Her hand dropped from his back and she drew herself up straighter. But something about the movement had drawn the snake’s attention. His gaze narrowed in on the place where her hand had been, drawn by some scent of impropriety only he could smell. The sneer widened as he let his eyes settle on Aisly before walking towards the hearth and addressing Cuthbert. ‘Many apologies for my tardiness. A quarrel detained me, but it’s settled now.’
Cuthbert nodded. ‘This is the foreigner that our fair Aisly has been caring for. Foreigner, this is Wulfric, a trusted advisor.’
Magnus clenched his molars as he was forced to acknowledge the newcomer. He disliked him instantly. Distrust and selfishness practically leached from the man’s skin.
‘What is this I hear about a Dane?’ Wulfric asked, looking to Alstan, who had voiced the accusation.
Alstan nodded. ‘His voice, the way he speaks, his size, they all lead me to think he’s one of them.’ He spat out ‘one of them’ like it had tried to bite him.
‘Are you?’ Wulfric fitted Magnus with another stare.
‘I have no memories.’ Magnus didn’t elaborate.
Wulfric grinned again, his hand going to the forked beard that rested on his chest. ‘I don’t trust a man with no beard.’
‘I don’t trust that he has no memories,’ Alstan added. ‘He could be lying. He could be a spy.’
‘Enough!’ Cuthbert’s voice cut through the house. ‘Mercenary or Dane, it matters not. He killed the rebel Dane. He is not one of them. Even if he is a spy, there is nothing he can learn here that the Danes at the settlement don’t already know. He can stay through the winter.’
‘He’ll not stay in my house,’ Wulfric said, his voice quiet but firm.
Aisly gasped behind him, and he wasn’t sure why.
‘Of course not,’ Cuthbert hurried to reassure him. ‘It wouldn’t be seemly for him to stay with Aisly. He’ll stay in the hall with my warriors.’
Magnus narrowed his eyes as he took another look at Wulfric. The man must be a relative to her if he owned her house. Or perhaps he was a relative of her late husband. Either way, that put him entirely too close to her. Could no one else see the depravity this man wore with pride? Magnus glanced to Alstan, wondering how her own brother could allow the man near her, but Alstan still glared at him. At him, the one who had saved Aisly, while the man who silently threatened her stood unmolested.
He ran a hand through his hair, stopping when he came to the linen binding he’d forgotten about, and unintentionally stepped back to be closer to her. Perhaps this was how he could repay her. He could save her from that snake. But his protection could only last through winter. When spring came, what would happen then?
Arte finally broke his silence. ‘Putting him with the other warriors is bound to cause tension.’
‘Ah.’ Cuthbert nodded. ‘You are wise, my friend. After the massacre, I can’t expect them to accept a possible Dane. He can stay in Leofwyn’s hut.’
‘Who is Leofwyn?’ he asked Aisly as the men continued their discussion.
‘She was the eldest woman in the village until she passed away in the summer. Her home is one of the older, smaller ones, closer to the stream, away from the centre of the village. Far away from me,’ Aisly said.
They all agreed that Leofwyn’s hut would be the most suitable, but Aisly objected.
The men paused in their discussion to look at her.
‘He should stay nearer so that I can look in on him. I’m not sure you’ve bothered to notice, but he is still injured.’ She pointed towards his bandage just in case they’d missed it.
‘I’m fine.’ He gave her a solemn look. Did the woman not realise the danger she was in from Wulfric? It wouldn’t do to challenge him openly, even if indirectly.
‘You are not fine,’ she argued.
‘Aisly’s right,’ Wulfric intervened, making the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck stand upright. The way the man said her name so casually rattled him. ‘He should stay closer. Let him have Beorn’s hut. He and his wife won’t be returning to us.’ The sneer returned as the man settled his gaze on Aisly to say those last words. It was a private message meant to unsettle. Something threatening passed between them.
Magnus had to fight the impulse to put his fist in the snake’s face. The conversation continued around him, but all he could see was Wulfric watching her.
‘What say you, foreigner? Will you stay with us through winter?’ Cuthbert finally asked, drawing his attention to the three men at the front of the room.
There was only one option.
‘I’ll stay through winter, or until I’m recovered enough to remember my place. If I have responsibilities, I’ll need to see to them.’ He glanced to Aisly, but she seemed upset, her gaze on the floor at her feet.
‘Fair enough,’ Cuthbert agreed. ‘Are you feeling well enough to go to the hut now?’
‘Nay, he’s not well,’ Aisly answered before Magnus had a chance, jerking her chin up to face the men. ‘He’s still a bit fevered and I’ve a draught for him to drink.’
Those draughts would be the death of him.
‘I’m well enough,’ he said, drawing a disapproving frown from her. Wulfric was already looking for anything he could use against her. Magnus would not give the man any fodder for his mysterious scheme. Though as quick as the man had been to agree to these new living arrangements, Magnus had to wonder if he might wake up with a sword in him later that night, which reminded him. ‘Where is my sword?’
‘It’s here.’ Arte smiled in appeasement and gestured to one in a row of chests lining the back wall. ‘You’ll have to earn our trust before we give it back, but it’s here.’
Magnus took in a deep breath through his nose. He didn’t like being left without a weapon. This could all be a ploy and he’d be killed in his sleep, but he didn’t have a choice.
As if he’d passed some rite, the warriors who’d been milling about during the interrogation came forward and introduced themselves. He kept his eye on Aisly, who had gone over to talk to her brother. Once they’d all come forward, Cuthbert called an end to the meeting and Aisly returned to his side. He had to physically stop himself from putting a hand on her to keep her close. Wulfric had rattled him badly.
‘Come.’ She smiled up at him, seeming to have recovered herself. ‘Let’s get you to your new home.’
Chapter Nine
Aisly walked beside the foreigner on the way to his new home, aware that something had subtly changed. More people were out now that it was later in the morning. They’d all apparently been delayed in making their way to the fields, because there were far too many of them milling about. Unlike when she and the foreigner had passed through the village on their way to see Cuthbert, most of them were merely curious rather than hostile as they watched him. Word had undoubtedly spread about what had taken place inside. It was impossible to keep secrets in the village. She didn’t miss much about living in the manor. Life there had been good, but lonely. As a ward, she’d been treated with the detachment reserved for servants and hadn’t the freedom she did here. But loss of privacy was the one thing she missed about living in the manor. Here people seemed to have nothing better to do than eavesdrop.
It wasn’t until they’d been stopped by yet another man speaking to the foreigner that she realised what was bothering her. It seemed he was being cautiously welcomed and she was grateful for that, but she didn’t like what it implied. He wasn’t hers any more. Though he hadn’t been hers at all anyway. He wouldn’t stay in the village past winter and he might even leave sooner if his memory returned. But there had been a strange comfort to having him in her home.
Now that he was out in the village, with his own temporary home no less, he was theirs. What sort of person did that make her that she would begrudge him their acceptance?
A lonely one.
The confession was bitter, but it was the truth. She’d been lonely for as long as she could remember. Certainly at least since her parents’ deaths. Alstan had gone to live with the warriors and she had become a servant living in Lady Oswine’s chamber. She hadn’t had a particularly difficult life. She’d even been encouraged to continue learning the embroidery her mother had taught her. But she’d never had someone who was hers.
Godric had been handsome, and charismatic, and all the things a young warrior was supposed to be, but he’d never really been hers. Their marriage had never developed into that feeling of family that she craved. There had never been that sense of belonging, not deep in her bones where she wanted to feel it.
Loneliness was a thorny emotion. It was no doubt making her attribute her longing for someone to the stranger, a man she had known for only a short while. Her connection to him was tenuous and completely attributable to her need to have someone, anyone apparently, to call her own. It was that realisation that made her hang back as they approached the small cottage that was to be his home for the winter.
He wasn’t hers. She wasn’t his. The very idea that her thoughts were starting to turn this way made her glad that he was moving out. Clearly she couldn’t trust herself with him.
Cuthbert and Arte had led the walk to the cottage and it was the chieftain who stepped forward to open the door, speaking to the foreigner as he did so. The foreigner nodded but glanced back at her when Cuthbert walked inside. His brow furrowed as if he noticed her reticence and disapproved. Thankfully he didn’t comment and he followed Cuthbert inside.
Aisly wavered. It was only right that she follow them inside and help him get settled. Most of the supplies Beorn and his wife hadn’t been able to carry with them had been given to Wulfric as payment for the debt. Who knew what Wulfric had done with it all? The only certainty was that he wouldn’t offer it to the foreigner. Yet something kept her from following him into the cottage. A protective instinct, she supposed.
Just when she was telling herself that she was being ridiculous and stepped forward to follow, someone cut off her path. She almost stumbled when Arte’s wife, Lora, and daughter, Wyn, stepped forward from the crowd that had gathered with blankets and supplies for the foreigner’s new home. They both mumbled apologies, but Wyn was paying no attention to her. She was too busy giving the foreigner a shy smile as she walked past him and into the hut, carrying an iron pot for his cooking. Before Aisly could stop herself, she rushed forward. ‘He doesn’t need that. I can cook for him.’
The girl, who was just a few years younger than Aisly, turned at her words and then cast an uncertain glance to her mother. Realising she sounded like a jealous shrew, Aisly stopped and became aware of her face flaming. Turning her attention to Arte’s wife, she said, ‘It’s very kind of you to bring it, Lora, but I don’t mind providing his meals while he’s here. It’s the least I can do.’
The older woman gave her a grandmotherly smile and patted her shoulder. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, dearest, and while I’m certain he’ll be most grateful, we have it to spare.’
Aisly nodded. Of course, it was only right that they set him up with the supplies he’d need. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the man in question. He was watching her with a slight smile. When their eyes met, a blaze of warmth moved through her and his smile widened. It was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, that she was feeling possessive. She didn’t know how she felt about the fact that he could read her so easily.
‘Aye, I’d be very grateful for your meals.’ He didn’t say ‘fair one’ and she found that she missed it. His eyes said it, though, as they touched her just as gently as his fingertips had the previous night. She only barely managed to contain herself so that no one knew how her rabbit heart fluttered in her chest. He looked back at something Cuthbert was saying about the harvest, releasing her gaze and leaving her free to glance about to make sure no one else had noticed. Everything the man did and said was almost too much for her.
Her gaze ended up settling on Wyn, who was partially hidden in shadow inside the small hut. She’d found a home for the pot on the stones of the hearth. The pretty girl stood there staring at the foreigner, the admiration on her face clear for anyone to see. That bitter pang of unreasonable jealousy came back, but Aisly squashed it down. There was no reason she should be jealous. She couldn’t blame the girl for her admiration. He was handsome to look upon and, thanks to the Danes, there was a distinct lack of warriors in the village. Wyn was pretty and unmarried; she had every reason to look upon him with admiration.
But when the foreigner finished his conversation, he paused, giving Wyn a smile that had the girl blushing. ‘Many thanks.’ He inclined his head.
Wyn smiled and made to leave, slowing to brush past him in the narrow doorway. Aisly didn’t miss how the girl’s hand trailed across his arm or the way he turned his head just slightly to watch the girl walk away. Jealousy twisted inside her even though it had no right to exist. Forcing herself to breathe, she turned away and made her way through the crowd, stopping occasionally to greet someone or answer questions about the incident. She hadn’t realised how curious they all would be about what had happened since she’d been isolated with him. By the time she made it home, she had come to terms with the idea that her time with him was over. Distance between them was a good thing.
Nay, it was more than good. It was necessary.
* * *
Over the course of the next several days, Aisly’s life returned to normal. The foreigner came to share the morning meal and she’d change his bandage. He’d be gone before her apprentices arrived, spending the day resting. As his condition began to improve, he’d spend the day with Cuthbert in the hall or visiting the fields. She frequently saw him with either Cuthbert or Arte and he seemed to be interested in the workings of the village. But there was always a warrior nearby. Watching and waiting, proving he wasn’t completely trusted yet.
Cuthbert’s wife had commissioned a few pieces of embroidery for her winter mantel, and every time Aisly made a trip to the hall, she looked for him. Often she found him in discussion over a cup of ale, but if she didn’t see him, she’d take the long way through the village just to look for him. A few times she saw him in the fields as the men harvested wheat. Once, she’d passed by the blacksmith’s to see him out front in deep discussion about the best technique to properly sharpen a blade.
If he saw her, he’d immediately give her that smile that caused her belly to flutter. But it was his eyes that made her catch her breath. They touched her no matter the physical distance between them. Like a caress, she could feel their weight wherever his gaze brushed her.
Shaking herself from her pointless thoughts, Aisly quickly folded the last tunic and placed it on the pile with the others. The abbess had been understanding about the delay, given her unexpected guest, but Aisly was anxious to get the vestments returned to her so that she could collect her payment. The coins weren’t much, but every bit helped. She could feel Wulfric watching her, circling like a vulture waiting to make his move.
A chill swept down her spine as she remembered his words in the hall.
He’ll not stay in my house.
Her father-in-law had never referred to her home as his before. He’d implied it plenty when he’d asked if she’d considered moving into Alstan’s small home, but this was the first time since Godric’s death that he’d stated it. Wulfric’s youngest son would be marrying soon and, though he’d yet to say it, she knew that he wanted the home for his son. Not her. She’d failed to bear Godric a child, so Wulfric and his wife had no use for her.
Lord Oswine must have the marriage papers she and Godric had signed. She’d asked Alstan to look for them. They’d protect her claim, her business, her livelihood.
The firm knock on the door startled her, causing her hands to tremble and nearly
capsize the stack of vestments on the worktable. She turned just as the door flung open, hand over her heart. It had been unlocked, but it was rare that someone enter without waiting for her invitation. Except Wulfric considered it his house, so he wouldn’t care.
The man’s face split into a grin as he shut the door behind him, undoubtedly happy to see that her apprentices were gone for the day. Pinning her with his gaze, he stalked closer to her. ‘How are you, my dear?’
Something had changed since the last time he’d visited her. He looked bloated with a secret that was begging to be released. What had he come up with now? She had to tread carefully, lest he figure out a way to get her banished from the village as well.
‘Good day, Wulfric. How are you?’
He came to stop next to her, leaning an elbow on her worktable while a finger traced the embroidery along the hem of a tunic. She had to resist the urge to swat his hand away, as if a touch from him could sully them. ‘You do good work. It’s admirable how much you’re improving.’
‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’ She swallowed and forced her tongue to spit out the nicety.
He nodded. ‘We haven’t had a chance to discuss what happened in the hall.’ His gaze flicked up to her face, gauging her reaction.
‘Oh, I’ve been busy getting these finished for the abbess. She’s due any moment now to pick them up.’ It didn’t hurt to let him know that they wouldn’t be alone for long. ‘I appreciate your help with the foreigner. It was kind of you to offer him a place to stay the winter.’
His eyes narrowed in displeasure and he ran a hand along the left side of his beard, a habit he had when he was irritated. ‘It’s not your place to be appreciative.’ But he gave a tug and allowed his hand to drop, impatient to move on to his nefarious reason for this visit. ‘I was referring to what happened with Beorn. I know you were friendly with him and his wife.’
In Bed with the Viking Warrior Page 10
