Her aim needed the smallest amount of assurance after seeing me jostled her nerves. A piece of my soul stirred back to life watching her. She looked taken aback that I would concede my win. Kissing her hand gave me the opportunity to seize an errant piece of hazel fur on her cuff, confirming my thoughts. She saved Aslaug and had a good enough heart to bring her medicine this morning.
One drink with Harald after the archery competition and the bastard told me where her room was. He also made no mention of the lynx or knowing anything about why Bjorn attacked me. I am sure it was Bjorn. His face might have been covered in the forest, but his sneer in the Feast Hall gave him away.
Since I am the one who taught the blacksmiths how to make the locks, breaking into her room proved easy. What I didn’t expect was for her to take her clothes off without realizing I am sitting in the corner of her room by the fire.
“Rasha,” I softly call her name, forcing myself to stop watching the most beautiful woman peel her clothes off her luscious breasts in the sanctity of her own space.
“What the fuck!” she shrieks and grabs a seizable knife off her night table. Choosing to not care about her partial nudity, she comes at me. My mouth runs dry with the same mixture of self preservation and utter desire from this morning.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had Aslaug?” I stand, bringing my hands to a defensive position. Her anger changes to confusion in a heartbeat as she looks down at the sleeping lynx.
“Who?”
I jut an elbow to the curled up feline, and Rasha’s piercing blue eyes stare back at me while she tries to put it together.
“Aslaug is the lynx. She’s my cat.”
“Well, then you should be thanking me.” She twirls the knife over her knuckles and backs away to get a dry dress, turning her back to me. I am left standing like a hooked fish with my mouth open. Her spine is milky white with several raised scars, one following the curve of her ribs to where her breast falls. I shut my eyes completely.
“Shaw, you broke intomyroom,” she firmly reminds me.
“You lied,” I bite out and let one of my eyelids flutter open to see her toss her leggings off from underneath a dress that fully covers her. My knee aches as I sit, stretching out in the chair opposite her bed.
“How was I supposed to know the cat is yours and has a name? For that matter, why did you leave her to die?” She hurls the insult, and I am wounded. She is right. I didn’t go back out last night to look for Aslaug. My gaze falls to the floor where the hazel and white, speckled, furry beast sleeps off her fever.
“Can I explain?” I don’t spend time with women. There is nothing good that will come from getting involved with someone I cannot spend my whole life with. But with the way this huntress is looking at me, I wouldn’t mind spending one night pretending my life is not predetermined by the gods.
“Go on,” she says and proceeds to hang her wet clothes near the fire.
“I was attacked on my way to the gate. I told Aslaug to stay home, but she is a cat, obviously not a normal one as you can see. She must have followed me, despite my instructions. She saved my life when the attackers got the upperhand, and I told her to run. Harald’s men will not be kind to her if she is discovered.” I explain my story, letting the familiar level of disappointment and guilt seep from my bones into my heart where I welcome what I deserve. I left Aslaug to die. Maybe that is why the great cat chose a new partner? Have I learned nothing in the long years I have lived alone?
Rasha takes a settling breath, and I look at her perched on the bed, wondering how much I can trust a woman who’s been brought here to marry the Jarl.
“I am sorry. I heard the fighting.”
“You did?”
“It was after I lit the Yule log. I went as close to the gate as I could, and Aslaug, as you call her, threw her wounded self at me. Joanna and I brought her up here and no one else saw.”
“Joanna knows too? The woman who shot with you today?” My nervous energy builds, and I stand.
“Joanna is my second and would never tell. Like I said, when I saw you this morning, Aslaug had a fever from the wounds she should stay and heal. But what I don’t understand,” she pauses and quietly comes around to the other side of the bed where I am. Needing to stand where the icy breeze comes through the uneven slats in the new windows, I wait for her to finish her question.
“I don’t understand why you’re healed.” She reaches for the fading bruise on my jaw, and I wish I had grown a beard for this moment.
“Siggy is a good medicine woman,” I answer, but I can see the dissatisfaction in her high cheekbones. My gaze falls to her lips, barely parted and glossy pink, as she touches the edge of my jaw.
“I didn’t see you when you were first brought in, so maybe you are telling me the truth.” Rasha’s voice strains against another thought I don’t have to be a god to understand.
“You cannot tell anyone else. Joanna is already one person too many. I am not beneath ending a life if I am betrayed,” I threaten. Her face falls, and she leaves the shared space, taking her sweet scent with her.
“I would never tell Harald about such a lovely creature. But you owe me now.”
“Maybe we can help each other?”
“I already saved her.”
“Yes, but like you said, she’ll need to stay here until she’s healed, and with Harald trying to get in between these sheets, how long will I be able to trust you?” I ask, realizing I am passing judgement too soon.
