She didn’t make him say it. She nodded and resolved to pull herself together. ‘We should get this tapestry to the hall.’
He bent down to place a kiss atop the mound between her thighs. She gasped at the simple, tender gesture. He wasn’t smiling when he straightened. There was a solemnity in his expression as he helped her down from the table. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but he placed another kiss on her lips before moving to pick up the rolled-up tapestry she’d finished for Cuthbert’s wall.
Making sure her skirts were straight, she watched him toss it over his shoulder. He allowed her to lead the way back through the village. She was certain it must be easy for everyone to see what they’d done. But as they walked, no one approached them to berate them for their immorality. No one even noticed them as the villagers went about their daily chores and the few who did tipped their heads in greeting.
Aisly took a deep breath to calm herself. Everything was fine and no one suspected a thing. Glancing over at him, he gave her a half-smile that was far more intimate than friendly. The gold flecks in his eyes caught the meagre rays of the afternoon sun and made a pleasant warmth surge up through her chest and spread over her entire body.
I love you.
She didn’t dare say it. She could barely acknowledge she felt it. There would be plenty of time throughout the winter to better figure out her feelings towards him. There were still too many unanswered questions, but a tiny ray of hope opened up within her as she thought of a future with him. He must have seen something in her eyes—his own darkened almost imperceptibly. She smiled back at him.
‘Magnus!’
The single word rang out. It was so out of place she would have sworn she’d imagined it if only the foreigner hadn’t turned his head to look for its source. The man who spoke it sat on the back of a giant horse, having just rounded the corner of Cuthbert’s hall. The man was broad and strong, his well-kept hair and beard fairer than her foreigner’s. He wore a short chain mail tunic over his finely made wool clothing. As he dismounted she could see that he wore leather breeches and a thick crimson cloak that trailed down behind him.
He was a Dane like those who’d ridden into the village after Godric’s death. A handful of other Danes followed, their horses filing in behind his. There was something familiar about him. A sickening suspicion tightened like a knot in her belly.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Magnus!’
He’d never expected to hear his name, especially spoken by a voice that was so familiar. The man dismounting was nearly as tall as Magnus and better dressed than anyone in the village. He knew instinctively that this was one of the Danes the villagers had spoken of, though not one of the rebels. This man was from the settlement.
As the man walked closer, Magnus could tell that he was a few years younger than himself, though more warrior than boy. His blond hair was shaved on the sides and the rest pulled back in a knot above his nape. He walked with the swagger of a man who’d been battle-tested and come out the victor more than once. He was a warrior in his prime with his wide shoulders and the confidence he carried with him. The man’s face was as vaguely familiar as his voice. Then the darkness of his memories let out one ray of light and Magnus saw this man fighting beside him. The warrior’s sword arm was raised high as he gave a shout of victory.
‘Vidar!’ The name spilled from his lips before he could stop it and he was moving forward to embrace the man in greeting, thumping his back with his fist, as he’d done countless times before.
‘Magnus. I never thought to see you alive again. You disappeared after the battle and we thought you must be dead.’ Vidar’s brow furrowed as he cast a puzzled glance at the rolled-up tapestry Magnus had dropped to the ground, wondering why he was here in the village performing household chores.
‘I nearly was. I have no memory of the battle, but I awoke on a pile of dead warriors being readied for burning. For that matter, I have no memories at all. I was close to death until Aisly—’
Aisly. He glanced over his shoulder to see that her face was contorted in pain and disbelief. His heart twisted at the anguish she must be feeling and he wanted to reach out to her, but already the mask of anger was beginning to take the place of the agony.
Cuthbert’s voice drew his attention back to the others. He’d come outside flanked by warriors on either side. Magnus looked to the Danes who were dismounting. He paused on each of their faces, waiting to see if a memory surfaced, and just like waves clearing back sand from the clams nestled beneath the grains, those memories emerged one by one. The blackness still filled his mind, but it was softening to grey.
‘What are you doing here, Dane?’ Cuthbert addressed Vidar.
Magnus realised how volatile the situation could become if he didn’t take control. Aisly had turned and run, no doubt headed home to hide herself away from him. A part of himself had been torn away and gone with her as she’d fled. He pledged to find her soon, after he headed off the confrontation, and explain.
Explain what? That he was a Dane? That he was someone she hated? A knot of dread settled heavy in the pit of his stomach as he thought of her almost certain rejection. He wasn’t who she wanted him to be.
Vidar’s sharp gaze swung to him and then back to Cuthbert, who stood stoically appraising them all. Magnus appreciated the older man’s ability to stay calm in the face of his enemies. ‘I told you we’d be back to collect payment after we found the rebels,’ Vidar answered him in the Saxons’ tongue.
Shrugging off the impending sense of dread, Magnus stepped forward and put a hand on Vidar’s shoulder. ‘Vidar, we need to speak privately.’
‘You know these men, foreigner?’ Cuthbert asked.
‘Aye, I know them. I must...’ I must be one of them. He didn’t say it. It was true, but even recognising these men, he didn’t understand exactly how he fit or what his place was with them.
‘This is Magnus Magnussen, our leader. Have you dared to keep him here against his will?’ At his raised voice, a few of the Danes reached for their swords, but Magnus raised his hands to halt them.
‘Halt! We’ll not fight today.’
The Danes halted, but they didn’t relax their postures.
Magnus was still trying to come to terms with the idea that he was their leader. Wouldn’t he remember if such were the case? Cuthbert stared at him as if trying to see him with new eyes. There was no recognition there, so Magnus was certain the older man had never met him before as a Dane leader. Though he’d cut his hair and his beard, he wouldn’t have changed that much in appearance from the Dane he had been.
‘You’ve tricked us.’ Cuthbert declared and ran a hand over his white beard. It was the first sign of agitation the man had shown. ‘For what purpose?’ His keen eyes went to the spot behind Magnus that Aisly had so recently occupied and a dart of fear shot through Magnus’s heart. They’d think that somehow she was a part of this.
‘Nay, there was no trick, Cuthbert. It is just as I’ve told you. I was gravely wounded in battle.’ Magnus brought his hand up to his head where his wound was still visible. Aisly had assured him there would be a vicious scar. ‘Aisly found me and brought me here to the village. I still don’t have all my memories returned, but I remember Vidar and the men.’
Cuthbert opened his mouth and closed it again as if he didn’t quite know what to say. He looked torn between confusion and disbelief as he ran a hand over his beard again. ‘It’s difficult to believe, forei—’ He cut off the word but didn’t seem to be able to bring himself to say ‘Magnus’.
‘You must believe that I had no ulterior motive here, Cuthbert. I thank you and your village for accepting me when I was near death.’ He turned his attention back to Vidar, who still seemed torn with his own disbelief and suspicion that Magnus might have been kept against his will. ‘We owe these people our gratitude, Vidar.’
Cuthbert huffed in anger. ‘Payment for what, Dane? The rebels are still out there.’
‘Nay, we’ve rooted them out. Found their encampment just to the south,’ Vidar explained. A few of the Danes at his back added in their confirmation. ‘They won’t bother you any more.’
‘Impossible,’ Cuthbert challenged and pointed a finger at Magnus. ‘Your own leader found them just days ago to the north.’
‘When did you find the encampment?’ Magnus asked.
‘A sennight past or more.’ Vidar tilted his head as he thought back. ‘Nine days.’
Nine days was enough time for them to have found the encampment and sent the few he’d seen fleeing north. ‘I found five of them fleeing to the north.’
Vidar nodded. ‘We must have struck while they were gone and they fled. None escaped our attack.’
‘Are there others to the north they went to join with?’
‘Not that we’re aware of,’ Vidar answered.
The rebels had said they’d come back, though. They wouldn’t come back without reinforcements.
Cuthbert interrupted his thoughts to ask Vidar, ‘Did you find any women with them? The two that were taken from us?’
‘There were no women, only warriors,’ Vidar answered.
‘Liar.’ A new voice entered the group. Wulfric had just walked around the opposite corner of the hall, probably summoned by one of the onlookers. ‘You just want them for yourselves.’
‘There isn’t a need to lie. We have all the women we want. We don’t need to steal them.’ Vidar’s voice was hard.
Wulfric walked out to stand beside Cuthbert. ‘How do we even know you found an encampment? You’ve brought no proof and could be lying simply to secure payment.’
Vidar appeared bored, his expression unchanged, as he reached into the pack on his horse and drew out a necklace. It was a string of hide with small stones strung on to it. There were around a score of them. Though when he held it up, Magnus could see the small stones, in shades from white to yellow marred with brown mud, were teeth. The mud was dried blood. Across the front of the teeth were horizontal lines filled with a black substance. It matched the design he’d seen carved into the rebel Dane’s teeth at the stream.
‘Here is your proof. One from every warrior slain.’ Vidar tossed it to Wulfric, who caught it against his chest before holding it aloft to examine it.
‘There will be no payment yet.’ Magnus raised his voice to be heard over both groups of warriors who were getting anxious. ‘We’ll go now. There’s much to be discussed.’ Specifically the fact that his memories were still hazy or absent altogether and he refused to punish the people who had helped him.
He was surprised that Wulfric only stared and didn’t accuse him of spying as Cuthbert had. The man’s eyes were calculating, though, leaving Magnus to worry how Wulfric might use this against Aisly. He had to go talk to her.
‘I’ll send reward for your help,’ Magnus assured Cuthbert.
The older man only shook his head. ‘We only want to be left in peace, Dane.’
‘Come.’ Vidar took his shoulder.
‘Nay.’ Shaking his head, Magnus took a few steps backwards and his foot came up against the forgotten tapestry. Aisly had worked hard on it, it didn’t deserve to lie in the dirt. Picking it up, he handed it over to Cuthbert, who took it as if he expected a serpent to slither out of it. ‘We’ll go soon,’ he said to Vidar. ‘I have to say goodbye first.’
And it was goodbye. As he turned to retrace their footsteps to her home, there was no doubt in his mind that she wouldn’t want him any more.
* * *
That tall blond Dane was the one who’d come to her home after Godric’s murder. He was handsome in a way that blended warrior with boy. She remembered that at first she’d been struck by how his eyes reminded her of the larkspur flowers, but they’d only been coldly assessing as he’d taken everything that had been valuable to her.
And her foreigner knew him. He knew him.
He’d called him by name—Vidar—and embraced him with the same hands that had just held her. The warmth of her foreigner’s fingers still lingered on her hips and she could still hear the echo of his groan against her ear as he’d filled her with his seed.
Tears blinded her as she stumbled back to her home using the heel of her hand to swipe them away. What a fool she had been all along. Alstan had tried to tell her and she’d refused to listen.
Her foreigner was a Dane.
He’d already forgotten about her. Except he hadn’t. Before she ran, he’d glanced over his shoulder and for just an instance their eyes met. Guilt crossed his face, jagged and raw and plain for her to see. It was his confession. He hadn’t lost his memory at all. He spoke to the Danes as if he knew them. He spoke their tongue as if he’d been born to it.
Her foreigner was a Dane. His name was Magnus and he was one of them.
His name was Magnus. The word pounded its way through her skull, matching the vigorous throb of her heartbeat.
Magnus. Magnus. Magnus.
It wasn’t the name of the man she loved. That man had disappeared right before her eyes. He had become one of the men responsible for Godric’s death. The man responsible for Godric’s death if her brother could be believed. He’d told her that the leader of the settlement was a Dane named Magnus. It didn’t seem possible that it’d be this gentle man she knew, and yet...
A hollow opened up in her. It drew in the love, the comfort, the tiny rays of hope, every beautiful thing that he’d made her feel until there was nothing left but a great big hole that hurt so badly she wasn’t sure she’d survive. It seared right through her middle, shredding everything she’d hoped to give him.
She’d fallen in love with her enemy, with the man who’d killed her husband.
She pushed open her door and was faced with the awful, empty space that was her home. He was still here. At the workbench. At the hearth. In her bed. He was everywhere and nowhere. Slamming the door behind her, she moved towards the fire, seeking some warmth to heat the cold inside her.
It seemed only moments passed before there was a light knock on the door. A part of her wanted it to be her foreigner, but a stronger part simply wanted him to go. The sooner he left, the quicker she could start to pretend that nothing special had happened between them. That his touches hadn’t meant anything, that lying beside him at night hadn’t felt about as close to heaven as she’d get while breathing and that everything that had happened between them had really been about conceiving a child to secure her future.
The hollow rap against the wood sounded again. This time a bit firmer and more insistent. Perhaps it wasn’t him. It was entirely possible he’d ridden away with the Danes and wouldn’t look back. Her heartbeat sped as she imagined that scenario and the very real possibility that it would mean she’d never see him again.
She didn’t want that. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she didn’t want that. Turning, she started for the door, only to watch it open.
The foreigner walked inside and his eyes reflected relief when he saw her. With a firm shove, he pushed the door closed behind him. ‘I was afraid you’d run off somewhere.’
Aisly did her best to make it appear as if she hadn’t been trying not to cry. Drawing herself up straight, she backed up to the worktable and gripped the edges. The discomfort of the rough edges of the wood biting into her fingers distracted her from thoughts of tears, making the ache in her throat ease up just enough so that she could talk. ‘I’m not a fool. There’s nowhere to hide here in the village if you wish to find me and I wouldn’t run off into the forest.’
He nodded and took a deep breath, his hands hitchi
ng on his hips. ‘I know you’re not a fool. I just wanted—’ He bit off the word and passed an agitated hand over his brow. ‘I want to talk to you before I go.’
‘There’s no need.’ She didn’t want a drawn-out conversation when the only logical conclusion was that he was leaving. ‘What does anything matter now?’
‘It matters. We need to talk about what just happened. Who I am.’
‘I heard enough. Your name is Magnus and you’re a Dane from the settlement. I suppose Alstan will be gratified to know that he was right all along.’ How she spoke without her voice breaking, she didn’t know. She was gripping the table so hard her knuckles must be white from the strain.
‘I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t lie to you.’ He took a few steps across the space as if he was approaching a skittish animal.
Her heart beat faster and her rabbit instinct told her to run to save her heart from breaking even harder. She could only watch him, hoping that he stop, because she’d never hold herself together if he dared to touch her.
‘I didn’t know that I was a Dane, especially a Dane from the settlement.’
‘You didn’t know at all? Did you suspect?’ She didn’t know why she tortured herself by even asking.
That brought him up short and guilt flashed across his eyes. ‘I thought it was likely. Particularly after I found the rebel Danes. I heard them talking and understood them with ease. I recognised it as the language from my dreams.’
A coldness washed over her, tingling its way across her skull, down her spine and to the soles of her feet. He’d told her that he’d overheard the rebel Danes discussing him. Of course they would’ve been speaking in their own tongue. Had she assumed it was her own language? Nay. She hadn’t even bothered to think about it. She’d wilfully not thought about it. She’d been lying to herself, because she hadn’t been interested in the truth if it took him away from her. ‘I’ve been a fool.’
‘Nay, fair one, not a fool.’ He crossed to her then, but stopped short of touching her when she jerked away. ‘Aisly...’ His voice trailed off and she was struck by the genuine hunger in his eyes.
In Bed with the Viking Warrior Page 18
