She fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs, but instead leaned into his heat. The Fox took her cold left hand between his, rubbing warmth back into it. Hekla’s insides warred; one part cringed away from such overt affection, while another reveled in the comfort that came from his ministrations.
As they sat in silence and the Fox readjusted the blanket to cover her thighs, Hekla’s thoughts drifted maddeningly to Loftur.Gods.How could she be thinking of him at a time such as this? But more infuriating, how could the witless man still refuse her entry to the woods? Did he truly think they could defeat the mist without identifying its origins?
The Fox had folded her right leg over his lap and was now massaging her foot. “What consumes your thoughts?” he asked, thumbs digging into the arch of her foot. It felt so good she nearly groaned.
“The cod-brained man I work for?—”
The Fox’s thumb dug in sharply, causing Hekla to break off with a yelp. Her glare was met with a look of amusement. “’Tis a waste of a beautiful night to have your mind in a different place.”
As his fingers resumed their gentle ministrations, Hekla realized he was right. When she was thinking of the job, she missed the beauty surrounding her—moonlight gleaming off the river waters, the trill of a winterwing from somewhere nearby.
“I wasn’t always like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to the man beside her.
“What do you mean?”
She hummed softly. “I used to...take joy in the small things. Dream about the future.”
“And now?”
“Now I...” Hekla sighed. “My thoughts often drift to things that have come to pass.”
“Good things, I hope?” said the Fox. The innuendo in his voice was impossible to miss.
Hekla allowed her gaze to roam along the warrior’s long limbs and became acutely aware of each place they touched.
“Nowwhat is going through that beautiful mind of yours, Lynx?” asked the Fox with a chuckle.
“I’m wondering,” she said, sliding a finger along the jagged red scar on his shoulder, “what kind of weapon did this to you?”
The Fox craned his neck to examine the scar, and when his eyes met hers, they were filled with mischief. “I had a run in with a tree.”
“A tree?”
“Aye. It had the nerve to grow from the side of a cliff.”
Hekla’s brows drew together.
The man chuckled, smoothing a thumb along the scar. “There is a cliff overlooking my favorite swimming hole. A friend of mine dared me to jump off it, and well, as I’ve said, I never lose?—”
“So, this wound is wrought of male pride.” Hekla scoffed. To her own surprise, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to it.
The Fox looked delighted, and there was something so...pure about his smile. “The tree doggedly tried to thwart my fall, but I am pleased to say I prevailed.”
Hekla shook her head with silent laughter.
“And this one,” the Fox said eagerly, showing her the scar on his inner wrist, “was acquired after drinking too much ale at my brother’s birthday feast and tumbling down the privy stairs.”
Hekla took his wrist in her hand and kissed the scar in question.
“And this one”—the Fox threw the blanket back and twisted to reveal a mark etched into the side of his torso—“was also acquired after drinking too much at a feast.”
Hekla leaned closer, letting the scent of him permeate her senses. “That’s no scar,” she teased. “’Tis a tattoo. And a terrible one at that. What is it meant to be?”
“A dragon. Can you not tell?”
Hekla truly could not. Chuckling, she kissed the tattoo all the same. “I see you have a rather reckless streak to you.”
“You see reckless, I seeliving.”
