8
Aife and Torsten didn’t even need to talk to agree they should steal the Norman’s gelding to get back home. After what he’d done, the man deserved no less. Hand in hand, they made their way to the horse tethered to a nearby tree. As soon as they were settled in the saddle, heavy drops of rain started to fall. Cursing under his breath, Torsten nudged the animal into a canter to try and cover as much ground as possible before the deluge started, but it soon became clear that they would not escape a thorough soaking.
Cradled in his arms, Aife was shivering, both from cold and from shock. She had come too close to being raped not to feel unsettled, and Torsten had almost been killed. All this because she’d been unable to face his legitimate anger at what she’d done and galloped off without thinking, when everyone knew she was not the best rider. Would he forgive her? He had refused to talk about it while they were tied up, which made sense. There had been more pressing matters to attend to. But now that they had escaped, she would have to address the issue as soon as possible.
They could not have something like this hanging over them.
“We’ll need to find shelter,” she heard Torsten say in her ear. Thunder was rumbling overhead and several skeletal bolts of lightning had already split the dark skies.
She nodded. The village was not too far, and they had hoped to reach it before nightfall, but they would have to stop to find cover. The storm had stolen what little daylight had been left and night was falling fast, impeding their view further. The driving rain had reduced the ground to a mire. On such dangerous terrain, cantering was out of the question. The horse could slip or break a leg, and Torsten had no choice but to bring him back down to a walk. As if that was not enough, there was also the risk of being struck by lightning, now that they were out in the open. There was only one thing to do. They had to stop for the night. Aife shook her head. That was all very well, but where could they go?
And then she remembered.
“The Roman ruins,” she told Torsten, raising her voice against the deluge. “Over there, to our right.”
As children, they had often gone to the abandoned pile of stones with their friends. No one knew quite what it was supposed to be, but it was a vast structure. It had clearly once been a building of some importance. Some of it still stood, meaning that there were various corners where they would be out of the wind and rain. Aife had not gone to the ruins for years, but it was only at the bottom of the hill, much closer than any other shelter.
Without a word, Torsten urged the gelding in the direction she had indicated.
Relief flooded through Aife when they reached the place that would provide them and the poor horse with even better protection than she had dared to hope. Apparently someone, perhaps a shepherd or a group of children, like they had once been, made regular use of the place, because a large area hadbeen weeded and smoothed out. A few furs had been scattered over soft straw in one of the smallest, most sheltered corners, offering a comfortable nest in which to spend the night. After inspection, they found a blanket, a wineskin filled with ale and some dried meat in the Norman’s saddlebags, a veritable treasure. It was as if after having put them in mortal danger, fate had decided to make amends and offer them a comfortable night to compensate.
Reassured they were now safe and would not go hungry, they sat down next to one another, huddling together for warmth. The evening was not as cold as it would have been in winter, but still cold enough to make them wish their clothes were dry.
“I think…” Torsten started. Around them the darkness was almost complete, so Aife could not see him very well but she thought he sounded hesitant. “I think we should take our clothes off and wrap ourselves in the blankets and furs to dry. There is no way of starting a fire in this weather and we’ll catch a chill if we sleep in cold, wet clothes.”
He was right, and only a month ago she would not have given it another thought. But now…now everything was different between them. Could they sleep next to one another, naked, and not think anything of it like they would have before they’d shared scandalous kisses? It was dark, admittedly, but not so dark that she would not see his body—and he hers—and she wasn’t sure she would be able to resist the temptation of running her hands all over his chest if she did, because she suspected that it, like the rest of him, was a work of art. The problem was, after what she’d done to him, she feared touching him would only make things worse.
“I’m not?—”
“I promise I won’t look,” he said, turning his back to her. “Just cover yourself with the blanket when you’re finished. I will make do with the furs.”
Aife swallowed. It would seem that he was not going to allow her the option to refuse. And she was dreadfully cold, she had to admit. What would be the point of surviving tonight’s ordeal only to fall ill because of false modesty? She stood up with decision and started tugging at her dress. It was so wet it took her a while to remove it but eventually, she managed it. A sigh of relief escaped her when she wrapped herself in the surprisingly soft blanket. Yes. This was much better.
“Your turn,” she told Torsten, sitting back down and facing the wall. Then, for more safety, she closed her eyes. “I promise I won’t look.”
She couldn’t see, but having to listen while he removed his clothes only feet away from her was torture. She tried not to imagine how he would look naked, but she could not stop herself. His legs would be long and his waist trim, his stomach taut and sculpted, his chest chiseled without being overly muscular. He would be mouthwatering.
“All done,” Torsten said after a while, his voice gruff. “Now we should have something to eat before we go to sleep.”
Aife turned around. By now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, enough for her to see him reach into the saddlebag.
Enough to see that, unlike her, who was decently covered, he was bare chested, with only a small piece of fur wrapped around his loins.
Blood rushed all the way to her skull, flooding her cheeks, her chest and her own loins as it did. A moan tried to escaped her mouth, but she ruthlessly bit it back. This was just as bad she had feared. Just as wonderful. He looked just…perfect.
She forced herself to avert her gaze and reached out to the wineskin. Hopefully the ale would help with the dryness in her throat.
Torsten sat down, placing the saddlebag between them.
“Are you not cold?” she asked him, worried. He would have wiped his chest down and it was not windy in their corner, but he was still a lot more exposed than he should be in this weather.
“No.” The curt tone made it clear she had better not insist. She didn’t. If he was anything like her in this instant, he would indeed not be cold. “Are you hungry?” he asked, getting the dried meat out of the saddlebags. “I’m afraid it looks a bit tough.”
“It doesn’t matter. Thank you, I’m ravenous,” she murmured, accepting the strip he handed her.
They started to eat. Aife had no idea what the meat could be, neither did she care. She was concentrating on chewing and looking anywhere but at Torsten’s perfect chest.
Finally, having done all they could to delay the moment they would have to lie side by side, they settled down next to one another, covering themselves with the extra furs. Now all they had to do was pretend this situation was perfectly normal.
