Aaron stared in disbelief. Tyr would no longer tolerate his cousin’s delusions. Chains-of-command didn’t only exist in the military. “You’ll see more clearly in the morning.”
Tyr turned on his heels; Rachelle needed him now.
Exhausted, Rachelle’s heartsank deeper and deeper into disillusionment. She’d been naïve to mistake Tyr as the answer to her childhood prayer. She suddenly realized just how helpless she truly was. The fact she ever considered him a godsend angered her. It showed poor judgment. So did her deplorable actions on that beach in England. She shivered in revulsion. No more tears. Lacking the strength to weep anymore, the emptyplace inside her chest ached enough to make up for it. She curled into a ball on the bed.
She was almost to sleep when the door creaked. Hadn’t she secured it? Refusing to move, she tucked her head further underneath her arms. Maybe the intruder would go away. Loud footsteps echoed, the kind made by a heavy-footed man. Onetooth? The only male she’d ever trust again on this side of the North Sea.
The mattress sank under the weight of whoever sat down beside her. The male presence took a deep breath and her body went rigid.Not a word,she advised herself, she’d fight to remain silent. Suddenly, a heavy hand rested on her head and she knew who it was. Onetooth wouldn’t touch her that way.
Tyr muttered words she couldn’t understand. The mixed scent of smoke and ale filled her head. He’d overindulged in spirits and food on purpose tonight; all part of his guise to snare Edwin. The Viking had proven nothing toher. Despite his efforts, Rachelle still didn’t know which man’s transgressions were more of an affront.
Her insides ached, her heart as heavy as a boulder. Why didn’thesay something? Uninvited fingers trailed down her back. Contact with Tyr always made her weak. Whether she hated him or not, those fingertips invoked powerful reactions. Against her will, she sighed—pleasurably. Then he caressed the sore flesh around her spine. Slowly, her body uncurled, granting him access.
Damn him.In order to avoid the danger of another intimate episode, she sat up straight. She looked him in the eyes and clenched her hands. What did he want? Why couldn’t Tyr Sigurdsson leave her alone?
Aaron’s glance sweptthe hall. After heading outside and standing in front of the stable for a long time, he’d refused to enter.The outbuilding reeked of piss. His cousin’s infatuation with the Saxon bitch was the true cause for his misfortune and Prince Edwin’s. Deep in thought, he jumped when a big hand clamped onto his shoulder.
Aaron swung around.
“Tyr’s gone.” Onetooth’s crooked smile wasn’t meant to be friendly. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be—?”
“That’s not for you to decide. Unless ye mean to exercise authority over me, I suggest you let go.”
Onetooth spread his hands and grinned wider.
Aaron didn’t fear the henchman. A renowned fighter, Aaron could wield a sword as deftly as anyone.
The captain let go.
“Send a thrall to fetch my cousin.”
Obviously amused, the captain’s bushy eyebrows rose. “It’s rather crowded in the stable isn’t it?”
“I care little for your conversation. Do as I command.”
Moving deliberately slow, Onetooth retreated a few steps, then rattled his sword. “Titles hold little value in this hall. Do you care to prove your headship?”
Aaron admired his opponent with a grin. He possessed the broadest set of shoulders he’d ever seen. The challenge was tempting. Felling his cousin’s champion like a great tree would win much respect. For now he needed to forget righting this wrong—it wasn’t the time for violence. Not yet.
Unable to bear the idea of giving in, Aaron sighed loudly. “Another day,” he said, and headed outside again.
The idea of bedding down on shite-stained hay was detestable; Aaron kicked the stable doors open. This disgrace deserved retaliation. The idea of usurping power from his cousin often dominated his thoughts. It did so now—relentlessly. What he’d give to command his army and bed his whores. Aaron would show less concern for his inferiors and establish himselfas a true leader. His lips tightened into a hard line.I am a laird by birthright…
A night wind howled, chilling him to the core. Pulling his tartan around his shoulders, he cursed the gaps between the wallboards, which let the cold air in. The flame in the lantern hanging on the far wall flickered. In the shadowy light, he searched the floor for a clean spot to sit down.
Sheep and goats were kept in stalls that lined both sides of the space. Vermin crawling over or biting him in his sleep made his stomach lurch. Drunk and tired, he shouldn’t care where he laid his head for the night. But after tossing and turning for over an hour, an idea came. The loft might be warmer. He grabbed the lantern, then climbed the ladder. He paused on the top rung and raised the light so he could see. It was cleaner. As he stepped up, he heard a faint sob. Setting the lantern down on a wood beam, he searched the garret. A figure wrapped in thick blankets lay on the floor, a crown of blond hair peeked over the wool.
As he moved closer, the woman’s profile became clearer. What man could forget such curves? Frida must have sensed his presence because she shifted and pulled the covers down. He rather enjoyed the unobstructed view of her well-formed calves. Able to see her tear-stained cheeks, he shook his head. Was she another victim of Tyr’s gall? Rage against his cousin simmered in his chest. Female companionship of any kind would suffice on this accursed night. Neither said anything as he halted to devour her with his gaze. Primitive passion sparked inside him. He’d been made to sleep with the animals, why shouldn’t he act like one? Would it be considered a sin to comfort a grieving woman?
He stripped off his boots and tartan, then hung his weapon belt on a hook on the nearest wall.
She didn’t object when he slipped under the blankets and spooned her. She scooted back until her arse met his crotch. Frida sighed. He liked the feel of her soft skin rubbing againsthim. Comfort comes in many forms. There was nothing selfish or intrusive about his behavior. Gritting his teeth, he groaned as she gyrated against his thigh. The idea of leaving his seed inside a woman Tyr bedded regularly invigorated him. He worked his hand between her thighs, then fingered her wet slit. He stifled a wild growl as he pierced her in one angry thrust. He bit her neck and felt the jolt of excitement travel through her body. Inflicting pain excited him. It reminded women of their inherent place—beneath him.
Painful silence deafenedTyr’s ears as he eyed Rachelle. Sadly, he didn’t completely trust her. He couldn’t. Not after she’d attempted to take her own life. The possibility of her harming herself again was very real. Something inside her had changed already. The spark in her eyes was gone, replaced by a vacant stare.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked.
She covered her face with her hands, made a strangled sound, then stared at the ceiling.
