Gressa’s cheeks flamed red as a vivid memory of them making love in the tub on their wedding night and then several more times when his parents socialized at the jarl’s home.
“Why are you being so solicitous?”
Strian chose to ignore her, instead moving to a chest that sat in a corner. He lifted the lid and pulled out several pieces of clothing. Gressa gaped as he laid out the beautifully stitched knee-length tunic and the wide leg pants worn under the tunic.
“You kept my clothes?” she murmured.
“Of course. I assumed you would need them again one day.” Strian returned with a pair of her Sami rolled toe slippers.
“But it’s been ten years.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Strian’s voice was tight as he forced out those three words.
Gressa filled her lungs until they hurt, knowing she should not start this discussion now, but her curiosity would go unsatisfied until she had her answers.
“Why don’t you have a wife?”
Strian’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“I do have a wife.”
Gressa considered playing ignorant but decided better.
“A companion then?”
“I pledged my fidelity to my wife.”
At that, Gressa snorted.
“You as much as admitted when we were at Castle Varrich that you’d been with other women.”
“You assumed that. I never said I had.”
“You accused me of having been with other men.” Gressa snapped her mouth shut wishing she could retrieve the words that hung in the air.
“A shame only one of us was right.” Strian turned to walk out of the room, but Gressa tumbled forward as she tried to rip the sheets out of her way. She grabbed Strian’s arm and pulled none too gently.
“I explained that. I explained I had no choice. He didn’t bed me.” Gressa looked away, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “He made me do something else. On my knees.” The last part came out as only a whisper.
“There was always a choice, Gressa. You chose to remain with the Welsh. You chose to travel with the other archers. And you chose to warm Grímr’s bed. They are not your people.”
“They are.”
Strian caught Gressa’s hand as she swung at his cheek.
“They are not. Tell me. How many other women came with you?”
“None,” Gressa’s forehead crinkled. “None are experienced fighters like I am. There are many who can shoot, but none who have fought like I have.”
“And it was vital that you go? I saw other Welsh archers as good as you. Why would your prince send you as the only woman?” Strian paused for effect. “I can tell you why he sent a beautiful woman to an evil man. You were either part of the payment or they meant you to be an enticement.” Strian leaned forward. “Unless you are a spy. Did you fuck him so you could take information back to your precious prince? Is that who you are bedding?”
Gressa wailed in anger as her knee came up and struck Strian’s groin. When he bent over double, she brought her fists down as one and struck the side of his neck.
“I’m not a whore,” she screamed. “And you have a foul mouth these days.”
She was not sure if she was angry at Strian’s insinuation or because he spoke aloud what she had deduced weeks ago. It was one thing to hear her own mind chide her, but to hear Strian voice the second greatest betrayal of her life was more than she could bear.
Strian pushed his shoulder into her middle causing her to fall backwards, but he cradled her head before she landed. He covered her body with his and groaned as she writhed and struggled beneath him. His bollocks hurt from the combination of her striking him there and the growing arousal from having her beneath him.
