‘I’ve always healed quickly,’ he said. ‘This time I will have to heal even quicker than usual.’
She turned from the pot. ‘Why?’
‘Our time will be limited, despite your brave predictions. Now that I can think with more ease, it is very clear to me what will happen—they will search for me and finally someone will declare me dead. Returning from the dead can be hard.’
‘I believe only one man has done it in the history of mankind.’
‘I’ve no idea how loyal my men will be.’
He clenched his fingers about his thumb. Tyrant. Was his assailant one man or many? In the shadows or out in the open?
‘I’d rather not put their loyalty to the test.’
She pursed her mouth. ‘So you’ve decided that you want to return before they make any such declaration? Even if you won’t have the men to hold the hall should your men choose to be disloyal. Even though Brother Palni forbade it.’
‘Circumstances may alter before that monk can return with your men. I need to know what is happening inside my hall.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘See Luba and ask her. See if her son-in-law knows anything.’
She gave a wry smile. ‘Luba is a survivor.’
‘Luba belongs to the land.’
Kal drew his top lip down over his teeth. There was something important about Luba, but he couldn’t remember what it was and why he’d allowed his man to marry her daughter.
‘There is a risk. She may see a better opportunity elsewhere, or her son-in-law may be unable to resist gossiping. Men are far worse than women. It is why we have to get our story straight tonight rather than waiting until morning. Something to do while you spin.’
She stilled. ‘Our story?’
‘Whoever did this will know full well that I was not betrothed when I left the hall. Any number of people will know. But we can keep the story as much as possible to the truth. I will say I kept the news close to my chest until I saw that we would suit.’
‘Is there someone else who expects you to make her an offer? If there was a wagering, names must have been mentioned.’
‘If there is one, matters have not gone that far.’ He swallowed the choking fear. He knew deep within his soul that no woman waited for him or expected a serious offer. ‘But blank places do remain in my memory.’
‘Whatever we do, we shall have to ensure that no one guesses about those blank spots,’ she said with a decided nod, and expertly balled some wool before reaching for more to begin the process again. ‘I agree that we need to stick as close to the truth as possible.’
‘The blank spaces terrify me,’ he said, and waited for the mockery to start.
She merely lifted a brow.
‘What sort of man was I? Did I deserve my reputation?’
‘Ask instead what sort of man do you want to be?’
‘That is not an answer.’
‘Would I have stayed with you if I had found you terrifying? Icebeard, the creature who crawled from nightmares, is not you—not now.’
His fingers relaxed at her words. His lady believed in his goodness even if he was uncertain, and that was enough for him.
His lady?
His stomach rumbled, interrupting his train of thought. At the sound, Cynehild went immediately to the pot and scooped out a bowl of porridge.
‘I’ve been keeping this warm for you. Nourishing food to assist in your healing. A far better way to occupy your mouth than speaking about what you might or might not have done.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Porridge. Is that my only choice?’
‘Is there something wrong with porridge? My son loves it.’
Kal stared at the glowing embers. Cynehild had a life beyond these walls. She’d agreed to play at being his betrothed for reasons of her own—reasons which were likely tied up with her son and husband.
His temple throbbed. He struggled to remember if he had ever felt as comfortable with his wife as he did with Cynehild. Theirs had not been the easiest of relationships; he had failed her in the worst way possible. It was in part that knowledge of his failure which had kept him from committing to another woman. He wanted to be sure that he could provide for her and any children properly. As he’d told his cousin Alff, until he could prove his worth, he’d keep his dalliances short.
‘Porridge is not one of my favourite foods.’ He attempted a smile and pushed away the unsettling thoughts of how he’d failed to protect those closest to him. Even the taste of porridge was preferable to that. ‘But I will eat it unless there is something else. Even a hunk of that dried bread and hard cheese you gave me when I first woke in the cave.’
She continued to ladle the cooked grains into an earthenware bowl. ‘Pity I’m not in the mood to make you anything else.’
‘I thought you’d agreed to be my nurse?’
‘Your memory is faulty and you’ve been thoroughly spoilt.’ She shook the ladle at him, but he caught the twinkle in her eye. ‘Ordering food as if you are a king.’
‘Requesting. I know better than to order you about.’
She brought the bowl over to him. ‘You may eat it in bed then.’
‘Are you going to feed me?’
She handed him a spoon. ‘I trust you will be able to handle this if you believe you can swing a sword.’
‘Spoons before swords—very wise.’ He balanced the bowl on his knees and stared at its steaming contents. The dark pain in his head receded to a dull ache. Dull aches he could handle. ‘I don’t have time to be ill. My enemy gains in strength. The next time I may be far more unlucky.’
His enemy would surely also hurt Cynehild if the truth about his location was known. Kal vowed again that he would die before he allowed her to be hurt.
She returned to her spinning. For a few moments they both watched the spindle twirling and the thread lengthening.
‘Brother Palni will return with more men,’ she said eventually. ‘Maybe even my sister Ansithe, whose skill with a bow is renowned.’
‘You will have to tell me the tale.’
‘I’ll tell you while you eat...let’s see you have a first bite and then I’ll begin.’
Kal studied the porridge and picked up the first spoonful. It was more difficult than he had considered to navigate the spoon to his mouth. He had to concentrate hard...harder than he ever had before. But the effort was worth it. Her porridge tasted far better than he remembered the stuff tasting. Ranka’s porridge had always had a distinct acrid taste, as if she’d burnt it and then put too much salt in it.
‘Obviously there is something wrong with my memory. This porridge is excellent.’
Cynehild began to tell him about her sister, and how she’d conquered an invading party of Northmen. She made it sound like an adventure, but he knew the women at Baelle Heale must have been terrified. Ansithe sounded formidable.
Kal ate several more bites while he considered his response. With each bite it became easier to get the spoon to his mouth. He noticed how Cynehild watched him intently but did not take the spoon from him. For that, gratitude swelled in his breast. He hated being fussed over—always had.
His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. To his amazement he’d finished the porridge. His stomach still growled.
‘That was quick for someone who dislikes porridge,’ Cynehild said, handing him a cloth and pointing to the corner of his mouth.
‘Between the story and the taste, it slipped down very easily. I was wrong about porridge—or rather your porridge. You are a good cook.’
She bent her head. ‘Making porridge is easy.’
He reached over and covered her hand with his. Her hand trembled but she allowed it to stay within his for a long heartbeat. ‘You shouldn’t dismiss a compliment so easily.’
‘I’m a widow with a young son.
Compliments are for my youngest sister, Elene. What looks I had vanished years ago, under the strain of giving birth and losing my husband.’
Whoever had whispered such poison in her ears deserved to swallow their words. In the firelight Lady Cynehild possessed an inner beauty which illuminated her face. He knew he could study it for an age and not grow bored. But he sensed she’d actively dislike compliments about her looks right now—especially from him.
‘Why?’
She withdrew her hand from his. ‘Elene will need a husband soon. My father has ambitions to ensure the family prospers.’
‘For you as well?’
‘I’ve no plans to remarry. Ever. When my son is old enough, I suspect I’ll join a convent. Several of my aunts and cousins have done that.’ A sad smile trembled on her lips. ‘A fulfilling life, by all accounts, for withered crones like me.’
‘There is nothing withered about you.’
Kal tried to think of what Cynehild would be like as a nun. He failed because the curve of her bottom lip distracted him.
‘I take it you are in no hurry to join them?’
‘No. My son needs me and I have little inclination for the role.’ She sighed and gave the porridge pot a strong stir. ‘When the time arrives I’ll have to trust my vocation will be stronger. Look at Brother Palni—he was a pagan warrior and now he finds solace as a Christian monk.’
‘My mind is clearer after the rest and the food,’ he said, instead of making a comment about the irksome monk. ‘You’ve a real skill at nursing.’
‘A compliment I accept.’
‘Deeds, not words—I’ll remember that when praising you.’
She placed another bowl of porridge in front of him. ‘Tell me what you remember about these lands instead.’
Kal closed his eyes. There were wisps of a memory—his kneeling before one of the great Danish jaarls and swearing, quickly followed by his own private ceremony in which he’d plunged his hands into the fertile soil while people, both Danes and Saxons, looked on.
‘I swore to the people that I would give my everything for them and I meant it. No one should starve as my family starved.’ He reeled off several of the improvements he’d made.
‘Your memory begins to return?’
‘Porridge appears to be the best medicine.’ His stomach growled again. ‘Just don’t ask me the names of the other jaarls.’
‘Concentrate on eating. See if we can quieten that beast in your stomach.’
Kal held out his bowl when he’d finished. Their fingers briefly touched when she reached for it. The tiny touch sent a thrill of warmth coursing through him.
‘I can say without a shadow of doubt that this is the best porridge I can ever remember tasting. Another compliment based on your ability.’
Cynehild gave him one of her smiles, the sort that made him feel nothing too terrible in the world could happen. It amazed him that in a little over a day he’d started to watch for her smiles, and wanted to discover ways he could touch her.
One day she might become a nun, but today was not that day.
The thought gave him comfort. There still remained time to change her mind.
* * *
The rose tint of dawn streamed through the doorway when Kal next woke. Cynehild crouched beside the embers of the fire, using a stick to draw in the ash. He coughed. She rapidly destroyed whatever she was doing with a sweep of her stick.
‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked.
‘Bad habit. I was trying to get my thoughts straight.’ A smudge of ash shone on her cheek. ‘Shall we see if you have a fever?’
Her hand was warm against his forehead. He reached up and wiped the smudge away. ‘Ash.’
‘My nurse used to tell me off for drawing in it.’ She backed away. ‘Your fever has vanished. More porridge?’
‘We need to plan what we will do when your men arrive,’ he said. Some day he vowed she’d reveal her secrets to him. ‘We have no idea how long we have, although my head continues to clear.’
‘Eat first,’ she said, putting another large helping of porridge in front of him.
Between mouthfuls, Kal rapidly sketched out his concerns, including the fact that his enemy might be using this time to gain in strength.
‘We need intelligence from my hall. Has anyone tried to take my place? Which men are loyal? What are the theories behind my disappearance?’
Her mouth became a thin white line. ‘Brother Palni was very specific about our remaining far away from the hall and your people. Luba always knows all the gossip. I will visit her.’
‘Your face is drawn,’ he said. ‘You should have let one of your men watch over me so you could sleep.’
She shook her head and pretended an interest in the balls of yarn which were now piled on the table. ‘It is a waste to have them watching over you when sleep is far from my mind and we may need their sword arms.’
‘I would prefer that other people do not know how badly I was injured,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘I want them to think that I went to fetch my bride. It will put my attacker on the wrong foot. When we return to the hall, I want these bandages gone.’
‘The person who attacked you will know, with or without a bandage,’ she pointed out, with a frown appearing between her arched brows. ‘Could it be that we arranged to meet on the top of Hangra Hill and I discovered that you’d been attacked. Then I insisted on ensuring you recovered before returning.’
‘But that risks the true culprit blaming you, putting it out that you enchanted me. Or that you attacked me.’
‘Why would I attack a man and then seek to save him?’
‘Everyone knows the ways of the Saxons are odd.’ He held out his hand, but she ignored it in favour of removing the pot from the embers. ‘I’ve sworn to protect you, Lady Cynehild.’
‘Yet you intend to use me as bait.’
‘I fully intend to keep you safe.’
He heard that word tyrant inside his head once again. How many of his men truly thought that of him? What sort of leader had he become?
The pain throbbed anew at his temples. He concentrated on breathing steadily and the pain receded.
‘My sisters say I worry overmuch. Forget it,’ she said, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. ‘I am not even sure my initial idea was a good one. Might it be better to tell the full truth instead?’
‘You are overthinking it.’ Kal grasped the spoon until his knuckles shone white. ‘The betrothal will force my adversary’s hand. It was a master stroke on your part. Why the nerves now?’
‘You are going to use me to force your enemy out into the open.’
A sudden image of Cynehild’s broken body clouded his vision. Would his enemy attempt to strike at him through Cynehild if he learned of his growing regard for her?
Kal blew out a long breath. ‘When the time comes, my arm will be strong enough. Why are you doubting your idea when it is such a good one?’
Cynehild sat up straighter. Her gown tightened, revealing the curve of her ample breasts. Kal forced his gaze northwards. It was a pretend betrothal, not a real one, and she led a full life far away from him—even if a piece of him kept saying over and over that this alliance between them was exactly what he needed to secure his lands.
‘I know about keeping a house, and woman’s work, but my late husband used to tell me to keep out of high politics and men’s business as it would overtax my brain. Maybe he had a point.’
Kal loathed her late husband. She might have loved him, but from what she said he’d taken pleasure in belittling her. ‘Never allow anyone to say that about your brain. I’ve known women who are better warriors than most men. And far superior strategic thinkers. Your idea buys me that most precious of commodities—time.’
‘But how did we meet?’ she asked. ‘When? Why did you keep this betrothal a secret
? We are bound to be asked those questions, regardless of keeping your injury hidden. I’ve racked my brain all night and each reason I came up with seems more outlandish than the last. This betrothal idea leaks more than my grandmother’s sieve.’
‘Peace-weaving remains a noble tradition. We will say that in my search to ensure these lands remain prosperous I contacted your brother-in-law to discuss an alliance. The laying of your husband’s sword was the excuse you needed to meet me, should anyone question our alliance.’
She nodded. ‘It makes sense to keep it simple. We can say we both wanted to ensure we were compatible before finalising the deal.’
‘I travelled without my men because I desired to meet you on my terms. I had no wish to expose you or your good name to any ridicule or innuendo. Sometimes men make extravagant claims about their sisters-in-law.’
Her hazel eyes danced. ‘Sometimes men also make extravagant claims.’
He inclined his head. ‘True enough.’
‘I’ve been married once and I’m in no hurry to take on a second husband. My heart remains buried with Leofwine. He was the perfect man for me—our spheres divided equally.’
A surge of renewed hatred for her husband flooded through him. His rival was a ghost who could do no wrong. She remained blind to the way she’d been treated by him. He silently vowed to show her that he valued her counsel.
He covered her hand. This time she allowed it to stay there. Progress. ‘In order to make this work there will have to be an obvious attraction between us. It would be best if people assume we are in love.’
‘In love?’
He watched her mouth. A spark from the fire flew up and highlighted the shadowy curve beneath her bottom lip. ‘Can you do that?’ he asked. ‘Can you pretend you desire me?’
She bent her head, examining the table but allowing her hand to stay in his. He knew if she refused he would not attempt to persuade her any more, but if she agreed it would be hugely enjoyable for them both.
Just when he had started to give up hope, she lifted her gaze to meet his. He was struck by the depths in her hazel eyes. He watched her mouth, red and bow-shaped, and the urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him.
Betrothed to the Enemy Viking Page 10
