‘What did you say to him?’ Dagmar murmured while the priest’s back was turned.
‘The truth. We’re refugees from a great battle and are travelling to your relations on the west coast.’
She hid a smile. ‘A fair approximation.’
‘It served its purpose. He’ll provide us with a hot meal of pottage. If our luck holds, he will insist we stay the night.’
‘And you trust this priest not to betray us?’
‘Priests care about people. They assist those in need.’
He went over to the priest and spoke to him in a low tone. She caught the general drift that she was shy and had seen things that no woman should. The priest’s face became shadowed with concern.
‘You will be safe from now on, my dear daughter,’ he said, holding out his hands. ‘I will pray you discover perfect peace in your new home.’
Dagmar found that she wanted to believe him, but remembered just in time to swallow the words. Instead she gave a meaningful glance to Aedan.
‘My wife thanks you.’
‘Hopefully she will rediscover her tongue. She will see that she has nothing to fear here.’ The priest made the sign of the cross in the air. ‘May the love which passes all understanding heal you, my daughter.’
* * *
The priest’s house was spartanly furnished with a simple wooden table and a few benches, but it exuded warmth. A pot of stew stood bubbling on the hearth. Two dogs looked up from their place at the fire, but neither bothered with Mor who sniffed about, turned around three times and then lay down next to them.
‘You see,’ the priest said, beaming from ear to ear. ‘We are all at peace here.’
‘We’re grateful for the hospitality,’ Aedan said, sitting down. ‘You will allow us to pay for the meal.’
The priest shook his head. ‘You’ve suffered greatly. Now shall we bow our heads and give thanks for your deliverance?’
Dagmar kept her eyes on Aedan and followed his movements. This priest was certainly different from others she had encountered at Constantine’s court or indeed her own priests. There was a simple goodness about him.
‘Drink deep from the mead.’ The priest produced two tankards. ‘My brothers at the abbey make it. They say that King Constantine enjoyed it when he stopped once on his way to fight with the evil Northmen. It has many curative properties, or so they say.’
‘Have you heard that the King fled from the battle? Thorsten and his men now control the north,’ Aedan said.
‘That is very bad,’ the priest said. ‘I must trust in God’s plan. He won’t allow the Heathen Horde to keep hold of this blessed country for long.’
Dagmar tentatively tried a sample. The taste of fizzy honey filled her mouth as she listened to Aedan and the priest talk about the harvest and various political developments. She noticed how the firelight played over Aedan’s features, highlighting the planes of his cheeks and the way his upper lip curved.
When she discovered her tankard was empty, Aedan started to pass her his, but the priest immediately poured more.
‘It will do your lady good to drink the mead after what she has seen. Sleep will come easier.’
‘Thank you,’ Dagmar said before she thought.
‘It helps you recover your tongue.’ The priest clapped his hands in delight. ‘Its curative effects are truly marvellous.’
‘I’m grateful to you.’ Aedan gave her a warning look.
Dagmar tightened her hands about the tankard and resolved to be silent. The last thing she wanted to do was to give this kind man a fright. Or to expose Aedan’s skating over of the truth.
It felt good to just sit and allow the conversation to flow over her, instead of worrying about what battle she should be fighting next, or how she could influence the outcome.
She didn’t dare ask how many more days she had until they reached her father’s. There was every likelihood her father would force her to marry someone horrible, despite her protestations to Aedan. She had no doubt the joining would be rough. She’d seen enough women in tears after their first time. She took another drink of the mead.
The firelight turned Aedan’s hair to a deep red and highlighted the breadth of his shoulders. A shiver ran through her as she remembered this morning in the hut before the men had arrived. At the time she’d been glad of the intervention and the humiliation she’d been saved from, but what if she’d been wrong? What if he had been interested in her as a woman, instead of just what she could bring? His eyes had flared when he saw her in the gown...
She tried to concentrate on the flames, but they seemed to depict men and women coupling. She rubbed her eyes, trying to banish the image.
‘I’ve bored your wife with all this talk of politics and war,’ the priest said, moving away from the table. ‘When will I remember that women prefer talk of gowns, flowers and babies? Forgive me, my dear. No more talk of bloodshed.’
‘My wife has had a long day.’
Dagmar gestured with her hands that she wanted to stay and wasn’t tired.
‘It is why your eyes were half-shut,’ Aedan said with a small smile. ‘We’ve another long journey tomorrow. Come. We’ll be on our way. I’m sure we can find a place to rest our heads. Perhaps the storm will pass over us without breaking.’
He held out his hand. She curled her fingers about his and again that jolt of awareness which turned her insides to liquid fire coursed through her.
From the brief flaring of his eyes, she wondered if he felt it as well. How could he? She knew what men thought of her. She had heard them joking. She knew she was not her mother, who only had to smile for men to go weak at the knees.
‘You must stay. The roads will be full of rogues and thieves.’
‘May we sleep in front of the fire?’
‘Somewhere far more comfortable. Allow me to show you where you may sleep. You were truly meant to stop here tonight.’ The priest led the way to a small alcove at the back of the church. ‘It is where my helper normally resides with his wife, but they are away visiting her mother as her sister has just had a new baby. Your dog may stay with you or sleep next to mine.’
‘It will be perfect,’ Aedan said.
She smiled. ‘Yes, it will be.’
‘May God’s blessing be on you both.’ The priest left a small tallow candle and went off to his own room.
* * *
‘Shall I stay?’ Aedan asked, watching Dagmar as she stood in the middle of the alcove, a far better place than he had originally anticipated, a place which seemed designed for sleep or bed sport... Aedan dragged his mind away from the mound of covered dry straw. ‘Or shall I sleep by the fire with Mor?’
Dagmar gave him one of her sideways looks, a look that made her eyes appear bigger than ever. ‘The priest will discover you. And before you say you’ll sleep outside, I can hear the rain drumming down on the roof.’
‘The church, then.’
‘And if the priest comes in for one of his masses, how will you explain that we are sleeping apart? We are supposed to be married.’
Aedan gritted his teeth. Nothing had happened between them. Nothing would happen. He’d return her to her father and then he and his people would be free to go. She would go to her new life and he would return to his old one. Having proved his worth, he would seriously see about the business of marrying the correct woman for Kintra. Maybe not Mhairi, but a woman who could help run Kintra. Each time he repeated the words in his mind, they appeared more unattractive. If he wasn’t careful, they would soon become meaningless compared to the temptation Dagmar presented.
He would simply have to spend tonight awake. When he found a lake in the morning, he’d take a cold plunge. That, exercise and making sure Dagmar changed back into her ordinary clothes would keep his now-rampant desire for her in check.
‘The offer is there,’ he said
, inclining his head. ‘I wanted you to know.’
His voice sounded hoarse and unfamiliar to his ears. He knew he should turn around and walk out no matter what she said, but his legs refused to move.
‘I will be going then. The porch will be comfortable.’
‘Stay. Please. I... I fear my bad dream will return. The berserker comes when I’m troubled.’
‘You are no longer a little girl, but a capable woman.’
‘If I don’t sleep tonight, our progress will be slower tomorrow. We need to make Colbhasa by All Hallows.’
She made a show of plumping up the straw before spreading out his cloak. Her back was to him and in that dress, the gentle curve of her backside was clearly visible. His suggestion she change out of her trousers had been short-sighted.
Aedan sighed. He should have foreseen this eventuality. Tomorrow morning, however, he was not going to wake up with her in his arms. ‘I should attend to Mor.’
‘Mor will be asleep beside the hearth.’
‘Even so...’
Dagmar turned and, before he had a chance to react, she brushed her lips against his. ‘For luck. To keep the nightmares at bay as my mother used to say.’
Her lips were softer than a butterfly’s wing, tentatively moving against his. There was something artless to her kiss, but deeply appealing. He tried to tell himself that she had kissed a hundred men and knew precisely what she was doing, that it was a cynical ploy, but his body was having none of it.
The smouldering fire deep within him which had been ignited earlier burst into flames. He lowered his head and pressed his body closer. She gave a small groan and clung to his neck. Her slender curves fitted easily into his body as if she had been made for him. The thought acted like ice water and brought him back from the brink.
With a great effort, he put her away from him. She stood slim and sure in the flickering candlelight.
‘Say something.’ Her voice wobbled.
‘It is the mead acting. You will have a bad head in the morning.’
‘Is it?’ She stepped back into his arms and pressed her breasts against his chest. ‘How much did I have?’
‘More than enough.’
She looped her arm about his neck. Her face was very close to his. It took all his willpower not to crush her to him. ‘I grew up with warriors. I know how to hold my alcohol.’
He gently put her from him again. ‘You are playing with fire and fire burns.’
Her mouth remained a breath away from his. The woman could tempt a saint. Her lips turned up into a sensual smile. ‘Am I? I thought I was keeping the nightmares away.’
‘There are other ways.’
‘Are there?’ Her eyes searched his. ‘Do they help you?’
He thought of the nightmares which had plagued his existence—the parade of warriors he’d killed in battle and, worse, the horror of watching his men drown, powerless to stop it and all the while knowing if he had believed his sister-in-law after the boating accident which killed her children, rather than his brother’s self-serving lies, those men would still be alive. ‘No, they don’t.’
‘But I’ve discovered the perfect cure.’
Aedan groaned and dipped his head. Her lips parted under his and he tasted the honey scent of the mead and something else that sent his senses reeling, something that was pure Dagmar. He knew he wanted more, much more, and that his duty to his people has ceased to have any meaning.
Chapter Six
A heady triumph filled Dagmar, competing with the glow from the mead. She was kissing a man and he was kissing her back for no other reason than he wanted to, not because he had been dared to do it by his companions.
Aedan was kissing her thoroughly and completely.
Her blood raced through her body in a way it had rarely done before. It was as though it was on fire and singing, as though she had won a great battle, as though she was actually beautiful.
Dagmar gave in to the pressure from Aedan’s lips and opened her mouth. The world spun. Her tongue touched his. The jolt made her knees tremble. She put her palms on his chest, clung on and opened her mouth further.
Their tongues touched, tangled and intertwined, warring with each other and he pulled her against the hard planes of his body as he moved his mouth along the sensitive line of her jaw until he reached her earlobe where he gently tugged.
She held on to his neck because otherwise she’d fall. She laid her head against his chest. ‘Is that your heart thundering or mine?’
‘Both.’
‘Good,’ she said and drew a shuddering breath. ‘It is very good.’
He moved his mouth lower. She arched her neck and allow him access to her throat. His mouth travelled further and at her neckline he halted. Her breasts felt heavy and tight, constricted against the material.
‘Help me get this off,’ Dagmar said struggling with her gown. She’d gone about it wrong and the hole under the sleeve from earlier had greatly increased. ‘Oh, Freyja, what have I done?’
The words seemed to shock Aedan back to his senses. He caught her hands. ‘I should go. Or otherwise in the morning, you’ll blame me.’
She stilled. Go? What was he talking about? She wanted to explore these feelings further, see if she could finally begin to understand the soft whispering in the dark after feasts, or why her mother had become obsessed with Olafr. Until this moment, she’d been at a loss to understand why women might welcome the act, as it seemed like a lot of grunting and sweating for little reward. Except no one had told her about how Aedan’s mouth could feel as it moved against hers.
‘For tearing the gown?’ she asked, pretending she had no idea what he was speaking about. ‘Unlikely. It is just that you are likely to make me wear it again and the priest might object to it being torn. They can be quite peculiar about such things.’
He put her further away from him and the cold air rushed around her.
‘You appear to know a great deal about priests.’
‘Constantine’s court. One burst in on Constantine the first time I was at his council and began to berate him on the inappropriateness of his wife’s clothing.’ She looped her hands about his neck and nestled herself against his body. ‘My gown is a problem for the future. I won’t shame you.’
‘I wasn’t speaking about your clothes,’ he growled against her ear. ‘I was speaking about what we are about to do, what I hope we will do, but you need a choice. I’m offering one while I still can. You’re drunk, Dagmar.’
* * *
‘It takes far more than a tankard or two of mead to get me drunk.’
She reached up a hand and stroked his cheek. Aedan seemed uncertain that she would know about coupling, about where this would lead. She understood the mechanics of coupling. She had seen the furtive fumbling after feasts and had heard men boasting about their prowess. She simply had never wanted to experience it for herself. Now she did. She wanted to dream that she was his woman for one night. And she hadn’t lied—he did keep the nightmares at bay.
She put her mouth next to his, making one final attempt. ‘Stay. We’ve already agreed. You stay. You must think me a green girl, not a warrior who has served for five summers. I take full responsibility for my actions and I want you in my bed.’ A small hiccup escaped her throat. ‘I want you under me, over me and in me. Is that explicit enough?’
He simply stood there not moving a muscle.
‘Say something,’ she whispered. ‘I beg you.’
‘That is definitely the mead talking. I smell its honey sweetness on you. In the morning, you will have a bad head and I hope no more regrets than normal.’
‘You wrong me greatly. Yes, the mead may have loosened my tongue but I haven’t said anything that I wasn’t already thinking. Why must we keep silent?’
Dagmar clasped her hands together. Her stomach roiled. Had she m
ade a fool of herself again?
He had stayed still and hadn’t run, watching her with those eyes of his. It was her single hope. She could break through his defences. He desired this as much as she did.
‘I meant it about the nightmares.’ She put her hand to her head. ‘The battle. Everything. I rarely sleep except for last night. Last night I slept soundly for the first time in months.’
He laced his fingers in hers. ‘You’re safe here.’
She kept her fingers curled about his. ‘But I want you to stay with me. I know this deep inside me. You are the first man who has tempted me in this way.’
There, she had said it, confessed about her virginity. She waited with bated breath to see what he would do.
He gave a groan. ‘There are many reasons why this is wrong.’
‘But it is right.’ Before he could draw away, she cupped his face with her hands, feeling the rough beginnings of a beard against her palms. She blew on his mouth before she kissed him, making sure their tongues tangled once again.
He gave a low groan and the intensity of his mouth increased. She could feel the power and passion growing within him.
‘Aedan?’ she breathed in his ear.
‘You talk too much.’
His hands roamed over her back, pressing her closer to his hard body. There was no fat on him, simply lean hard muscle.
She slipped her hands under his tunic and felt the rigid muscle under her palms. There were indents and twists in his smooth skin which showed he’d fought and had recovered from several injuries.
He seemed to understand her need to touch him and stripped off. In the dim light, she could make out the network of scars which marred his back. She put her hands against his chest. Her palms brushed his nipples and he gave a sudden intake of breath.
‘I believe you require some assistance to disrobe.’
‘I am not very good with tight sleeves and you are right, it is a pretty gown. I would have loved it when I was ten. I used to play at being a fine lady.’
The Warrior's Viking Bride (Harlequin Historical) Page 10
