He remembered. Sven had not, but Torsten had. Her heart wobbled. She had gotten used to the sensation in the last few days and now found it pleasant.
“Yes. I love cockles.”
For a delicious, heady moment, heat sizzled between them. Why did she have the impression she had said something lewd?
“Would you like me to come with you?”
“Yes.”
The word shot out of her mouth before she could think. She had refused Sven, but it did not even cross her mind to say no to Torsten. For three days she had feared he would not want to have anything to do with her.
“Let’s go then, find some cockles.”
The day was glorious.It was good to be out in the sunshine, riding. Aife was mounted on Imp, her father’s old gelding, and Torsten had borrowed Fáfnir for the day, this time properly fitted with saddle and bridle. Mayhap it was time he got himself a new horse, he reflected. His faithful stallion, Satan, had died the previous year, and he had not yet found the energy to select a mount suited to his needs. Besides, he’d not been in a mood to leave the village. But he had been full of renewed energy of late.
This was no doubt down to the woman cantering by his side, her fair hair flying in the wind, her face turned up to the sun, her lips curled up in a smile. Gratitude flooded through Torsten. In just a few days and despite her dubious reasons for coming to him, Aife had given him a purpose and his confidence back. He now felt ready to confront his demons and trust in his ability to perform, if notwitha woman, at leastfora woman. It was a first step, more than he could have hoped for, and one that could one day lead to a more fulfilling love life, a life in which he was not afraid to be what he was supposed to be.
Odd how life worked. He and Aife had grown up side by side, and not once had he thought of her as anything other than a friend, someone like his own sister, Eyja. All it had taken for him to see her differently was that wicked laugh. Yes, a laugh she had directed at his brother… He should not forget that. She had not come to him because of the desire he inspired in her, she had not been interested in him as such, only in provoking another man’s jealousy. She had thought she could use him to make herself feel better and get what she really wanted—another man.
True, she had since apologized and gone out of her way to help him in turn, but the fact remained. She’d wanted to seduce Sven, maybe she still wanted to, and they had now agreed to put an end to whatever was between them. He should stop seeing her as the answer to his questions.
The only problem was, it was easier said than done. It seemed that the last few weeks had irremediably changed things between them. They would have to find a new way to function, one that was suited to their unique situation. Friends didn’t know the taste of one another’s pleasure. Lovers didn’t usually pretend nothing had happened between them.
Well, that was a problem for another day. For now, he wanted to enjoy the moment.
“I’m going to ask my father to give me Ghost,” he told Aife, once they had brought the horses back down to a walk out of consideration for Imp’s age. Even if what had been between them was over, she deserved to know that he was now restored to his old self. And it felt good to acknowledge it out loud. “He’s already got more horses than he knows what to do with, so he won’t begrudge me this one. Devil has already sired five foals this year.”
Ghost was a four-year-old colt, full of spirit, ideal for a skilled rider seeking a challenge. Like all his father’s horses, he was descended from Demon, the stallion bought upon the Icelander’s arrival in his new country more than thirty years ago.
“I’m glad. It was time you replaced Satan,” Aife agreed, a smile on her face.
Yes. It was time. Time to start living again.
They soon reached the sea and after a short trot along the edge of the cliff, Aife brought her horse back down to a walk again, indicating a beach down below.
“We’ll go there, it’s ideal for what we want to do.”
They negotiated their way down the path leading to the middle of a small, crescent-shaped bay, flanked on either side by imposing rock formations the color of rust. Under the powdery blue sky, the sea was shimmering as brightly as a tapestry woven with diamonds. Overhead, a handful of seagulls soared and swooped in graceful arcs, sending an occasional squawk, the sharp sound slicing through the distant rumbling of the waves. The beach was completely deserted and the tide was as far out as it could be. Perfect, or so Aife declared in a competent air. Torsten had no idea, having never gone cockles-picking before.
“Don’t you want to go for a swim beforehand?” he asked, nodding to the sea in the distance. “It’s a lovely day, even if the wind has picked up.”
He knew Aife loved to swim. In fact, she was the best swimmer he knew, much better than he was, because although he could swim adequately and perhaps even faster than she could in the lake next to the village, he was nowhere near as comfortable in sea water. Her father, Sigurd, who’d lost his parents and younger brother when their boat had capsized, had made sure to teach his wife to swim as soon as he’d met her, and then taught his children from a young age. As a result, Aife could swim in rough seas without ever getting tired or scared.
“No. Not today.” Despite her answer, she was staring at the sea longingly and he guessed that she was foregoing the pleasure of a dip because he was here. Knowing he would not be able to keep up with her in the choppy waters, or indeed willing to go in these conditions, she preferred to stay with him. He was touched, but loath to see her sacrificing herself for him.
“I wouldn’t mind waiting for you here,” he encouraged.
Indeed he wouldn’t. He most especially wouldn’t mind seeing her emerge from the water in her wet shift, the transparent fabric clinging to her body like a second skin, highlighting her slight curves. Her hair would cascade over her shoulders in a ripple of gold, her nipples, puckered by the cold, would do their best to pierce through the thin linen. Or it might even be that she went into the sea naked, considering that they were alone.
His throat went dry at the idea—while another part of his body flooded with blood. By the gods, was that why he was trying to convince Aife to go for a swim? So that he could see her naked and see the shape of her breasts, find out the exact shade of her intimate curls? That night in the ruins it had been pitch dark and she had kept her clothes on, even when he had stroked her. He had not thought to bare her breasts and suckle her while he used his fingers on her, which proved what an inadequate lover—and a perfect idiot—he was. Well, he would not make the samemistake again. If he ever had her under him again, he would make sure to look his fill before devouring her. He would take her soft nipples into his mouth and tease them until they grew rock hard. He would then lick every inch of her gorgeous?—
“Do you remember the day all of us went to the beach?” he blurted out, in an effort to steer his mind away from the scandalous thoughts.
Aife burst out laughing. Predictably, his groin, already affected by his musings, tightened further at the sound he’d come to love.
“How could I forget? It was a rather memorable moment.”
Yes. It had been. That day, his and Aife’s siblings, all nine of them, had gone to the nearest beach, a few miles from where they were today. The two families had always been very close, and Wolf and Sigurd’s children had spent most of their time together so there was nothing extraordinary in that, but it had been the first time they’d gone to the beach alone, under the supervision of the two eldest boys, Steinar and Elwyn.
