Aife looked through what might have once been a window to the line of trees on the horizon. The storm had cleared at last. It was safe to go, even if it was still raining steadily. In this weather the journey would not be pleasant, but they had to reach the village as soon as possible. People would be worried about their absence, they had to reassure them.
“I suppose the good news is, we’re already soaked anyway,” Torsten said from behind her, clearly thinking the same thing.
She nodded. Leaving the nest of furs—and the warmth of Torsten’s embrace—this morning to put on her wet, cold clothes had been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do.
“Shall we?” he offered, nodding toward the horse grazing in what might have been the palace’s banqueting hall. “Your family will be worried by your disappearance. We need to reassure them. Though what they will say when they see your bruise, I dare not think.”
Yes, she could well imagine she had a bruise below her eye, where the man had struck her before pouncing on her. Her brothers would draw her into a bear hug, her mother would fuss and take care of her, and her father would swear to huntthe bastard down. Torsten brought his hand to her cheek and brushed it lightly, thunder in his eyes.
“Is it that bad?” she asked, worried at his reaction.
“Yes. You should never have had to endure this.”
“Neither should you,” she whispered. He sported an impressive bruise over the temple, courtesy of the Norman’s dagger hilt, as well as a cut on the chin. She almost reached out to stroke it but resisted the impulse. If she touched him now, she wasn’t sure what she would do next. Pushing him back onto the furs was not out of the question.
As if agreeing with her touching was unwise, Torsten let go of her face and took a step backward. “We should go,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
Still, Aife made no move to go to the horse. Not only had the caress on her cheek caused her core to tighten, but before they left there was something she needed to say.
“I think it might be better if we forget what we…”
Though she didn’t finish her sentence Torsten nodded, looking as embarrassed as she felt. He seemed to have understood what she hadn’t found the courage to say, that they should forget their wild night together. It had been incredible, but it was better if they went back to being just friends. Her feelings were getting too confused to her liking.
What about him? What would he think about her now? Would he remember all they had done every time he met with her? Her cheeks heated at the thought. He had stroked her intimate folds, which was scandalous enough, but she had taken him into her mouth, which was ten times more shocking, and swallowed his seed. Would they ever be able to get past that? Was it even possible?
They stared at one another, emotions swirling in the gray pre-dawn light.
“You will be pleased to know that Edita is gone, by the way. I never got the chance to tell you yesterday.”
Yesterday. In other words, when he had come to find her in the field to demand she tell him the truth about her scheming and she had fled, putting both their lives in danger. How clumsy of her to allude to the painful moment! And how silly to mention Edita, which would only remind Torsten that she had lied about the real purpose of the deception she had played on him. Really, what was wrong with her? Next she would ask him if he thought Sven would ever take an interest in her…
“You must be relieved,” Torsten said carefully. The light in his eyes had gone stormy at the mention of her cousin.
“I would, if only she hadn’t stolen my comb,” Aife answered in an effort to alleviate the tension. Would the diversion work?
“She stole your comb?” He sounded incensed, much more than the declaration warranted.
“Well. I can’t be sure she did, but I certainly cannot find it anymore.”
It wouldn’t be the first time the woman had stolen something from her. Once, when Aife was about twelve, she had gone to Mercia with her mother, her aunt Dunne and her cousin Bee, to see her aunt Birgit to celebrate the summer solstice. At that occasion, all three cousins had been given the gift of a silver coin. Aife had been delighted, having never seen such bounty before. The following morning, however, the coin had not been in the place she had left it. Birgit’s hut had been thoroughly searched but the coin had never been found. No one had been able to prove anything but both Aife and her mother were convinced Edita had been the one to steal it.
It seemed she had not lost the habit.
“Well, I have a comb you can have, if that would serve. I finished it the other day and was thinking that I have no one togive it to. I considered Sanna, but I have time to make another one for her.”
Aife beamed at the offer of the precious gift.
“Really, you made a comb?” These were especially difficult to make but she shouldn’t be surprised. Torsten had always been gifted in that way, rather like her father, Sigurd, who wove the most intricate baskets without even thinking. “You’ve always been nimble with your fingers, have you not?”
“I… Erm, so I have been told, yes.”
Oh, what had she said? Now he would be reminded of the scandalous caresses he had given her the night before, of how quickly he had learned how and where to stroke her. Nimble indeed. It hadn’t taken him long to understand what she liked and how to make her erupt, not only once, but twice in quick succession, something she had never managed on her own.
“Anyway, if you don’t know what to do with the comb, I will gladly accept it,” she hurried to say.
“It’s yours.” The intensity with which he said the words took Aife’s breath away. It sounded almost like a pledge.
