Chapter 2 #2
The Norseman’s unexpected support had ensured that Eadhild had not suffered any immediate punishment but all was not over yet.
Alberic was glaring at her, suspicion gleaming in his black eyes.
She could tell he did not quite believe she was betrothed to the blond man by her side, who looked as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be here.
He would start interrogating his daughter as soon as they were home.
Under pressure, her friend would never stand her ground.
And then she would be punished, not only for lying but also for choosing to be with Halfdan.
Gytha could not allow any of this to happen.
For Eadhild’s safety, her father had to accept they had really gone to the village for Gytha’s benefit. Following her instinct, she wrapped her arms about the Norseman’s waist to draw him close to her.
At first she felt him tense. Understandably, the move had taken him by surprise.
They were worse than strangers, they were strangers who had started on the wrong foot.
In a moment, he would push at her chest and ask what the hell she was doing.
This would not do. They were supposed to be betrothed, there was nothing odd in the fact that she would press herself against him to say goodbye, or even that he kissed her.
Yes, that was the solution. After witnessing a kiss, Alberic would not doubt she’d gone to the village to see him, dragging Eadhild with her.
She turned to place herself straight in front of the man.
“Kiss me.” She spoke against his throat, low enough that they could not be overheard above the din of the passing traffic. “Please.”
This was decidedly odd. When had she begged a man to kiss her before? Never. Nor had she thought she ever would. Yet here she was, begging this man she had met only a few moments ago, to kiss her and possibly even… Yes, even looking forward to it.
He made no move to lean in.
“Please. Eadhild’s father is watching. He really needs to believe we went to the village to see you.”
To her relief, after one last hesitation, he complied. His hands clamped around her waist and he gave a masculine growl before dipping his head and crushing his mouth over hers.
Lord, she had asked to be kissed, not to be…kissed. Gytha felt like a woman who had asked for a sip of ale only to then be pushed into the vat headfirst. The Norseman did not merely place his lips over hers, he used his teeth to nibble at her, his tongue to take possession of her mouth.
He devoured her.
And yet there was nothing aggressive in his actions.
This was a seduction, not an assault. It was as if he were incapable of doing anything else, even while pretending.
And why should he? In all probability, the only women he had kissed had been the ones he intended to woo.
Why would he have learned to do anything other than give them pleasure with his kisses?
After what felt like an eternity of bliss, he drew back and bit his bottom lip, desire flashing in his hypnotizing blue eyes.
“Happy now, Saxon?”
She could not be anything other than happy.
Her aim had been achieved. After such a masterful demonstration, no one could have doubted the two of them were madly in lust with each other, if not quite in love just yet.
Surely it would be enough to convince Alberic that his daughter had not lied.
She certainly hoped so. The point of the kiss had been to convince him, not to feel heat swamp her body from the base of her skull to the tip of her toes.
“Yes. Happy. Thank you.”
This whole exchange was so formal it was ridiculous.
She had begged him for a kiss and now she was thanking him for having complied.
Because they were so close, she heard him scoff.
So he agreed that everything about this was ridiculous.
And yet he was still holding her, like a man loath to let her go.
Against her stomach she could feel the proof that the kiss had stirred the same desire in him as it had in her.
The reason for the kiss might have been invented by Eadhild, but the sensations it had provoked in them had been all too real.
“Come. I haven’t got all day!” Alberic called out.
“Can’t a man say goodbye to his sweetheart properly?” the Norseman growled, letting go of her at last.
Gytha shivered. He sounded just as annoyed at being denied his pleasure as a real suitor would be. Perfect. Her gaze met that of Eadhild’s. There were a dozen questions swirling in her friend’s eyes.
Questions she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.
“There’s just one last thing.”
Haakon’s ears pricked at this.
For the last few months, he and his father’s friend, Wolf, the village leader, had worked together to try and discover the whereabouts of a young Saxon who had disappeared following the burning of the farm where she had been brought by the stepfather who didn’t want her.
The girl’s mother, who’d been forced to give her up, had found the courage to leave the vile man and was now trying to get her back.
But it was proving a more difficult endeavor than they had hoped.
Knowing he would need help, the Icelander had reached out to him a few days after the woman had arrived in the village.
“My sons would normally help, but they are busy with their families at present. Steinar is not even here, he’s taken Ulf to yet another fair.
Torsten is looking after his young daughter now that Aife is expecting again, and Sven’s wife is suffering from a nasty cold which is keeping her in bed,” he’d explained.
“So, I thought of you. I’m not as young as I once was, and could do with someone dependable and clever to go places in my stead. ”
Haakon had been flattered by this proof of trust. To be called dependable and clever by the village leader was no small honor and he’d instantly agreed. It was not as if he had anything better to do anyway, and Matilda’s plight had moved him. If he could help retrieve her daughter, he would.
Weeks of investigation had finally allowed them to find the whereabouts of little Osberga.
Unfortunately, the news was far from reassuring.
Following the farm’s destruction, she, along with a dozen other young children, had been sold to a slave trader.
It was Wolf’s wife, Merewen, who had first put the idea to investigate this possibility into their heads, having once been sold to one such individual by a man determined to make her disappear.
This was actually how she had met her husband.
Moved by her beauty and courage, the Icelander had bought her to spare her a life of misery.
“It would seem the perfect way for the farmers to get rid of the burden the children represented and make good money at the same time,” she’d told them one evening. “A visit to the slave traders in the area cannot hurt, I think.”
The men had agreed that this was worth considering.
The following morning they had submitted this idea to the reeve in town.
The Saxon was a good man who had helped Wolf and his sons on many occasions and could be trusted to use the means at his disposal to make the investigation progress.
Another few weeks and the three of them had found the slave trader who had received a delivery, for want of a better word, of young children two months prior. Among them had indeed been Osberga.
Of course, by then, the little girl, along with all her unfortunate companions, had been bought.
The two Norsemen had agonized whether to tell Matilda what they had found out.
In the end they had, assuring her they wouldn’t stop there.
One way or the other, the slave trader would be made to talk and reveal who the buyer had been and where he had taken the little girl.
That was why the reeve had come today, to tell them he’d finally managed to locate the man who’d bought Osberga, a merchant living in the next town.
It was good news, even if it didn’t necessarily mean the search would have a good result.
The bastard who had bought the child could have inflicted all sorts of ill treatments on her.
And now the reeve seemed to say that there was one last issue to be discussed. Haakon braced himself. It would be awful to be told now that the poor girl had died at the hands of the merchant and all hope was lost.
“What is that one last thing, Elstan?” Wolf asked, pouring everyone a drink of mead. He didn’t seem worried. Apparently, he had understood from his friend’s tone that this last piece of information would have nothing to do with Osberga.
Haakon allowed himself to relax and take a drink from his mead.
At the first sip, he recognized it as Eirik’s.
No one made the honeyed drink quite like he did.
He should know, for he had tried many times to reproduce it, without ever coming close to this result.
It was strong but subtle, sweet and floral, without being sickly. Delicious.
The reeve evidently agreed that this was a superior beverage. He took a moment to savor a few sips before answering. “Well, my neighbor told me the oddest thing today. He told me that my youngest daughter Gytha was set to marry one of your sons.”
Haakon stilled, his cup poised to his lips. How could that be? Steinar, Torsten and Sven were all happily married with babies on the way or newly born. They were certainly not about to marry anyone.
“Interesting. I’m curious as to what their wives would have to say about that.” Wolf sounded mightily amused, and not in the least worried that this might be a potential problem. “Did you perchance ask your daughter which one of my sons she was to marry?”