Is there hesitation in referring to Scarwood as home?
“Did you encounter any resistance? Did anyone seem concerned that I'm missing?” She nibbles her bottom lip, and he can sense the hurt.
His previous smile falters. “Samson is locked in the Toftlund dungeon. He already had a mistress in your chambers.”
Duke Samson Manchineel will not escape Toftlund alive. Whoever falls the blade that ends his fate will ensure he dies horrifically.
“Joetta and the other servants missed you. She wants me to return you to Timber.” A reality that will not transpire regardless of their agreement.
Nellie bats at a stray curl untangling from Avina’s winter cap. “And?” She finally looks up at him. “Will you? Return me to Timber.”
He crouches to scratch behind Nellie’s ear yet leaves her question unanswered.
“I did not take you one for warrior training.” He changes the subject as he collects the wooden swords and sets them on the deck.
“Thora’s idea. We train twice a day. In exchange, she allows me to teach her chess.” Her pride is rather adorable.
She stands and gestures for him to join her inside. “I shall put the kettle on for a cup of tea.”
He follows her inside, fighting a grin as he responds, “I would enjoy a cup of tea with you, my little Queen.”
He longs to bind her to his bed and forbid her from ever leaving Blackwood. In such a short time, her smile and bright eyes have come to represent the calm sea to his raging storm—a light in the darkness beckoning him home after a grueling season abroad.
Imagining his future without her at his side is a torturous experiment in futility.
Nellie perches on her shoulder, her wide green eyes drinking in Blackwood's new surroundings with uncertainty and unamusement.
Avina leads their way into his kitchen, far more spotless than when he left. Loose vegetables are stowed in wooden crates with labels painted onto their sides. Not a utensil is out of place. Shit, even the wood is stacked neatly beside the hearth.
She hangs the ceramic teapot on the fire's iron hook before assembling a delicious-looking tea service with biscuits, jam, and cream.
He could grow accustomed to this treatment.
“Did you organize? My kitchen looks clean.” He collapses in his armchair by the fire and watches the cat chase a mouse in the woodpile.
“Oh, well, yes, a bit. Your house needed tending to without proper staff.” She prepares their teacups on the tray.
“It was not that bad,” he mumbles, although the sheer amount of scrubbing she must have accomplished is impressive.
Avina would make a lovely maid, bowing and scraping at my feet while she scrubs my floors and warms my cock…
Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her shed the wolf fur cloak, scarf, and cap, leaving her in trousers and a long-sleeved vibrant blue shirt cut loose with knots in the Salt Style. She shakes out her golden curls so it falls just short of her waist. The motion entices his hardening gaze to her round ass.
“Samson already had a woman in my chambers, then?”
“Grim and I will take care of him.”Straight to his fucking grave.
She shakes her head, her arms wrapping around her chest.
Nellie halts her torture of the mouse and redirects course to Avina’s feet, where she rubs and purrs.
“I am not bothered that he has a mistress in my bed.”
Shamelessly, Sigvid stares as her arms tighten under her breasts, pushing them higher. When those bright blues lift to meet his, he feels his damn cock twitch at the thought of choking her on it.
“Like most others who spoke to me with such contempt, I always wondered if anyone would ever care for me.” Those blue eyes begin to well, and Sigvid’s hands fist at the sight. “What about me is so unloveable?” She seems to ask no one in particular. “Do you think someone might see me for more than my title one day?”
With complete disregard for his plots of vengeance—which falter by the day—toward this woman, he enfolds her in his arms, relishing her warmth and scent.
