Arne closed the door. “It is too dangerous. Anyone out there will simply have to fend for themselves.”
“They’re not dangerous,” Caelin insisted.
Arne did not appear convinced.
“But I need to help them.”
“No, Caelin. It’s not safe. I will not have you wandering off in search of strange voices only you can hear. Let me finish helping Arne while you set yourHnafetaflboard up and I will play a game with you soon.”
“But I don’t want to stay inside.” His fists were clenched at his side, although he looked more worried than angry.
“Shh,” she said, hugging him, but he remained rigid in her arms. “We must stay in here. Then when the snow melts, we will head north until we find somewhere safe to live.”
“That will be too late,” Caelin said, his voice choked with tears. He moved out of her arms and went to sit on the bed, facing the wall. Gemma sighed.
“You are coming back with me to Kirkjaster,” Arne said. “It is the only safe place. For now, at least.”
“No,” she said, turning. Too late, she realised this meant seeing his body as he attempted to finish washing. Some of the skin on his back was undamaged, but very little. She watched as his muscles flexed and stretched with his movements.
These Norsemen were so different from her own people, from her husband. They were vain, their appearance important to them. They washed every day, swam often, even in the winter. They had a separate hut near the shore where fires burned all day for warm water for washing. Aoife had once hinted at things she and Tormod had done together in the bathhouse. Gemma had been shocked. She and her husband had rarely spent time together out of choice although they had been content with one another. She had done her duty as a wife in the bedroom, had occasionally enjoyed it, but her husband had preferred to spend his time hunting rather than with his wife.
Gemma had never considered washing as something sensual, but as she watched the water drip down Arne’s skin, both the scarred and the smooth, her mouth grew dry. She licked her lips and followed the path of a single drop as it ran down his spine. Her body reacted low down in a way it hadn’t done to a man in a long time — and she certainly hadn’t expected to respond in such a way to one of the Norse invaders.
Arne stretched his arm over his shoulder, twisting at an awkward angle.
She took a step closer. “Do you want me to help?”
He didn’t answer, but turned his head to look at her. She wasn’t sure why she had asked. It was foolish. And yet, he had done so much for her, surely she could do something in return.
She put her hand out. After a pause, he handed her the small sliver of soap and the washcloth. She moved beside him so she could reach the basin, dipped the cloth into the warm water and wrung it out. After lathering soap on it, she placed it on his skin and began to wash him.
He turned his head away while she focused on his back. There were a few spots he had missed, where rivulets of the deer’s blood had run down under his clothes, and she wiped them away before cleaning his whole back with long, smooth strokes, careful not to touch his skin with her fingers. Neither of them spoke, and she tried to ensure she didn’t allow any of the drips to reach his breeks.
When she rinsed the cloth in the basin, their eyes met. Hastily, she squeezed the water from the cloth and rinsed off the soap. He tilted his head from side to side, loosening the muscles in his neck, then rotated his shoulder blades. She accidentally dropped the cloth as he moved, and came in contact with the unblemished skin on his back. Quickly, she pulled her hand away, then retrieved the cloth and rinsed it in the basin. She examined his back, seeing where the scarred skin met the smooth, and reached out deliberately, laying her hand on him.
She felt more than heard his groan as she spread her fingers out. Then, realising what she was doing, she picked up the other cloth and dried his skin. When she moved around to dry his chest, he stood still once again, his gaze fixed on the wall. This time, she was careful to avoid his flesh.
“Was it easier to touch me where I am still whole?” he asked gruffly.
“That wasn’t…” she began, then she put the cloth down and stood for a moment, staring down at her hands. Then she reached towards him and placed her hand once more on his chest. She splayed her hand out as she had done on his back, this time feeling the strange texture of his skin against her palm. It was rough,uneven, ridged in some places, but in others it was smooth, the scar tissue white and shiny. She moved her hand to lay it over the place where his heart beat strongly in his chest.
“Don’t.” He grabbed her wrist, then let it go when she jerked it away from him.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You don’t need to be sorry. But please, don’t… I can’t…” He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step away from her.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated and scurried over towards the bed, her heart thudding. Why had she touched him? What had she been thinking? How could she have done such a thing—and in front of her son? The blankets on the bed were dented where Caelin had been sitting, but he was not there. She glanced around. TheHnefetaflboard had not been set up.
“Caelin?” She looked under the bed, then under the table. Arne had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and was about to unfasten his breeks. She met his enquiring gaze across the empty space. “He’s not here. He must have gone outside without us noticing. How could we not notice?” She heard the hysteria in her voice and forced herself to calm down.
“I didn’t hear the door open.”
“Neither did I… we were too busy…” She wasn’t entirely sure what they had been doing, so she stopped. “He can slip out unseen through the smallest spaces. His cloak is gone.” She retrieved her own cloak, but Arne took it from her and hung it back up.
“No. The two of you are more noticeable together than he is on his own. He cannot have gone far and he will have left tracks in the snow. Please, let me search for him.”
But she yanked open the door of the shieling, too panicked to obey. Sure enough, small footprints led away from the door. She opened her mouth to yell, but Arne clamped his hand over it and once again she found herself trapped against his body, unable tomake a sound. Except this time it was against bare skin. She took a deep breath.
