Her heart had leapt into her throat the moment she had seen the man. Her only thought was that he had come to take Gunnar away from her. Nothing had been resolved between them and Gunnar was going to leave her...again. Surely his father would want him at home to finish his convalescence. The fear had made her run the entire way back to the sod house, so that she had reached it just seconds before the jarl and his party had come into sight. But it had seemed ill mannered of her to involve herself in their private moment, or perhaps some foreboding had stilled her feet and made her hide herself behind the house. Whichever it was, she’d stayed there, hidden, every word from his father making her angry until it had taken every ounce of willpower to keep herself away from Gunnar. Neither would appreciate her involvement and she knew Jarl Hegard well enough to understand that a woman’s interference would only make him harsher, angrier. So she’d stayed her feet, eyes closed with impotent anger as she’d listened to them until the hateful man had left.
Wiping a tear from her cheek and composing herself, she stepped around to the front of the house, her gaze finding Gunnar immediately on the bench she had left for him. He stared at the point where his father had disappeared so intently that he didn’t even notice her approach until she was upon him. Or perhaps he’d known she was there, because he didn’t seem startled at all by her presence. His fierce gaze shifted the slightest bit to settle on her. The weight of it held her silent for only a moment before she couldn’t take the pain that she knew was hiding inside it, somewhere so deep that he would never let it out.
‘He’s wrong, Gunnar.’
He did flinch then, as if just noticing her presence. Removing his gaze from her and looking out away from the direction his father had gone, he laughed. A short raspy breath, devoid of humour and filled with all the darkness that had been building inside him. ‘Is he wrong? He seemed fairly certain of himself and my inability to be jarl. You know the old son of a bitch is never wrong as well as I do.’
Annoyed by his flippant response, she hurried to his side to sit on the bench beside him to make him pay attention to her. The flippancy was his usual response to his father. She realised now that he used it as a weapon to help deflect the pain so it wouldn’t cut as deep. ‘That’s not what I meant, but even that’s not true.’ She took his face between her hands and made him look at her. When his eyes fastened to hers, she refused to let go. ‘You have all the qualities of a jarl, Gunnar. You have led many men and sacrificed yourself for them again and again. If the stories that I’ve heard around my father’s fire are true, then you already are a jarl in many ways, except for land.’ Surprise flashed in his gaze, so she elaborated. ‘Aye, the stories of your bravery and courage have made it all the way across the sea to my father. When I have visited him, there is always a story recited by a storyteller about the courageous, red warrior who fights with honour. Vidar has even confirmed them and told me more. I know that you are brave and loyal and worthy of so much more than your father can ever understand. Don’t let him make you think that you are any less than you are.’
‘But I am less than I was.’ He indicated the leg wrapped in bindings and raised a sardonic brow, challenging her to deny it.
It broke her heart that he actually believed it. ‘Do you truly believe that the men you have commanded all this time, the men you have made wealthier and stronger for being in your service, will turn their backs on you?’
He smiled again, a brief upturn of his lips that faded as quickly as it had begun, making her think he was laughing at himself more than anything she had said. ‘I will never lead them into battle again, Kadlin. I may eventually be able to sit on a horse, but the first blow would knock me down. A true warrior fights on the ground anyway, with his sword, his axe, his fists and any other bloody thing he can get his hands on.’
‘Aye, that may be true, Gunnar, but have you considered that your father rules quite well from his perch on his dais and hasn’t battled in years? You would simply command in a different way.’
His heavy gaze touched every part of her face, sweeping across her brow before settling along her lips. Its weight brushed her like an actual caress, but he wouldn’t touch her. Except for the morning when he’d awoken to her bathing him when he’d grasped her hand, and then again when his senses had been dulled from the laced broth and he’d kissed her so clumsily, he’d held himself back from her. Even when she’d nestled herself under his arm to help him walk, he’d been careful to only touch her in a perfunctory manner. But his eyes were doing everything that she knew he wanted to do to her and it left her momentarily breathless. A curl of warmth unfurled deep in her belly and spread outward. Why? Why could he always do this to her?
Finally, something snapped in his eyes and they were shuttered against her. He even pulled back just slightly so that her hands fell to fists in her lap. ‘I gave up on caring what my father thought long ago.’ With a shake of his head, he reached for his sapling and pushed himself to his feet. She would have helped, but she didn’t think he would appreciate the gesture and she was still reeling from the sting of his rejection and how fast he had directed the subject away from her question.
Turning to go back inside, he paused and slanted a glance at her. ‘He told me when I left two years ago not to come back unless I could bring Eirik home to claim his rightful place as jarl. It’s why I was delivered to your doorstep instead of my father’s. Nothing he said to me today is anything that I didn’t already know.’
Stunned by the admission, Kadlin sucked in a deep breath. She wanted to ask if that’s why he had abandoned her, but she couldn’t get the words past her throat. She wanted to ask if he’d even thought about coming back to her, but this wasn’t the time and if his rejecting her touch stung so badly, she could only imagine how hearing her worst fears confirmed would feel. If he confirmed that he’d only used her that night with no intention of ever seeing her again, then the pain would be too much to bear.
Swallowing past the lump of pain lodged in her throat, she asked, ‘Then why didn’t you bring him back?’
‘I thought about it. When I stood there on that beach and watched him pledge himself to Merewyn, I knew that any hope I had of being in my father’s good graces had gone. I knew that I’d never be welcomed back, would never see home again. That’s when I realised that it had never really been my home. If not Eirik’s Saxon, there would have been something else. My father never wanted me, except to use as a weapon against Eirik. I saw that clearly then. That’s the moment I realised it didn’t matter what he thought.’
What was there to say to that? I’m sorry seemed paltry and inadequate to express the sorrow she felt on his behalf and the anger that she felt towards his father. She realised that her childhood had been sheltered. With a mother and father who loved and cherished her, she’d never been able to completely understand what life had been like for Gunnar. Though he’d sought her out often enough in his childhood, she’d only welcomed his attention without really understanding what drove him to dole it out to her. He’d needed someone to love; someone to hold on to when his world became too harsh for him to bear; someone to love him back when no one else would. She’d never completely understood until that moment how much his own father had stood in the way of Gunnar’s happiness. Her happiness, as well, because if he’d been half the father her own father had been, then he would have looked for ways to help Gunnar become a man with a high station in life, regardless of his plans for Eirik. Nothing would have stood in the way of their eventual marriage.
‘Help me inside.’ Gunnar’s voice broke her reverie and she realised that he held his hand out to her. Though his words were spoken as a command, the request was in his eyes.
Fitting herself beneath his shoulder, she closed her eyes briefly when the warmth of his arm stole around her. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so there was nothing to hinder the heat of his skin from reaching hers. She had to fight the temptation to bury her f
ace against his shoulder, to breathe in his scent that was distinctly male and as potent as it had been the night he’d come to her. When his fingers gripped her waist, it was as if she had become more aware of him, and hums of pleasure moved throughout her body from that contact point.
They moved slowly through the front room. His strength had already improved immensely from the night he’d tried to leave and he’d already put on considerable weight from when he’d arrived so thin and broken. He had been moving better on his own, but the strain of standing for so long had drained him because he leaned on her heavily. Kadlin was happy to see the improvements, even though it meant that he would leave her soon. She knew that despite his current feelings, he would find a way to command his men again and she honestly didn’t know if he would want his future to include her. Even more, she didn’t think that she could forgive him for leaving her.
Once they reached the door of his chamber, he stopped and pulled his arm from around her. ‘Thank you.’
The words were whispered in that raspy voice that somehow managed to crawl its way through her. She nodded and pretended that it hadn’t, because she had become very good at pretending. ‘I have to get back to...’ She had almost said Avalt, whom she had left playing in the sandy banks of the river with Ingrid and her siblings watching over him, when she’d come running to Gunnar’s side. But she’d carefully avoided all mention of her son, afraid that she might say too much without even realising it. There was nothing she wanted to say on the subject now. ‘I’m needed at the river,’ she clarified.
His eyes had gone hooded, though, and he watched her as intently as if she were the only person in the world. It made her acutely aware that he was a strong, attractive male and they were alone in the house for the first time since he’d recovered enough to stand upright. The warmth from earlier returned to unfurl in her belly and curl its tendrils outward to weigh heavy in her limbs. When he focused on her mouth, she parted her lips almost as if he’d commanded her to and took a shuddering breath, while her nipples beaded beneath her dress. Before she realised what she had done, she licked her tongue across her bottom lip, not as any sort of enticement but because it felt as if every bit of moisture had moved to other parts of her body. But that’s how he saw it and a flash of heat danced in his amber eyes, lighting them from within. It took every ounce of self-control to turn away from him, but she did it because though he’d taken everything else from her, he’d only made her sense of self-preservation stronger. If she hoped to retain any part of herself, she needed to get away.
‘Kadlin.’ The word chipped away at her, making her pause long enough that he continued. ‘What did you mean?’
‘What?’ She’d clearly lost all ability for rational thought because she had no idea what he meant. Without thinking of the consequences, without realising that she was walking back into his trap, she turned back to face him.
‘Outside, you said that my father was wrong, but you didn’t mean about becoming jarl. What did you mean?’
‘I meant that he was wrong when he said that you are like him. You are nothing like him. At all. He is weak and must compensate for that with his anger and brute strength. I’ve never understood why my father counted him as such a good friend.’ She shook her head and stepped towards him, wanting to take his arm, but unwilling to break across the barrier between them. ‘You are not weak. You have within you the power to do great things, things that he never could do. He’s only jealous of you. He sees that in you and views it as a threat. I pity him.’
The shuttered facade that almost constantly shielded his eyes wavered, then the entire aloof demeanour that he wore as a second skin cracked across his face. It fell away with the furrowing of his brow, the grimace that curled the corners of his lips upward in a shudder of pain he tried but failed to completely suppress. His eyes fell closed to fight it back, but when they opened she was staring into the eyes of the boy she loved. He stared back at her and though his hand had come up to cup her cheek and his thumb traced her lips, he was looking deep into her eyes. He was seeing her. For one brief, extraordinary moment, she was seeing him and there was nothing between them. The years between them didn’t matter.
‘I have done bad things,’ he whispered.
‘You have let anger guide you, but it’s not who you are.’
He took in another shuddering breath, as if barely able to accept her words. Then he moved closer, crowding her against the wall, but she couldn’t move to push him away. ‘How do you see things in me that I don’t even see in myself? How is it that you make me want to be the man that you see?’ He was so close now that he looked down at her, his breath hot where it fanned across her cheek.
‘Because you are that man, Gunnar.’ Her voice had lowered to a whisper. ‘I know you, I’ve always known you. It’s you who is hiding.’
His eyes finally released hers when they moved to her mouth and his hand moved to cup the nape of her neck, his fingers disappearing into her hair. That was her only warning before his lips crashed down on hers. His grip tightened in her hair and he angled her head back to give himself better access to her. Her lips parted under the assault, greedy for more of him, and he gave it to her when he pushed his tongue between them to brush against hers. The wet, hot friction was so delicious she moaned in the back of her throat and mimicked the movement back to him. It was not a gentle kiss. It was too filled with desire, longing and pain to be gentle. But it quickly grew out of control, consuming them with its heat and demanding more.
His grip on her hair tightened painfully, but even that only heightened her awareness of him, her need to be possessed by him. When he pulled her against him, her body sought to press its softness against the hard muscle of his, as if that alone could assuage the ache inside her. It only made it worse, and made her more restless to feel him, all while knowing that nothing less than the heat of his skin against her own would do.
Then he abruptly pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers. His eyes were closed so tightly that it looked like he was fighting pain and she thought she’d inadvertently hurt his leg, until he opened them to look at her. ‘Ah, love, how do you consume me so?’
Just that quickly, she realised how close she’d come to giving in to him. His words so clearly echoed her own confusion. She had no right to want him as she did, knowing how deeply he had hurt her. It was a betrayal to herself that she let him consume her. Unable to speak, she pushed him back, pulling herself from his grasp and running out of the house. No matter what he said or did, he was not the boy she longed for. Too much had happened for her to ever risk forgetting that.
Chapter Twelve
Kadlin gently ran her fingertips through her son’s baby-fine hair as he slept at her side. The movement roused him and he latched on to her breast again, unwilling to give it up just yet. The dark clouds threatening rain had kept them from their usual morning outing to the river, so he’d settled down to an early nap. Avalt was almost a year and a half now, so he generally only took milk in the morning and evening, but he’d asked and she hadn’t been able to refuse him. She really didn’t mind, though. Being with him soothed her and she’d needed more of that since her encounter with Gunnar...his father.
His father.
Those words had been appearing more and more in her thoughts lately. Avalt was so like Gunnar in his appearance that it had never been far from her mind, but always in a way that was distant. She would wonder if perhaps one day he would meet his father; or if he would grow up to look as much like his father as he did now. Those thoughts had always been of one day in the future. Not now. Yet his father was here now, so near yet still without any knowledge of his son.
She closed her eyes and let her head drop to the bed. The guilt of keeping Avalt from him was eating away at her. In the beginning it had been easy to justify. Gunnar had been, understandably, too absorbed with his injury to handle anything else. It ha
d been the reasonable thing to do to keep that information to herself. Fair and kind, even. But now Gunnar wasn’t confined to his bed any more. He arose every morning when they left for the river. He even came out sometimes in the afternoon when Avalt had his nap. He was improving every week, though it hadn’t escaped her notice that he only roused when Avalt was away. It saddened her that he had shown her child no interest, even as it played into her plan to keep the truth from Gunnar.
Now the idea of not telling him about his son only seemed cruel and more than a little selfish, which made her even more angry with herself, leaving her in a foul mood.
That mood could partially be blamed on the visit from Jarl Hegard, or what had come after the visit—her talk with Gunnar. More specifically, the way he had kissed her. That kiss! She despised how readily she had capitulated to his kiss. Nay, it wasn’t even that. It was those eyes and how they had looked at her, broken her with their intensity. Making her feel things, see things, that she knew didn’t exist. He was no more the boy she had loved than she was that same girl, but she’d responded to him just as if he were. She’d opened to his kiss as easily as she’d invited him into her bed that night.
Why did he get to have this hold over her? How did he get to make her want him when it was the worst thing she could possibly do? By the gods, she wanted that man and she despised the weakness he caused within her. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. There had never been another man she had wanted. She’d known it since she’d been old enough to realise what happened between men and women. Even when he’d first pressed his lips to hers all those years ago when they had been children and she hadn’t even known what that strange longing had been, she had wanted him. She had kissed other men, hoping that one of them would make her forget about this infuriating one, but none of them ever had. None of them had ever wielded the power over her that he did. With one look from across a crowded room he could reach inside her to places no one else had ever been able to breach with a kiss.
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