Picking up the cloth used to wash him, she gently ran it over his beard to collect any whiskers she’d left behind. She made sure to keep her touch perfunctory, because she wanted it to be more so badly that she was afraid it would show in her every movement.
‘Thank you for this.’
She forced a tight smile and started to collect the knife, but he covered her hand with his to stop her.
‘I mean that, fair one. I was too prideful before, but the truth is that I might be dead had you not taken me in.’ His eyes were so deep when they met hers that she caught her breath. ‘Thank you. I want to repay you. I need to repay you.’
Somehow her hand had turned over in his so that their palms were pressed together and their fingers were weaving together. She was so careful not to touch him, she was almost certain that she hadn’t caused that to happen. Had she? If he hadn’t wanted to kiss her, then surely he wouldn’t be holding her hand now, would he? She shook her head to clear her confusing thoughts as his thumb traced over her index finger, sending pleasant shivers racing up her arm. ‘You saved me, too,’ she reminded him.
‘I led him to you.’ His free hand came up to cup her cheek and she actually gasped aloud at the sensations moving through her. Her entire body came alive, tingling and pulsing all over. ‘I will repay you,’ he said.
She tried to smile, to pretend that her breasts weren’t aching for his touch and that her treacherous body wasn’t pulsing at just the thought. He was simply being kind and sincere, and she was making this into something it wasn’t. ‘You don’t have anything to repay me with.’
‘Not yet,’ he agreed. ‘But I will. Soon I’ll remember who I am and I’ll reward you.’
The conversation was pointless. ‘If Alstan has his way, you’ll be gone in the morning,’ she reminded him.
He didn’t even blink before he answered. ‘I know where you are, fair one. I’ll come back for you.’
His jaw was so firm, his eyes so confident, that she believed him. Nevertheless, she challenged him. ‘They won’t let you back through the gate.’
His lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. ‘Neither a gate nor a wall can keep me from you.’
Her foolish heart began to beat faster. She wanted to believe it was fear, but she couldn’t lie to herself. It beat with excitement. But then she remembered that he’d just stopped their kiss, so he didn’t mean it...not in the way her heart had heard it.
‘You don’t owe me.’ She rose and stepped away, immediately missing the touch of his hand on hers. ‘Let’s get you changed now.’
Chapter Seven
When she stepped around behind him, Magnus took in a deep breath and clenched his jaw against the need that thundered through his body. That need had been reflected back at him through her eyes, but coloured with a shame and uncertainty that made her appear so bloody vulnerable. He wanted to pull her close, to wrap his body around hers and hold her so tight that her worries disappeared, because she’d know then that he’d defeat the fiends foolish enough to threaten her. An irrational desire, because he’d be leaving tomorrow. He’d meant it when he said that he’d return to reward her, but that would be the end of it. It was almost certain that he had a life somewhere and he had to get back to it.
She wasn’t a part of that life, and no matter what happened, she never could be. Thanks to his nightmare...the battle...he knew that he was a warrior. He’d known that even before the dream, but hearing those sounds and smelling death had given that term new meaning. His fate was to fight until he eventually died in battle. She deserved more than that.
Her soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, though he missed the first of what she said. ‘Meat will help you to regain your strength. I’ll get some in the morning.’
There had been no meat in the stew she’d fed him earlier, just grain and vegetables. He didn’t remember who he was, but he knew that meat would often be hard to come by, especially for a woman alone. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Let’s not argue about this.’ She fidgeted at the table behind him, so he half-turned to look at her. She stood with her back to him.
‘If you have to purchase meat for me, then I’ll only be more in your debt.’
She shrugged one small shoulder. ‘Then I’ll barter for the meat.’
‘That’s still my debt,’ he said.
She finally turned to look at him, her brow furrowing as she asked, ‘Would it be so horrible to be in my debt? I won’t demand anything you aren’t willing to pay.’
There was very little he wouldn’t be willing to give her. The thought surprised him, but he couldn’t deny its truth. He started to tell her that, but she charged ahead.
‘Let’s get you out of the tunic.’ She didn’t look at him as she poured water from a large pitcher into a fresh pot and then sat it in the fire to warm. ‘I’ve found a shirt that should fit you. I looked through my husband’s trousers, but you’re quite a bit taller. I hope you don’t mind, but while you slept, I altered a pair to fit you.’ Standing, she walked to the chest by the bed and held up a pair of trousers she’d left there. ‘They’re not very attractive, but I think they’ll do better than the ones you have. Yours are already breaking at the seams.’
They’d clearly been made from two trousers, with two seams on each leg where they’d been stitched. He glanced down at the ones he was wearing to see that she was right. The mercenary’s trousers had been snug in the thigh and at some point the seam had given a bit. Guilt surged tight in his chest. He should tell her that he’d taken the clothing, but he couldn’t risk that sort of honesty just yet. Not when he had no idea what the morning could bring.
Instead, he simply murmured his thanks as he tugged at the tunic. When she made a move to help, he brushed her off and pulled it off himself. His shirt quickly followed. His body was covered in the same grime as his hair. The water from his walk in the stream hadn’t washed it all way.
She sat the clothing in a neat pile before him, but she stopped short when she turned and saw him, her eyes widening slightly.
‘What’s the matter?’
She shook her head and a patch of colour brightened her cheeks. He knew then that it was him, his body that had stalled her. A rush of arousal moved through him and he gritted his teeth to fight against the erection trying to make itself known in his trousers.
She looked away quickly, as if she knew the battle that raged within him, and dipped a cloth in the water that had been warmed on the fire. Wringing out the excess water so that the fire hissed and popped, she walked behind him again and smoothed the cloth down his back. He had to stifle the groan of pleasure that threatened to escape him. The thin cloth separated them, yet the decadence of her touch seeped into his skin just the same. He hung his head as she cleaned his back with slow, easy drags of the cloth. His skin prickled with the sensation, as warmth settled low in his gut.
Finished, she drew her hand away and paused. He could feel it there, hovering above his shoulder. ‘Do...do you want me to—’
‘Nay.’ He cut her short, half-afraid of how he might react to any suggestion of her touching him further. ‘I can finish.’
‘Of course.’ Handing over the cloth to him, she busied herself with changing the bedding.
He kept an eye on her as she worked, removing the soiled sheet and grabbing a fresh one. She worked efficiently, confidence evident in her movements. She smoothed the linen and he imagined it was his chest her hand moved over. She folded the blanket and he imagined what it would feel like to pull that blanket over the both of them. Had her husband been half as intrigued with her as Magnus was?
He jerked his gaze away when she turned back to him.
‘I’ll leave you to your privacy for a moment so you can finish changing.’
She had grabbed the blanket and was out the door before he could r
eply. Not that he would have said anything to keep her there. His yearning for her was too unwarranted and bewildering.
* * *
As soon as the door shut, Aisly fell back against the wall of her house, pulling the blanket against her to ward off the cold night air. She closed her eyes against the sight of the stars twinkling far above her, relieving the sight of his magnificent torso. The man was beautiful. Breathtaking. Godric had been a warrior, one of Cuthbert’s best, but he hadn’t looked like the warrior in her home now. Godric hadn’t been so overwhelming, so much of everything that made a man...well, a man.
Every one of the foreigner’s muscles had been so well-developed that there’d been a slight indentation between where one met the next. His skin had been so flawless that for a moment her fingers had tingled as she imagined that he’d feel velvety smooth beneath her touch, except for the parts that were lightly furred with dark blond hair. It had been sprinkled across his chest, but it was the trail leading into his trousers from below his navel that had caught and held her attention. She found herself wondering just what he looked like there. She opened her eyes so she wouldn’t imagine it and sucked in a deep breath. The crisp night air was cold in her lungs. When she breathed it out, a puff of steam wafted off into the dark.
More than his muscles intrigued her. It was his eyes. The way they sparkled as he spoke to her. The way they followed her and touched her when he wasn’t even speaking. Those deep pools of warmth promised so much more than she had any right to expect. It was probably her own loneliness causing her to twist a suggestion of gratitude into something more.
Newly widowed as she was, she had no business thinking about another man. She’d loved Godric when they’d first married, or she’d thought she had at the time. She realised now that perhaps childish infatuation was a more apt description. He had been only two winters older, so she’d grown up knowing of him. They’d seen each other at various times when he came with Cuthbert and Wulfric to visit Lord Oswine. Godric had become one of the village’s best warriors. When he’d singled her out for attention, she’d been as flattered as any maiden would have been. When he’d asked her to be his wife, an elaborate affair that had been done in Lord Oswine’s hall one night before everyone, she’d been hesitant but had agreed. There had seemed to be no better option and Lord Oswine had encouraged the match. She’d agreed because she’d been so desperate for a family, to recreate what she’d had before she’d lost her parents.
It hadn’t taken her long to realise that her hesitation had been warranted. Marriage to Godric had been difficult. He wasn’t tender, not in the ways she heard men could be in the songs some of the women sang when they were washing their linens at the stream, or in the blushing giggles from the women who were already married. Early in their marriage when he’d come to her at night, he’d been hasty and perfunctory. Later, when her body had grown accustomed to his demands, she’d sometimes feel something more, something approaching pleasure that would make her gasp. But Godric had been quick to cover her mouth and remind her that she wasn’t a whore. Wives didn’t make sounds in bed. Wives didn’t move at all when their husbands were on top of them.
He’d been indifferent to her during the daytime hours as well. Since she was his and he had no need to pursue her, he’d spend the majority of his time with the warriors. Aye, much of that time was spent training and working, but even his meals he took at the hall. Or if he came home, he’d go back there afterwards to share mead and stories or whatever men did in the hall after dark. It wasn’t until they’d been married for half a year that he’d begun to get angry with her for not yet quickening with child. Men were taunting him and he wasn’t happy.
He didn’t know that after their third month together, she’d cried in relief when her menses had come. The thought of having a child with such a cold man had been so abhorrent that she’d begun regularly taking a draught Edyth had mixed for her. Despite the fact that a child would’ve given her the family she wanted, she couldn’t bring herself to subject a child to having Godric as a father. He could be so cruel. She shuddered to think of how angry he would have been had he known.
Now she cried for an entirely different reason when her menses came. She’d lost her only chance to have a child and the absence made her ache inside. She’d also lost the only chance to keep her home. She supposed it was a suitable punishment for not wanting a baby with Godric.
And, despite her feelings about sharing his bed, he hadn’t deserved to be killed at the Dane settlement. He had gone to approach their leaders about help with the missing maidens. Every one of the warriors who’d gone with him that day had been slaughtered. It had been a massacre and she had felt very real sorrow to hear of Godric’s death. He had been a good warrior, a good provider, if not exactly the husband she had wanted.
The fact that she was lusting over a foreigner she barely knew must mean that she was as evil as Godric had claimed in his occasional drunken rants. Dear God, she’d actually attempted to kiss the man. Perhaps she should join the abbess in her devotions.
His voice called to her from inside. She took a moment to get her thoughts in order, then hesitantly opened the door and poked her head inside. Of course, he was dressed. He’d behaved honourably. She was the one making unwanted advances.
Closing the door and securing it behind her, she noted he wouldn’t look at her as he sat waiting for her to apply a new bandage. Guilt and shame warred for dominance as she retrieved the strips of linen and the bowl with the poultice, setting them on the stone hearth. She couldn’t help but notice how he smelled clean as she came to stand just in front of him. She also noticed how he seemed to catch his breath. It was a soft hitch that she mightn’t have noticed had she not been so attuned to him. The urge to apologise again came over her, but she managed to squelch it. She’d only make things even more awkward. If Alstan had his way, the foreigner would be gone in the morning and she’d never see him again.
It was best to get him back to bed and pretend that this confusing and disturbing night had never happened. Gently placing the poultice in place, she wrapped the linen around his head a few times to secure it before tying it off.
‘Can I trust you to stay until morning? I don’t want to tie you up again, but I can’t afford to defy their wishes.’
He stood so abruptly the movement pushed her backwards and she wavered until she was able to recover her balance. For one horrible moment, she thought he might run, until she realised he wouldn’t get far. The gates were closed and, despite his insistence that they wouldn’t hold him, he was in no condition to challenge them. He didn’t move further, leaving her opportunity to see that the trousers fit. Godric’s undershirt pulled a bit tight in the chest and it was short in the sleeve, leaving a portion of wrist exposed, but it fit well enough.
‘Aisly.’
His hand blurred at his side as she closed her eyes against the impossible yearning his voice aroused. Raspy and low, it tugged at some need hidden deep within her. When he didn’t continue, she knew that he was waiting for her to look up at him. After an interminable moment while she considered running, she let out a huff of breath and relented, looking up. The fire caught the gold flecks in his irises, making them shimmer. Two lines appeared between his brows.
‘I won’t lie to you. I’ve given you my word and I’ll keep it.’
She didn’t know why she felt the compulsion to correct his version of what had happened. ‘You didn’t give me your word not to run. You said that I forced your hand and I made the assumption.’
His lips parted in a smile and his thumb pressed into the soft flesh on her chin just below her lips as his fingertips brushed over her jawline and neck. ‘Then I give you my word now. It’s the least I can do to repay your kindness.’ Then his touch was gone, leaving her feeling bereft and even more confused.
She could only nod. There were no words left in her for the night.
&n
bsp; ‘It’s right that I speak to them before leaving,’ he said, turning away from her. He weaved on his feet a bit, making her jolt forward to help him, but he managed to recover before she reached him. ‘The dark spots in my vision,’ he explained, ‘they seem to come when I move too fast.’
Which was precisely why he wasn’t ready to move on tomorrow. He needed more time to rest, but she’d save her argument for Cuthbert in the morning. ‘Rest will help.’
He gave a grunt of agreement, but instead of going to the bed, he moved to her abandoned pallet and sat, raising his hand to stop her protest. ‘I’ve taken enough from you. I’ll not take your bed any longer.’ He was already lying down and pulling the blanket up before she could think of her best argument.
Deciding bed or pallet probably wouldn’t matter much in the way of his recovery, she climbed into the freshly made bed and pulled the blanket up over her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes tight enough, she wouldn’t remember that the foreigner had lain here so recently. She gave it a try, but it didn’t seem to help.
Chapter Eight
Magnus woke up as soon as she left the following morning. The soft knock of the door closing behind her brought him out of a peaceful sleep. Grey morning light found its way through the vent in the thatched roof, making him smile because it meant his sleeping patterns were becoming normal. He was getting better. His head still ached and his wound was swollen, but he’d probably passed through the worst of it with the woman’s help.
In Bed with the Viking Warrior Page 8