The Maiden should not excite me the way she does. The feel of her skin on my hand will drive me to many sleepless nights, as if I haven’t been experiencing them already. I chose this torture by offering her a bath, I know because I can’t stop the feeling that I need her.
Rasha comes out of the makeshift bedroom, looking divine in my shirt and pants. I knew those were the only clothes back there when I brought her here.Fuck. I should have taken Aslaug two nights ago to avoid letting her lead her to the tomb, but some pulls are unavoidable.
“You can wash. I won’t run off,” she says, the slightest grin lifting her lips.
“I will before I sleep. I want to show you something to make up for being…” she adjusts the shirt over her curves, and I lose my train of thought.
“Over protective,” she finishes.
“Yes. Shall we try to trust each other?” I ask, knowing I am looking at the shadow of her full breasts. Rasha clears her throat, and I break from the trance. Taking a small smelting cup, I add it to the kiln and ask, “Have you ever melted silver or gold?”
“No,” she answers.
“It won’t take long. They are soft metals that come from the Ivalo River that runs inside the mountain. The ore of the gods.”
“And they contain magic?”
“It depends on what you believe.” Seeing the color come back to her cheeks makes me feel better about bringing her here, so I pull out something I’ve never shown anyone. “I’ve made each link of this chain.”
When I lay the delicate chain, slighting bigger than a necklace, over her hands, it dawns on me she is the first person beside myself who has felt the links with her own fingertips. She twists the chain in the light of the fire, gazing at the reflections of silver and gold in each tiny oval piece.
“It’s beautiful, but it’s not finished,” she points out, holding the ends in bewilderment.
“Hold it while I get a few things,” I say, needing to remove myself from the idea that she could forge the last links with me, and maybe then this nightmare will finally be over? Is it worth taking the chance? She does have a fearlessness I haven’t seen in eons. In the bedroom, I shuffle my things from under the cot and bring out the honeyed wine and little bag of precious metals.
“I know this is more than a trinket you’ve made, but I am going to guess you’re not willing to share its purpose?” she asks, dropping the chain link by link into my palm. Explaining that I’ve crafted each link with my lifebond to act as a reminder of my penance is not something I planned to divulge. Slipping the weightless chain in my trouser pocket, I give her a handful of silver and gold nuggets to examine.
“That seems overly kind of you to not pry,” I reply, and her smile knocks the air from my lungs.
“You offered your tub, and I might want another bath, so put it on the list of things we owe each other for. And I don’t want to pushwhen I have another agenda,” she says, coming to the side of the kiln where I line up tools and gloves.
“What’s your other agenda? I am not looking for Harald to accuse me of touching you.” I can’t help but chuckle at my lie when I already touched her, and I’ll dream of touching her again tonight.
“Can you teach me how to smith? How did you learn? How is the map more valuable than the ore? Or were you better at hiding the gold and silver?” Back to the rapid fire questions means she’s warmed up from the fjord and feeling comfortable next to me. The urge to keep her curiosity alive lights a fire within my soul.
“Well, I have a skill for mining, and I learned to smith to make a living. Drop the ore in the smaller cup that’s in the fire, won’t you?” I ask, and she does as instructed. “And Bjorn thinks what he took is more valuable, yes.” Staying close to the heat of the forge, I can’t help my need to be close to her again. So I come up behind her with the long rod to secure the lid on top of the smelting cup. We watch the black iron grow hotter than a normal fire, turning a deep shade of orange as the heat fuels the ore to melt along with my restraint.
“Have a drink?” I ask. She agrees, and we settle near the forge on a bench with the bottle of honeyed wine. She takes the first sip and scrunches her nose as she swallows.
“It’s strong,” she sputters, wiping the glossy liquid from her lower lip.
“I make it, so don’t run around telling your friends,” I add, bringing up a blanket over our legs.
“They find you very interesting. That’s for sure. Those girls will be after you at the Hunt, so you shouldn’t fear your bed staying cold.”
“Tell me, what do they say?” I take a mouthful of wine and pass the bottle back to her.
“You live alone for one, which I find very admirable.” Her blue eyes watch my lips, and I know she’s trying hard to sound casual.
“Why?”
She drinks again, settling against the blanket. “Because I was raised in the mountains by my parents without a clan, and there are days I wish I could live alone in the forest again.”
“It’s not for the faint of heart. I have been alone for a long time,” I answer, realizing there is much I don’t know about her. But having her open up with that nostalgia coloring her memories makes me want to know everything.
“You have Aslaug.” Her leg slides against mine. I tell myself she’s cold, and the bench is narrow.
“I do. Let’s check the cup.” I move, and she jumps up with me. The excitement we seem to be sharing is nice for a change. When I came to help build the Aske Stronghold, most women were relegated to cooking, not learning to smith.
