Rolfe stared down at the face that was quickly starting to take over his every spare thought. Thick, sooty lashes laid in a crescent over pale cheeks, drawing his attention to her near-perfect skin. It was smooth like the ivory handle of the knife he’d bought in Hedeby years ago. Only he knew that unlike the knife that was perpetually cool to the touch, her skin would be warm and soft. His fingertips ached to touch her, to feel the difference in the textures of the smooth skin covering the curve of her cheek and the silken heat of her lips. Her pink lips were parted as she took in deep, sleeping breaths. They looked soft and inviting, making him ache to cover them with his own and wake her with a kiss.
He shook himself from that fantasy before it could take root. He couldn’t be seduced by her or any woman. Infatuation made him weak and he refused to allow the emotion to wreak havoc with his life again. He had so much more to lose this time. It was imperative that he kept control.
The woman slept like a child. He’d called her softly from outside of the curtained alcove to no effect. She and her sister both slumbered on, lost in dreams. He’d been forced to come inside as he had the previous morning and shake her awake, only she hadn’t responded to his first attempt, which had given him ample time to become distracted by her.
‘Saxon.’ He raised his voice to slightly higher than a whisper and gave a gentle nudge to her shoulder.
She sighed and smiled in her sleep, turning on to her side to face him. Her warm breath feathered across his wrist, causing an uncomfortable stirring deep in his gut and a tightening farther down that made him crouch to hide any indication of what she had done to him. Surrendering to temptation, he allowed the tip of one finger to trace across her cheekbone. It was as warm and smooth as he’d expected. What he hadn’t expected was how that warmth slid across his palm and up his arm in a low flame that burned hotter and faster than he’d ever experienced. He drew his hand back almost as if she’d burned him.
‘Wake up, Saxon.’ His voice was rather ineffectually hoarse and low, but she managed to hear him this time none the less.
‘Rolfe,’ she whispered in a voice husky with sleep. Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open, lost as she was in that dream-filled place between wakefulness and sleep. The sound of his name in her mouth made him bite back a groan as it brought his body to full awareness of her. If they were in bed together, he’d have rolled her beneath him and found that sweet place between her thighs with his fingers, parting her to receive him. He’d kiss her awake as he nudged inside her.
As it was, he was nothing but a lecher, desiring a sleeping woman who had no idea he was here. He forced himself to swallow down his lust. There were better ways to use this unexpected gift of sleep, if only he could focus on his mission with her and stop behaving like a besotted fool. The way she affected him was nothing short of extraordinary. All his life he’d known control and discipline, but she brought something out in him that he’d rather forget existed. Hilde was the only other woman to do this to him.
As a simple farm boy turned warrior, he’d not been nearly good enough for the beautiful daughter of a jarl, but he’d wanted her anyway. In the two years he’d worked under her father as a warrior and oarsman, he’d kept every bit of coin he had earned in the hopes of having enough to be worthy of her. Rolfe had worked harder than any other man and in that short time had gained enough to earn the Jarl’s grudging respect. Hilde had noticed him as well.
Eventually, she had begun to welcome his attentions, sneaking away to meet him when she could. Soon they had become lovers and she’d agreed to be his wife. Knowing that her father would never agree to their marriage, they planned to sneak away and come back in a month when her father would have no choice but to accept. Rolfe had no doubts that he would have, because Rolfe had proven himself and had double the required coin for her bride price.
But on the night they were to meet, she walked into the clearing cwith several of her father’s men at her back, one of them a man named Bjorn who Rolfe had fought with before. She’d very calmly told him that she’d had another offer of marriage. Bjorn had smiled broadly as he stepped forward and put his arm around her, but it was her smile that had wounded Rolfe. She’d turned and left, leaving him to defend himself against Bjorn and the others. It was hardly a fair fight, eight against one, and they had beaten him until he’d blacked out.
Rolfe had awakened early the next morning with his coin and sword missing. Bloodied, bruised, and left with nothing, it had taken him several days to make the trip to his family’s farm. On that long and agonising trip, he’d vowed to never let a woman deceive him again. As soon as he was able, he’d left to join with Jarl Hegard, and then Vidar, vowing to himself that he would become a warrior with whom to be reckoned. Now, years later, he commanded an army of warriors, yet one slip of a girl was on the verge of reducing him to the fool he had been.
Nay, he wouldn’t allow it to happen, especially not with Elswyth, who was almost certainly a traitor. Pushing those useless thoughts from his mind, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. ‘Why are you here, Saxon?’
‘Hmm...’ was her completely useless reply. The sound of her voice whispered pleasantly over his skin.
Appreciating the fact that this was a very inept way to get information, he decided to try again as his usual methods of physical force and violence were unavailable to him. ‘Are you here to obtain information?’
‘Information,’ she repeated, though the end of the word was rather garbled in her sleep.
‘Aye, information about us.’ He kept his voice gentle so it sounded coaxing rather than accusing. ‘About the Danes... Lord Vidar...me...’
‘Only you, Rolfe.’ Her lips curved in another smile.
He frowned. Her father had probably wanted to know where they’d gone over the summer. It could be no secret that a large contingency of warriors had ridden out at the beginning of summer. Understanding that he would probably only get basic answers from her now with no detail, he decided to change subjects. ‘Have you met with the Scots?’
‘No Scots...just you.’
His frown deepened. What was he supposed to make of that? As he was trying to make sense of it, she surprised him by taking his hand in hers. It was the hand he’d touched her with and, instead of putting it away from her as he should have, he’d curled his fingers into the edge of her mattress where she’d found it. Scarcely daring to breathe, he tracked the movement as she set his hand to her cheek, settling his fingers there and covering them with her own. Despite his intentions, he allowed them to stay and even savoured the feel of her, warmth and velvet, beneath his fingertips.
‘I would marry you, Rolfe.’
The words had been so distinct and clear, his gaze flew to her eyes, expecting to find her awake and watching him. However, she slept on, though she turned her face more fully into his hand until her mouth nearly brushed against the heel and her nose tickled his palm. She was stroking herself against him, he realised with a start, and an answering smoulder started deep in his belly. His breaths came heavy and harsh.
‘You will marry me,’ he repeated. He didn’t know if the words were a promise or a hope as his thumb traced over the silky curve of her lips. She hadn’t been talking about spying or information all this time. She’d been talking about him and this strange bond they seemed to have.
She smiled at the sensation of his touch and her hot breath caressed him when she whispered, ‘Aye.’
Guilt that he had expected something far worse from her dropped into his stomach and settled there like a stone. A wave of fierce protection washed over him, as he saw her as the girl she was the night she had come to tend his wound. Nothing more. But he didn’t know that for certain and the warrior in him couldn’t let go of the idea that she could be a spy until he knew for certain.
Gently drawing his hand back, he called to her in a firmer voice, ‘Elswyth, we must go.’
The sound of her name finally roused her. She sat up halfway, resting on her elbows. Her gaze wandered over the small alcove disoriented until she set her eyes on him. They widened slightly, but her face was still slack with sleep. ‘Rolfe?’
He tried not to notice the way her breasts pressed against her linen nightdress, the only clothing she appeared to be wearing. Even in the deep shadows, he caught a glimpse of a pebbled nipple pushing against the fabric. ‘You sleep like the dead.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Waking you so that we can continue your lessons.’ When she looked at him with a question in her eyes, he clarified, ‘The sword.’
The last remnants of sleep left her as her mouth dropped open in understanding. ‘I didn’t think you would want to continue...after yesterday.’ After she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t plan to marry a Dane, including him.
The blanket shifted as she sat up fully, falling farther into her lap. The laces of her nightdress were supposed to be tied at her throat but had come apart during the night so that it gaped open, revealing the soft swells of her breasts, but stopping just short of exposing her nipples. He sucked in a fierce breath and turned his head away from the sight as hot lust poured through him. He wanted to forget the lesson, take her in his arms and carry her back to his bed. Determining if she was a spy had very little to do with his desire.
‘Meet me downstairs if you still want to learn. I have the horses waiting.’ He left before he could make his thoughts a reality.
Elswyth hurried to get dressed, making Ellan grumble in protest as she turned her back and pulled the blanket over her head. She had assumed that Rolfe had only offered to teach her the sword because he’d hoped to soften her to him so that she would agree to marriage. The last thing she’d expected was for him to wake her this morning. As she’d stared at him beside her bed, she had realised exactly how pleased she was to see him and how much she wanted to learn from him. It was the only way she could explain how her heart had leapt to life in her chest at seeing him next to her bed. It wasn’t fear of discovery as it had been the day before when she’d worried he’d found out his bloodstone was missing. It was excitement.
It had to be eagerness to continue her lesson. It could not have anything to do with how she had lain awake last night, tossing and turning as she had relived her conversation with Lady Gwendolyn in her head. Once, she had closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be his wife. Those thoughts had inevitably made her think of all the tender and good things about him. The dimple when he smiled...how often he seemed to smile at her...the gentle but firm way he instructed her with the sword. He was patient but commanding in his instruction, which were attributes she greatly admired. A few times his hand had gone to her waist, or better yet, touched her hand to adjust her grip and his touch had been very nice, warm and firm, but gentle. Always gentle.
Her Viking warrior was the most gentle man she’d ever met.
If he were Saxon she was afraid that she’d have eagerly agreed to wed him. Even now the thought of that sent a thrill shooting through her belly, because it made her think of his nude body. She’d probably see much more of it if they were wed, perhaps even his front side. She giggled to herself, much to the annoyance of Ellan who mumbled from under the blanket.
Tying the end of her braid off with a piece of linen, she hurried out the curtain and down the steps to the front door. She felt as though she was floating and barely noticed the men sleeping in the hall. Rolfe was waiting for her as he’d been the day before with Gyllir and Sleipnir saddled and ready, and Wyborn in tow. As she stepped up to him, aware of the embarrassing way her face was glowing, he put the fur cloak around her shoulders. She went to mount, but he stopped her and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. The kid skin looked soft and supple. Without asking, he took her left hand as if he intended to place the glove on her hand.
So this was why he had held his palm up to hers yesterday. He’d been measuring her hand against his to size the gloves. ‘Is that for me? I cannot accept such a gift.’
He seemed surprised when he glanced at her. ‘Why not? It’s cold and you’ll need warm hands to grip the sword.’
‘The expense...they’re too fine.’
He shrugged and reached for her fingers again. ‘It’s nothing. I had the leather anyway. They’re not that fine, they were made very fast.’
She knew that he spoke the truth because she’d seen a few different bolts of leather when she’d searched his chamber. The guilt of accepting his gift after having stolen from him, combined with her suspicion of him, made her draw her fingers away from him again. ‘Nay, I cannot accept.’ His brow furrowed deeply in question. ‘It’s...it’s been my experience that men only give gifts when they expect something in return,’ she explained.
He met her gaze, those vivid blue eyes staring right into her as if to pull out all of her secrets. ‘Did Osric expect something from you in return?’
Shocked that he would bring up her friend again, she paused to stare at him. His handsome features were solemn as he stared back. Some small part of her wanted to believe that she had heard jealousy in his tone, but she knew that couldn’t be true. He had no reason to be jealous. They hardly knew one another. But then she’d had no reason to be jealous of Claennis, yet the fire of her jealousy had burned through her veins.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and she took in a ragged breath. When she’d awakened, she had felt the soft remains of a weight on her lips, as if he’d stroked over them. The remembered heat left behind from his imagined touch warmed her now, coming to life even though she knew that she had made it up.
‘I believe that he also wants marriage,’ she whispered.
His eyes jerked back to hers, this time with a fire burning in their depths. ‘Are you promised to him?’ The skin over his cheekbones tightened as he clenched his jaw.
‘Nay. My father might wish it, but he’s not the one I want.’
‘Even though he’s Saxon?’ he surprised her by asking the impertinent question.
She might have taken offence had the sparkle of humour not returned to his eyes. Instead, she found herself shaking her head. ‘It’s not my only requirement for a husband.’
He raised an eyebrow in question and proceeded to help her put on the glove. This time she let him. ‘But it is the most important one.’
She took in the breadth of his shoulders as she answered him. ‘Nay, he must also be a fine warrior, strong and kind, generous and noble. Brave and patient.’ It was only after she said those things that she understood she had described all the attributes she had come to associate with Rolfe.
‘You find me lacking in those qualities?’ He gently took hold of her other hand and helped her with the glove. Her palm tingled with warmth as his fingertips stroked over it. By the time he’d finished helping her put the gloves on, all traces of cold were gone.
‘Nay, you’re not lacking.’ She honestly couldn’t say that he lacked any one of those.
‘Then it’s only that I’m a Dane?’
He stood so closely that she should have felt dwarfed by him, or at least intimidated. He didn’t make her feel either of those. She felt alive in a way she never had before and safe when he was near. ‘You have to admit that it’s a very large shortcoming.’
He laughed and the white puff of his breath brushed across her cheek. ‘If I were Saxon...would you marry me?’
Even though she had known the question was coming, nothing could have prepared her for the way she felt when he asked it. The words asked too much, were too probing and personal, yet she could feel the truth begging to come out. It was as if she needed to compensate for the lies of omission she was forced to tell him by being completely honest with him in every other way. No other man had ever made her want to entertain marriage before. No other man had ever excited her in any way. Only Rolfe. Only the man most unsuitable for her.
‘Aye.’
It was little more than a breath, but he heard, his vivid blue eyes widening slightly. His own breath sucked in sharply and his body seemed to vibrate with something he was trying desperately to contain. It felt right to say it and acknowledge what was between them. A weight lifted from her chest and she felt a moment of near euphoria as she allowed herself that brief instant to imagine, out in the open, how it could be with them.
‘You understand that you’ve just issued me a challenge, Saxon?’
The slight hitch in her breath was only from the cold, she tried to assure herself. It had nothing to do with the excitement flooding her veins. His brows had narrowed, his gaze had gone intense with hunger and become slightly proprietary. For all that, she still felt safe, because there was a gentleness beneath it all. The way his gaze stroked her features was as tender as a caress. She might have stoked the beast inside him to life, but he’d never hurt her.
‘Challenge?’ She smiled, drawing strength from her certainty.
‘To make you say aye, even though I will always be a Dane.’
‘Have I?’ Her smile widening, she shrugged and left him standing there as she went to mount the horse he had brought for her.