Tormod woke to finda warm body beside him. His wife. He smiled at the memory of the night before. Then he saw again the reminders of her beating. His fists clenched and the dark anger that had been kindled last night as she told him her story flared back to life. If he saw any of the holy men from the abbey, they would answer for what they had done to Aoife. For whatever reason.
Although, he had sensed that her story… There was something missing. He didn’t think she had lied—she had been too fearful for an outright lie—but like so much about the situation, he believed he was being shown only the surface. The truth would out, eventually. It always did. He only hoped it would work in his favour this time.
He smiled grimly, then focused again on the woman in front of him. He traced the marks on her back and she muttered under her breath. He frowned when he caught the words for fire and field.
He prayed to the gods that she was nothing like his first wife. He ran his hand through her long hair and swept it to the side of her neck, then leaned over to kiss the skin he had bared. She stirred, sinuously stretching her back, then twisting out of his grasp when she awoke. She sat up, pulling the covers up around herself, but not before he noticed a little blood beneath her. He reached for her, but she pulled away, staring straight ahead, breathing heavily.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
“The matter?”
“You are upset. You were talking in your sleep about fire and fields. I can see fear on your face.”
“I’m sorry.” As she pulled the furs more closely around her, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, but she held herself rigid. “It was only a dream.”
“You are safe here with me,” he promised her.
For a while, they remained like that. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and she relaxed into his arms. When she turned her face to his, he kissed her, gratified when she returned the favour. She let the furs slip a little and he took the chance to run his hands over her bare skin until she whimpered with pleasure.
“It is morning,” she said. “We should get up.”
“There is no rush. I doubt anyone will dare to disturb us.”
He kissed her again, trying to ignore the spark of emotion that flitted through him when her kisses grew as ardent as they had last night. He slid one hand down between her legs and felt how ready she was for him. Still he moved slowly, stroking her with clever fingers until the only sounds from her throat were soft cries and her body bucked towards his.
He rolled her under him and slid inside her, watching her face as his body claimed hers. Her eyes were closed, but they opened when he was fully seated. As he pulled back and thrust forward again and again, their gazes held until the moment her head arched back and she tightened rhythmically around him. Her reaction triggered his own, and he withdrew from her body as he had night before. He had told her he wanted strong sons, but after Ingrid deception, there must be no doubt in the minds of the villagers that any child Aoife birthed belonged to him—even if he knew it to be true. And there was another worry—Ingrid had died giving birth to his son. If the same thing happened to Aoife, there wouldbe no guarantee that Cadell would not turn on them and attack the settlement.
Selfishly, he also wanted some time for them to be alone together, to get to know one another, before their family grew. If he had taken more time to get to know Ingrid, he would not have put his whole village in danger, nor risked Arne’s life as he had done.
Tormod looked into her eyes and saw confusion etched in them, so he turned her away from him and settled himself against her back. As they lay together, he closed his eyes. It had been hard these past years—surely, even as jarl, he deserved this honeymoon as time just for himself and his new wife?
He must have dozed because he was woken by the sound of loud knocking on the door. Aoife pulled the furs around herself and pushed to the top of the bed, while he padded naked to the door and yanked it open, ready to yell at whoever dared disturb them.
Before he could draw breath, Ragna pushed past him with a tray full of food, leaving him facing Björn at the door. Tormod moved to block Björn’s view of the room and his cousin grinned at him.
“What is so important you risk my wrath the morning after my wedding, Björn?”
“Morning? Why, cousin, it is already mid-afternoon, and it is only after great debate we dared to interrupt your… celebrations.” Björn raised his eyebrows. “I trust the night went well and you are not disappointed in your new bride?”
Even though he knew Aoife could not understand all Björn was saying, Tormod pushed his cousin away from the doorway. He thrust his legs into his breeks, then grabbed his kirtle and pulled it on as he followed Björn through to the main hall. The day was dull and overcast, with a hint of rain in the air, and as Tormod took a deep breath, he detected the acrid smell of smoke. He frowned at Björn.
“Something has happened,” Björn stated. “One of the fields burned last night.”
“Where?” Tormod remembered Aoife muttering the words fire and field. Had she known this would happen? He looked back towards the door to his room and his heart hardened.
“The farm near Nevyth. They most likely came by boat across Loch Garw. At low-tide the spit near there can be forded.”
Björn wasn’t stating the obvious, but Tormod understood the implication. The land on the opposite shore of Loch Garw belonged to Lord Cadell.
“There are guards watching the spit,” Tormod said. “By boat further north is more likely.” If the fire-raisers had come by sea, then they had not necessarily sailed straight across Loch Garw. They had guards stationed around the coast at all times, but a small craft, sailing in the dark, could perhaps have slipped past their watch in the darkest hours of the night. Not to mention drink had been flowing freely in celebration of his wedding and the guards may have been joining in the celebrations. Even so, to cross Loch Garw unseen during such short hours of darkness implied a certain familiarity with the territory. Lord Cadell’s people, without doubt.
“How much of the field did we lose?” Tormod asked and was relieved when Björn smiled in response.
“Remarkably little,” he said. “It began to rain and Håkon returned from the celebrations in time to see it and raise the alarm. It only took a few men to beat out what the rain didn’t quench. We were lucky this time and we shall keep a better watch in the future.”
“I trust you will ensure that.”
“I will,” answered Björn, then frowned. It seemed as if he were about to say something, then stopped.
