Eric reached into a pouch at his waist and found a bit of dried meat. He tossed the meat to the dog, who leapt up and caught it in her mouth. Then she trotted along at his side while he continued walking back to meet with Katarina. Even when he raised the leather flap entrance, the animal followed on his heels.
Katarina was stirring something in an iron pot, and the sight of her improved his mood. Her long blond hair was braided and hanging over one shoulder. When she saw him, she smiled and handed him a cup.
“I thought you might be thirsty.”
He took it and tasted the ale. She glanced downward and saw the dog sitting at the doorway. “Where did the dog come from?”
He sat on a low stool and rubbed the hound’s ears. “It belongs to my uncle, Dalla.” The animal began licking his palm, and Katarina bent down to look closer.
Her smile faltered, and she met his gaze. “He remembers you.”
“It’s a female,” he corrected. The animal rolled to her back, and Eric rubbed her belly. He thought back through the memories, searching for the right name. And then it came to him. “Her name is Oda, and she used to follow me everywhere when I stayed here as a boy.”
“That’s right. I remember you spoke of her a few years ago.” She bent down to pet the dog, and his hand brushed against hers. He captured her fingertips and stared at her for a moment. Katarina froze at the contact, but then closed her fingers around his. Oda licked at her fingertips, and she smiled.
Eric kept Katarina’s hand in his, and he drew her to stand up. He wanted her to feel at ease around him, but unbidden came the strong memory of her body beneath his. He could not deny the fierce attraction to her, but he would not press her for more. Instead, he wanted her friendship.
She was not an English debutante, like the ladies he had known. Katarina would never rap a wayward rake’s knuckles with her fan—she would stab him first. The notion made him suppress a smile.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I was comparing you to the women I knew in England. That is, East Anglia,” he amended. “You are very different from them.”
Her expression grew shielded. “In what way?”
It was hard to describe it, but he offered, “They are concerned with what everyone else thinks. There are more rules about how to talk with women, and even how to dance with them. You are less formal, more open about who you are.”
She kept her gaze upon the dog, not speaking. From her quiet demeanor, he suspected he should not have compared her to the ladies. To make it up to her, an idea came to him. He touched her waist, taking her hand in his.
“What are you doing, Arik?” she murmured.
“Dancing with you.” He led her slowly into the steps of a waltz, keeping their circle small within the space. Her feet stumbled, but he demonstrated the steps, counting to three as he moved her body with his.
“This isn’t how you dance.”
“I learned this way when I was across the sea,” he told her. “Try it.” He slowed the steps, and she made an attempt to follow him. Her feet tangled together when he turned her in a circle, and he caught her before she could fall.
She started to laugh at herself. “It seems that the steps should be simple, but they aren’t.”
“Not at first. But once you understand the pattern, you will do well enough.”
She tried again, stumbling in the footwork. Then she grasped his hand, regaining her balance. He moved her back, and she eyed him with chagrin. “I am terrible at this dance.”
But he didn’t want her to denigrate herself. “Look at me, Katarina.” She lifted her gaze, and he continued moving her in a small circle. “I will guide you. All you have to do is follow my lead.”
“It is possible that I might break your toes, as often as I have stepped upon them.”
He kept his hand upon the small of her back. “I will take that risk.” Eric slowed his pace, watching her eyes as he danced with her.
In time, she caught on, and her smile returned. “I’ve never danced like this before.”
Eric slowed their pace and then stopped, still keeping one hand at her waist. He held both palms, and her cheeks flushed. He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. The scent of her hair and skin was alluring, and he was caught up in the moment with this woman. There were no regrets at all about this arranged marriage; instead, it felt as if a missing piece of himself had been returned.
Katarina drew her hands up to his chest, tracing over his heart. The touch ignited his senses, arousing him deeply. He wanted so badly to hold her, skin to skin. She didn’t seem to know the effect she had upon him. And if he didn’t gather his control, he was going to capture that mouth and kiss her until she couldn’t stand.
The dog broke the spell by yawning with a high-pitched noise. Then Oda crossed the space and sank down in front of the hearth. The dog was exactly the distraction he needed, and he caught his wife’s hands, holding them away from his chest.
“I am hungry,” he said by way of changing the subject. “Is there any food?” In truth, he hardly cared about food, but it was a means of avoiding the surrender to his impulses. He wanted Katarina so badly, he could hardly keep his hands from her.
