Now, she rapidly explained the situation to Kal.
‘And your conditions for this promised treat?’ he asked.
‘You stop pushing yourself.’
‘I will if you do. It is far harder to sleep sitting up than lying down.’ He gave the makeshift pallet another pat. ‘Your very being proclaims exhaustion, Cynehild. Your son would say the same if he saw you.’
She pressed her lips together. ‘You’ve no idea what my son would say.’
‘Who is being stubborn now? Humour me. Try the bed and see what you think.’
Instead, Cynehild poked the cloak spread over one of the furs and moved the pillow with her toe. A crudely carved horse peeped out. ‘Is it finished? Oh, Kal, you can really tell it is a horse!’
A smile split his face. ‘I worked on it while you were gone. I intend on making a set.’
Cynehild curled her fingers about the horse. Wulfgar would adore this. She could almost hear his excited squeak. Once he saw it, she doubted he’d pay any attention to her. Although he might even give her a hug, like he’d used to, instead of proclaiming that he was too old. Her heart ached with longing to hear his voice and to inhale his little boy smell.
She understood the horse’s significance. It was a gift beyond words. Kal didn’t know her son but he’d made something which would light up his face.
‘You’re very kind. The perfect gift.’
‘It is the sort of thing I wanted as boy. My father had a captive who carved a set of horses for me when I was young, before he was ransomed. When Ranka was pregnant I made a set for my boy...the one who died. She told me to stop because I was tempting the gods. Maybe I did.’
Cynehild forgot how to breathe, and then remembered she actually had to take in air.
‘I’ll be fine dozing on the bench where I spent last night,’ she said. ‘Luba has brought me more carded wool. I have plenty to be getting on with.’
She gave an awkward shrug. She struggled to remember when anyone had last seen to her welfare in this way. Brother Palni might fuss a bit, but no one really bothered to ensure she was comfortable. She was the one who was supposed to have all the answers where matters of the household were concerned. Her father certainly felt that was the case. And Leofwine had never been able to do anything special for Wulfgar—something he had regretted at the end.
‘My mother always taught me that a man looks to the comfort of his women.’
‘I’m not your woman.’ Her cheeks burnt as if she had been sitting in front of the fire tending the ash cakes for too long. ‘Get that idea out of your head.’
A dimple flashed in the corner of his cheek. He patted the freshly made-up pallet. ‘So, if you don’t want the comfortable bed, are you asking me to share the pallet I’ve just made instead? Normally I like to know a woman longer, but for you I am willing to make an exception. We can share the ground without a problem.’
‘The bench.’
‘You’ll tumble off in your sleep. I’d have to stay awake all night, waiting to catch you.’ His voice lowered to a soft rasp. ‘Where would that leave us? Exhausted for no good purpose.’
‘Is there such a thing as being exhausted for a good purpose?’
‘Yes, without a doubt.’ His voice slid over her skin like the finest fur. ‘Are you asking me to show you?’
Cynehild sank down onto the wooden bench. His words were painting enticing pictures in her head. Yet Brother Palni said that she looked like a rapidly aging crone. Kal must be playing some sort of game with her. He could have no idea about her attraction to him, or why she’d spent such a long time outside, trying to get her heart rate to go back to normal.
‘It was not what I meant. You know that. Stop trying to twist my words.’
‘Am I? I’m merely attempting to understand your reasoning for declining the bed.’
‘My reasoning?’ Cynehild reached for a stick and poked at the fire. The sparks fell bright and then winked out. Desire was like that—burning hot until it left only ash.
‘The only reason I can think of why you’d prefer a pallet on the rush-covered floor to the comfort of a bed is that you require my arms about you.’
‘In your dreams!’
‘I’d prefer to be in yours.’ At her gasp, he gave a shout of laughter. ‘You’re fun to tease, Cyn. You are wearing your totally shocked face, but your eyes are glowing with anticipation.’
‘Glowing with anticipation? More like exasperation.’
He hung his head. ‘Are you terribly angry with me, Cyn?’
‘Find another pet name for me. I’ve never been a Cyn.’ Not now at any rate.
Her husband had sometimes called her ‘Cyn dear’ when he was being exceptionally affectionate. It felt strange to hear it on another man’s lips but not unpleasant, and what was worse, she longed to hear it again. It made her feel alive...as if her future contained more than simply being a daughter, a sister and a mother.
She hugged her arms about her waist. Even if Kal insisted on using that name, it didn’t mean they were going to make love or do anything of that nature. She’d spent the better part of the day trying to forget what his mouth had felt like against hers and how it had sent her blood racing. Now, just when she’d considered she had her emotions under control, he went and did something like this.
‘Someone must have called you Cyn once. It suits you. Cynehild is far too formal and stiff for a woman whose mouth constantly curves upwards into a smile.’
‘It does?’ Cynehild explored her lips with her tongue. ‘I hadn’t realised.’
‘Your smile brings light to the cottage.’ He lay down on the pallet he’d arranged. ‘I’ll be sleeping here. It’s a shame to allow the bed to go empty, but that’s your choice.’
He closed his eyes and pretended to snore.
‘I won’t sleep,’ she told him. ‘My so-called demons, remember? You might as well be comfortable in the bed. We’ll need your sword arm before too long.’
She winced. She’d voiced her fears out loud—that Haddr would be unable to resist spreading gossip and then they’d have Kal’s men here, including the person who had tried to murder him. Her men were primed and ready, but they were only two against who knew how many warriors.
‘My arm will be strong enough when the time comes. My head has already improved immeasurably after the tisanes you’ve brewed. And I am hereby willing to swear on the healing power of porridge and carving wooden animals.’
‘I hope and pray that it will be.’
‘Lie awake, then. Gaze at the rafters. You will be no good for anything if you fail to rest properly. Sitting up and spinning wool is about as far from resting as you can get, to my mind.’
‘You are more of a mother hen than Brother Palni.’
‘Something that I’m better at than the monk? Good.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I’ve been quite jealous of him and I keep thinking up ways to surpass his goodness.’
Cynehild struggled not to laugh. Kal in this mood was hard to resist.
‘I can see you smiling,’ he said.
‘How can you? Your eyes are shut,’ she protested.
‘I can sense it. Go on. Let me hear you laugh. You want to.’
Cynehild gave a cross between a snort and a laugh. ‘You win. Brother Palni and I rarely get on.’
Kal opened his eyes and stared directly at her. ‘I like it when I win...particularly with a lady I admire. Some might say I am very good at winning—which is why I was appointed Jaarl.’
‘You think?’
‘Becoming one takes a good deal of skill, patience and luck. I remember my father saying that once. Far better to be born one.’
She stifled a yawn. ‘Have you remembered how you became one?’
‘That story will need to wait until after you sleep. Now, lie down properly on the bed. Do as you are told for once.’
/>
The bed did look very inviting. A wave of tiredness washed over her. ‘You can be quite irritating.’
His eyes danced. ‘All the more reason why I should take the floor, Cyn.’
Cynehild tried to ignore the warm pulse of heat which coursed down her spine at his tone. He was right—rest would solve her problem of being attracted to him. ‘You’re not going to let me win on this, are you?’
‘Not when it is something that matters. Sometimes, my stubborn lady, you must give way and accept the inevitable.’
* * *
The dying fire made strange shadows on the rafters, shifting in the slight breeze. The wind had picked up outside, howling and driving rain against the roof, but sleep refused to come despite the softness of the bed. Cynehild toyed with the idea of rising and doing more spinning, but she suspected that if she moved, Kal would wake. Currently his breathing was a steady counterpoint to the rain.
Lately she’d feared sleep because of her dreams about Leofwine, and not doing as he had instructed. Now, though, every time she closed her eyes she remembered Kal’s touch on her waist and the way his mouth had briefly moved over hers. She barely knew the man but he made her feel alive.
And she was about to rob him. It didn’t matter that he probably didn’t even know the gold existed. It was buried on his land.
Cynehild tried to turn her thoughts to more mundane matters—like who would Brother Palni bring back with him? If she was lucky, it would be a few of Moir’s men. If she was unlucky, it would be her brother-in-law himself—or, worse still, her sister too, riding like an avenging angel.
She and Ansithe had always fought as children. They’d grown closer after Ansithe’s marriage to Moir, but Cynehild knew Ansithe wouldn’t understand why she’d taken this risk. She suspected, though, that Brother Palni had guessed about the coins...where they’d come from and her reasons for insisting that they continue.
It had all been much easier when she hadn’t actually known who Jaarl Icebeard was and hadn’t had to consider that he might be a caring person and she would want his regard. All she knew was that she wished Leofwine had never given her this burden in the first place. But because she had taken it on she would continue to the end.
She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them. A wave of loneliness swept over her. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted this to end. With Kal, she felt part of a team, wanted for herself. Was sharing a few kisses with him so wrong?
A sudden low moan made her sit up straight. She listened in the darkness. ‘Kal, are you all right?’
Kal began to thrash about on the makeshift pallet, shouting out, ‘Help me. Please someone help. Dying!’
She rushed towards where he lay. His hands were flailing about but she caught them and held them still. He instantly stopped. His eyes blinked open and he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. She let his hands go and one touched the side of her face, smoothing back a tendril of her hair.
‘You are safe?’ he asked.
‘We both are.’
His eyes fluttered shut. ‘I need to know you are safe.’
He mumbled a word, a name that she couldn’t quite catch. It was probably his wife’s. Cynehild’s heart constricted. Regardless of what he might say, or what she might hope for, he was clearly not yet over her.
She had started to tiptoe away when he moaned again.
‘You are fine, Kal. You are safe. We should have bandaged your head again earlier. If you are not careful, you will start bleeding again. Kal...please. You need to be quiet.’
His eyes snapped open. ‘Cyn? You are here? You haven’t left me? You haven’t died on the road? I dreamt my enemy had found you and I was too late to save you.’
The tension leaked out of her. ‘I’m here. I’ll stay until it’s time for me to go.’
‘I was dreaming, wasn’t I?’
‘Your dreams vanish when you wake,’ she said, in the sort of voice she used when Wulfgar had his night terrors. ‘You are among friends—people who care what happens to you. Close your eyes and sleep again. All is well and safely gathered in.’
‘Am I safe?’ He raised himself up on one elbow and looked about him as if he didn’t recognise where he was. ‘Truly?’
‘No one will harm you here.’
‘Good.’ His mouth curved up. ‘I’m glad you are here with me, Cynehild. I want... I want to be good for you.’
‘I’m sure you will be.’
‘But am I good enough?’
‘Be quiet now and rest.’
She started to move away, conscious suddenly that she was dressed in her under-gown and her hair was unbound. The cold from the floor seeped into her feet.
‘Stay with me.’ He caught her fingers. With a deft tug he pulled, and she tumbled down into his embrace.
She lay against the hard planes of his body. There was not any fat on him. She put a hand on his warm chest. The temptation to lay her head against it nearly overwhelmed her.
‘Kal, really... Be sensible. This is the worst thing for you.’
‘Hush.’ He put a finger to her lips. ‘You will spoil everything. Remain with me.’
Her mouth tingled where he’d touched her. ‘How?’
‘You talk too much.’
His other arm tightened about her, pressing her curves against his body. His lips were only a breath away.
‘Kiss me. Let me feel your mouth against mine. Properly.’
‘Kiss you?’ She moistened her aching lips.
His eyes fluttered shut. ‘Please.’
Giving in to impulse, she bent her head and tasted. His mouth was like sunshine and warmth after a cold winter. She knew in the sensible part of her brain that she should not be doing this. She should get up and move away. He’d allow her to go. But she stayed with her lips pressed against his. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could pretend she was dreaming too.
His arms tightened about her, drawing her closer so that she could feel every inch of his hard body through her thin gown. Her legs moulded to his. His lips parted and she delved inside, tasting and tangling her tongue with his. Her whole being became infused with heat. And she knew she wanted more.
He twisted so that she was below him and he loomed over her. His mouth traced a line of kisses down her neck. Her body arched upwards, seeking his hardness.
A sudden snap from the fire sent a cloud of sparks flying into the air, highlighting his cheekbones and the size of his shoulders. She trailed a gentle finger down his cheek and his mouth curved upwards in a masculine smile. His mouth roamed her face, raining small kisses on her cheekbones, the line of her jaw and the corner of her mouth.
‘Sweetling...’ he murmured against her earlobe.
At the generic term of endearment, Cynehild stiffened. Leofwine had been like that when they were first together, during those months when he’d kept his old mistress—always the endearment and never her name. That had come later. She hated remembering the awful loneliness of being a bride of convenience.
She pushed against Kal’s chest. ‘No.’
Instantly he rolled off her and she scrambled to standing.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
Cynehild smoothed down her under-gown, which had become scrunched up to the top of her thighs in the madness of their kisses. ‘I am many things, Kal Randrson, but I am not just a warm body in the night.’
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘A warm body in the night? You could never be that.’
‘You called me sweetling. I could have been anyone. I’m me. When we join, I don’t want to be called by someone else’s name.’
‘When we join? That’s an improvement on if.’
She snorted and hugged her arms about her body. ‘You are muddying the subject.’
His gaze slowly travelled the length of her, seeming to take in all
her curves and her unbound hair. ‘I have no idea why you are so angry, my lady. I thought you wanted this. I meant no harm with the endearment.’
‘It’s not my name.’
He hesitated for another breath. Then, ‘Cynehild. My lady. Are you satisfied?’
‘I am now.’ She forced her fingers to relax. ‘You were having a bad dream. I came to you because you started calling out. I did not come because I wanted to climb into bed with you. I wish that to be made clear.’
‘You were part of the dream.’ He gave a slow smile. ‘A very pleasant part of it. And the reality was much better than the dream.’
Cynehild ignored the curl of warmth which was even now circling her insides. She knew precisely what had nearly happened. She was hardly some innocent maiden. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be held in a man’s arms. If he hadn’t called her sweetling she would have stayed in his arms and they would have joined.
She glanced upwards, towards the blackened beams. She knew that if Leofwine had been the one to survive she would have expected him to have other liaisons, even marry again. But she wasn’t him. And what she felt for Kal wasn’t the same as her feelings for Leofwine. What did that make her with all her protestations about how she’d always be true to Leofwine?
She tried to think about something other than the way Kal’s mouth had moved against hers. Or how alive her body had felt. It had taken all her willpower to step away from him.
‘My lady, know that whatever happens between us, it is your choice.’
‘We should both get some sleep. As you pointed out earlier—the morning will bring new challenges.’
‘I am sorry if I disturbed you, my lady. It wasn’t my intention.’
‘I am pleased everything is well with you.’ She nodded towards her bed and gave an exaggerated yawn, knowing her dreams would revolve about a hard-muscled body and soft lips moving against hers. ‘I find I am beyond exhausted.’
‘Sleep, my lady. I will attempt to keep quiet for the remainder of the night.’
‘I will appreciate that.’
She settled down and pulled the furs tight about her. Her body thrummed with frustrated disappointment. She tried to ignore it. When she joined with a man she wanted it to be for the right reasons—not simply to keep warm in the night.
Betrothed to the Enemy Viking Page 13