‘Did I tell you how beautiful you are?’ His voice was husky and low, a timbre that hit something deep down inside her. His damp red hair was mussed, reminding her of how it had looked after her fingers had run through it. Thinking of that made her remember where his mouth had been when she’d tangled her fingers in his hair and a strange pulse of anticipation settled between her thighs. Nay, not anticipation, because nothing would happen.
Ignoring his question, she once again reached for his trousers.
‘Nay.’ He held her off again.
‘We need to get your trousers off. They’re drenched and they’ll soak your bedding. I’ll not have you catching your death tonight.’
‘Don’t you understand what you do to me?’ He grinned up at her.
If his heart was pounding anywhere near as hard as her own, then she had a fairly good idea. But it wasn’t enough for her to assume. Some deep, dark longing made her look down to see the hardness straining against his trousers. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breathing filling the silence as she stared.
A sweet warmth filled her limbs, making her fingers tremble as her blood became heavy with it. She recognised it immediately as arousal and knew that she had to stop it before she couldn’t think any more. What sort of person was she, lusting after the man who had abandoned her? Worse, he’d left her with child without so much as an enquiry. She hated herself for what he had done to her.
Straightening, she took the linen from around her shoulders and draped it over his lap. ‘There. Now help me take them off. I still need to bind your ribs and change the binding on your leg.’
Jaw clenched tight, he fumbled with the fastenings beneath the linen and she averted her eyes until he had managed to push them down to his knees. Kneeling, she worked them down past his injured left knee and shin and then worked them free of the right. Despite his lack of activity, his legs were still muscular and powerful in the way of men who fought and laboured for a living. She dared not let her fingertips linger and tried extra hard not to look at his now-bare chest and rippled stomach. Though he’d lost weight, his torso was still tight with muscle.
Hanging the garment to dry near the fire, she retrieved strips of linen she’d prepared days ago, before going back to him.
He lounged back on the bench, as lazy and sure as a king watching her with his half-lidded gaze. The strip of linen across his lap was his only modesty, so she knelt again. His leg was safer territory. Binding his ribs now would take her too close to him and what she knew was under that cloth.
‘You work too hard. Your husband doesn’t take care of you like he should.’
When she glanced up, he was watching her hands. She self-consciously rubbed them together, silently acknowledging that they looked like hands that washed the laundry and the dishes. Anger welled up inside her that he would dare to find her lacking, but she beat it down. It was the poppy talking. ‘I do what is needed.’ Untying the knot holding the wet binding together, she gently began to unwrap it from the wood braces.
After a moment, he absently picked up a lock of her hair and wrapped it around his finger. ‘If you were mine, you wouldn’t be forced to work.’
She jerked back as if he had struck her. ‘Don’t speak to me of what could be. You made your choice.’
‘You’re angry that I left.’ His gaze traced her face.
‘I’m angry that you abandoned me and didn’t come back,’ she clarified and went back to his leg.
‘I presumed your husband wouldn’t welcome me.’ His acerbic tone caught her off guard.
Kadlin stared up at him, a bitter seed taking root. Then he stroked her cheek with a tenderness that belied his tone and his expression turned almost wistful. It was the herb, she knew that, but it didn’t stop her heart from flip-flopping in her chest to have such tenderness aimed at her. ‘I always imagined that you’d belong to me, that I’d give you children.’
The air froze in her lungs, or maybe it was sucked from the entire room. Nothing moved and there was no sound save the pounding in her ears of her own heartbeat. How was it that his wishes had so clearly aligned with her own and yet here they were, physically close but so far apart in all the ways it mattered that he might as well be back in the Saxon lands? That look in his eyes made her want to say it, to tell him about their son and watch his face change. Would it be happiness, heartbreak, bitterness? She even parted her lips and whispered the words, ‘My son...’ before she could stop herself.
His brow furrowed before smoothing again as realisation dawned. A brief flash of pain crossed his features, but then it was gone. ‘Ah, so the child that I hear is yours. I made myself believe that it belonged to Ingrid.’
She sucked in a breath to say...she didn’t know what...to say something. But he surprised her yet again with a strength she hadn’t known he possessed, when he grabbed her shoulders to pull her towards him and his mouth claimed hers. It was a clumsy and sloppy brushing of lips, made all the more potent for its awkwardness. She was sure that he hadn’t planned it any more than she had. It was just there between them, alive and smouldering. A moan caught in the back of her throat when his tongue darted out to stroke her bottom lip and it was like liquid flame heating her where it touched. But just as she leaned in for more, he pulled back, his hands falling to his sides and his head falling back to thump against the wall.
Fingers on her lips, she rose on shaking legs and made her way around the fire to the table and leaned heavily against it. One thought pounded through her skull, obliterating everything in its path. She wouldn’t survive this. Her heart still belonged to the warrior across the fire and no matter how she’d tried to kill that longing for him, it still lived and thrived.
Would he suspect that her son was his? She had to keep Avalt from him. At least for now, until Gunnar was improved enough to leave. If he found out the truth now while they were in this forced proximity, he’d whisper empty words that would make her foolish heart forgive him for his abandonment and start to imagine a life with him and their son as a family.
Or perhaps even worse. He’d whisper bitter words that would hurt her all over again.
Chapter Nine
Gunnar awoke the next day in his new bed. Though the usual pain was present as a dull ache throughout his leg, his head was strangely clear with no headache. Memories of the previous night came to him. First of himself, hobbling towards the forest in the rain, and then Kadlin helping him back inside. He’d been so foolish trying to leave; so willing to give up his time with Kadlin to indulge himself in self-pity. It was true that the injury had irrevocably changed his life and that there would be no future as a leader for him, but then, that wasn’t so much of a change. He’d already refused every command post he’d been offered. His only goal had been death by battle.
If he hadn’t been so self-absorbed with his injury, he would have realised the gift he’d been given. To see her again was all that he’d wanted and here he was wasting his opportunity because of a bloody leg that wouldn’t ever work properly again. All it had taken to make him realise that was her standing outside in the pouring rain yelling at him. She’d been magnificent. The girl he remembered had become a woman so fierce and tender at the same time that she stole his breath as he watched her.
He smiled as her voice came to him through the door, though he couldn’t distinguish the words meant for someone else. An actual door because she’d honoured his demand to be relocated. Only brief snatches of memory about moving teased the edges of his mind. Vidar had been summoned to help and had draped his arm across his shoulders while Kadlin had helped on his other side, because she had laced his broth with something potent.
Opening his eyes, he glanced around the small windowless chamber that was to be his new home. Though it was furnished scarcely like his alcove had been, it was bigger, giving him enough room to make a few circles to strength
en his leg. There was no hearth, so it was quite cool, but he’d been hot ever since he’d awoken from the haze the Saxon witch’s potion had plunged him into. There had been many nights he’d awoken sweating and uncomfortable in the alcove so near the fire. The cool was a welcome respite.
His request for space hadn’t been in the manner in which Kadlin had taken it. She thought he was rejecting her and her help. The truth was that he needed space away from her to recover in private, to become the warrior that he had been, without her hovering over him. There would be many falls on his path to recovery and he couldn’t bear having them all play out before her. He’d spent his entire life trying and failing to be something more than a disappointment to the people in his life. He couldn’t bear to see that same disappointment reflected in Kadlin’s eyes.
He wouldn’t become less of a man in her eyes. If she ever looked at him with pity or anything close to it, he feared what he would do, what he would become. In all his life, she had been the only one who had seen more than condemnation and disappointment in him. She had always seen more and she made him want to find more to give her, at least for the little while they would be here together. He owed her that much.
Raising himself on his elbows, he grimaced as he jarred his leg, setting it to throbbing again, as he moved the pillows so he could lie back on them. The smile returned, though, as he remembered how the wet nightdress had revealed the globes of her breasts with their pink nipples and the soft curves of her hips. She had changed so much in the time they had been apart, with little of the girl left in the woman’s body. He wasn’t married and he wasn’t one of the Christian monks forced to be celibate. She was married, but her husband wasn’t there and Gunnar had never claimed to be honourable. And she wanted him. Her blush when she’d caught him looking at her had told him as much.
She wanted him and he meant to have her again.
There was some other memory tugging at the edge of his awareness. It must have been something that had happened after she’d given him the broth. Settling back, he closed his eyes and tried to remember everything that had happened the previous night. Had he kissed her? Nay, probably not, but he’d wanted to and perhaps he would soon. Her voice came to him again, singing. The soft sound filled the front room of the house with a melodious timbre and drifted back down the passageway to reach him through the door. He remembered her singing when he’d awakened to her bathing him and wondered if he could convince her that another bath was in order.
A child’s squeal broke through his reverie. Her child! Just that quickly, the memory he’d conveniently tucked away came back to him. For a moment, he was gripped by a shard of pain in his chest so sharp that he had to suck in a breath to fight it. Then, quicker than he’d ever imagined it could happen, all of the despair came back. The life he’d wanted with her savagely mocked as some other man’s child called her mother. All of the crimes of his past had come back to seek vengeance on him, gaining retribution with a force he didn’t know he could withstand.
Another man called her wife, another man’s seed had taken root in her body, another man’s child suckled at her breast. He raked his hands through his hair, holding them there so his palms covered his ears, muffling the sound of the boy. My son, she’d said. A boy. Not the son that he’d imagined them creating, teaching to become a warrior; not the daughter he’d longed to watch grow up to have the grace of her mother; not a child who would ever call him Father. Nay, this was that other man’s child.
‘Gunnar, are you awake?’ There was a brief rap on the door before she pushed it open and poked her head inside.
He opened his eyes, but couldn’t hide the pain he was sure shone on his face. A strange smile curved her lips, but it faltered when she saw him.
‘What do you want?’ He hadn’t meant for his tone to be so harsh, but neither could he soften it. Whether it was right or not, the sharp stab of betrayal moved through him, leaving a jagged wound in its wake. She had married someone else as if whatever was between them hadn’t existed. The rational part of himself reasoned that he himself had never promised her anything. He’d never spoken words to bind her to him and had left her rather harshly. But it didn’t matter to the part of him that wanted her to be his, the part that knew she was his. That part was past reasoning.
‘Is your leg worse?’ Her brow furrowed, puzzled by his mood and hurt by his tone. A pang of guilt needled at him, but he pushed it aside.
‘Worse than useless, you mean?’
‘I’ve asked Harald to come look at it.’
‘Does Harald possess some magic that he’s been hiding from me all this time? If so, then he should have already fixed it. If not, then I fail to see the point.’
Her lips parted to speak, but then she just shook her head and stepped back. The guilt for causing the pained look on her face tore at him and his eyes fell closed as he summoned the energy to confront her.
‘Kadlin, wait.’ Her face came back around the door, but it was shielded now, as it should be. His jealousy was intent on hurting her, but it wasn’t right. The truth was that he wanted to hold her, despite everything that had passed between them, he wanted to call her over and have her crawl into bed with him. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and pretend that none of this had happened, that he’d never stopped visiting her bed as a child. Perhaps he even wished that he’d violated her father’s order to stay away from her and made her his years ago. They could have married then no matter the consequences. But even as the scenario played out in his head, he knew that he had made the right choice for her. He would only have failed her.
‘Send Harald back when he comes. I’d also like food if it’s not too much trouble, without the potion.’
She only stared at him with those deep blue eyes that made him feel as if he could see to her heart. They never failed to make him want to seek solace inside them, inside her. Only she had the ability to give it to him and the knowledge rankled more than it soothed.
‘I’ll have Vidar bring you something.’ She turned, but something compelled him to call her back.
‘And, Kadlin...?’
She turned back to him and arched an eyebrow. He raised a hand to the stubble on his chin and raked his fingertips across it. ‘I’d like a shave when you have time. The itching is infuriating.’
* * *
An hour later, after she’d seen Avalt off with Ingrid and safely away from Gunnar, Kadlin found herself scraping the beard from his chiselled jaw. The first time she had done it, he’d been unconscious and manageable, while she’d been distraught and worried. This time his gaze pierced her as she worked, watching her with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. What did he want from her? She’d thought he would relish being away from her after his demand for his own chamber, so the request for a shave was a surprise. To be honest, she wasn’t up for the contact.
After their confrontation last night, she’d barely managed to get any sleep because she’d stayed awake thinking about his revelation, but she was no closer to a resolution now than she had been last night. Did he really not suspect that Avalt was his son? It seemed so unbelievable that she couldn’t credit the idea, except that his mind had been addled by the poppy. He couldn’t lie so easily and fake innocence so well under its influence, could he? Also, he hadn’t once asked about their child since he’d returned. True, he had been gravely injured and was still in the early stages of recovery, but if Gunnar had suspected, he’d have asked at some point, surely. Of course, he said he thought the child was Ingrid’s.
Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled back and wiped the blade on the damp strip of linen in her lap. The small bits of red hair stood out in stark contrast to the cloth. Her heart clenched as she studied them. Sometimes the fact that he was home would catch her at strange moments, splintering everything else so that point was brought to light. It was such a strange shade, she’d never thought to see it again, except for
on her son. Yet here she was scraping it from his jaw. He was here and she could touch him.
Placing a fingertip on his chin, she raised his face to better reach his neck. She almost sighed in relief to have his gaze removed from her, however briefly. His firm skin gave only slightly under the blade as it ran up his neck. The heat of him warmed her fingers, but she tried not to notice.
Last night was too fresh in her memory and left her twisted inside. One kiss from him had taken her right back to the life she had imagined for them. The one where he slept next to her every night and they worked together during the day creating a home for their family. Except there was no future with him. He had abandoned her—them. He had abandoned her and their child the moment he had walked out of her life. He had taken a night that was so special to her and turned it into something horrible and painful. Worse than that, he had made it so that she could never trust him. What sort of man took a heart so innocently offered and severed it in two?
Even last night he’d been intent on leaving her again. Nothing had changed. He was staying, but perhaps that was only until he recovered enough to attempt to leave again. If he tried again, she would let him. She couldn’t allow herself to get close to him and face his rejection again.
This time when she drew back to wipe the blade, he lowered his chin just enough so that he could look at her. ‘Are you all right? You don’t seem yourself.’
The deep rumble of his voice hit her low in her belly, making her acutely aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It shouldn’t matter. She had too many other concerns to care about his bare chest, or his rough voice, but it didn’t seem to matter. Her heart shuddered regardless. Instead of answering, she shook her head and gently pushed his chin back into position, except that he refused to budge.
One Night with the Viking Page 9
