Trembling, Avril wrapped her arms around her middle, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions that drenched her like hot rain. The silver brooch almost seemed to burn her skin. She tried to unfasten it, but could not work the clasp.
Frustrated, she ripped it from her gown and threw it aside. “Then you have no reason to keep me here!”
His attention suddenly fastened on her bodice.
Avril looked down and gasped. In tearing off the symbol of his claim over her, she had ripped her linen gown. The violet fabric gaped at the top, revealing the pale upper curve of her breast. She grabbed the torn material, covering herself.
And glanced up to find Hauk watching her with potent male hunger etched on his chiseled features. He straightened away from the hearth, took one step toward her. Then he started to advance slowly.
Avril felt that unnerving, unwelcome heat spilling through her. She stumbled backward a pace. Struggled to find her voice. “Nay.”
She did not know which she was denying: his intentions or her own bewildering feelings. But he halted. For a moment he remained frozen, his hands clenching and unclenching.
Then he turned sharply and stalked to a chest beneath one of the shuttered windows. “All that you have need of, you will find in the town.” He opened the trunk, took out a leather sack, and began stuffing clothes into it. “Food. Drink. New garments, if you do not like the ones I chose for you. Ask the shopkeepers for whatever you wish and it will be given you. We use barter rather than coin here.”
Avril could only stare at him, trembling, her thoughts tangled like a dozen strands of yarn all knotted together.
He let the chest’s lid fall and moved on to another. “A few people in the village speak French. If you cannot make yourself understood, one of them can translate for you. I will leave Ildfast, my horse, here for you. He can be unmanageable at times”—he slanted her a quick glance—”but I do not think you will have any trouble with him.”
She shook her head, surprise and disbelief battering her senses. “You... you are leaving?”
“One of my duties is to patrol the shoreline and see that our border remains secure. I am often away.” He took a pair of gloves and a length of rope from the next trunk and added them to his pack. “While I am gone, you are free to go where you wish—”
“Norseman—”
“See your friend. Visit the town. Explore the island.” Carrying the sack, he stalked toward the weapons displayed above the hearth. “But stay away from the cliffs. People fall now and then. And keep out of the western part of the forest. There are wolves there—”
“What makes you believe I will be here when you get back?”
He did not look at her as he selected a battle-ax and lashed it to his pack. “Do not hope that my absence will make it easier for you to escape from Asgard,” he said quietly. “It will not.”
He slung the pack over his shoulder and headed for the door.
Shaking with desperation, with astonishment, Avril followed him. “You cannot mean to keep me here! You must let me return to my child!”
He turned to face her. “Avril—”
“You are not a barbarian. If you were, you would have let me die in Antwerp.” She moved closer, touched his arm. “You seem to have some code of honor or chivalry by which you live.”
He did not reply, went utterly still.
She lowered her gaze to the stone floor, willing to abandon all pride, to humble herself, willing to do anything to get home to her little girl.
“Hauk,” she pleaded quietly, letting her hand drop to her side. “Do you want me to beg? Then I am begging you. Please, in the name of whatever gods you believe in, show mercy. My little Giselle is only three. When I left for Antwerp, I told her I would be gone but ten days, no more.” Dampness burned in Avril’s eyes. “She did not understand, so I gave her ten raisin sweetcakes and told her to eat one each day, and when the last one was gone, her maman would be home—”
Her voice choked out. Had Giselle eaten the last cake yet? Had she looked at Celine and Gaston with tear-filled eyes and asked why Maman had not returned, why Maman had broken her promise?
“S-she is barely more than a baby. I still sing her a lullaby every afternoon before her nap.” Avril lifted her head to find him looking at her intently, and she could not stop the tear that slid down her cheek. “She loves pink flowers and butterflies and pretty dolls. The toy I had in my hand in Antwerp, the one I dropped when you and I collided? I bought it for her. I promised I would bring her a spinning top from the fair. She calls them ‘pretty spinnys.’” Another tear slipped past her lashes. “Would you do this to an innocent child? Would you take a baby’s mother from her?”
He said naught for a moment, remained frozen.
Then he looked off into the darkness and answered her, his voice flat, emotionless.
“I already have.”
“Damn you!” She slapped him hard enough to leave the red imprint of her hand on his face. “Damn you to Hell’s deepest pit, Norseman! If you try to keep me here, I swear I will—”
“Kill me?” An odd, self-mocking expression curved his mouth. “I doubt that.”
Turning on his heel, he strode away from her. “Heed what I have told you and do not make things more difficult, Avril. I will return in two or three days. Until then, I bid you farewell.”
With that, he walked out and slammed the door behind him.
She could only stare in open-mouthed disbelief at the spot where he had last stood. Robbed of a target for her fury, she could not even move for a moment. Turning her head, she looked around the vast, empty chamber with its guttering candles and silent shadows.
Then she rushed over to the door and tried the latch.
It was open. He had not bothered to lock her in. Which meant he was entirely confident of what he said: There was no way to escape from this island.
Avril sagged against the door, despair closing in on her, dark and overpowering. She pounded one fist against the wood, but the futile gesture only hurt her hand. Her throat tightened until she could not seem to draw breath.
She shut her eyes, remembering the last time she had seen her baby, with her ruddy cheeks, her raven curls shining in the sun, her chubby fingers waving farewell.
“Giselle.” The cherished name came out as a sob. “My sweet Giselle.”
After a long moment, Avril pushed herself away from the door, shaking her head, refusing to accept what Hauk had told her. If she could not hope to be rescued, then she would rescue herself.
It was too dark to venture out tonight, but as soon as dawn broke, her escape efforts would begin.
“I will return home to you, ma petite papillon,” she vowed. “Even if I must build a boat with my own two hands!”
Hauk strode down the moonlit path, the sound of his pulse competing with the distant roar of the surf in the darkness. His fingers gripped the leather sash of his pack, but he was only distantly aware of its familiar weight on his shoulder, the jagged stones beneath his boots, the night wind cooling the sweat from his body.
He could hardly see or even think past the fatigue and frustration and unwelcome emotions that clouded his brain. By Odin’s black ravens, all he wanted was for this accursed night to end before some new torment presented itself.
How could a woman—any woman—affect him this way, in so short a time? Had he not sworn only an hour ago, at the althing, to remain cool and distant, to never allow his new bride into his heart? He could not even seem to make the vow last one night. Could not resist touching her. Was beginning to admire the way she stood up to him, all courage and boldness and curses.
And he had been utterly unprepared for the impact of her tears.
Hauk shifted the pack to his other shoulder and kept walking, trying to forget those two glistening droplets, gliding down her cheek one after the other. For one horrible moment, he had felt as if he were drowning in them.
In that instant, he had glimpsed a completely different Avril—n
ot defiant and fierce, but tender and soft-hearted, utterly devoted to those she loved... and utterly vulnerable.
And he could not banish the uncomfortable feeling that stabbed at his belly as if he had eaten a bowlful of thorns.
Guilt.
I have a daughter. A three-year-old daughter.
His cheek still stung from Avril’s slap—but he felt as if she had punched him in the gut with those words. By all the gods, he had never suspected she had a young child awaiting her in France along with her husband.
But she would not be returning home to them. Not now, not ever.
He glanced up into the black, star-strewn sky and spat an oath, cursing the gods for throwing her into his path on that crowded streetcorner in Antwerp. If she had been a few moments earlier or he a few moments later, if Keldan had not insisted on chasing after her, if she had not attacked Thorolf...
Nei, it was too late for regrets now. What was done could not be undone. He could not risk the lives of everyone on Asgard for the sake of one woman.
Or even one child.
He fastened his attention on the trail before him. At least the child still had her father. At least she would not be alone.
That was more than he had had growing up.
Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he focused on the familiar curve of the path beneath his boots, the brine-scented wind in his face, the journey that lay ahead. His life had been wrenched out of his control on that ill-fated voyage to Antwerp, and he felt an urgent need to put it back in order. What he needed was routine. Habit. A good night’s sleep and some hard, physical work.
He needed some distance from the mesmerizing little beauty who had just become his wife. Enough to keep him from thinking of her spice-scented hair and her body soft against his and her shamelessly ripe, full lips.
You are not a barbarian, she had said.
Hel, he had never felt more like a barbarian. Had he remained in her company all night, he would have done much more than merely caress her cheek. He would have had his lovely bride on her back in his bed, ravishing her until dawn, until they both...
He cut the image short, thoroughly annoyed. He would not allow himself to develop any sort of feelings for her. Not even desire. He would drown these heated thoughts in sweat. Remind himself of what was most important—his people and his duty.
When he returned in a few days, he would be able to deal with Avril’s presence in his life coolly and rationally.
It took half an hour to reach Keldan’s vaningshus. The young groom had spent the better part of the past year building it in a meadow west of town, in anticipation of enjoying a secluded and happy sojourn here with his new bride.
Hauk pounded on the door, a single blow of his fist. Since Keldan was mostly to blame for his predicament, Keldan could grant him a favor.
The polished pine door opened quickly—and the young groom in question looked surprisingly glad to see him. “Hauk! Why are you not with your lady? Nei, never mind. Thank the gods you are here!” Kel grabbed his arm and hauled him inside, his expression matching his agitated voice. “You must teach me to speak French. It is accursed difficult to woo a woman when she cannot even understand what you are saying.”
He gestured to the far side of the chamber, where pretty Josette stood in a corner, her face damp with furious tears, what looked like wreckage strewn about her feet—upturned jewel chests, ripped garments, shredded velvet pillows with their goose-feather stuffing spilled everywhere, and the remains of what had been a gracefully carved chair.
“The gifts did not work,” Keldan explained, dodging a flagon of perfume she flung at him. It sailed past him to shatter against the wall.
Hauk realized that Josette must have been hurling bits and pieces of debris at her new husband’s head for some time, for the wall behind Keldan had been newly decorated in disgusting shades of dripping wine and precious oils, with a few goose feathers stuck to the goo here and there.
“By Tyr’s blade, Kel.” He waved a hand in front of his nose. “It smells like a bawd’s bedchamber in here.”
“Do you have any helpful comments to make?”
“I was the one who warned you that language differences could be a problem.”
“That is not the kind of help I was hoping for.”
With a shrug, Hauk bowed in the lady’s direction and tried addressing her in French. “Good eventide, milady. How fare you?”
She only shouted curses and threats in reply. And reached for a piece of the chair.
Hauk stepped out of the way as it came flying at Keldan, grateful that he was not her target. “I fear I cannot help you, Kel. I would say this wooing may take months. Mayhap years. Thor’s hammer, I did not realize before that your bride had a sailor’s vocabulary.” A silk slipper smacked Keldan right between the eyes. “Or such excellent aim.”
“I do not understand,” Keldan said miserably, rubbing his forehead and frowning at her. “I have followed all the advice given in the Havamal.”
“Which shows how useful that ancient text is,” Hauk replied scornfully. Every young man of Asgard studied the Havamal before taking a bride, to learn how to be a good husband, how to please a wife. “The so-called wisdom of past generations is mostly poetic nonsense.”
“So you have said before.”
“Mayhap we had better speak outside, where the air is not so full of”—Hauk dodged the silk slipper’s mate—”projectiles.”
Keldan hastily led the retreat, closing the door firmly behind them once they had escaped to the relative safety of the outdoors. “You are enjoying this,” he accused with a scowl.
“Not at all,” Hauk lied, feeling one corner of his mouth curve. “I am afflicted with sorrow that your wife is not fawning at your feet as the women of Asgard have always done.”
“Ja, ja, I can tell,” Keldan drawled. Folding his arms, he nodded toward Hauk’s pack. “And how have you fared? It would appear you have declared defeat and deserted your new bride already. Have you come seeking a place to sleep for the night?”
“Nei. Nor am I deserting her.” Hauk looked to the south, where he could just make out his vaningshus in the distance.
How strange it felt, to see lights burning in his home at the cliffs’ edge when he was not there. To have someone else living in that place, waiting for him.
Waiting to bury a blade in his heart, he corrected himself.
“I thought it best to allow time for our blood to cool,” he explained. “I am going out on sentry duty.”
“But, Hauk, you took a vow—”
“Ja, and I will keep it. At the moment, we are like fire and tinder. If I stay with her, there is going to be an explosion and one of us might get damaged by the blast. I vowed to protect her, and for now the best way to protect her is to stay away from her.”
“But who will care for her and see to her needs?”
“Believe me, Keldan, there has never been a woman less in need of a man to take care of her.” An unwanted memory struck him: those two tears gliding down her face, how she had looked so vulnerable, so...
He shook it off. “Avril is more than capable of looking after herself. I only came here to ask you to check on her now and then while I am away. See that she stays out of trouble.”
“You want me to watch over the two of them?” Keldan looked like he might choke. “When I do not even speak their language?”
“You were the one who insisted that these women and no others would do, if you recall. You insisted that we have them. Well, now we have them.” Hauk arched one brow. “Or more accurately,” he said lightly, “now you have them.”
He turned to leave.
Keldan caught him by the shoulder. “But, Hauk, you go on sentry only once a month. Surely it could wait. It will take you a week to travel all the way around the island. You cannot mean to leave her—”
“Nei, trust me, it is better that I go now. And I am not setting out on a full patrol. I will be gone only two or three days.”
Hauk returned the younger man’s disapproving regard with a hard stare. “Cease looking at me that way. I am not breaking my vows. I am seeing to her needs. She is safe and well. She is intelligent enough to stay away from the cliffs and out of the western part of the forest, as I have warned her. She has shelter, food, clothing—”
“But that is not all a woman needs,” Keldan said with the all-knowing confidence of a groom on his wedding night. “According to the Havamal—”
“Do not quote that accursed book to me,” Hauk snapped, shaking off his friend’s restraining hand. “It tells you only how a marriage is to begin. It does not reveal how it ends. But I know how it ends—in a black pit of misery and torment. And I may not believe in the Havamal or tradition or the justness of the gods anymore, but I do believe in one thing. I believe in sparing myself misery and torment.” He nodded toward Keldan’s home. “Your little cottage in a meadow by the sea is idyllic now, but it will change, Kel. She will change. Everything and everyone around us changes—”
“Mayhap someday when I am as old as you,” Keldan interrupted, “I will feel the same. But I hope not. And I think you are making a mistake, leaving your bride on your wedding night.”
“Well, it is my mistake to make.” Hauk turned again to leave.
Only to find Josette peeking out the door with wide eyes, watching the two of them argue.
“Milord?” she asked tentatively, opening the door a bit wider. “Please, what... what have you done with Avril? Is she all right? You have not—”
“Nay, milady, she is unharmed.” Hauk shook his head. Keldan’s little brunette seemed to fear they had been discussing some dire fate that had befallen her friend. “You may see her in the morn if you wish.”
She stepped outside when he started to walk away. “Please, milord, you cannot keep us here.” She gave Keldan a glare, as if she had been trying to explain that idea to him as well. “You must set Avril free.”
Hauk sighed, feeling the full weight of this endless day pressing down on him. “That I cannot do, milady. You ask for what is impossible.”
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