Her gaze travelled over what she could see of his face in the shadows, his strong nose and fine brow. He was such a striking man that she couldn’t imagine he didn’t have a woman waiting for him somewhere, or perhaps even a wife. The thought made her envious of that phantom woman, whoever she was.
‘Do you find favour with what you see?’
She startled and heat rushed into her cheeks. To have been caught so unaware was one thing, but to have him so accurately guess her thoughts was beyond embarrassing. ‘I...I wasn’t...’ Gawking? Oh, she’d been gawking. ‘You woke me with your dreams. You seemed to be in pain.’
He let out a breath, a sigh of disappointment. ‘My apologies. I’ll be out of your way tomorrow.’
‘It’s no trouble. Don’t leave to spare me difficulty.’
He gave a soft laugh at her jest. They both knew it wasn’t his choice.
‘It’s no trouble that I took your bed and woke you from your sleep? That you haven’t even been able to do your work because of me? You tell me that is no trouble and I will call you a liar.’
She hadn’t thought he’d noticed that her apprentice hadn’t come back after he awoke, or that the others hadn’t been allowed to even come to her with his presence in her home. She’d assured their mothers that he was harmless, but she couldn’t say that she would have allowed her own child near a strange warrior. Because of his presence she had been late on the abbess’s commission. She’d had her apprentice Bryn deliver the majority of the order, but the rest had yet to be finished.
‘It’s only a little trouble, then.’ She smiled and pulled the cloth from his head to re-wet it. ‘But trouble that I don’t mind,’ she said, bringing it back to his head. Leaving it there, her hand went to his temple and down his jaw to stop in the hollow of his neck. ‘The fever has left you again. You feel cool. This is good. If we’re very lucky, it won’t come back.
‘Rest for a few moments and then we’ll need to change your bedding. You’ve soaked it with your sweat and it won’t do for you to stay moist all night.’ She moved to the chest near the bed and took out linens and one of Godric’s shirts and placed it on top. When she turned her attention back to him, she found him watching her, a curious expression on his face.
‘Do you find favour with what you see?’ She smiled, turning his words back on him.
‘Aye,’ came his immediate response. ‘Very much so.’
The words so casually spoken took her breath away, and when she met his gaze, she was caught in much the same way she had been earlier in the day.
Then he grinned. ‘I wonder if you realise that to change the bedding, you have to release me.’
‘Aye.’
‘And what of your betrayal to Cuthbert?’
‘My first duty is to your health and I had planned to secure your vow that you wouldn’t run. Do I have it?’
‘Why would I stay?’ he challenged.
‘Because you wouldn’t want to have everyone angry with me,’ she countered. ‘But if that isn’t a good enough reason, what about the fact that they have your sword and you won’t stand a chance of getting it back unless you meet with them?’
He groaned, but the humour didn’t leave his face. ‘You force my hand.’
She’d already released the straps from his ankles as he’d slept earlier. Now she walked over and pulled at the stubborn knots of the binding at his wrists. When she released them, she stood back to allow him to sit up. He groaned as he rotated first one shoulder and then the other to work the sore muscle. She absolutely despised that they’d tied him and hurried to sit on the bed just behind his hip. Her hands went to the shoulder nearest her and she rubbed it, trying to help him get the blood flowing to the appendage again. Then she moved to the other. And, while she felt the firmness of the muscle beneath her hands, she kept imagining what he might look like beneath his shirt and tunic. Would he be scarred? Would his skin be as bronzed from the sun as that of his face and hands? She tried to make herself stop wondering, but she failed.
Finally he moved his shoulders beneath her hands and didn’t seem to be in as much pain as before. She allowed her hands to fall to her lap, but she didn’t move away. There was something so comfortable and exciting about simply existing close to him. ‘How is your head?’
He turned his head a little, just enough to see her over his shoulder, presenting her with a view of the uninjured side of his face. He was breathtaking. ‘A bit better.’
The tight way he held his mouth told her he was still in pain but was too much of a warrior to risk admitting it. ‘I’ve another draught for you, but first let’s see if I can help you.’
His brow raised and he gave one brief inclination of his head in agreement.
Climbing on to the bed behind him to rest on her knees, she brought her hands up to the back of his neck and hesitated before touching him. Someone had cut his hair so that it stood up in awkward tufts, leaving his neck bare. Aside from his face and to untie his hands, she hadn’t touched his bare skin. She couldn’t understand why the prospect was so appealing to her. He was handsome, but she would never have a claim to him, so it shouldn’t matter.
Forcing herself to get past the ridiculous hesitation, she gently pinched the tendons at the back of his neck. Alstan got headaches from time to time, so she knew that applying steady pressure there often helped to alleviate his pain. The foreigner hung his head a bit to give her better access. Using her thumbs, she made slow circles up and down the back of his head, sliding under the linen bandage. He groaned, a soft hum deep in his throat. The shock of her reaction to the sound he made, and the fact that her touch had drawn it from him, was enough to make her jerk her hands away. This wasn’t proper.
He stiffened immediately and looked over his shoulder at her, giving her another view of his flawless profile. She ached to touch his strong jaw and curled her hands into fists to stop the treacherous impulse. This was so ridiculous. She barely knew this man. She clenched her teeth and made herself remember that he was injured and she was recently widowed and had no right to these thoughts.
‘Since you’re awake, we should change your poultice again. While we have the wrapping off, I could trim your hair a little. I’m uncertain what happened, but it’s a bit uneven...’ Her voice trailed off when he didn’t answer her right away and just continued to stare at her with that intensity that tightened her skin.
‘Aye,’ he finally whispered.
The foreigner stood and she genuinely wasn’t prepared for how tall he was or how he seemed to fill up so much space in the room. Somehow she’d already forgotten how big he was. She rose from the bed just as he turned to face her. His big hand reached up and touched the long braid of hair that had fallen over her shoulder, making her realise that she’d forgotten all about donning her headrail. This was the first time he’d seen her without it.
His fingers slowly stroked the ends, twisting the braid and watching the soft firelight play off the reddish strands. Tendrils of warmth somehow raced up the braid to her head, making it feel as if his fingers were massaging her scalp. ‘Such a lovely colour. I’ve wanted to see you without the covering.’ His voice was a harsh rasp that vibrated over her senses.
She swallowed hard. He wasn’t looking at her hair any more. It was as if his gaze reached right down into her and found all of her secret longings and knew what they were. ‘C-come sit by the fire and I’ll change the poultice.’
He allowed the end of her braid to slip through his fingers before moving slowly around the hearth to the bench on the far side. His face flinched in pain as he dropped his large body down on to the wood. It creaked in protest and she knew a moment of fear that it might break under the strain of his weight. The man was solid muscle.
Hurrying to the table beside him, she spread out strips of linen she had already cut. Turning to him, she gently untied the knot and pulle
d the wrapping away followed by the poultice, tossing them all into the fire. The herbs in the poultice filled the air with a woodsy scent as they burned. The wound was much better. It wasn’t seeping any more.
‘It’s still very swollen. The skin is puckered. Nay, don’t touch it,’ she admonished, when he reached up.
Dropping his hand back to his thigh, he looked up at her. ‘It’s still festered?’
‘Aye, but it doesn’t look worse. The colour is pink, not as angry as before. You’ll have a scar to match your others,’ she teased.
‘Others?’ His brow furrowed and he touched his face as if searching for more.
How strange it must be to not know your own body. Gently taking his right hand, she brought it up between them. ‘The two on your sword hand. Look.’
Just over his middle knuckles, there were two raised white lines. Scars left from a blade if she had to guess. ‘I should know my own scars,’ he whispered.
She kept his large hand in the grasp of her much smaller one, but her other hand she brought to his jaw, drawing his gaze back to her. ‘It will come back to you, foreigner. Have your dreams told you anything? Your name, perhaps?’
‘Nay.’ His gaze left her as he gave a quick shake of his head, perhaps a little too quickly.
‘You remember something. Tell me what you dreamed about earlier.’
Breathing in through his nose, his eyelids fluttered closed for a moment before he said, ‘I dreamed of battle. There were men and blood. Death. I cannot remember faces or even names, just screams and violence.’
Her heart clenched for him, for how alone and afraid he must feel. ‘It’s certain that you are a warrior. I’d wager you’ve seen many battles. Just give it time. You simply need rest and care. You’ve come to the right place for both.’
That brought his gaze back to her. It skimmed over her face, pausing at her mouth, touching her with the weight of a butterfly’s wings. Before she could be caught in his spell, she took a fresh cloth and, moistening it with water, cleaned around the wound as best as she could, making sure to get all the dried blood in his hair. It wasn’t until she’d finished that she realised his hair there was a shade lighter than the dark blond everywhere else. A glance at the cloth confirmed it was nearly black. She’d been too worried about hurting him the first time to clean it so thoroughly.
‘You’ve soot in your hair.’
He was silent for a moment before he took a breath and spoke. ‘Aye. There was a fire when I awoke. They’d planned to burn me, so I ran.’
‘You were wounded in a battle.’ It was a logical conclusion given his dream. At first her heart leapt at the realisation. Alstan or someone might have heard of a battle that had recently taken place and they could help him return to his rightful home. But then she remembered Alstan’s horrible accusation. Since her brother believed him to be a Dane, he might use that information to unfairly call for his execution. She’d keep that information to herself for now. There was no possible way that this gentle man was a Dane, a monster.
She tried to imagine the battle. Her hand clenched tight around the cloth as she imagined how afraid he must have been awakening to a fire and how horrifying that sort of death must be. Was the rasp in his voice damage from inhaling the smoke? Thank goodness he’d got away. ‘I’ll wash the rest. It looks as if someone took a blade to it and it’s a bit uneven. I could fix that if you want.’
‘Thank you, fair one. I owe you a great deal.’
She didn’t speak again as she ran the cloth through his hair, washing out as much of the grime as she could before retrieving a clean cloth and beginning again until his hair was finally clean. It wasn’t until she’d finished and was running her fingers through his hair in the dim light to try to find tufts that stuck out longer than others that she realised she’d given herself only another reason to touch him again. Biting her lip so that she’d have a distraction, she pulled the tufts taut and sawed through them with the sharp knife she used for cutting cloth, tossing the bits she pulled away into the ash in the hearth.
When she finished, she set the knife down and ran her fingers through the shorter length to make sure she’d removed all the loose hair. It was thick and felt entirely too soft beneath her palms.
‘You’ve a nice touch,’ he said once she’d pulled her hands away.
What did one say to that? She actually looked down at her hands to try to figure out how he could think so. Godric had always sneered at how the first two fingers on each hand, more so the right than the left, were a bit roughened from her embroidery work. She wore a piece of leather tied around each one as she worked to help ward off the needle pricks, but for the fine details she found the leather got in the way and took it off. As a result, the skin at the end of those fingers had thickened into rough calluses. She’d actually been glad to see it happen, because the needle pricks didn’t hurt any more, but Godric hadn’t liked them. The foreigner must not have felt them.
Instead of replying, she knelt before him to help even out his beard. It had suffered the same sloppy treatment as his hair, so that some parts were longer than others. She’d have to scrape away most of it and let it grow out again if he wanted it even. She tried not to notice how his lips were perfectly formed, the bottom slightly fuller than the top one with its gentle arches. She placed her palm against his jaw on the far side and gently scraped the blade down his cheek. She intentionally didn’t get close enough to touch his skin with the metal, because she had none of the cream Godric would use when he shaved. It was enough to simply even out the hair.
But as she finished one side and then the other, she was soon left with the hair around his mouth. He smiled when she paused to take in a deep breath and the movement caught her eye. His teeth were strong and even, pale in the firelight, and his lips formed a bow. Her gaze fixated on his full bottom lip. Despite his injuries, it looked as if he hadn’t been hit in the mouth. That lip was smooth and appeared very soft. A vision of her leaning forward and placing her lips on his flashed through her mind. The wicked thought didn’t surprise her, nor did the answering tug deep in her belly. Blinking to clear it away, she touched his chin and turned his face towards her so that she could better reach him.
‘Nay.’ His voice was husky as his hands went to her hips. ‘You should move closer.’
She gasped at the contact and stiffened as he shifted his position to open his legs wider. He guided her body between them so that she faced him head-on. For a brief instant, she was uncertain if he’d arranged the position for some more nefarious reason. Except he moved his hands back to rest on his thighs and his expression settled into something bland. And then she wasn’t sure if she was simply transferring her own wicked feelings on to him. He’d done nothing to make her think that he returned her desire in any way.
Even knowing that didn’t stop her wayward thoughts. Only inches separated them. His thighs on either side of her were so close that just a simple movement would have them around her. Heat moved through her body and, while she told herself it was her simple proximity to his body heat, she knew that it was a result of her own seductive thoughts. She kept noticing how much broader his shoulders seemed from this close and how, if he decided to fold his arms around her and bring her against his chest, her face would fit perfectly into the hollow of his neck.
It didn’t help that she could feel the heat of his gaze on her face. He couldn’t have been unaffected by her. When his gaze swept her lips, her cheekbone, even the exposed curve of her neck, it was like a tangible touch on her skin. This had never happened before, not with Godric. She’d never wanted to be touched, to touch, so badly. A glance pulled his gaze to hers and it was so filled with the heat moving between them that it was pulling her forward to its flame before she even realised she was moving. Parting her lips just a little, she pressed them to his. His lips were soft.
But then his hands were on her
shoulders and he gently pushed her away. Confused, she opened her eyes and he gave one firm shake of his head. ‘We can’t.’
In that horrifying moment she realised that she had completely misread his attention. Her face flamed in mortification and she moved to rise, but he wouldn’t let go of her shoulders. ‘Nay, fair one, don’t. I don’t know who I am.’
‘Oh.’ It was the only sound she could force out as her heart sank to her stomach.
‘I want to. You’re so lovely. But it wouldn’t be fair.’
His voice was so gentle and his eyes so soft that she wanted to run and hide herself away. She was truly pathetic. Her husband had only just been killed and the last thing she needed was another man in her life trying to tell her what to do and especially not a foreign, possibly Danish man at that. There wasn’t space in her life for a man any more, and there never would be. The way her body was responding to him was nothing but wrong. And yet, for some strange reason, she felt close to this foreigner, closer than she’d felt to anyone in a long time. She was just so lonely. That was why.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered and moved back a bit.
He caught her wrist before she could get far. His eyes were so dark she couldn’t see the gold in them any more. ‘Never apologise for touching me, fair one.’ It wasn’t an admonishment, precisely. His voice was warm, gentle, and if she didn’t know better—he was an injured man—it was textured with longing.
She parted her lips to speak but then had no idea what she meant to say. To deny her longing? To say that she shouldn’t want him? Her body tingled in ways that made her press her thighs together just to ease it.
‘Are you all right?’ His concerned gaze met hers and his fingertips glided across her cheekbone as he brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from her braid.
She nodded and suppressed the way her body wanted to move into his touch. If living with her husband had taught her anything, it was how to move forward as if everything was fine, as if something ugly hadn’t just happened. Taking a deep breath and avoiding looking into his eyes, she said, ‘Just a little more and we’ll be done. Be still.’ She gently touched his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, ignoring the unwanted thrill that darted through her belly, to help pull the skin tight and then pulled the knife’s edge downward. Her hand shook a bit and she ground her molars together to force herself to calm down. The area above his lip was next and then she was finished. Sitting back to look at her work, she forced a lightness into her tone. ‘It looks better than it did, but a few weeks of growth will help.’
In Bed with the Viking Warrior Page 7