‘Is that why the fields here are so well-worked?’
‘I never want another to suffer as I suffered. It is now in my power to make things happen.’
‘All this because of guilt?’
‘I suspect so. Don’t think better of me than you should—or worse of me either. I know I’ve never killed a man except in battle.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t...’ Cynehild paused, aware that her voice had grown overly loud. Her remaining men could probably hear her, up at the barn. She filled her lungs with air and hastily set the distaff down. ‘I had luck in saving your life, but one day my luck will run out.’
‘We don’t need luck, you and I. We only need my strength and my sword arm alongside your brains.’
He threw off the covers and rose bare-chested to his feet. He swayed slightly, as if he remained uncertain about his balance. In the faint light his chest gleamed golden with a network of silvery scars interlaced with a dusting of hair which pointed down to his trousers.
Cynehild rapidly developed an interest in her wool and tried to rid her brain of the image of him partially naked. She was supposed to be beyond noticing such things. Except she had noticed. And parts of her she’d considered long dead now showed they were most definitely alive.
Unable to resist, she looked up at him again. He remained standing, arms at his sides, head tilted as he assessed her closely. Her mouth went dry. Against all reason, she desired his touch.
She quickly grabbed his discarded tunic from beside the pallet and thrust it towards him. ‘Put this on. Immediately.’
A tiny smile played on his lips. ‘We need to discuss things.’
‘I will leave and not come back unless you obey me.’ She retreated five steps.
He pointed towards the door. ‘Go. Go with your monk and your men. If you take the horses you will be able to catch him quickly enough. Keep safe. I will manage. Abandon me.’
Cynehild shifted uncomfortably. Manage? How? He could barely stand up straight.
‘“Abandon” is a harsh word,’ she said, forcing her lips upwards. ‘I merely object to your nakedness.’
‘Why do you object?’
‘You are seeking to distract me.’ She raised a brow. ‘I see through your ploy. My sister used to do that when she was losing at tafl.’
A faint smile played on his full lips. ‘So you do play tafl, after all. Excellent. I look forward to pitting my wits against you. It has been a long time since I had a worthy opponent.’
‘You misunderstand. I loathed the game as a girl. Ansithe was determined to win at all costs. I was delighted to give it up when Leofwine declared that women had no business trying to play it.’
Kal slipped his tunic over his head, hiding his magnificent chest. ‘You really know nothing of the game?’
Fury consumed her. He was about to mock her for not knowing how to play like a warrior. She’d had enough of that when she was a bride.
‘Enough to know how counters are considered expendable when one is protecting the king. I refuse to be expendable. I matter. My child’s life matters.’ She pulled the door open with a loud crash. ‘I will return once my temper calms. If you want to speak to me, keep your tunic on and treat me like the equal that I am.’
She fled into the yard, put her hands on her knees and took life-giving gulps of air. When the trembling had stopped, she straightened. She’d nearly walked into his arms and laid her head against his chest. There were any number of reasons why that was not one of her wiser ideas.
Keeping busy until her feelings passed was the best way. Then she’d return—serene, resolute and very much the widow whose heart remained with her late husband.
* * *
Kal eyed the firmly slammed door.
‘Come back, please,’ he muttered. ‘You misunderstood me.’
Silence. His heart clenched.
The sound of Cynehild’s voice speaking to her men floated back to him. She had every reason to be annoyed with him. He should have realised that Mercian women were fastidious about seeing a man’s naked body. He should have obeyed her immediately, rather than enjoying the way her pupils had dilated as she’d stared at him and her tongue had run over her mouth.
He’d behaved appallingly.
He pressed his hands to his temples. He understood Lady Cynehild’s unspoken rules now.
He slowly sank to his knees and pleaded with any god who might be listening to help him become a better man—one who might be worthy of her regard, if not her friendship. He knew he’d worked hard to achieve what he had enjoyed, but without Cynehild he was in danger of losing it all.
Outside, all had gone quiet. Kal pressed his lips together. Going out and checking would be no good...he’d have to wait for her to return.
‘Forgive me,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve sworn to protect you. Believe in me, please. Return. Let me explain.’
* * *
The shadows stretched three-quarters of the way across the floor when Cynehild ran out of tasks to do in the barn. She was back on an even footing now. She was impervious to the tug of attraction, the crinkle of a pair of masculine eyes and a charming smile, even the allure of a naked chest. She’d simply been starved of affection, and had been attracted to the first man who treated her like a woman instead a crone.
‘The fire has nearly gone out,’ she said crossly, going back into the darkened cottage.
It held a distinct chill, but Kal lay on top of the pallet, fully dressed. Just like Leofwine would have—or worse, her father, someone who expected to be waited on hand and foot.
‘Why is it that men can never do anything in the house?’
Kal stared at a point over her shoulder, his lips pressed together in a thin white line. ‘You came back. I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t. There seemed little point in a fire if it was simply me—waiting for whatever the Nourns had in store.’
There was a new, humbler note to his voice.
‘There were things I had to do.’
Cynehild gave the embers a stir and the fire flared into life. She put several more pieces of wood on it and soon the hut basked in warmth. She moved the pot of grain she’d set to soak earlier closer to the fire, so it could bubble away.
‘My responsibilities stretch beyond you and your little games.’
‘I apologise for whatever I did that made you upset. Why shouldn’t you play tafl? I’ve known expert players who are women. I’ve known warriors who are women—far better warriors than I could ever hope to be. I fear that perhaps I tried to drive you away before you abandoned me.’
Cynehild picked up her discarded spindle and distaff and set the spindle to twirling. She’d been too quick to judge him. ‘Apology accepted.’
‘I have also been thinking that whoever did this to me is very skilled. They have taken no chances,’ he said, starting to rise. She motioned for him to stay where he was. ‘I’ve no idea who knew you were coming here, or why I went up that hill. I only know the outcome. Your monk is correct—I have put you in danger. I did know a version of the truth of who I was and I kept it hidden while we were in the cart. I should have trusted you to do the right thing. Forgive me? I do genuinely need your help, Lady Cynehild—as an equal and not as some expendable counter.’
Kal wanted her to be his equal in this? Cynehild gave the spindle an extra hard turn and the thread broke. It went bouncing across the floor, stopping beside where he lay.
He picked it up and held it out to her. ‘Yours.’
She hastily retrieved it, avoiding touching his outstretched palm, but her cheeks heated. No man had ever told her that she could be his equal before.
‘I can’t remember when that last happened. Dropping the spindle, I mean.’
‘My memory remains hazy, my lady. Since you left earlier, I’ve been concentrating hard. Yet my thoughts slip away like water through a s
ieve.’ He put his hand to his forehead. ‘I may be jaarl of these lands, but I’ve no memory of who my closest allies are. Do you wish me to knock on the door of the hall and ask? Should I give away the one advantage I have?’
‘Luba may know more,’ she said, to cover her awkwardness. ‘She used to have all the gossip at her fingertips. People confide in her when they go to her for various potions and salves.’
‘Whoever did this made their plans very carefully. They used your imminent arrival as a cover.’
‘Were you with anyone when you went up that hill?’
Kal clenched his fist. ‘I only have the memory of a voice saying, “Thus shall all tyrants fall, Icebeard!”’
‘Was it a Mercian voice?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t even say if it was a man’s or woman’s voice. They expected me to die, but you happened along.’
‘I didn’t see anyone.’
‘They might have seen you, though. That could explain the rumours swirling about my death. You could be in grave danger.’ His lips turned upwards. ‘I’m treating you as an equal and confiding all my thoughts to you, as requested.’
Cynehild gulped hard. Part of her wished she’d remained in ignorance, but a stronger part was pleased she knew. ‘We may have need of your sword arm sooner rather than later. Who knows who Luba will tell?’
‘Her countenance shines with greed. She will keep her mouth shut. She wants more gold.’
‘Perhaps. Or is it even that she owes you a debt for getting her daughter married?’
‘My instinct is that greed is what motivates her.’ His shrewd gaze swept her features. ‘And your motivation has to be more than a promise to your late husband.’
A bead of sweat trickled down her back. The need to confess grew within her but she swallowed it. Once she had the gold safe, then she’d explain the entire story to Kal. More than anything, she wanted her son to grow up to be the sort of honourable warrior she knew he could be.
‘Simple humanity plays a role.’
‘It is a rare thing indeed to encounter someone who doesn’t require riches, Lady Cynehild.’
She reached for some more wool. ‘You are a cynic, Kal.’
He gave a genuine laugh then, which filled the room and warmed her all the way down to her toes.
‘I’m a terrible patient. I dislike being in bed.’ He started to rise. ‘I should be up, practising with my sword, ensuring I can swing it properly as I fear we both will have need of it, rather than lazing about. Someone wants to kill me, my lady.’
‘You will have little choice but to do as I say.’ She forced a smile and pointed back towards the bed. ‘Who else but me could lend you a sword? And I doubt very much you could lift Leofwine’s right now. My father always said that it was far too heavy a sword for anyone except a fully-grown man.’
He flexed his arms in mock indignation, making the muscles bulge. ‘Am I some beardless boy?’
‘Given your injury, I doubt you could even lift the lightest sword for any length of time. Your balance is off.’
‘I could use a stick.’ He leant down, but stopped abruptly. He slowly straightened. All colour had drained from his face. ‘The world has started spinning...’
Cynehild put her hand under his elbow, helping him to balance. Slowly she led him back to the bed. ‘You need to rest.’
‘I would rest better if I had some companionship.’ He clasped a hand to his head. ‘That came out all wrong, my lady. I apologise. I seem to spend all my time apologising to you.’
‘I’ve no intention of taking you up on the offer, regardless. You sleep alone.’
‘You aren’t angry with me?’ His fingers caught hers and held on tight. ‘I don’t think I could bear it if you were angry with me again, my lady.’
‘You are unwell.’ She eased him back onto the bed. ‘You must remain there, on your side. Your bandages should be changed and then I want you to rest.’
His fingers caught hers again as she started to unwrap the bandage. ‘My lady... Cynehild... I won’t forget again, will I?’
‘I hope not.’
‘I’ll always remember you. In your debt for ever. Whatever you ask, if it is in my power, it is yours.’
A lump formed in Cynehild’s throat. Kal had no idea what he was saying or what he was offering. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her quest, what her promise to Leofwine entailed and her hopes for Wulfgar’s future. Once again she swallowed the words. Far too risky. It was one thing to return a sword, but quite another to rob a church or a man who was becoming a friend—even if the money morally belonged to her son.
‘I will hold you to that,’ she told him gently.
Chapter Six
A deep darkness shrouded the room when Kal next woke, briefly disorientated and wondering where he was. Embers burnt low in the hearth, casting a faint warm glow. His body relaxed as the details of what he’d recently experienced swept over him. He knew where he was and why. His memory continued to function, even if significant gaps remained.
A tiny movement glimpsed out of the corner of his eye made him turn his head.
Cynehild sat holding a distaff piled high with sheep’s wool in one hand while she set a spindle twisting, expertly making thread. The amount of thread on the spindle had increased considerably. As he watched, she broke the thread and without a pause wrapped it into a ball, placing it beside three others on the table. She then took two of the balls and placed them on the distaff.
The glow highlighted the sweep of her neck and made her blond hair gleam gold. The entire scene was one of peace and harmony. A wave of nostalgia for when he was young and watching his mother perform the same sort of ritual washed over him. He’d forgotten how safe it made him feel until he’d experienced it again.
‘Why do demons trouble your sleep?’ he asked, to keep his thoughts from straying towards areas which were best left unexplored. His past belonged in the past. It was something not to be remarked on or mentioned, because he was too busy trying to live in the present.
‘Who says they do?’ She put the spindle and distaff down on the table with a distinct thump. One of the balls rolled across the table before falling to the floor.
‘It’s the second night I’ve discovered you awake.’
She reached down and retrieved the ball of wool, balancing it on her palm. A line developed between the perfect arches of her brows. ‘It is a habit I formed when my son was a baby. The night is the best time for uninterrupted thinking—just me and my thoughts.’
‘When was the last time you slept properly? Tell me truthfully, instead of giving me an easy answer.’
Cynehild rose and stirred the fire. A great arc of sparks rose before quickly winking out. ‘Tonight I do two things—keep watch over you and ensure the wool will be ready for weaving.’
Kal raised his body further and allowed the change of subject. ‘What will you do with the balls of wool? Weave them together in a cloth? I remember the clackety-clack of my mother’s loom.’
Her face cleared. ‘If I tried weaving with those, then the thread would break and kink. This is merely the first stage—they are the ply.’ She put two more balls on the distaff and twisted the threads together before fastening them to the spindle and setting it in motion. ‘Because they are equal, once they are twisted together they create a much stronger thread. Later Luba will wash and dye it before putting it on a shuttle to be woven into cloth.’
She handed him two different balls—the one he’d watched her wrapping from the spindle and the other, where two ply were twisted together.
‘See which one is easier to break.’
Kal broke the first easily, but the second proved harder. ‘Do the ply have to be of the same strength?’ he asked.
‘It helps to make sure the cloth is long-lasting.’
‘A ready answer.’
Kal tightened his fist about the ball of yarn. Had his mother loved him as much Cynehild clearly loved her son? ‘But he is older now and must sleep through the night, or you wouldn’t have left him.’
Cynehild got up and gave the fire another stir. This time the sparks were less vibrant. ‘The habit of not sleeping has come back to me on this journey. I must be a poor traveller. I’ve taken to reviewing the day and seeing how I can improve tomorrow. Spinning is almost as good as sleeping for relaxing me.’
He nodded, knowing it was a slight stretching of the truth, although her eyes were far from sunken. She might have stopped sleeping, but Kal suspected that it had only started when she’d discovered him on the hill.
‘Sleep makes things better,’ he said.
She shook her head before moving a pot closer to the fire. ‘I will bear that in mind. I had intended on sleeping once I’d finished the remainder of the wool.’ She raised a pointed eyebrow. ‘Alone.’
Kal inclined his head but kept his gaze trained on Cynehild, trying to discern precisely what was in her mind. Another wave of unaccustomed jealousy towards her late husband swept through him, surprising him with its intensity. ‘Whatever that monk told you about me and my intentions towards you—he is wrong.’
‘You slept for a long time.’ She gave the pot a stir, lit a reed and came over to him. She laid a cool hand on his forehead while she held up the spluttering light from the reed. ‘No fever, and your wound looks to be healing well. There’s no fresh blood.’ She pinched the reed out, sending them back into the shadowy light from the hearth. ‘All is as it should be.’
He wanted to put his hand over hers and keep it against his forehead. Her touch made his thinking become far clearer. But he allowed her to move away from him and back towards where the pot bubbled and spat.
Betrothed to the Enemy Viking Page 9
