Ellan.
Ellan belonged to him.
The notion had no basis in reality. She had asked him to marry her and he’d refused her. She was free to wed any man she chose.
But now...here...presented with the reality of that... He could not—would not—stand for it.
Chapter Nine
Ellan rubbed her neck as she came awake for what had to be the hundredth time since lying down on her mat to sleep. The hearth glowed orange in the grey, early morning light. The fire had died down to embers, but there was enough light to see the tendrils of her breath in the cold air. Though her eyes were grainy and tired, her mind twisted and turned with thoughts of Henrik and his offer, along with the things she had learned about Aevir. There would be no going back to sleep.
She hadn’t had an opportunity to confront Aevir with her newfound knowledge. It wasn’t any of her business, but mostly it was her own cowardice that kept her from him. If she didn’t hear an affirmation from him, then she could go on hoping Henrik’s account wasn’t true. A quick peek around the curtain after Henrik had left the night before had assured her that her charge slept and she’d been relieved to see that.
The mat rustled and a piece of straw stuck into her hip as she rolled to her back and pulled the luxurious fur up around her neck, thankful for Lady Gwendolyn’s generosity. A strange and bizarre thought struck her. Except for her scant clothing and the pair of shoes she wore, she owned nothing.
Father had always been frugal to the point of miserly. Every other possession she shared with Elswyth. It had always been that way. Combs, the precious few hair frivolities they had owned over the years, headrails—all of it had been shared. Perhaps that was why she had felt out of sorts, and honestly a little desperate, after Elswyth’s marriage. She had no home, no place to feel wanted. Her sister had always been that home for her, but now Elswyth had a husband and would soon likely have her own family.
Alvey was the only place Ellan had ever felt needed and valued. Was it possible that she was so desperate to have a home that she was forcing an attachment to Aevir that wasn’t really there? There was no denying their physical attraction. That had been present from the very first when she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him in the great hall. But was it more likely that she was confusing her sinful lust with something more profound? Something more real?
Was she that much of her mother’s daughter?
As difficult as it was to believe that she might have duped herself, in a strange way it cleared her head. It was like a storm had passed and the sky was new and fresh again. The tension drained from her temples and her neckache eased. For the first time since she’d heard Henrik’s disturbing tale from the night before, she was able to draw an easy breath.
Perhaps she wasn’t in love with Aevir after all. She was simply doing her best to find a place to hold on to in her world. Relief made her feel lighter than she had in days, weeks. If she didn’t love him, everything would be easier. She could ponder Henrik’s proposal with rational thought and decide how to proceed.
A very masculine murmur came from the mat on the other side of the hearth. It was followed by her sister’s softer voice and a giggle. A giggle from her stoic sister who had never giggled in her life. Ellan rolled her eyes at their obvious happiness. It wasn’t that she begrudged them that. It was that she envied it, which honestly wasn’t any better. Elswyth had returned the previous evening and announced that Rolfe would have to leave in the morning for his turn scouring the countryside for Scots. It hadn’t been a surprise, but her sister’s concern had been clear to see. They should have privacy before he left.
As silently as she could to avoid any awkwardness, she rose and straightened her clothing and hair. Pushing her feet into her shoes, she grabbed her fur and headed for the hall to have her morning meal. A Dane she recognised but didn’t know gave her a nod as she exited the house. It was still very early and Henrik had had a late night standing guard, so she hoped she didn’t run into him. She didn’t want to run into Lord Vidar—she was still peeved at him for even hinting that he might make her follow through with the marriage her father had arranged—but it couldn’t be helped. Anything was better than listening to Elswyth and Rolfe carry on all morning.
To her surprise, many men were already up and about as they prepared to leave with Rolfe’s excursion. She was accustomed to the early morning workings of her tiny village. Boys and girls would gather milk, babies would cry, demanding their morning meal, and the air would fill with the smell of smoke as fires in hearths were stoked to life. This morning there was only the clang of shields and armour as the warriors equipped themselves to go. The musty scent of wet loam disturbed by boots and horseflesh filled the crisp air. After the relative safety of Alvey’s walls, the c
ommotion set against the backdrop of open wilderness made her palms moist and her steps quicken towards the hall. They really were at war.
Her first thought was to thank God Aevir wasn’t joining the fray. Her feet slid over a patch of wet snow as she came to a stop. Her next thought was to wonder if lust would make her feel such relief. The feeling of relief that swept over her and made her legs tremble was at odds with the rational part of her brain that insisted she didn’t love him. Infatuation and lust weren’t love. So why did she feel so thankful that he was safely ensconced inside her home? Why was the need to rush back to him so nearly overpowering?
Shaking her head, she forced one foot in front of the other until she was inside the hall and away from Aevir. Warriors rushed past her, having just finished their meal, which forced her to make her way along the perimeter of the room. At the hearth, she filled a bowl with mush and took a place at a far table, wanting to avoid Lord Vidar and the elders. It would suit her to never talk to Desmond again. As she ate, she pondered her infatuation for Aevir, trying to work out if the feeling would come with an urge to protect him.
‘Your grumpy Dane calls for you.’
She glanced up to see Elswyth approaching her. A smile lit her sister’s face. It didn’t take much thought to know that she and her husband had used their alone time well. The hall was nearly empty now with only a few women cleaning up the carnage left from the morning meal. How long had she been daydreaming into her pottage?
‘He’s grumpy? Is he in pain?’
Elswyth laughed and shook her head. ‘Perhaps, but I do not think that’s the source of his irritability. He seemed angry.’
The food in her belly seemed to swirl and harden. She didn’t want to face him until she had a handle on her feelings, but those feelings were so unwieldy it would take days to sort them out. With a sigh, she forced her cowardice aside and got to her feet.
* * *
Aevir did not glance at her when she brought in the tray of implements needed to change his bandage. His colour was better today, flushing his face with health which had returned his skin to its usual golden colour. His hair hung down around his face, emphasising the strong blades of his cheekbones and his straight nose. She paused when her heart stuttered in her chest as it always did when she first set eyes on him after an absence. It was a timely reminder that lust more than genuine affection likely fuelled her feelings for him.
Placing the tray down on the narrow strip of bed that he wasn’t filling up with his large body, she diligently attempted to not look at the broad expanse of naked and very powerful chest that was visible to her. She also tried not to dwell on the fact that he was wearing nothing beneath the blanket. She thought she was managing fine until she glanced at his face.
His ice-blue eyes held hers the moment she looked his way. Her palms became sweaty, so she wiped them discreetly on her skirt.
‘H-how are you feeling?’ She managed to make her voice strong after the initial wobble and reached for the empty bowl on his lap. Elswyth must have seen to his porridge before she left. ‘Would you like more food?’
He grabbed the bowl before she could and placed it on the bedside table, leaving her awkwardly reaching for his groin. Eyes widening in alarm, she moved her hand back to the safer territory of the tray.
‘Nay.’
‘Is everything all right? You seem upset.’ Had he heard Henrik’s proposal last night? Was that the cause of his obvious ire?
The thick column of his neck barely moved as he swallowed. ‘I’m hardly upset.’
She raised a brow at that and walked around to the other side of the small bed. He practically bristled every time he looked at her. In one deft motion, she flipped the blanket up to reveal his wounded thigh before picking up the knife from the tray. He stiffened and gripped the blanket to keep it down over his groin.
‘Careful.’ His voice was rough and grumpy.
She couldn’t stop her lips from twitching into a smile. It was petty of her to torment him when he was injured and at her mercy, but she found it was quite enjoyable. ‘It doesn’t bother me in the least that you’re unclothed. I’ve hardly noticed.’
His brow creased and he nodded towards the bandage as she used the kitchen knife to cut the linen off his thigh. ‘I meant with that.’
‘I’ve changed your bandage twice a day and haven’t cut you once. Have faith.’
His dubious gaze moved over her face before going back to his leg as the wound was revealed. The gouge was roughly the length of her two forefingers laid end to end and had to have been very wide when it had happened because it turned at an odd angle that reminded her of a sickle. Someone had stitched it for him the first day and they had held quite well. It had become inflamed, which was the source of the fever, but it seemed to be improving. There were no more yellow secretion, and, though the flesh was pink, it didn’t look as angry as it had the first day she’d seen it.
‘It’s looking much better.’
‘That’s better?’ His voice was raised slightly in alarm.
‘Aye.’ She kept her tone measured and gave him a smile that she hoped was reassuring rather than provocative. ‘I forgot you haven’t seen it yet. It was swollen twice as large as it is now when I first saw it. Do you see this incision here?’ She pointed towards the smaller cut to the side of the original wound that was scabbed over. ‘Lord Vidar ordered the puss drained just after I brought you here. It helped with the swelling and I think helped to break your fever. You might just owe him your life. You’ve started to mend. Your fever broke and the colour of your leg is returning to normal.’
When he didn’t say anything, she looked from the wound to find him watching her again.
‘I have the Jarl to thank or you?’ His voice was low and smooth.
The strength of his gaze and the deliberate way he spoke made her hands quiver. Her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth so that she had to swallow before she could answer him. ‘Perhaps both.’
The straw creaked when he leaned back against the wall. His leg relaxed as he allowed her to tend to him. The skin of his thighs was nearly as gold as that of his chest. She had assumed that the colouring on his torso was due to the sun, but that wouldn’t explain why his legs, which would be shielded by trousers, were dark, too. Would the colouring have come from his mother?
Despite the fact that she had changed his poultice and bandage many times, she could still hardly believe how large and solid his thigh was. She reminded herself that aside from the few glances she had seen from sharing close quarters with her brother, Galan, she hadn’t seen a naked male leg before. But still. She couldn’t imagine that this size and girth was typical of most males. Certainly in her time on the ship with Henrik sitting beside her, she would have noticed if his thigh was like that of a respectable tree trunk. Rolfe might come close—he was brawny and wide.
As she worked, urging Aevir to slide his foot up the bed to elevate his knee so that she could wrap fresh linen around the wound, the blanket fell further up his leg to collapse in a heap in his lap. One strong hand held it loosely in place while the other had moved off to play with a bit of string that had begun to unravel from the blanket. The coarse thread rolled over and over again between his thumb and forefinger, forward towards his thumbnail and then back towards the crease of his first knuckle.
A tiny tunnel in the fabric had formed at the place where his thigh met his groin. If she concentrated hard enough on that spot, she could just make out the shadow of dark blond curls. She tried not to stare, giving all of her attention to tugging tight on the dressing and securing it, but her eyes had a mind of their own. They would sometimes go back of their own accord, hoping to see more. Was that male part of him just as brawny and strong as his thigh? Would there be any sort of size correlation? The thought made her face flame, but once the question had been planted in her brain, she couldn’t seem to stop wondering.
&n
bsp; When she was finished, she went to the hearth to retrieve a pot of water she had left warming there. Returning with it, she said, ‘Lord Vidar has indicated to the man guarding the door that he wants to come and see you later. You should be clean for his visit. You smell of sweat and poultice.’
His snort of laughter was the only indication that his earlier anger was abating. ‘You’re a woman after my heart with your fine words.’
‘I’m a woman who knows the value of a bath.’
To her horror, his eyes darkened. ‘Aye, I know that about you.’
‘You saw me!’ She hadn’t been certain that day if he had seen her or not. She sat transfixed, uncertain if she should reprimand him or simply leave. In the end, she made to rise, but his hand captured hers and held it.
‘Not very much of you.’ His eyes moved down to her breasts in a movement that seemed involuntary. He returned his gaze to hers so fast that she would have thought she had imagined it if her body hadn’t come to life. Blood rushed through her limbs and her nipples seemed to have tightened. Aghast at her own response, she went to leave again, but he held her tight.
‘Let me go.’ She jerked her hand and to her surprise he released her straight away.
Holding both hands up as if offering peace, he said, ‘I won’t keep you here, but I hoped to talk to you about what Henrik told you last night.’
She had been meaning to leave, but those words stopped her cold. Gone were thoughts of him seeing her at her bath, replaced by those of the Saxon woman he had betrayed. Uncertain, she wavered.
‘Come. Sit back down and I’ll tell you. I promise it’s not what you think.’
The promise of his redemption made her sink back to her place beside him on the bed. The small depression she created in the straw-filled mat caused his thigh to sink against her, bringing them flush together. She stared at him, hoping that his words would vindicate him and prove her initial instincts about him right.
Longing for Her Forbidden Viking Page 9
