More dejected than ever, Sven threw the wood shavings, which had been reduced to dust, back into the pile. “Nothing.”
There was no point answering the question because it would seem he’d had all he would ever have from the mysterious Saxon.
2
FIVE MONTHS LATER
It was her. The woman. Alva, as he’d started to call her in his mind.
Sven could not believe what he was seeing.
The woman who’d just slipped inside his brother’s hut was none other than the mysterious Saxon woman he had lost hope of ever finding again. The cloak covering her body was hiding all the luscious curves he remembered, but the riot of midnight curls that made her so distinctive and the reaction in his body at the sight of her could not be mistaken.
Itwasher.
What was she doing here, in Steinar’s hut of all places? Only the fact that his brother was besotted with his wife and the epitome of the faithful husband prevented jealousy from ripping at Sven’s guts. She wasn’t there because she was having an affair with him, that was for sure. What, then?
Determined not to let her slip away a second time, he placed himself by the fence surrounding the geese pen. As soon as she passed through the door on her way out, she would see him. If she had gone in, he reasoned, she would come out again eventually, and the hut only had one opening.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, she emerged from the hut.
“Good afternoon.” The words left his lips in a growl that bore little resemblance to his normal voice.
He had the satisfaction of seeing her jump—and look guilty. So, she had recognized him and was aware that she had behaved inconsiderately toward him back in the summer, leaving his bed without a word while he slept on, oblivious to the fact.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when it became obvious he was going to have to start the conversation himself.
“I came to see Cwenthryth to congratulate her on the birth of her new daughter,” she said, glancing back to the hut she’d just left. “She’s my closest friend.”
Her friend!
Sven recoiled. unable to believe how stupid he’d been. Of course, if she’d not come to see his father, she would have come to visit one of the Saxons living in the village, and there weren’t many, much less the same age as her. He should have asked Cwenthryth if she knew the dark-haired Saxon. If he had, he would have known who the woman was, and where to find her.
He wouldn’t have spent the last five months feeling like something was missing from his life. He’d lost some of his usual gaiety, and he didn’t like it, nor the comments that came with it.
“And how do you know Cwenthryth?” Alva asked, making a polite attempt at conversation even if he could tell she wished herself miles away from here. Her attitude today was completely different to what it had been back in the summer. If he didn’t know better, he would think her a shy woman unused to male attention.
But he did know better. She was anything but shy, in bed at least.
“Cwenthryth is my sister-in-law,” he said, doing his best not to let the memory of their wild night rankle him. The last thinghe needed now was to think with his cock. “She’s married to my eldest brother.”
And she’d just given birth to their second daughter, which was apparently the reason for the Saxon’s visit. Sven made a mental note to kiss little Liv the next time he saw her. Thanks to her, he had been reunited with the woman he had spent five months obsessing about.
At first, refusing to be defeated, he’d gone into the surrounding villages and even into town a few times, to enquire about a tall, curvy, dark-haired woman. Unfortunately, his description could apply to dozens of women and without a name to offer, he’d not been able to get any useful leads. There had been no need to bestir himself thus.
It seemed that all he’d had to do was wait, and she would come to him.
How amusing.
“So, your best friend is my brother’s wife. Well, if that isn’t lucky,” he told her, his lips stretching into a grin.
Lucky?
In truth, Eahlswith couldn’t believe howunluckyshe’d been. Of course, she had guessed that Sven would still be in the village, but now she was told he was none other than the brother of the only Norseman she knew. Although, now that she thought about it, she wondered how she had not seen the similarities before. The two men looked so alike they could have been twins, but for the expression on their faces. Steinar always seemed rather serious, whereas Sven appeared carefree and full of mischief. Which, of course, he was, mischief and wickedness personified. She knew from experience.
Would she have come today had she known there was a good chance she would walk into him? She wasn’t sure.
She had not wanted her moment of folly to get in the way of seeing her friend and her new baby, but she had hoped to slip in and out of the village without being seen.
