“Can I sleep by the fire again tonight?” Caelin asked. “It is much warmer and the cubs like me beside them.”
“No,” said Gemma. “Arne needs somewhere to sleep.”
“He slept longer in the bed, Mama. He can take my place again. I don’t mind.”
“We will see what happens at nightfall,” Arne said.
Gemma turned to look at him then. He wasn’t able to tell from her expression what she was thinking. After his reaction to her being outside, their relationship was likely back to one of suspicion and blame—and it was his fault. Who would want someone who suspected them of betrayal at the slightest thing in their bed? Or maybe she regretted having gone to bed with him. He hoped she didn’t. He could never express to her how grateful he was for what she had done for him last night. Not only did he now know he was capable of making love to a woman, but also that there was at least one woman who wanted to return the favour.
Her patience and care for his feelings surprised him – after all, he had treated her with nothing but suspicion since the day they had first met – and yet, she had been the only woman in all these years whom he had felt able to trust enough to take to his bed. It wasn’t just the fact they were trapped together by the snow. He was sure there was something more, something deeper.
He watched her as she focused on her cooking. She often frowned at the mixture, stirring it and muttering quietly, occasionally shaking her head. She was not a clumsy woman, it was just that the movements were unfamiliar. He had only to look at the embroidery on her apron to see just how skilled her hands were. His cheeks heated at the thought of what she had done with those hands last night.
Abruptly, he stood and reached for his leathers. “I will go and brush the snow from the roof. We don’t want to risk the weight of it falling through during the night.”
If he had thought that being out of her presence in the cold winter’s day would be enough to stop him thinking about the previous night would be successful, he soon found that he was wrong. He doubted he’d ever forget a single moment of what had passed between them in the darkness. He’d been not much more than a youth when he had been scarred. The women he had lain with before that had been of a similar age to himself and with more enthusiasm than experience. Bedding a more mature, experienced woman, a widow, had been very different. They had woken during the night more than once and each time their quiet couplings had grown more intense, more passionate as his confidence in being able to not only function with a woman but to truly please her had grown.
Gemma had responded enthusiastically. She didn’t deserve a life of celibacy such as she now led, but he was not the man for her. Not in the long term. He would never be good enough for a princess. He owned no lands, had no status other than as a warrior. He had wealth, certainly. More than she realised, most likely, as Kirkjaster was still being built and there was little cause or opportunity for the Norsemen to display their wealth. If anything, it would only bring them unwanted attention.
But last night, none of that had seemed to matter. She had shared a bed with him, touched him intimately and made love with him despite knowing none of that, despite his scars.
And what had he done? Suspected her of betraying him before he had even seen her this morning. He wasn’t sure what to do or say to make things right. He couldn’t avoid her forever, so as soon as most of the roof was clear of snow he went back inside, removing his leathers at the door and trying not to tramp any snow inside the shieling. He sensed she was fully aware of him, waitingfor something. He frowned. Was she waiting for him to speak? To apologise?
She busied herself at the fire, stirring the pot and occasionally tasting the contents. He moved towards her, his footsteps loud in the small space, but his intention wasn’t to frighten her. When he stepped up behind her, he was relieved when she didn’t flinch, even though she continued to ignore him.
He placed a hand on her hip. She tensed momentarily, then relaxed. He slid his hand around, spread it over her stomach. She didn’t move away, but nor did she encourage him. He stepped closer, put his mouth near her ear, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I was wrong to act the way I did.”
She turned her head, stopping when her lips were almost on his. “I wore your leathers so that anyone who saw me might think it was you. There was no one close by. I am not a fool. Nor do I want you dead.”
He kissed her then, and was relieved when she kissed him back, wishing they were truly alone and he could simply lift her, carry her to the bed and make love to her until she forgave him for his stupidity. But she pulled away all too soon, glancing anxiously towards Caelin, who was watching the cubs and uninterested in their actions.
“What you did… for me… last night,” he whispered so Caelin didn’t hear. “I can never thank you enough. And… and I would be honoured to share your bed again tonight in whatever way you wish.”
She turned to him and looked deep into his eyes. “I would like that. I promise I will never betray you, Arne. To anyone.”
“A truce, then.”
“We are not at war.”
He touched the side of her face with his knuckles. “Sometimes I think my whole life is a war. The only place where my scars do not matter is a battlefield—”
At that, she put a hand on either side of his face and pulled him down until she could kiss his forehead, each cheek, his lips. “Your scars do not matter to me. I have never known you without them. To me, they are who you are. And that is a man whom I trust to keep me safe and there are not many who can boast that honour.”
“It is an honour to be trusted to keep a princess safe.”
She shook her head, took his hands in her own and lifted them until she could kiss his knuckles. Then she drew his hands towards her and held them tight. “I will most likely never have this freedom again.”
“Freedom? You are trapped on the moors in the snow in a hut meant for the women who tend the sheep in summer.”
She smiled, and there was a sadness in it. “But here I have the freedom to choose you.”
“You didn’t choose me, Gemma. I am just the one suspicious enough to watch you constantly and to follow you here.”
“You could have let us go, knowing we would most likely perish.”
Arne sighed and pulled his hands away, then placed them on her shoulders. “I could, but that was not what worried me. What worried me was that you were going to meet with your kinsmen, bring soldiers to Kirkjaster. Tell them how to attack us most effectively.”
She laughed, but broke off sharply when she realised he was serious. “And how would I know about that?”
