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He did nothing to hide the regret in his voice. “Not long enough. I am on the king’s errand to gather information. Only two hours ago, I stumbled upon a Viking encampment just outside town. I recognized Rangvald immediately, and when he and his underlings set off for town, I followed.” Brecc’s jaw tightened. “I should have stayed closer. He was already harrying you by the time I reached the square, and had it not been for the fishmonger’s timely response, there’s no accounting for what I might have done.”
“The Vikings will seek revenge for what he did.”
“Rangvald has far more interest in you than in the local fishmonger. I wager that if the fellow avoids the market for a week or two, the target of the Vikings’ ire will move to another.”
“I do not know how to thank him.”
“I imagine your fleet-footed escape gave him a great deal of satisfaction. I was hard-pressed to reach the head of the lane before you entered it.”
“But he lost all his fish.”
“Aye.” Brecc fought to keep his anger at Rangvald’s blatant lasciviousness at bay. “But he undoubtedly knew that you were at risk of losing far more.”
As soon as the words were spoken, he regretted them. Fear—raw and real—filled her eyes, and her gaze darted to the lane. “Are the Vikings truly gone? How did they not see you?”
He gestured to the unpretentious implement leaning against the nearby wall. “They saw only a simpleton wielding a broom outside his house and left even more irritated than when they arrived.”
She released an unsteady breath. “You have not told me why it is that you are dressed as a peasant.”
“The king has determined that, for now, it is best that he and his men be not readily identified.”
“The king is well, then?”
He offered her the ghost of a smile. “He is.”
“And the queen?”
“She, too, is safe and well.”
Aisley smiled, and Brecc’s heart warmed at the sight. “I am glad to hear it. The last few weeks must have been a terrible ordeal for her. May it not be long before she and the king can safely leave their island sanctuary.”
He froze. “You know of the island?”
“The fishmonger heard word that the king had taken refuge on an island and shared the news with the townspeople. It was just enough to give us hope.”
Brecc pondered her words. The king’s impressions had been correct. If such token information—little more than an inkling that the king still lived and had not fled the country—offered vital hope to his people, how much greater would be the impact on Saxon morale when those same individuals heard news of gathering warriors and successful raids on Viking encampments?
“Were the rumors correct?” she asked.
“Close enough,” he said.
There was a moment of silence, and when he did not continue, she offered an understanding nod. “I . . . I prayed that you were there with him. That you had survived the attack at Chippenham unharmed.”
Her stunning, guileless eyes met his, and he felt his resistance falter. He drew her closer. “Not knowing what happened to you after you left the great hall that evening has been more torturous than I could ever have imagined.” He shook his head. “And yet, notwithstanding how difficult it was then and how much I wish it were otherwise now, I must leave you straightway. It is imperative that the king learn about the Vikings’ presence outside Trowbridge before Rangvald’s men fully unleash themselves on the town.”
“I know,” she whispered, moisture shining in her eyes. “But at least I have seen you, have spoken with you, and know that you are well.”
“And I, you,” he said. “But if you are to remain safe, you must not leave your home alone again. Not with the Viking encampment so near and Rangvald so intent upon speaking with you.”
She trembled, the memory of her recent escape still fresh.
Releasing her hand, he wrapped his arms around her. Without a word, her arms circled his waist, and she laid her head on his chest. He held her close, her long tresses flowing softly across his arm. “I must know that you are protected, Aisley.”
“You have nothing to fear,” she said, raising her eyes to his. “After today’s encounter, I have no desire whatsoever to return to the market.”
He searched her face, recognizing the earnestness there. Then his gaze shifted to her lips. As much as he desired it, he should not kiss her again. Chivalry demanded that of him. Until the king was restored to his throne, Brecc could offer her nothing more than friendship. He took a fortifying breath. Instantly, her unique scent of wildflowers mingled with herbs assailed his senses, bringing with it a fresh flood of memories: the compassion she’d manifest when she’d used her plants to create a remedy for Rheged, the joy on her face when she’d shown him the cowslip she’d picked. Gratitude for her goodness overwhelmed him, and before another thought—chivalrous, sensible, or otherwise—could form, he lowered his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.
Slowly, reluctantly, he released her and took a small step back. He must go now, before it became even harder. “If you ever need me,” he whispered, “send word to Athelney, and I will come.”
