“I’ve only been a wife, never a leman.”
Ballard reeled at her words. His heart missed several beats before he could inhale enough air to speak. “I’ve only had a wife, never a leman.” He’d considered it. Every lord he knew had kept a mistress somewhere on his demesne, sometimes even within his castle. His father Dwennon had one, a gentle creature named Adela . Ballard’s mother had been fond of her and grieved more than Dwennon did when she died.
Louvaen was not Adela. Neither passive nor sweet-natured, she would clash with any wife until the lord put her aside, or she cowed the poor wife enough to supplant her authority and become lady of the keep in all but name. Ballard hid a smile. Were he still married and suggested she be his concubine, she’d knock his teeth down his throat.
“Are you sincere in your proposition?” She kept her gaze on the far wall.
“Aye.” He captured her hand and kissed the pale skin of her wrist, relishing its suppleness against his mouth. “A poor jest at first, but only a jest for the moment after I uttered it.” His lips fluttered across her palm. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”
Her hand curved over his cheek, fingertips drifting softly through his hair. “I’m still undecided.”
“I await your answer.” He prayed with everything inside him she’d say yes and soon.
“If I say yes, it will only be until winter’s end. I won’t stay even if Cinnia does.”
Ballard refused to dwell on such a thing. He’d allowed this woman into his home for the sole purpose of enjoying her company, prickly as it often was. He’d never expected or even dared hope of having her share his bed. He’d take what she might offer and thank the gods for giving him such a fine a gift before the curse overwhelmed him, and he was irrevocably changed.
He pressed his face into her palm. “I don’t make prisoners of my lovers, Louvaen. I’d have you stay, but you are free to leave when you wish.”
He’d be tempted—oh, dear gods he’d be tempted—to force her to stay, anything to keep her by his side. He’d done it once, using extortion and bribery. It had earned him the everlasting enmity of his wife and a curse that would destroy him and probably his son. He’d learned a hard lesson, one he wouldn’t repeat, especially with Louvaen whom he wanted more fiercely than anything he’d known in centuries.
She stepped away from his chair, hand caressing his chin then clasping his fingers before she gently freed herself from his grasp. “Good night, Ballard. Sleep well.”
He didn’t reply, only stared into the fire until she left. He scrubbed his hands over his face and slumped in his seat. “Good gods, woman. I don’t know what will take me first: the curse or you saying no.”
Despite her farewell words, he spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in his lonely bed, gut churning with both anticipation and dread of her answer. He skipped breakfast the next morning and went straight to the forge in the hopes that hammering away at hot metal would sweat out the lust coursing through him. Magda wanted nails? He’d give her a wagonload of nails by the end of the day.
He was breaking off a nail in the nail header when the creak of the smithy door made him pause. Gavin slipped inside. Ballard raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here? Finished gathering branches already?”
Gavin shook his head. “Plowfoot came up lame. Stone lodged near his frog. I got it out, but he’s bruised.”
“He’ll need to rest a few days.”
“Aye. He’s in his stall now. I’ll use Sparrow to pull the sled back.”
Ballard looked past Gavin’s shoulder. “Where are the women?”
“By the pond. Cinnia found a clutch of holly she wanted to gather.”
Foreboding tickled the base of Ballard’s spine. “You left them there?”
Gavin shrugged. “They’re safe. We’re still within Ambrose’s barrier. They know not to venture beyond it.”
Ballard abandoned the nail header. “Get Magnus and Sparrow. I’ll meet you in the bailey.”
Gavin sighed. “Father, they’re fine...”
“Just do it, boy.” He turned to bank the coals in the firepot and stripped off his apron and gloves. That tickle of unease was turning into an outright itch. He met Gavin coming out of the stables, leading the two horses. Both had been bridled but not saddled.
“I guessed you wouldn’t want to wait.”
Ballard swung onto Magnus’s bare back and turned him toward the back gate. “Lead on.”
They kept their mounts to a brisk walk, picking their way through leafless brush powdered in snow. Sunlight filtered through bare tree limbs in watery gray bands. The forest hush seemed a living thing, muffling the horses’ gait. Ballard wondered if he’d worried for nothing. Gavin was neither careless nor irresponsible. If he’d left the women by the pond, he’d made certain they were safe. Still...
A high, trilling sound drifted on the cold air. Both horses halted, ears swiveling forward. They heard nothing more for a moment before it came again, and this time the sound was unmistakable—Cinnia screaming Gavin’s name.
They tore through the forest, weaving amongst stands of white birch and green firs until they reached a large pond. Cinnia stood on the shore next to the sled, crying out Gavin’s and Louvaen’s name.
