“Why did you come?” “Why did you come?”
The Norseman shrugged. “You needed me. You need someone to look out for your interests here.”
“But your work for Sir Mathew…?”
“You are his concern also. Sir Mathew wants me here.” Leif yearned to say, “Do you?” But something stopped him. Confidence; he’d never been confident with women.
Anne, well aware of what he had not said, picked another quince. She and Leif were in the neglected orchard outside the walls of the Hall, gathering fruit into reed baskets. This hot, early summer had nearly broken the boughs with ripe fruit already, the season forced by more than a month. Apples, peaches, quince, medlars; Deborah and Anne would soon be busy preserving and drying—if Anne chose to stay.
Climbing down from the tree as Leif held the ladder steady, Anne loosened the straps that held the basket on her back. He lifted the weight from her and she sighed with relief, flexing cramped shoulders; she felt real satisfaction as she looked at their progress.
“One, two, three, four, five, six… I believe we have near twenty baskets filled, Leif. And we’ve hardly touched the trees at the back. All those apples yet to be picked—what a thought.”
She was laughing; once she’d thought nothing of such hard physical work, but her muscles were protesting today. And her throat was very dry. Leif smiled and held out a leather flask.
The deep green grass beneath the oldest of the pear trees was inviting, it was true, but there was so much to do. Fortuna and her bull calf would do well on such fodder—grass and windfalls; she must remember to mention it to Deborah.
“Anne?”
“Yes?”
“Stop thinking. Sit. The fruit won’t go away. We’ve still got hours of light today.”
She smiled at Leif and sat down beside him. He was a kind companion and friend and, he was right, of course: she needed his help. In so many things.
Closing her eyes against the hot light, she swallowed heartily from the offered flask; their own ale, the first they’d brewed in this place. Thirst made it taste like nectar. Wiping her hand across her mouth, she handed him the bottle. “Do you have advice for me, Leif?”
For a moment he too drank and she watched his strong, brown throat as it worked.
“This is good, lady. You have the touch. With ale at least.” He smiled and so did she, but he had not answered the question.
To cover the moment, Anne removed one of Deborah’s pies from its linen wrapping. It was big enough for several men. “Are you hungry?” She’d asked him the wrong question and she blushed. What had possessed her? She knew what his answer, his true answer, would be.
With a wicked smile, Leif reached across her body for the large wedge she’d cut. “Of course.” They were sitting very close, close enough for her to smell the fresh sweat of him. “I’m always hungry.”
Anne dropped her eyes as she cut a piece of the pie for herself; she was confused by her feelings for this man and talking only made it worse. She cleared her throat and spoke, unnecessarily loud, in the humming, buzzing warmth of the orchard. “So, you will not give me guidance?”
Leif shook his head, chewing slowly, his eyes on her face. “You wouldn’t accept what I’d say, lady.”
She flashed him a glance. “That’s not fair. How can you know that?”
He smiled and took another bite of the pie. “I know you, lady.”
Anne had no reply. She brushed the crumbs from her skirt and stood, untying her hair kerchief to mop her hot face. There was a small stream at the edge of the orchard, one of the reasons the trees had been placed where they were. Water close by meant good fruit.
“Give me the flask, if you’ve finished the ale. I’ll fill it with water.”
Leif smiled lazily as he held the leather bottle up to Anne. She leaned down to grasp it but then, as her fingers touched it, he jerked it away. Trying to catch it, she unbalanced and tumbled down, across his lap. “So, lady, would you like me to tell you the truth?”
Now she really was confused, and breathless, her torso across his, her breasts against his body.
“That’s really not fair, Leif.”
He caught her hands as she wriggled, trying to twist away from him. She was breathing fast, so was he.
“Let me go.”
“Only if you hear me out.”
She was fit and strong but he was much more than her match, holding her effortlessly, relentlessly tighter.
“Say yes, Anne.”
“To what?” Her heart was jolting now, but there was no fear.
“To the truth.” And then, just because he could, he kissed her.
She wasn’t shocked, but she was rocked by the impact of him as his lips touched hers. He relaxed as he kissed her, so, without thought, she freed one hand and hit him hard in the chest. “No!”
He laughed. “Yes!” And kissed her again, catching the errant hand easily. Her world buzzing, light colliding with dark, she kissed him back. And in that moment, when all the certainties of her world were shaken to the core, Anne de Bohun made up her mind. She had to go to London. She had to know.