“You can stroke him, he doesn’t bite.” Sven’s voice was little more than a purr, as if he wanted to coax her into petting the animal.
“He’s rather impressive,” she said, finally daring to touch the stallion’s neck. So soft… Her lips stretched into a smile because now she knew where she had heard the name Gulltoppr before. It was the horse of Heimdallr, the god of war. She had thought about it all day and finally remembered what Cwenthryth had told her.
“He is rather impressive, but he’s the gentlest horse you could ever meet.”
Impressive, gentle and beautiful. Yes. Just like the man in front of her.
“’Tis too late to go back to the village now, I think,” Sven said, looking to the skies. “Night will soon fall and it is snowing already.”
Indeed a few flakes had started to flutter about while they talked, light as down feathers. “Yes. You should stay here for the night.”
“I definitely should.”
Her smile broadened. Would she have made the same offer if it had been the middle of summer? Would she have surrendered so easily? She preferred not to wonder because she had an awful suspicion that she would have.
“Come then. My feet are soaked.”
After one last pat on Gulltoppr’s rump, Sven followed her inside the house. As soon as she’d closed the door, he lifted the hem of her skirt. The gesture might have raised her heartbeat had there not been a frown on his face. Instead of looking at her exposed legs, or making lewd comments, he was peering at her shoes. This was definitely not a move destined to seduce her.
“No wonder your feet are soaked,” he said, allowing the skirt to fall back down. “The leather of your boots is worn thin, it’s not suitable at all for this weather.”
He sounded as worried as if he’d actually seen an injury on her foot. Eahlswith knew he was right, the leather was so damaged that it had holes in, but she couldn’t afford another pair of shoes at the moment, so there was nothing else to do than to endure it. Still, she wished she hadn’t had her inadequacies exposed to him.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, hiding her hands behind her back before he could see that her gloves had holes in them as well.
“You will, once I have warmed your feet. Sit.”
Though she should probably have protested at his high-handedness, she sat. The idea of having his hands wrapped around her frozen feet was far too irresistible. She was suddenly reminded of when she had dropped the cask of ale on her foot the other day. He had knelt at her feet and asked to see her foot. He was going to ask the same thing now. It had been unthinkable to accept then, it was impossible to consider refusing now. How quickly things changed.
“Lift your foot for me,” Sven ordered, coming down on one knee in front of her. The voice was commanding, the look in his eyes fierce, but the position submissive, and he was waiting for her to agree.
Utterly under his spell, Eahlswith did as she was told and placed the tip of her foot on his muscular thigh. How was it that seeing him look after her, worrying about her well-being, was doing more to entice her than anything else he might have done? Not that she would have remained impassive if he had started to talk to her in that impossibly deep voice, and told her what he wanted to do to her, or kissed her with all the passion and skill she knew him capable of, but this…
She swallowed, watching as he untied her laces and removed her right shoe with careful gestures. It was so wet she already knew it would not dry overnight, even if she left it next to the fire. Then he reached under her skirt to find the ribbon holding her woolen stocking in place under the knee. Sven made a face when he felt that the garment was just as soaked as the shoe, at least on the part covering her foot. After sliding it off her leg, he placed it on top of her boot.
“Are you still pain?” he asked, taking her other foot into his hands. He’d remembered it was the bruised one. She was more touched than she could say. “Do I need to be extra careful?”
“No.” He was being extra careful anyway.
By the time he’d rolled the second stocking down her leg, Eahlswith was breathless. Sven grunted when he saw the purple mark on the bridge of her foot but she was not worried about the bruise. As she’d told him twice now, it was nothing to worry about. Rather, she was waiting for the moment he would take her feet into his big, warm hands. Would he place them on his lap? Would he give her a massage?
Instead of doing what she had imagined he would, he stood back up and walked over to the pallet to take one of the blankets. Kneeling back in front of her, he wrapped her feet in the soft material and swiveled her so that her extended legs pointed toward the fire pit where the fire was still going, since she’d been careful to come back once in the morning to tend it.
She could not help a strangled noise from escaping her throat.
“What is it?” Sven asked, adding a few logs to the flames and stirring the fire back to a roaring furnace. He had already placed her stockings and boots next to it to dry, she noticed. So thoughtful… “Are you not comfortable like this?”
“I’m fine. Only I confess I thought you would take my feet into your h-hands to warm them,” she stammered, too overcome by gratitude and desire to even think of lying.
The look he threw her was enough to burn her all the way to her frozen toes. Oh, what beast had she unleashed?
“Alva, believe me, you do not want that,” he growled, coming closer to her, a predator on the prowl. A wolf, she realized, feeling her heartbeat pick up in what felt almost like alarm. “If I put my hands on you now it will not be to hold your feet. I will run my fingers all the way up your naked leg, and I will not stop until I have reached the sweet spot begging for my caresses. You will then have no choice but to open your legs wide and let me plunge my fingers inside you while I watch. And once you’ve drenched my hand with your release, it will be my turn. I will stand over you and watch you suck my cock until I flood your mouth.”
Oh.
Lord.
Why had she told him what was on her mind? How had she forgotten about his propensity to talk dirty?
