Ellan rubbed her neck as she came awake for what had to be the hundredth time since lying down on her mat to sleep. The hearth glowed orange in the grey, early morning light. The fire had died down to embers, but there was enough light to see the tendrils of her breath in the cold air. Though her eyes were grainy and tired, her mind twisted and turned with thoughts of Henrik and his offer, along with the things she had learned about Aevir. There would be no going back to sleep.
She hadn’t had an opportunity to confront Aevir with her newfound knowledge. It wasn’t any of her business, but mostly it was her own cowardice that kept her from him. If she didn’t hear an affirmation from him, then she could go on hoping Henrik’s account wasn’t true. A quick peek around the curtain after Henrik had left the night before had assured her that her charge slept and she’d been relieved to see that.
The mat rustled and a piece of straw stuck into her hip as she rolled to her back and pulled the luxurious fur up around her neck, thankful for Lady Gwendolyn’s generosity. A strange and bizarre thought struck her. Except for her scant clothing and the pair of shoes she wore, she owned nothing.
Father had always been frugal to the point of miserly. Every other possession she shared with Elswyth. It had always been that way. Combs, the precious few hair frivolities they had owned over the years, headrails—all of it had been shared. Perhaps that was why she had felt out of sorts, and honestly a little desperate, after Elswyth’s marriage. She had no home, no place to feel wanted. Her sister had always been that home for her, but now Elswyth had a husband and would soon likely have her own family.
Alvey was the only place Ellan had ever felt needed and valued. Was it possible that she was so desperate to have a home that she was forcing an attachment to Aevir that wasn’t really there? There was no denying their physical attraction. That had been present from the very first when she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him in the great hall. But was it more likely that she was confusing her sinful lust with something more profound? Something more real?
Was she that much of her mother’s daughter?
As difficult as it was to believe that she might have duped herself, in a strange way it cleared her head. It was like a storm had passed and the sky was new and fresh again. The tension drained from her temples and her neckache eased. For the first time since she’d heard Henrik’s disturbing tale from the night before, she was able to draw an easy breath.
Perhaps she wasn’t in love with Aevir after all. She was simply doing her best to find a place to hold on to in her world. Relief made her feel lighter than she had in days, weeks. If she didn’t love him, everything would be easier. She could ponder Henrik’s proposal with rational thought and decide how to proceed.
A very masculine murmur came from the mat on the other side of the hearth. It was followed by her sister’s softer voice and a giggle. A giggle from her stoic sister who had never giggled in her life. Ellan rolled her eyes at their obvious happiness. It wasn’t that she begrudged them that. It was that she envied it, which honestly wasn’t any better. Elswyth had returned the previous evening and announced that Rolfe would have to leave in the morning for his turn scouring the countryside for Scots. It hadn’t been a surprise, but her sister’s concern had been clear to see. They should have privacy before he left.
As silently as she could to avoid any awkwardness, she rose and straightened her clothing and hair. Pushing her feet into her shoes, she grabbed her fur and headed for the hall to have her morning meal. A Dane she recognised but didn’t know gave her a nod as she exited the house. It was still very early and Henrik had had a late night standing guard, so she hoped she didn’t run into him. She didn’t want to run into Lord Vidar—she was still peeved at him for even hinting that he might make her follow through with the marriage her father had arranged—but it couldn’t be helped. Anything was better than listening to Elswyth and Rolfe carry on all morning.
To her surprise, many men were already up and about as they prepared to leave with Rolfe’s excursion. She was accustomed to the early morning workings of her tiny village. Boys and girls would gather milk, babies would cry, demanding their morning meal, and the air would fill with the smell of smoke as fires in hearths were stoked to life. This morning there was only the clang of shields and armour as the warriors equipped themselves to go. The musty scent of wet loam disturbed by boots and horseflesh filled the crisp air. After the relative safety of Alvey’s walls, the commotion set against the backdrop of open wilderness made her palms moist and her steps quicken towards the hall. They really were at war.
Her first thought was to thank God Aevir wasn’t joining the fray. Her feet slid over a patch of wet snow as she came to a stop. Her next thought was to wonder if lust would make her feel such relief. The feeling of relief that swept over her and made her legs tremble was at odds with the rational part of her brain that insisted she didn’t love him. Infatuation and lust weren’t love. So why did she feel so thankful that he was safely ensconced inside her home? Why was the need to rush back to him so nearly overpowering?
Shaking her head, she forced one foot in front of the other until she was inside the hall and away from Aevir. Warriors rushed past her, having just finished their meal, which forced her to make her way along the perimeter of the room. At the hearth, she filled a bowl with mush and took a place at a far table, wanting to avoid Lord Vidar and the elders. It would suit her to never talk to Desmond again. As she ate, she pondered her infatuation for Aevir, trying to work out if the feeling would come with an urge to protect him.
‘Your grumpy Dane calls for you.’
She glanced up to see Elswyth approaching her. A smile lit her sister’s face. It didn’t take much thought to know that she and her husband had used their alone time well. The hall was nearly empty now with only a few women cleaning up the carnage left from the morning meal. How long had she been daydreaming into her pottage?
‘He’s grumpy? Is he in pain?’
Elswyth laughed and shook her head. ‘Perhaps, but I do not think that’s the source of his irritability. He seemed angry.’
The food in her belly seemed to swirl and harden. She didn’t want to face him until she had a handle on her feelings, but those feelings were so unwieldy it would take days to sort them out. With a sigh, she forced her cowardice aside and got to her feet.
Aevir did not glance at her when she brought in the tray of implements needed to change his bandage. His colour was better today, flushing his face with health which had returned his skin to its usual golden colour. His hair hung down around his face, emphasising the strong blades of his cheekbones and his straight nose. She paused when her heart stuttered in her chest as it always did when she first set eyes on him after an absence. It was a timely reminder that lust more than genuine affection likely fuelled her feelings for him.
Placing the tray down on the narrow strip of bed that he wasn’t filling up with his large body, she diligently attempted to not look at the broad expanse of naked and very powerful chest that was visible to her. She also tried not to dwell on the fact that he was wearing nothing beneath the blanket. She thought she was managing fine until she glanced at his face.
His ice-blue eyes held hers the moment she looked his way. Her palms became sweaty, so she wiped them discreetly on her skirt.
‘H-how are you feeling?’ She managed to make her voice strong after the initial wobble and reached for the empty bowl on his lap. Elswyth must have seen to his porridge before she left. ‘Would you like more food?’
He grabbed the bowl before she could and placed it on the bedside table, leaving her awkwardly reaching for his groin. Eyes widening in alarm, she moved her hand back to the safer territory of the tray.
‘Nay.’
‘Is everything all right? You seem upset.’ Had he heard Henrik’s proposal last night? Was that the cause of his obvious ire?
The thick column of his neck barely moved as he swallowed. ‘I’m hardly upset.’
She raised a brow at that and walked around to the other side of the small bed. He practically bristled every time he looked at her. In one deft motion, she flipped the blanket up to reveal his wounded thigh before picking up the knife from the tray. He stiffened and gripped the blanket to keep it down over his groin.
‘Careful.’ His voice was rough and grumpy.
She couldn’t stop her lips from twitching into a smile. It was petty of her to torment him when he was injured and at her mercy, but she found it was quite enjoyable. ‘It doesn’t bother me in the least that you’re unclothed. I’ve hardly noticed.’
His brow creased and he nodded towards the bandage as she used the kitchen knife to cut the linen off his thigh. ‘I meant with that.’
‘I’ve changed your bandage twice a day and haven’t cut you once. Have faith.’
His dubious gaze moved over her face before going back to his leg as the wound was revealed. The gouge was roughly the length of her two forefingers laid end to end and had to have been very wide when it had happened because it turned at an odd angle that reminded her of a sickle. Someone had stitched it for him the first day and they had held quite well. It had become inflamed, which was the source of the fever, but it seemed to be improving. There were no more yellow secretion, and, though the flesh was pink, it didn’t look as angry as it had the first day she’d seen it.
‘It’s looking much better.’
‘That’s better?’ His voice was raised slightly in alarm.
‘Aye.’ She kept her tone measured and gave him a smile that she hoped was reassuring rather than provocative. ‘I forgot you haven’t seen it yet. It was swollen twice as large as it is now when I first saw it. Do you see this incision here?’ She pointed towards the smaller cut to the side of the original wound that was scabbed over. ‘Lord Vidar ordered the puss drained just after I brought you here. It helped with the swelling and I think helped to break your fever. You might just owe him your life. You’ve started to mend. Your fever broke and the colour of your leg is returning to normal.’
When he didn’t say anything, she looked from the wound to find him watching her again.
‘I have the Jarl to thank or you?’ His voice was low and smooth.
The strength of his gaze and the deliberate way he spoke made her hands quiver. Her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth so that she had to swallow before she could answer him. ‘Perhaps both.’
The straw creaked when he leaned back against the wall. His leg relaxed as he allowed her to tend to him. The skin of his thighs was nearly as gold as that of his chest. She had assumed that the colouring on his torso was due to the sun, but that wouldn’t explain why his legs, which would be shielded by trousers, were dark, too. Would the colouring have come from his mother?
Despite the fact that she had changed his poultice and bandage many times, she could still hardly believe how large and solid his thigh was. She reminded herself that aside from the few glances she had seen from sharing close quarters with her brother, Galan, she hadn’t seen a naked male leg before. But still. She couldn’t imagine that this size and girth was typical of most males. Certainly in her time on the ship with Henrik sitting beside her, she would have noticed if his thigh was like that of a respectable tree trunk. Rolfe might come close—he was brawny and wide.
As she worked, urging Aevir to slide his foot up the bed to elevate his knee so that she could wrap fresh linen around the wound, the blanket fell further up his leg to collapse in a heap in his lap. One strong hand held it loosely in place while the other had moved off to play with a bit of string that had begun to unravel from the blanket. The coarse thread rolled over and over again between his thumb and forefinger, forward towards his thumbnail and then back towards the crease of his first knuckle.
A tiny tunnel in the fabric had formed at the place where his thigh met his groin. If she concentrated hard enough on that spot, she could just make out the shadow of dark blond curls. She tried not to stare, giving all of her attention to tugging tight on the dressing and securing it, but her eyes had a mind of their own. They would sometimes go back of their own accord, hoping to see more. Was that male part of him just as brawny and strong as his thigh? Would there be any sort of size correlation? The thought made her face flame, but once the question had been planted in her brain, she couldn’t seem to stop wondering.
When she was finished, she went to the hearth to retrieve a pot of water she had left warming there. Returning with it, she said, ‘Lord Vidar has indicated to the man guarding the door that he wants to come and see you later. You should be clean for his visit. You smell of sweat and poultice.’
His snort of laughter was the only indication that his earlier anger was abating. ‘You’re a woman after my heart with your fine words.’
‘I’m a woman who knows the value of a bath.’
To her horror, his eyes darkened. ‘Aye, I know that about you.’
‘You saw me!’ She hadn’t been certain that day if he had seen her or not. She sat transfixed, uncertain if she should reprimand him or simply leave. In the end, she made to rise, but his hand captured hers and held it.
‘Not very much of you.’ His eyes moved down to her breasts in a movement that seemed involuntary. He returned his gaze to hers so fast that she would have thought she had imagined it if her body hadn’t come to life. Blood rushed through her limbs and her nipples seemed to have tightened. Aghast at her own response, she went to leave again, but he held her tight.
‘Let me go.’ She jerked her hand and to her surprise he released her straight away.
Holding both hands up as if offering peace, he said, ‘I won’t keep you here, but I hoped to talk to you about what Henrik told you last night.’
She had been meaning to leave, but those words stopped her cold. Gone were thoughts of him seeing her at her bath, replaced by those of the Saxon woman he had betrayed. Uncertain, she wavered.
‘Come. Sit back down and I’ll tell you. I promise it’s not what you think.’
The promise of his redemption made her sink back to her place beside him on the bed. The small depression she created in the straw-filled mat caused his thigh to sink against her, bringing them flush together. She stared at him, hoping that his words would vindicate him and prove her initial instincts about him right.
‘Seledrith was the woman Henrik spoke about in Jórvík. She was a Saxon, though her loyalties were not. Her father was a tradesman who made the finest tunics and cloaks. He didn’t care if his clients were Norse or Saxon as long as their coin was good. I met her in his shop. She worked there and, as I soon found out, she was generous with her favours.’
Ellan couldn’t contain her snort of derision. ‘How convenient for you.’
He touched her hand, a gentle pressure that bade her listen rather than commanded it. ‘She was a good woman. However, she was already several months gone with child when she came to me. Her father had found out and forced her out. She had nowhere to go, so asked to stay with me. She slept in my tent for a time, but I never made her promises. Believe me, if the child had been mine, I would have seen to its welfare. I know more than anyone how it feels to grow up without a father for protection.’
She wanted to believe him. His eyes begged her to. ‘How do I know that I can trust you?’
He smiled. ‘Because I haven’t lied to you. Aside from that, I have no reason to lie to you about Seledrith. We were together for a time because she had nowhere to go and didn’t deserve her father’s harsh treatment. When I left to come north, I settled coin on her so she wouldn’t have to worry about her immediate future.’
‘Why would you do that?’ Did his words ring true because they were true or because she so wanted them to be?
He shrugged and appeared slightly uncomfortable as he looked anywhere but her face. ‘She was—is—a good person. Why wouldn’t I help her if I have the means? I have more than earned my share of coin.’
She honestly didn’t know if she was glad for the story or not. It made her admire him more and she already admired him for so many reasons. He had comforted her after Elswyth’s disappearance and vowed to bring her sister back. He had pulled himself up in the world from a mere slave boy and had humbled himself to tell her that story to impress upon her that her own worth was more than the world would have her believe. Now she had to admire him for his generosity. She wasn’t so sheltered in her tiny village that she didn’t understand that Seledrith’s future, along with that of her child, had been greatly improved because of him.
Was it merely lust she felt if it was mixed with all of this?
Ellan nodded. Her hand turned so that the tips of his fingers rested against her palm. Whether it was an intentional move on her part, she couldn’t say. ‘That was generous of you.’
‘I’m not often called generous.’ He finally looked at her again, his gaze falling on to their hands and working up her arm to land on her face. ‘The names are usually worse.’
With those simple words, she smiled. The tension that existed between them started to crumble. She wanted to ask him if he’d heard Henrik’s proposal as well, but what did it really matter? But for the fact that she wanted to marry him, Aevir had no real place in her decision.
Instead, she asked the question pressing on her. ‘Why have you told me this?’
He held her gaze as he took in a breath. ‘Because I wanted you to know the truth.’
‘You could have allowed me to think what I would. You apparently allowed Henrik to believe what he wanted.’
Looking to the side, he took his hand away from hers. His fingertips brushed across her sensitive palm before they were gone. ‘You have enough reasons to believe me heartless. I didn’t want to give you one that wasn’t true.’
‘I don’t think you’re heartless.’ She reached for the sling that held his left arm tight to his side and gave the knot a tug. It slipped from his shoulder. ‘You were kind to me when Elswyth was missing.’
When he didn’t respond right away, she glanced up to meet his gaze. It looked troubled and his brow furrowed, as if he were trying to figure something out. ‘How young were you when your mother left?’ he asked.
Her fingers hesitated as she folded the strip of linen and set it aside. Talking to him so intimately would only lead her heart further into the fray, but she could not stop the need to answer him. ‘I’m uncertain, but I believe it was the summer of my sixth year.’ She meant to stop there, but the impulse to continue was too strong. ‘I awoke to my parents arguing late one night, so I crept closer to hear. I didn’t understand at the time, but now I believe she had fallen in love with a warrior. A group of Danes had camped near Banford. One of them must have caught her eye because she found herself with child and she believed that it belonged to the Dane. Father made her leave. She was conflicted, but she left.’
‘Leaving you with an embittered father.’
The anger in his voice surprised her. His face might have been made of stone, but his eyes blazed to match his tone. She immediately felt the need to defend her mother. ‘Well, aye, but I do not think that’s how she intended it. Perhaps she didn’t realise how neglectful he would be. Or perhaps living with him was too much for her. I’m sure you can imagine that he is not an easy man.’
‘And yet she left you with him. Do you not hate her for that?’
Mostly she felt alone and adrift in a world that seemed to have no place for her. She couldn’t tell him that, however. Instead, she said, ‘There have been times when I’ve felt angry. Elswyth wouldn’t speak of her for years. Eventually, I understood. Father is not a kind man. Even before she left, he was quick to temper, quicker to judge. Mother was not like that. She was loving and full of life. I think had she stayed he would have broken her. She left to save her own life and I cannot fault her for that.’
Aevir stared at her with an expression she could not fathom. It was completely unreadable and yet somehow revealed every emotion from anger, pity and heartbreak to wonder, admiration and a grim sort of hope. Put together she didn’t know what they meant, but she could not look away.
‘You are wiser than your years,’ he finally said, his voice gruff.
But still not enough for him.
Banishing the thought, she turned her attention to his shoulder. It was just as muscular as its counterpart even if the skin was still discoloured and bruised. Simply looking at it made her hurt, so she focused on retrieving a second cloth from the tray. Dipping it into the pot of water, she scooped up a small bit of soap from a bowl on the tray.
‘What are you doing?’ He was scowling at her again.
‘Washing you.’
‘Nay, there are a few things I can still do myself and bathing is one of them.’ In no uncertain terms, he took the cloth from her and gave a firm nod of his head towards the alcove’s entrance. ‘Go.’