‘He refused to leave me even after he was old enough to be on his way.’ Rolfe stroked the dog’s thick coat in obvious affection. ‘But I’ve found he can be quite useful at times. He’s saved my hide more than once.’
‘You were kind to take him in when you found him.’
He shook his head, meeting her gaze again. ‘It wasn’t kindness. There is nothing noble in leaving an innocent to suffer needlessly.’
He said it with such quiet conviction that she knew he spoke true. His sense of honour was one thing that had attracted her to him from the beginning. It wasn’t kindness that had made him do it. It was duty. As much as she admired that about him, it was making it difficult to keep herself away from him. This would all be much easier if he was abhorrent and easy to hate. Honestly, it was becoming easier and easier to forget that he was a Dane. Perhaps if Father met him, he would understand that Rolfe was nothing like the Danes they despised.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, his perceptive gaze picking up her unsettled thoughts.
Caught up in the relentless need to be as noble as he, she answered honestly. ‘That I wish you weren’t a Dane.’ If he was a Saxon, she’d have never been put in the awful position of plotting against him. Would he look at her so gently if he knew she’d stolen from him? That she’d been sent to spy on him? Beneath it all was a deep-seated insecurity that had been present since her mother’s abandonment: How could he want her? She was no one important.
He sensed there was more to her words and his gaze dropped down to her mouth before gliding back up to her eyes. ‘Perhaps if you close your eyes you can pretend.’ His voice held a dry edge of humour, but his eyes were fathomless and intense.
Somehow in the next instance, they were leaning over Wyborn, so close together that she could smell the sweet honey from the morning cake on his breath. She had no recollection of moving, but his mouth hovered over hers and she let her eyes fall closed. The butterflies in her stomach leapt for joy when his warm breath caressed her lips. In the next instance, his mouth pressed tenderly against hers. She’d never dreamed that his lips could feel so soft. They moved over hers in a gentle caress, searching and slow, but it wasn’t enough for either of them. A sound she didn’t recognise came from her throat and he moved to touch her neck, cupping the back of her head in his large hand and tilting her slightly.
His lips became searching, moving in gentle brushes along the rim of hers and taunting her with the promise of more. She’d never been kissed before and had only once or twice come upon Ellan kissing some boy, but she’d never thought that it could feel this way. It was lovely and gentle. The soft bristles of his short beard occasionally rasped against her smooth skin, but the sensation was pleasant, exciting even, scattering bolts of awareness that seemed to shoot all through her body with each touch. Even her fingertips and toes tingled with the pleasure.
This is why Ellan kisses boys. It was heavenly.
‘Is it working?’ he whispered against her lips.
She was so lost in the moment she barely knew what he meant, but a mumbled, ‘Aye’, tumbled past her lips none the less. Saxon or Dane, all that mattered was that Rolfe was kissing her. Before she could stop herself or think better of it, she chased him, her mouth finding his and searching for more. Much to her delight, he obliged her, pushing his hand up farther on her scalp so that he cupped the back of her head to hold her for his pleasure. An animal sound came from his throat, low and rough, but exciting her. It sent a pulse of excitement to some place deep between her thighs. She put a hand on his chest to steady herself and was pleased to feel his heart pounding as fast as her own.
Something wet and smooth touched her bottom lip. The feeling was so strange and unexpected that she jumped back slightly. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling pleasurably as he brought her back to him. ‘Shh...’ he soothed, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. ‘Open to me.’ The harsh rasp of his voice was her undoing. The need and textured longing made her want to do anything to please him, so she complied with his request and parted her lips, though she had no idea why he’d want her to do such a thing.
The hot wetness stroked her again, sliding across her bottom lip before dipping inside, the contrast between the smooth and rough texture revealing to her that it was his tongue. His tongue! The first thought that went through her mind was that no Saxon would ever kiss this way. It was barbaric and it served her right for ever thinking for a moment that she could convince herself that he wasn’t a Dane.
She should stop him...she meant to stop him. Only his tongue chose that moment to brush against her own. The slick glide was pure wickedness that left embers of heat crackling where he’d touched her. She made a sound of surprise, but he must have taken it as assent because it made him brush his tongue against hers again. This time he moved in a soft and silky rhythm, in and out, parrying with the tip of her tongue.
He might have been giving the bulk of his attention to her mouth, but her entire body throbbed to vibrant life. Every skilful thrust of his tongue caused a reaction some place else. Her breasts swelled and tightened, her stomach fluttered and farther down her body turned molten, slickening, aching for him in a way she’d never felt before.
Hesitant but somehow wanting more of the delicious torment, she touched him back, chasing his tongue with hers and delighting in the friction of their tongues sliding against each other. Shifting her weight to better reach him, she tightened her grip on his tunic and apparently displeased Wyborn, because he made a sound of discontent and shoved out from between them. They broke apart, her gaze falling to the dog who came to his feet and stretched, one paw sticking out behind him, before he trotted off to the opposite side of the clearing, sniffing the ground to look for a good spot to relieve himself.
Only when he’d sniffed his way around the trunk of an oak did she become aware of the rather large male next to her. His breaths came in deep, heaving pants that made his chest move up and down. His eyes were alive with a fierce hunger she’d never seen in him before. He’d always been so reserved and controlled with her. The pupils of his eyes had expanded, making the vivid blue appear darker. The way he looked at her made her feel like prey and he was the predator waiting to eat her up. By some perversity she couldn’t begin to fathom, she liked that feeling, wanted to savour it. It made her think that she might enjoy being devoured by him.
As soon as the wicked thought crossed her mind, her face flamed with shame. This. This was the wicked temptation that had led her own mother astray. He was her enemy and for those few moments it hadn’t mattered that he was a Dane. She’d have given him anything he wanted.
Was this how Mother had felt? Had this strange pleasure turned a once loving woman into someone who could turn her back on her entire family? With a clarity often born of experience, Elswyth understood that this was exactly what had happened. Her mother had traded her dreary life at home for the excitement of a Dane who had tempted her beyond her resistance. Worse...Elswyth could feel that same allure snaking itself around her, digging its roots into her and pulling her to the man at her side. She was just like her mother, maybe worse in some ways, because she had known of this temptation and had allowed it to happen anyway.
Shaking her head to deny it, she asked, ‘How could you kiss me like that?’ It was as sharp as an accusation.
The space between his brows became very small as he looked down at her. ‘Like what?’
‘Like...like a heathen. I am a Saxon and I won’t be treated like a...a...’
‘Dane?’ He filled in the silence with the only obvious answer.
She shook her head, unable to reply.
The sardonic humour in his voice was unmistakable when he asked, ‘Do you truly believe that a Saxon man wouldn’t kiss that way?’
She had, but the way he asked the question had her wondering if she’d been wrong.
‘Or is the problem really that you enjoyed i
t too much?’ His voice was back to being soft and tender with the husky edge that she was coming to crave. ‘And you were aware that I was a Dane the entire time.’
She closed her eyes as the truth of his accusation washed over her. That was exactly the problem. She very much feared that she was ready to allow him to do whatever he wanted with her and the fact that he was a Dane would matter very little.
The faint sound of a horn back at Alvey saved her from answering. It signalled the end of morning chores and was the call to the morning meal. It also meant the end of their sparring session. He rose and began to gather the wooden swords without another word.
* * *
‘Ellan, what is kissing like?’ That night after they had retired to their alcove for the evening, Elswyth finally got up the nerve to ask the question that had been burning through her all day. Ellan stopped with the comb halfway finished with its journey through a lock of her long hair. The lock shimmered with notes of honey and sunlight in the glow of several tallow candles set across the bench at the end of their shared bed.
‘Have you never been kissed?’ Ellan asked.
The air was heavy as even it seemed to await her answer. She’d already determined to not lie any more than she had to—the theft of the bloodstone and the fact that she was supposed to be spying on these people she was coming to respect sat heavy on her. She wouldn’t compound her sins by becoming more of a liar. She couldn’t look at Ellan’s face, so she stared at the lock of hair as she answered, ‘Not at the farm.’
Ellan took a moment to mull that over before her hands resumed working the comb through a small knot. ‘You mean to say that Osric never...’
Elswyth shook her head, her brows furrowing as she finally met her sister’s gaze. She was so tired of hearing about Osric. ‘Nay! I told you that I had no plans to wed him.’
‘Apologies,’ Ellan said without any regret evident in her tone. ‘He followed you around enough that I assumed he’d stolen one or two.’
‘Well, he didn’t.’
‘That explains a lot actually about your lack of kissing. No other man could get close to you with the way he hovered.’
Elswyth held back a groan at the turn in the conversation. She had known that asking the question to her sister wouldn’t be straightforward, which is why she’d put it off for as long as she had. For a time she had even considered going to Lady Gwendolyn, but had put that thought aside as soon as she’d had it. She didn’t want to explain to her what had happened with Rolfe. Not that she wanted to explain it to Ellan either, but she needed to talk to someone.
‘But wait!’ Ellan’s exclamation made Elswyth startle, nearly dropping her own comb. ‘You said not on the farm... Does that mean you’ve been kissed here? In Alvey?’ Her eyes narrowed as her lips turned up in a shrewd smile.
Elswyth swallowed once...twice. It didn’t help to moisten her dry mouth at all. ‘Could you just answer the question, please?’ she finally asked.
Ellan waited until Elswyth had almost decided she shouldn’t have asked, before she said, ‘I presume you know the general way it’s done.’ Her eyes softened along with her tone, and she moved across the bed to sit beside her sister, the comb forgotten. ‘What is it precisely that you want to know?’
‘Is it more than a touching of lips?’
Ellan’s eyebrow rose slightly, but she didn’t seem to think the question completely foolish. ‘It can often lead to more than kissing,’ she answered with a smile.
‘Nay, I mean the kissing itself. Is...?’ Her cheeks burned with what she was about to ask, but she needed to know so she closed her eyes and forced out the words. ‘Is the tongue involved?’
She had known it was a wicked deed, but Ellan’s swift inhale of breath only confirmed it. ‘Someone kissed you with his tongue? Who?’ She gave a shriek that she quickly covered with her hands. ‘It was Rolfe! Is that what you’ve been doing every morning?’
‘Shh.’ Elswyth was tempted to poke her head out to make certain no one had heard them, but decided it would only rouse suspicion. ‘Aye, he kissed me this morning, but it’s not what we’ve been doing every morning.’ The muscles in her arms were sore from the sparring sessions over the past couple of days. They were making progress, despite getting diverted today.
‘And he used his tongue?’ Ellan prodded her.
If it was possible, she managed to blush harder. She could feel the heat all the way up to her ears. Why was she making her say it again? ‘Aye. Is that...normal? Do Saxon men kiss like that?’
‘Ah, I see.’ Ellan nodded, assuming the look of a wise elder as she straightened her shoulders. ‘In my experience, the Danes are much more...what’s the word to use here? Knowledgeable.’
‘In your experience? Ellan, how many of them have you kissed?’
‘Only two. Don’t look at me like that. How else am I to choose a husband?’
Elswyth scoffed, ‘I didn’t even realise kissing had anything to do with choosing a husband.’
‘Oh, Elswyth.’ She shook her head. ‘Of course it has something to do with it. He must do it properly. If he doesn’t it could go very badly when it comes to bed-play.’
Elswyth rose and put her hands to her flaming cheeks. ‘I don’t believe Father meant for this to happen when he allowed us to come here.’
‘Nay, I’m certain he didn’t. He wants us to be proper little puppets who will marry and produce babies as he chooses, but we are not puppets. I won’t have just any husband and neither should you. Sit and let’s finish our talk.’ She reached up and gently took Elswyth’s hand and tugged her back down. ‘I’m sorry this is shocking to you. I think if you had spent more time with the women in the village and less time at home with the chores, this would all be much clearer. I should have realised that there are things you don’t know. I apologise for not speaking with you sooner.’
Somewhat overcome by this whole trove of information she’d known nothing about, Elswyth gave a quick nod.
Ellan relaxed and set her comb aside. Taking both of Elswyth’s hands in hers, she said, ‘I didn’t mean to imply that kissing was the only way to choose a husband, but it is very important. Men like to pretend that it doesn’t matter, because it goes easier for them that way. If they don’t have to try to make it good for the woman, then ’tis less for them to worry about. But I’m told that bed-play can be pleasant and not merely something a woman has to endure. How a man kisses can tell you a lot about how he goes about other things.’
‘So what does it tell you when he uses his tongue?’ Now that Elswyth had had the entire day to ponder that kiss and she was currently resolved to nothing but brutal honesty, she could admit to herself that it had been pleasant. Was that a sign that other things in bed with him would be pleasant? She wanted to ask, but it was too embarrassing.
Ellan gave her that sly, mischievous smile. ‘It’s very good, Elswyth. The boys at home were too sheltered to know to use it, but the men here know. It tells you that he’s concerned for your pleasure.’
‘Isn’t it...wicked?’
‘That depends on who you ask and who you kiss, I suppose. If it’s only kissing and only for the purposes of finding a suitable husband, I think it’s forgivable.’
‘It seems...don’t you think they kiss that way because they’re barbarians?’
To her utter dismay, Ellan threw her head back and laughed and laughed. When she finally could stop herself from laughing enough to talk, tears were streaming from her eyes. ‘Do you think a barbarian would care about your pleasure?’
Put that way... ‘Nay, I suppose not.’ It seemed silly that she had even been upset about it. Shame quickly overcame any lingering feelings of anger. He’d been attempting to please her and she had been cruel. Her words must have hurt his pride. The worst of it was that he was right. The true source of her anger had been because she was upset that she enjoyed it while being well aware th
at he was a Dane.
‘Did you not enjoy it?’ Ellan asked, her eyes solemn once more.
‘I did, but I said some hurtful things.’ Things that she would need to apologise for.
Ellan nodded, but seemed uncertain about Elswyth’s mood. ‘Did he...did he mention marriage or was he taking advantage of the fact that he had you alone? We can speak to Lady Gwendolyn and I’m certain—’
‘It’s not that. He does want marriage. Lady Gwendolyn mentioned that a marriage between us could be good for Alvey, but I refused.’
Understanding dawned across her sister’s features. ‘Because you won’t have a Dane.’
Elswyth nodded. ‘Ellan, you know as well as anyone the mark Mother left on our family when she left. The villagers all look at you and me as if they expect us to have the same weakness. Since she left I’ve done nothing but try to show them how proper and loyal I am. But this...the way he made me feel doesn’t feel loyal at all—’ She broke off to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat. ‘I feel as if I’m betraying Father and Galan. Am I wrong?’ she asked, genuinely confused. Days ago her position was so clear, but now everything was muddled.
Ellan rubbed her shoulder in sympathy. ‘Mother’s betrayal is not your burden to bear.’
‘But it is,’ Elswyth insisted. She had never understood how Ellan could brush off their mother’s abandonment so easily, but it had never seemed to affect her as it had everyone else. Elswyth had always admired how easily Ellan could brush off the disapproving looks some of the elders had given them, the daughters of Godric’s faithless wife.
Her sister shook her head. ‘Mother’s situation was different. She left her husband and children for a man we never even knew. You were always meant to marry and leave. It’s only that the man is a Dane and not Saxon. It’s not such a betrayal.’
‘But you know how they feel about Danes. They’ll see it as such.’
Ellan gave a shrug and said, ‘You know my feelings on the matter. I think to fight the Danes is pointless. They’re here. They’re powerful. To survive, we must learn to live with them. The important thing is how do you feel about the Danes?’
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