“Nay.” The man’s grin was gone, replaced by a much more calculating slant. “I will tend her.
With an amazingly light touch, he spread the golden stickiness across the gash, then set the pot aside and bandaged it. She lifted her leg without his even asking, noting that his cock remained rigid, as if supervising his progress. The way the muscles in his jaw kept flexing, she would lay odds he gritted his teeth, too. Good. He was struggling.
“There now,” he said as he shoved himself up and returned to his seat. Without another word, he faced the table and started shoving food in his mouth.
What a strange man.
She scooted up to a sitting position, leaned back against the trunk, and watched him. His man Hendry was joined by the gangly lad who had attended him in the woods. Only two servants. Interesting. Her brother didn’t attempt to lift a finger without at least a dozen trying to do it for him.
“I went back and gathered up the bits of her armor,” Tasgall said. With her chest plate in one hand and the chain mail and leather padding in the other, he shook his head. “I couldna find her helm.”
At that announcement, the Scot stopped eating and gave the knave his full attention. “Ye searched the clearing fully?”
“Aye, m’lord.” The boy dumped the articles in a corner already filled with weaponry, shields, and tools. “The dead were already gone, too.”
“Yer people worked quickly,” the warrior observed, a pensiveness to his tone. “Almost as if they watched while ye were taken and the others sent to the next life.”
She fully agreed but wasn’t about to let him know it. Instead, she remained silent.
His nostrils flared as though testing the air for the stench of a lie. He turned back to his food. “Well done, Tasgall. Go to yer supper now, then find yer rest. More hot water, Hendry, then ye may go as well.”
Both knaves bobbed their heads, then left.
So, it begins, she thought. She braced herself, wondering if this was where the true man came to light.
Silence filled the tent. Well, not exactly silence. The sounds of the men outside filtered in: muffled conversations and muted movements. Candles sputtered as wind gusted against the heavy cloth of the temporary dwelling. The Scot’s knife scraped against his metal plate. Clanked, then scraped. Repeatedly. And he chewed as loud as a horse chomping green apples. A sensitivity to sound had always been her curse. She had the hearing of a bat. While it served her well both on the battlefield and everyday survival, the trait tormented her, too. Nightfall would come soon, bringing with it a welcomed peacefulness—perhaps.
Thorburn.She toyed with the name, rolling it around in her mind as the man who bore it rose from the table and stretched. His fingertips brushed the ceiling of the tent. No.Thorburndid not fit this man. Thor. Or Bear. Much more fitting. He would be so to her from now on.
“How many, Adellis?” he asked as he washed, then donned the clean tunic that the one called Hendry had draped across the massive sleeping platform along the far wall of the tent.
“If I tell you anything, when they recover me, I will be flayed and left for the terns.” That part wasn’t a lie nor part of the seduction. If Alrek suspected her of betrayal, it wouldn’t matter that she was his only kin.
“They willna recover ye.” He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the platform, studying her as though she were an animal he had never encountered before. “The healer. One of yer number?”
“She wishes to be.” She would tell him that much. Doing so would ban Marta from the camp and prevent further interference from her. Rising to her feet, she stretched just as he had, knowing the action would hike her shift high enough to tease. The movement wasn’t wasted. His gaze locked on her hemline and stayed there until she lowered her arms.
The chains of her shackles clinking, she undid her braids, then raked her fingers through her hair, letting it fall down her back in a wild cascade of wavy ringlets. Men loved her long hair as much as they loved her legs. Who knew why? She turned her back to him and continued untangling her tresses.
Some in her clan considered her whorish, but she preferred to think of herself as a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. Her carefully selected lovers had not only foiled her brother’s plan at bartering her virginity for an advantageous marriage, but the men she had chosen had also somewhat protected her from his wrath. At least for a little while. Unfortunately, as his power grew, her lovers became less protective, forcing her to find other options. Escape from her twin was her only hope for a life that wouldn’t make her slit her own throat.
She allowed herself a faint smile as the heat of the man told her he stood close behind her. Impressive. She hadn’t heard a sound. Bracing herself, she waited. Would the bear attack, or would gentleness continue to rule?
He combed his fingers through her hair. “As silky as it looks,” he breathed, then gently but firmly turned her to face him. His brows were the light golden brown of oat sheafs. They knotted over his narrowed eyes as he stared down at her. “Ye are a beauty, m’lady.”
“You are a bear, m’lord.” She never flattered lovers. She challenged them. The comment won her a smile.
“A weary bear,” he said as he brushed the curve of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His hand dropped away, and he stepped back and made a formal bow. “I bid ye good evening and pleasant rest, m’lady.”
Without waiting for a response, he retired to his bed and gave her his back.
Amazed and slightly insulted, she stared at him, watching the ever-slowing rise and fall of his side as his breathing settled into the rhythm of a man deep within his dreams. How dare he spurn her! She had seen his rigid cock. He clearly wanted her. What the devil was his game?
Fuming, she reclined on the furs and stared up at the shadows dancing across the tent. She had thought to challenge him, but instead, he had challenged her. Fine. Never let it be said that Adellis Bjørnsdóttir ever backed down from a challenge.
Chapter Three
God help himto hold fast.
