This woman was made to love someone. He wanted to be that someone. If this Edwin, whoever he was, had turned away from her because she’d erred, too bad. He would not make the same mistake.
“Hush, Alva, I’m here. Me, Sven, I’m here.” He kissed the top of her hair and felt her relax into his arms. “Everything’s all right. I’m here now. Sleep.”
As for him, it was safe to say that his night was over.
“All finished,”Eahlswith translated when Sven pointed to the roof and nodded.
Indeed, the corner of the roof looked as solid as it had ever been.
“Thank you so much, young man,” Osbert answered, emotion making his voice waver. “I wish I could do something to thank you.”
“Þökk,” Eahlswith translated next.
Sven arched a brow and gave a radiant smile. She reddened, not having expected that it would feel so intimate to use his language, or that he would be so delighted by her effort—or that heat would spread through her chest at the pleasure of pleasing him.
“You know how to speak their language?” Osbert was amazed, as well he might, because she did not.
“I don’t. Only I heard Steinar use the word a few times with his friends and I thought…well, it makes sense to thank the man in his own language, don’t you think? I mean, after all he did, it’s?—”
Thankfully, Sven cut her fumbled explanations short by bowing and throwing his bag over his shoulder. This was it. This time he was really going. Her chest inexplicably tightened. Waking up in a man’s arms this morning had been wonderful. She had felt a sense of peace she had not felt since Edwin’s death. As he often did, he’d visited her in her dreams, and shehad begged for his forgiveness. And this time, he had granted it. Gratefulness, relief and hope spread through her chest. It was silly but when she had opened her eyes after her most restful night in years, it had felt as if something had changed. Yes, she had the impression Edwin had finally given her the forgiveness she’d needed. Now all that was left was for her to forgive herself.
“Goodbye,” she heard Osbert tell Sven.
She wanted to add something, thank him again, but there was a sizeable lump in her throat. When he saw she was not going to say anything he nodded and walked through the door, stooping as he did.
And then he was gone.
Eahlswith remained a long time staring at the piece of wood. The relief, the joy, the comfort she’d felt this morning upon waking up in his warmth had well and truly vanished. She felt cold and alone once more. She should go after him, she should go tell him she?—
Knock knock.
Eahlswith’s heart leaped. Had Sven forgotten something? She rushed to open the door, only to find herself face to face with Godric.
“A huge Norseman has just put my ladder in front of my house,” the old man said, peering inside the house with ill-concealed curiosity. Either he wanted to see more of the Norseman to check if he was as huge as he’d seemed to be or he wanted to inspect the repairs. Eahlswith couldn’t help a pang of irritation. Couldn’t he have come to help Sven, since he apparently had nothing to do? “I suppose that means he’s finished with the roof?”
“Yes,” Osbert answered in her stead. “He’s gone.”
The words were like a blow to the heart. He was gone. Just like Edwin.
Well, that was what she’d wanted, was it not? She had demanded he didn’t touch her, she had certainly not tried to keep him just now, she had not even told him goodbye.
“I will leave you to it,” she told the two men, who had already started to comment on the work Sven had done. “I have things to do at home.”
“Of course,” Osbert said, turning to face her. “And thank you again for your help these last two days.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she mumbled. “Sven did.”
“Yes, well. Thank you for the soup then.”
She didn’t comment.
Outside, the winter wind whipped at her clothes in the most unpleasant manner. Eahlswith lowered her hood over her face and hurried her steps as she could already feel the wet ground soak through the thin leather of her shoes. As Sven had predicted, it had snowed overnight and the street had been reduced to a mire. She shivered. Winter was decidedly her least favorite season.
As she finally turned into her own street, she skidded to a halt. A horse, his coat as white as the snow under his hooves, was tethered to the post Edwin had once planted outside her house. His owner was leaning against her door, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankle, his posture relaxed. Her heart started to beat a fierce drum.
Sven. Of course.
How had she imagined he would leave without a proper goodbye? He’d simply left the house so they could say their goodbye away from Osbert’s prying eyes and ears. A smile floating on his lips, he watched her walk the few remaining yards to get to him. Not knowing what to say she extended a tentative hand toward the horse’s neck instead, intent on stroking him. At the last moment she stopped herself. Could she?
