“Did they then?” he said absently, popping the last of his bread into his mouth.
When I narrowed my eyes at him that he best go on, he swallowed his food and sighed. “From what I saw, the two got on rather well, and he frequented these parts more than usual.” Heshrugged. “Naturally, he claimed it was to visit Lachlann, but he spent ample time with her too, and I cannae say I much blamed him.” He shot me a pointed look. “Any more than you can.”
“And you chose not to tell me this?” I exclaimed, before I could stop myself, unable to keep from frowning when yet again I should not be bothered by such.
“Why would I?” he replied dryly. “Given you dislike the Norse so much and had your sights set on marrying a proper Scotswoman?” He shook his head. “And the way you two bicker? ‘Twould be a wonder if you ever found peace together, so why would I mention another man spending time with her before you two even met? Seems rather pointless.”
“Yet ‘tis not,” I said darkly. “When you know how much Gustav dislikes the Norse.”
“Just like you,” he reminded. “Yet here you are willing to marry her, and whilst you claim ‘tis only happening because your father requested it of you, I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you care for her despite her nationality.”
“And does Gustav look at her that way?” I asked, watching my friend closely, lest he not give me the truth.
“He does,” he confirmed, sighing, giving me the unvarnished truth, along with another pointed look. “More than that, he spoke often with her without bickering. Even laughed with her.”
“All behaviors that can mask true intentions,” I said, uneasy. It had been years since I last saw Gustav, so I could not speak to the man he was today. Had years of battling the Norse hardened him even more like it had me? Battling the Sassenach? Because marrying a Norsewoman was almost as bad as marrying an Englishwoman.
I was about to go on, but, unfortunately, one of the king’s messengers arrived with the last news I wanted to hear right now.
Chapter Three
-ASTRID-
After Lachlann fell asleep and Declan left, I rested my head back against the chair at Lachlann’s bedside, closed my eyes, and silently wept. My tears weren’t just over seeing Freya for what might have been the final time tonight, but over Lachlann. Nothing saddened me more than knowing such a good man and friend was going to die an untimely death. It seemed unfair. Wrong somehow.
Yet I knew it was all part of my Wyrd, or “destiny” as these Scots might call it, leading me to the man, however brutish and troubled he may be, foreseen by me and my sisters Freya and Tove, when we were children. I had known it from the moment my and Declan’s gazes first connected and my talisman warmed.
Now here he was, swearing to his father he would marry me if Lachlann died, which he would, and I could not imagine a more challenging concept. While yes, we were certainly attracted to each other, it was safe to say the feeling was purely physical. He was a difficult man with too much anger in his heart, and I could not fathom being able to heal it.
“’Twill be all right, lass,” Lachlann rumbled.
At some point, I must have dozed off because when his words stirred me awake, it was early morning and he gazed at me affectionately, like a father might his daughter. Blinking, I sat up, surprised I had fallen asleep, and looked around in confusion, expecting one of the servants to be in here tending the fire.
“’Twas you I spoke to, Astrid,” Lachlann said. “You were talking in your sleep, worried about Declan and me.” He shook his head. “I was trying to ease you without waking you.”
“’Tis all right.” I took in his improved color and brighter eyes. “You look better.” Although I knew this would be a temporary improvement, I kept it from my face. Smiling, I squeezed his hand. “’Tis truly good to see.”
“Aye, tea eased me greatly.” He squeezed my hand in return. “I cannae thank you enough.”
“Of course.” I tended to the fire, speaking to him over my shoulder. “I will head belowstairs and have some food brought up, then—”
“Nay, not yet, lass,” he said softly. “Come sit with me a moment first so that we might talk.”
“As you wish.” After the fire crackled invitingly again, I poured pre-boiled water from the pitcher into a cup, added a pinch of therapeutic herbs I had grown outside my cottage, and handed it to him. Unlike the concoction I had given him earlier, this one would not make him drowsy. “Drink this down, and we will talk all you like.”
“Aye,” he replied obediently, a bit of the old Lachlann sparkling in his eyes. “As you command, healer.”
“Ja, I do,” I said sternly, saying “yes” in my native tongue as I had when we first met, managing a small smile before voicing what else I had spoken that day. “Might I help ease your pain, m’laird?”
I first met Lachlann when he sat alone in the woodland, gripping his leg, reeling in silent pain lest anyone overhear him. Such incredible pain that his features were contorted, and he rocked back and forth. Pain he had been keeping secret from others, due to a condition that would eventually make healing impossible and cripple him. I recognized it because I had seen it in my village as a youth, so I knew it would also make him more susceptible to illness.
In this case, a plight of the lungs borne by nearly drowning.
“Nay, there is verra little pain right now,” he assured when I asked, again urging me to sit beside him. “Please, Astrid. ‘Tis important that you ken ‘twill be all right here with Declan. He will be a good husband when the time comes and love you fiercely.” Lachlann shook his head. “Of that I have no doubt.”
What had I said in my sleep? What had I revealed?
While tempted to ask, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
