“Well, I don’t exactly talk to them as I talk to you, do I?” he snapped. “Or about the same things.”
“I hope not. They would not appreciate?—”
“Listen, will you do the bloody comb or not?”
Perhaps he had gone to the wrong person. Perhaps he should go to Eirik and ask for a drinking vessel instead. Eahlswith had seemed to like the bowl-shaped cup the day she had drunk from it. Had she not broken it he would have gifted it to her. His decision had already been made when she’d dropped the cask of ale on her foot. By the gods, but it should not be so complicated to woo anyone, make her accept what she already felt for him. It was not as if she didn’t like him, or desire him or want to know him better. She did all that.
She just didn’t want to act on it.
His desperation must have shown, for his brother finally stopped smirking and sighed. “As it happens, I do have one already made. The other day I found the whitest bone I’ve ever seen in the forest and I could not resist putting it to use. You know I like to keep my hands busy.”
At any other time, Sven would have made a bawdy jest, winked and told him that his wife should be the one benefiting from his inability to keep his hands still but this time he just wanted the comb.
“Can I have it then?” he asked instead.
“How can I refuse such a gracious request?” Torsten’s grin was back.
Damnation, his brother had become insufferable since his wedding to Aife, happier than any man had the right to be. Not that Sven had liked seeing him so despondent, but still… As his own mood was deteriorating, he found himself losing patience with people who had everything he wanted to have. Envy. There was another, new aspect of his personality he was not proud of.
“So?”
“Of course, you can have it. The only thing missing is the decorative carving. Unless you want it plain?”
“No, decorated would be perfect, thank you.” That it was not yet carved meant that he could make the gift even more personal. “Do you think you could make an image of an elf? A female elf?”
Torsten tilted his head. Sven knew what he was thinking, that never before had he gone to such lengths to woo a woman. Well, no, he had not because there had been no need. A smile and a wink, usually sufficed. If not, a whispered promise in their ear was sure to win them over. But Eahlswith, the infuriating little elf, was different.
“I’ll see what I can do, even if I am better at drawing leaves and shapes than people. Come back tomorrow evening.”
“Thank you, brother, I’m truly grateful.”
“I know. Not that it particularly shows.” A scoff, and Torsten slapped him on the shoulder.
Sven made to go, then came to a halt and peered through the door of the hut. “Actually, while I’m here, could I have a word with Aife?”
“She’s gone to take some fish to the smoke house. If you wait a mo?—”
“No, it’s fine, I’ll go meet her there,” he said, nodding his goodbyes. The conversation he wanted to have with her would be better had away from Torsten’s ears.
He did find her at the communal smoke house, washing her hands in the bucket of water she’d taken with her. She smiled at him when he handed her the piece of cloth she’d placed next to it to dry her hands.
“Sven. Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.”
Now that he was in front of her, he wondered if he would find the courage to do what he’d thought to do.
“Was there something you wanted?” She tilted her head, basket already in hand. Of course, she had work to do and was ready to go.
Sven swallowed. There was something he wanted, but how should he say it?
“Forgive me, I don’t know how to ask this tactfully, so I’ll just come out with it.” They were friends, hopefully she would not resent him for being too blunt. “Have you ever been attracted to me?”
She stared at the floor, which gave him all the answer he needed. She had.
“I-I… Why would you ask me that?”
“I’m not going to tell Torsten if that is what you’re worried about,” he hurried to specify.
