Riveted

by Brook, Meljean

  “From what?”

  Annika glanced across the deck again. “Look at them. When she thinks no one is watching.”

  He did, and Maria Madalena appeared just as haughty and regal as when she’d slammed the door in David’s face. But not at every moment, he realized. The nurse spoke to her, and he saw the softness there, the warmth—the tight smile that seemed to suppress laughter. Then she caught the eye of an aviator and tossed her head, every inch the arrogant, rich woman again.

  What would the Church be protecting them from? David wasn’t Catholic, but he’d read some of the more contentious historical debates while at the university. Remembering the wake of terror following the first reports of the Horde’s frenzies, and the Church’s call for leniency toward sodomites at the same time several kingdoms had been writing severe punishments into law, one possibility seemed more probable than others.

  Carefully, because even the suggestion could harm the young woman, David said, “You think they’re Sapphists?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “They share a bed.”

  “Yes.” Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “I also heard the aviators say that it’s a sickness, and the cure is a man between their legs. Do you think so?”

  He frowned. “Forcing any woman is indefensible.”

  “No,” she said. “Do you think it is a sickness?”

  The directness of her query demanded honesty. “I haven’t thought about the reasons for it.”

  “You need to. Before you pledge yourself to helping Källa, before Hildegard comes for you. If you think it’s a sickness, you need to give those runes over and let them be.”

  Understanding slipped in, and in the space of a breath, tore apart every assumption he’d made. Reeling, David shook his head, trying to reorder everything he’d learned about his mother’s people, to see through this new lens.

  Why hadn’t he seen it before? Good Christ, it was so obvious. She and Källa had two mothers, yet they were sisters. They were a community of only women…and both Annika and his mother had kept them secret, protecting them.

  They were right to protect them. God knew what would happen if the women were discovered.

  Her gaze was still on him. Her stiff expression gave little away, but she held herself tight, her mittened hands shaking. “Will you think on it, David Ingasson?”

  David nodded, hoping the response would reassure her—and realized that he had thought on it before, though not regarding women. He knew of several male colleagues who were rumored to have shared more than tents during their expeditions, though the rumors were quiet, for fear that the men would be hurt by them. David wasn’t interested in that sort of companionship for himself, but he didn’t care that others did. He didn’t care that his mother’s people did the same.

  Except for one.

  Was this why Annika had told him she wouldn’t share his bed without love? It would be a simple claim that could keep men at arm’s length without risking herself.

  David had no right to ask. He knew it. There was small hope of anything ever coming of his attraction to her…but he needed to know if that little hope was actually no hope at all. “You?”

  She bit her lip, clearly uncertain, and David felt like an ass.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I don’t know,” she said. A worried line formed between her brows. She glanced back at the deck, and her voice lowered to a whisper. “I don’t know. There was a girl, a friend. I hoped it would become more, but it never did. Then I thought perhaps there weren’t enough women in Hannasvik, and so I couldn’t meet the right one.”

  Then she’d begun searching for Källa. “But it would be difficult to find someone in the New World,” he realized. She’d be taking a tremendous risk.

  “Yes.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “But I also wondered if I was like some of the other women who preferred men, even though they’d never seen one. I thought that when I left, I would know for certain. But I didn’t. Four years, and there was no one that I…no one…”

  Her lips pressed together and she stared out over the water. Tension held David still. She seemed on the verge of bolting, and he feared that a word or a movement might startle her away. He couldn’t imagine the terror that must be coursing through her now in sharing this with him. He’d have done anything to ease that for her, but he knew there was little to do—only clench his fists and wait, his chest aching for her, his mind filled with slowly building anger.

  This shouldn’t be so terrifying to confess. She shouldn’t have to fear anything.

  “I have felt attraction to a man, but only—” She cut herself off, hesitated before starting again. “In general, I think women are more appealing in appearance.”

  “So do I,” David said, and was gratified to see her quick smile. Her expression lost some of its petrified rigidity.

  She looked up, met his gaze. “What I told you is true—I want to love someone first. Man or woman, I don’t care. I want to feel as if my guts are riveted together, to feel as if I would do anything just for a kiss, or a touch, or to see them. I want to feel as if I can’t live without them, and if I have to…if I have to live without them, I want to feel as if every moment I had with them was worth a lifetime of love. And I want to be loved that way in return.”

  Her words gripped his heart, twisted it hard. That was what he wanted, too.

  Annika caught her lip between her teeth again, watching him—uncertain again, he thought. “Does that sound like a foolish dream?”

  “If it is, then I’m a fool, too.”

  This time her smile came more easily, appeared less brittle. The ring of the ship’s bell sounded. She startled, glancing back at the deck and blinking.

  “I’m due below again.” She backed away from the rail, her eyes still on his. “So will you think on it?”

  He didn’t need to. But he doubted that she would believe an answer given so quickly. “I will,” he said. “And you’ll give me your answer tomorrow, too?”

  She nodded, her gaze holding his for another long second before she turned. David watched her go, then looked out over the bay. Movement near the shoreline caught his eye. Two figures in a boat, rowing north.

  Camille and Lisbet.

  His heart gave a heavy thud. He studied the mountains across the water again, then the conical peak that rose even farther in the distance, and remembered Annika’s faraway expression as she’d gazed in the same direction.

  David would have wagered anything that the burial site he sought lay up there, somewhere. But he would wait. Camille had asked him not to follow them, so he wouldn’t take advantage of the path he saw them travel now. And to tell him all that she had, Annika must have begun to trust him—or discovering his reaction before he met with Hildegard had been worth the risk she’d taken. So he would wait for his aunt. If she didn’t come, then he would look to the northern peninsula again.

  And he would wait for Annika’s answer tomorrow. It was incredible, but despite the satisfaction of his work, the imminent fulfillment of his promise to his mother, any future happiness seemed to be riding on the thin hope of continuing their friendship.

  David thought his heart was riding on it, too.

  Chapter Six

  Annika had told David to think on it, but throughout the night and the next morning, it was she who thought of nothing else. Whether stoking the engine or lying in bed, she recalled the stunned incredulity in his expression when he’d realized the truth. No revulsion had followed, but that might come as his shock receded.

  Anxiety kept her company through the hours. If he felt disgust, that would be the end of their acquaintance. She would send word to Hildegard, and try to forget that she’d ever thought well of him.

  And try not to feel devastated, wondering how she could have been so wrong.

  If he didn’t believe they were all suffering from a foul sickness, however…she simply didn’t know what her own answer would be. Continuing to corr
espond with him would imperil her heart, and Annika wasn’t adventurous. She’d always known what her life would be—and though the search for Källa had thrown a spanner into the works, as soon as that was over, Annika planned to continue as she’d started.

  Her attraction to him threatened to disrupt everything. She’d have been content in Hannasvik. Even if she’d never fallen in love, she’d have found a daughter and raised her alone as her mother had done. She’d have been satisfied.

  But it was true that when she’d left her village, she’d hoped to find a woman who stirred her passion. None had—and she hadn’t met any men to do it, either.

  Until David. Annika still didn’t know if she was attracted because of his sex, or if it was just him. But he had been the only one to affect her so deeply—and she believed it could easily become more. If she turned away his offer of friendship, however, Annika would lose this opportunity forever.

  If he didn’t desire her in return, the opportunity wouldn’t matter—and she’d never seen any indication that he did. He’d told her that wasn’t what he wanted. And the night before, when she’d moved in close to sniff his neck, he’d only stood rigidly, then turned away from her.

  She didn’t want to spend her life hoping, longing, waiting for his feelings to change. She didn’t want to end up heartbroken as her mother had, the person she loved within reach, yet still alone.

  Then again, her mother wasn’t alone any longer—and Annika imagined that her happiness now patched over the years of hurt.

  She didn’t want to return home and wait to die.

  She didn’t know what to do. Each option rolled itself over again and again, hope and dread filling her in turns. Her mind roiled about, refusing to rest, and she was exhausted when the forenoon watch ended. David wasn’t waiting for her outside the engine room, as she’d half expected; Annika tried not to feel disappointment. He was probably allowing her to come to him in her own time rather than pushing her to make a decision. She could appreciate that.

  She also wanted her decision to be important enough to him that he couldn’t help but push.

  Hearts were silly things.

  She couldn’t seek him out yet, however. The first engineer’s endless duties called, and the warmers needed to be checked again now that the sun was up and heating the surface of the balloon. She climbed the ladder to the main deck, wishing that the engine wasn’t so loud. He could be nearby, and she wouldn’t hear him.

  Oh, but she didn’t need to.

  He stood so tall. And next to the first mate, his shoulders appeared twice as broad. How could she possibly not see him?

  Like the aviators on deck, he wore a knitted wool cap lined with fur and with flaps to protect his ears. His gaze caught hers as she came out of the companionway, and her breath seemed to stop. Annika wondered if he heard anything that Mr. James was saying to him. She couldn’t hear anything at all—not the thrum of the engine or the rush of icy wind. Only the pounding of her own heart.

  She made her way across the deck. Before she could say a word of greeting, Mr. James asked, “So you’re awake, eh?”

  “I—” Annika stopped, utterly confused. Was she not supposed to be awake? Had someone said she wasn’t? “Yes. I’m just coming off watch.”

  Standing beside James, David averted his face, seemed to stifle a laugh.

  “As am I,” James said. “Are you taking lunch, Mr. Kentewess?”

  “When Miss Fridasdottor does.”

  “So it’s like that?” James nodded, smiling. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  Annika waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to David. “Do you see? Why would he ask that? What am I supposed to say?”

  David grinned. “Yes. Though I’ll ask something else he did: Are you taking lunch soon?”

  “I have to check the balloon pressure first.” She reached into her belt for two of the candies she’d found at Valdís’s store and started for the warmers. “This will hold you until we eat.”

  He took the candy, and she popped one into her mouth, relishing the smooth, creamy texture. He only looked down at his with an odd expression. Not longing, exactly, but a degree of wistful sadness.

  “You don’t like butters?”

  “I do, but don’t eat them.” His thumbs rubbed over the twisted ends of the paper. “My father designed the machine that wraps these.”

  “He did?”

  “A commissioned job, shortly before we moved to the mountain builders’ city. We visited the manufactory one day, and I ate dozens. My mother laughed at me and told me to stop, that I’d make myself sick. I didn’t.” He looked up, and she realized that expression hadn’t been sadness, but the sweetness of a memory held painfully tight. “I don’t want to eat one and discover they weren’t as good as I remember.”

  “They are.”

  His gaze fell to her mouth. “Perhaps I’ll try again.”

  Sudden need screwed deep, a coiling ache that tightened her skin. He could taste her. Lips open, tongue seeking the sweet flavor…and she would discover if his kiss would be as good as she hoped.

  But he apparently didn’t mean to taste anything now. He looked away and tucked the butter candy into his pocket. Turning to hide her distress, Annika stared at the balloon’s gauge. The pressure was within limits. She fiddled with a valve. Anything to delay speaking with him again while her throat felt as if a sharp rock had been shoved down it.

  Was this what the future would be? Always hoping…always disappointed?

  The engine slowed to half speed. A great huff of steam released from the stern. Annika looked beyond the bow. Heimaey wasn’t far, the black cliffs of the island rising up out of the sea.

  She swallowed the ache, faced him again. “We’ll be there soon.”

  “And Vik not long after.”

  “Yes.”

  Where he’d depart the ship. She might never see him again.

  Now she felt sick. She led him to the side, where they wouldn’t be overheard. The butter candy tasted cloyingly sweet now. Her tongue found sharp edges that had formed in the smooth surface. She spit it over the rail and braced herself for his reply. “Have you thought on what I said?”

  “Yes.” His strong gaze held hers, unwavering. “It doesn’t matter who they lie with.”

  “No. It does matter. It matters to my mother and your aunt, it matters to me because I love them, it matters to all the women of Hannasvik, whether they lie with other women or not—and it must matter to many New Worlders, because they’d done their damnedest to stop women from loving each other.”

  He nodded, as if to show that he understood the distinction. “I don’t think badly of them for it. I don’t think it’s a sickness.”

  Relief slipped through her, unwinding the knot in her stomach. “Thank you.” She drew a deep breath. “And you still want to help look for Källa?”

  “Yes.” He seemed to relax as well, his shoulders no longer so stiff. “So you will stay in touch with me?”

  Would she write him, tell him of all the people she met, the things she saw?—and did she want to receive his letters in return?

  Oh, she did.

  But how long would it be before she lived for those letters? Upon a week’s acquaintance, she’d already come this far. How long until she was all in? And if he wasn’t…would he ever be?

  If she stopped this now, Annika could save herself. She could return to Hannasvik after finding Källa and be content.

  “Annika?”

  His ease was gone, shoulders stiff again. Why did this even matter to him?

  She had to know. “What would be the purpose? The only reason you sought me out was because I might help you fulfill your promise. Well, Hildegard will come for you now; your promise will be fulfilled. Why continue this?”

  “Why?” His jaw hardened. His gaze burned into hers. “For two people who don’t fit anywhere, we get along well. The purpose is…friendship.”

  Friendship. That was worth a lot. All that Annik
a had of value were friends—and family that she didn’t see often enough. Without them, she had nothing.

  But she wanted more. Her eyes stung. She looked down as her vision blurred, and her body stilled.

  His hands had clenched on the gunwale—his steel fingers had splintered the wood. This mattered more than he was saying. Perhaps all he had were friends, too. Family that he didn’t see often enough.

  Annika wasn’t adventurous. She didn’t take risks. But she would now.

  And whatever came of it…would be what came of it.

  She glanced up into his rigid features. “All right. Friendship.”

  His sudden smile washed away the tension. “Thank you.”

  Thank you. Just as a friend would say. Already, she wanted more. Already, it was hurting. She wasn’t just a coward—she was greedy, too. Hopefully, this need would soon dull.

  He must have been watching her face and misinterpreted her reaction. Softly, he assured her, “I won’t betray your trust.”

  “I know,” she said.

  It was one of the reasons she liked him so well. Her life was richer for having him as a friend, so she couldn’t pity herself for long.

  And friends and family weren’t all they had. Annika had her engines, her clothes—and he had his volcanoes. Phatéon flew past one of the smaller islands, a giant snow-covered rock jutting out of the water. In the summer, it would be green with moss and grasses, with puffins nesting on the cliffs and the women from Heimaey waiting at the edges, trying to catch the birds in their spring-launched nets.

  But the island didn’t smoke or steam. “Will you tell me that this was made by a volcano, too?”

  He didn’t immediately answer. Annika glanced at him, but he was looking past her, beyond the ship. His brows had furrowed, and a tight frown flattened his wide mouth. She followed the direction of his gaze to the main island, at the small town nestled behind a cragged cliff. Rows of cottages formed two neat streets that led to the stone abbey. Annika had always liked the look of Heimaey when flying in. Unlike every other settlement in Iceland, there was no need for high fences to keep the wild dogs away from the livestock. It made the town appear more inviting, open.