‘They do not belong here,’ Elswyth couldn’t stop herself from insisting.
‘And yet they are here. Do you want peace or do you want to fight?’
The words were simple, but true. Sometimes Ellan had a way of making things seem not as complicated at Elswyth would make them. She did want peace. She wanted to go to bed every night knowing that the people she loved were safe. As that clarity came over her, she realised that she had amends to make with Rolfe.
‘I need to go apologise for the harsh things I said.’ Rolfe had been nothing but kind and had not deserved any of them.
Chapter Eleven
Wyborn pushed up on to his front paws and cocked his head to the side a moment before a knock sounded at the chamber door. Rolfe sighed and tossed down the writing implement he’d been using. His head was beginning to ache from trying to translate the Latin scrolls in an attempt to teach himself the written language. He much preferred the simple lines of runes to the unnecessarily complicated curves and swirls of the letters of that language. A simple letter could appear in numerous variations of strokes depending on the handwriting of the author, making it nearly impossible to keep track of which symbol it was supposed to be.
The tight muscles at the back of his neck begged to be loosened, so he rubbed a hand over them as he rose and crossed the few steps to the door. A talk with one of his men would be a welcomed break. Elswyth was the last person he expected to see, but there she stood, looking up at him with a timid smile hovering around her lips when he opened the door. He hadn’t seen her after their return until the evening meal, where she’d avoided looking at him and had disappeared soon after serving Vidar and Lady Gwendolyn. He’d half-expected to receive a dressing down from Lady Gwendolyn for kissing Elswyth that morning, but one hadn’t been forthcoming. Since she hadn’t behaved any differently towards him at all, he’d assumed that Elswyth hadn’t told her what had transpired.
‘Good evening,’ he said when it was clear she wasn’t going to offer a greeting.
Her eyes had gone wide as her gaze had taken in his bare torso. He probably should have pulled on his under-tunic—he wore only his trousers—but he’d expected the late visitor to be one of his men. Not a woman and certainly not Elswyth. In fact, he’d been entertaining the thought of abandoning their morning sparring sessions. There would be no point if she felt so disgusted and uncomfortable with him.
A faint pink tinged her cheeks when she finally brought her gaze back to his. Satisfaction rose in his chest that she apparently liked what she saw when she looked at him. ‘I’m sorry to bother you so late, but could I have a moment to talk?’ Wyborn pushed past him, nosing her hand for a petting, which she eagerly gave him behind his ears, before he went back to plop down on his spot next to the bed.
A moment to talk. That probably meant she intended to lay out all the reasons he should not have kissed her, even though she’d given him very clear signs that she had wanted the kiss. Closing her eyes, leaning into him, parting her lips so sweetly when he had asked her, making those soft sounds of pleasure in the back of her throat. She’d given every indication of having enjoyed it, except for the dressing down that had come afterwards. He wanted to tell her nay and close the door in her face, but the reasonable part of him recognised that as his own wounded pride. Best to let her have her say and be done with her. Stepping to the side, he allowed her to enter, though he took perverse pleasure in closing the door a touch too hard behind her, making it clear that she was very much in his domain now.
She didn’t so much as flinch at the sound, so he crossed his arms in disappointment and took in the straight line of her back as she let her gaze sweep around his chamber. Her hair had been left to fall loose down to her waist and it shone from a recent brushing. The candlelight caught notes of chestnut and amber in its richness. Did she have any idea how inappropriate her presence was in his chamber?
Her gaze finally came to rest on the table with the tablet and scroll laid out. ‘What is this?’ Her voice was tinged with awe and wonder as she took the few steps necessary to reach the table. Her fingertips moved almost reverently over the wood frame of the tablet.
‘It’s a writing tablet. Have you never seen one?’
Despite his wish to harden himself to her, the look on her face was rather endearing when she shook her head and asked, ‘Do you cipher?’
‘I write runes,’ he explained, walking over and pointing out the marks he had written in the hardened black wax on the tablet. ‘Almost everyone can write or at least read them.’ He meant Danes, of course. He’d learned that many of the Saxons he’d come across in smaller areas did not write. ‘Have you seen the runes on the men’s belongings?’ They frequently carved their names into the items to mark the owner.
‘Aye, I have seen them.’ She didn’t lift her gaze from the tablet. She stared at it as if it was remarkable.
‘It’s a simple wooden frame.’ He turned it over so that she could see all sides. ‘Hot wax is poured in and when it hardens it’s the perfect surface for writing.’ Picking up the writing implement, he offered it to her. It was a slight iron rod set into a slender goat antler, but she turned it over in her fingers as if it were something truly amazing. ‘Try it.’ She shook her head, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘Go on,’ he encouraged her, momentarily forgetting his bruised pride.
A soft laugh escaped her and she took the tablet and made a line in the wax at the bottom with the iron end of the stick. Smiling at her handiwork, she tried again, this time copying the runes he’d already written there. ‘What did I write?’ She gazed up at him with a look of such joy on her face that he was mesmerised. Luckily, he didn’t have to look down to know the word he had written before she’d disturbed him.
‘Home.’
‘Home,’ she repeated, running a fingertip across the runes. ‘These look different. What does it say?’
He was forced to tear his gaze away from her to see what she meant. She was pointing to the Latin word he’d written at the top of the board. He’d been working on coming up with a way to match the runes with the Roman letters. The work was giving him a horrible headache. The reminder made him squeeze the muscles at the back of his neck again to relieve the tension. Turning, he walked to his bed where he’d tossed his undershirt in frustration earlier and pulled it over his head.
She tried not to stare, but he could see her peeking out from beneath her lashes to watch him. The satisfaction he’d experienced earlier came back to burn within him. ‘It’s the same word in Latin. From the scroll.’ He walked back to her and gestured to the partially unrolled parchment. ‘I’m attempting to learn to read that language, but it’s difficult.’ He’d memorised the Latin passage written on the scroll and had thought to write the runes as a sort of translation.
Briefly, he considered donning his tunic, but rejected the thought. The under-tunic was the most he could offer her in the way of preserving her modesty. She’d seen more than this when she’d come to help him with his bath. He nearly smiled at the reminder, but didn’t dare to dwell on that memory with her here. It was certain to awaken a part of him better left to sleep in her presence.
‘How so?’ she asked, a line forming between her eyebrows as she dragged her gaze from the portion of his chest and shoulders still exposed.
‘For one thing, the letters are more complex. See this one?’ He pointed and she nodded. ‘It’s a “G”, but here it is again and it’s written differently. There are too many curves in the language. It makes it difficult to follow when every writer makes the curves differently. Runes are simple with straight lines.’
He glanced at her only to see that she was staring at him in much the same way he must have been staring at her earlier. A little bit of awe and sadness tinged her expression. ‘If only all the world were simple and straight,’ she said with a miserable little smile.
The poignancy in her tone tugged
at him. It nearly drew him right into touching her, sweeping the wealth of her hair back from her cheek and soothing her. He wouldn’t do it, though. She had more than made it clear that any touching in that way from him wouldn’t be welcome. Instead of comforting her, he stiffened his shoulders to block the impulse and took a step back. ‘What do you need?’ he asked, crossing his arms over his chest again.
As if she knew the moment of tenderness was over, she gave a slight nod of her head and set the tablet and utensil down on the table. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned to face him fully. Her expression took on an almost pained look and he knew that what she was about to say wasn’t easy for her. He braced himself.
‘I came to apologise for the way I behaved this morning.’ His face must have revealed his surprise, because she elaborated, ‘When you kissed me.’
‘I’m aware of what you mean.’ His voice came out gruffer than he intended so he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘What part of that are you apologising for?’
‘The way I behaved after. I called you a heathen and a barbarian—’
‘You never said barbarian,’ he pointed out drily.
She shrugged. ‘In my head I’m afraid I did. The point is that I shouldn’t have scolded you and, if I hurt you, I am deeply sorry. Ellan explained that by using your tongue you were only trying to make it better for me. I’ve never been kissed, you see? I thought it was...well, something other than what we did. Something that only involved lips and not—Oh, why are you laughing at me?’
The more she had talked, the pinker her cheeks had become, but her anger changed it completely. She was so red that it looked like she’d blistered from standing too long in the sun. Unfortunately, it only made him laugh harder.
With a huff of anger, she made to move past him towards the door, but he managed to pull himself together and cross the line he’d sworn never to cross again with her. He took her by the shoulders. She snatched away, so he held up his hands palms out and said, ‘I apologise for laughing. It was terrible of me.’ He even managed to stop the smile that threatened, though his lips still trembled from the urge.
‘You don’t look sorry.’ She glared at him through narrowed eyes. The green slits glittered at him dangerously.
‘I am. I wasn’t laughing at your apology, only at the image of you getting your sister to explain kissing to you.’ He could tell from the way she drew herself up taller that his explanation was hardly any better. ‘Let’s start over,’ he said into the uncomfortable silence. ‘I accept your apology. Do you want an apology for even daring to kiss you?’ He didn’t intend to offer one, but he wondered if that was what had prompted her own apology.
Much to his surprise her shoulders slumped and she looked down at the floor between them. ‘Nay, that’s not what I want. I gave you every indication that I wanted you to kiss me. I did want the kiss.’
He frowned. Certain that she was after something from him, he asked, ‘Then an apology for using my tongue?’
She was shaking her head before he finished. ‘Nay, I understand now why you did it. In fact, I should offer you another apology. I wouldn’t have become so upset if you were Saxon. I was surprised and I used the fact that you are a Dane against you. It wasn’t fair or right and I’m so confused.’ With a groan of exasperation she turned away from him and sat down on the bench at the table.
For the first time he began to believe that her apology was sincere. Taking hold of the three-legged stool he sometimes used to prop his feet on, he drew it up to her and sat down. She had put her face in her hands, but she looked up at him when he was settled. He was surprised to see her eyes bright and miserable.
‘I’ve been horrible to you. Both this morning and yesterday morning,’ she said. A slight husk softened her voice and he was a little unsettled at the way it raked at something inside him, sending a flicker of awareness down low in his gut. ‘How can you still look at me like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘As if you like what you see.’
He grinned. ‘Because I do like what I see.’ It was the undeniable truth. He was attracted to her. The comely length of her hair swung down around her hips, shining and glossy in the candlelight. He wanted to run his hands through it to see if would feel like spun silk. Her eyes always held a glimmer of mischievous daring, but somehow that seemed to be present in them more tonight. Or maybe it was that he was more focused on her now that she was in his chamber. Alone. Dangerously alone. He realised that he’d been leaning in and forced himself to sit back.
She took in a deep, wavering breath that made her lips tremble and she squared her shoulders. Obviously, she’d come to some unknown resolution and he was curious to find out what it was. ‘I’ve decided that I have no choice but to be very honest with you.’ Her fingers toyed with the horn end of the writing utensil on the table as if she was nervous.
He gave her a nod of encouragement.
‘The absolute truth is that I admire everything about you. I have since you arrived. I look at you and I know that I should be afraid because you lead more warriors than I’ve ever seen assembled in one place in my life. I know that my father doesn’t trust you and that I shouldn’t trust you. That with one command from Lord Vidar, you could lead those warriors and completely decimate my village, my farm, my entire way of life, and it wouldn’t even be that difficult of a task for you. I know all of that as plainly as I know my own name, but somehow it doesn’t seem to matter. I’m not afraid. I look at you and I see the gentleness that you try to hide. I see how you care deeply for everyone under your command...everyone around you. I see you with Tova and I see a man who would care profoundly for his own children. I also suspect that same concern and tenderness would convey to a wife.’ She swallowed, but rushed forward as if she were trying to get the words out before she lost her nerve. ‘I cannot fear you. I cannot hate you as my father would have me hate you. I can only admire you, though it tears me apart.’
A tear had gathered at the corner of her eye as she spoke and it fell, landing on her soft cheek and sliding down to the corner of her mouth. He followed its path like a thirsting man, wanting to lap it up and taste the salt on his tongue. ‘Elswyth—’
She held up her hand to stop him from speaking. ‘I hope that isn’t unfair to you, because I genuinely don’t know where that leaves us. You see, you were right this morning. When you said that I was only angry about the kiss because I had enjoyed it and I had known you were a Dane the whole time...you were right. From the moment your lips touched mine, there was no pretending that you were anyone other than Rolfe. You are the only man I’ve ever wanted to kiss.’
Silence descended as he tried to take in all that she had revealed to him. He’d never expected this level of honesty from her. Even Hilde had never been so bold, preferring to hide her feelings and make him suss them out. Had he been wrong about his Saxon all this time? He had a difficult time believing that she could make herself so vulnerable to him while at the same time hiding the fact that she was a spy.
‘Rolfe?’ She said his name a moment before her warm hand touched his shoulder. The heat from her palm seeped through the soft linen and his skin prickled, reaching for more of her touch.
‘It seems we are a matched pair.’ His voice came out low. That line between her brows appeared as she tilted her head to the side in question. ‘The first night you came here and tended to me, I had no idea who you were, but I liked you. You were tender and fierce, kind and spirited. I liked that about you. You challenged me in a way no woman has for a long time. Then I found out you were Godric’s daughter. I, too, had my prejudices. I thought that Godric’s bloodline was too bitter to hold any goodness, yet here you are.’
You are everything that I ever wanted in a wife.
The thought sent a shock like lightning through him. It pushed him to his feet where he paced unseeing to the door and back again. This couldn’t be happening, not
again. How did he always end up with the women who could hurt him the most? He had known that eventually duty would call him to marry. His wife was supposed to be passably pretty, dutiful and certainly kind, but she wasn’t meant to inspire this mad longing inside him. She would give him strong children and in return he would keep her safe and in comfort. He was not meant to lose his heart to her.
In a moment of madness he imagined rushing down to tell Vidar that he would marry someone else, anyone else, but Elswyth. Only that would leave her free to take a Saxon as her husband, or worse—Aevir. He grimaced as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He’d rather die than see her with anyone else.
‘Rolfe?’ Her hand on his arm made him turn to see her standing before him. ‘I would like to explain to you why my father is so bitter about the Danes.’ Unable to do anything more, he gave her a nod. She dropped her hand and clasped them both together in front of her and explained to him what had happened with her mother, and how her father had handled the betrayal very badly. She ended with, ‘It doesn’t excuse his hatred, but I wanted you to understand. It’s why I’ve fought my feelings for you so hard. I... I don’t want to become her.’
He sucked in a breath, hardly able to speak past the tightness squeezing his chest. ‘Your feelings for me?’
She nodded, looking shy, and a wave of tenderness came over him and he nearly swept her into his arms, but he managed to hold himself back. ‘I feel affection for you, Dane. Except I...can’t turn my back on my family.’ Her eyes were pleading as she stared up at him.
‘What if you’re not turning your back on them? What if by our joining we can stop more bloodshed for all of the Saxons and Danes alike?’ Why was he encouraging her, when to push her further away would end this madness inside him? ‘What if our marriage could help foster peace?’ His heart pounded hard against his ribs, almost as if it was trying to jump out of his chest. He didn’t know why he was trying so hard to convince her to do something that terrified him. Marrying her would be one small step away from loving her. He saw it as clearly as he could see a storm approaching on the open sea from the bow of his longship and he was just as helpless to stop it.
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