Chapter 8
“I’m here to see the reeve,” Haakon announced, straightening to his full height. “I have important information regarding the little girl he’s searching for.”
“Yes. I was told you might come to visit. But I’m afraid he’s not here.” The guard posted at the door knew him and looked sorry to have to tell him as much. “We expect him back tomorrow at the earliest.”
Haakon nodded. He had been warned that this might be the case, and that in this eventuality, he should leave the message with Gytha.
“Is his daughter here? I was told to deliver the message to her if need be.”
“No. But she should be back before long.” The man looked to the menacing sky overhead. It might start to rain soon. “You can wait there if you like, in the room on the left in the corridor. It will be more comfortable and that way you won’t miss her.”
“Thank you.” Indeed, with night falling fast, it wouldn’t be long before she came back home.
As he’d been instructed, he slipped inside the room on the left—only to stop in his tracks when a familiar smell hit him.
Up until that moment he wouldn’t have been able to describe Gytha’s scent but he now could see that it was a mixture of the chest in which her clothes were kept, which appeared to be made of fragrant cypress wood, and the dried flowers hanging from the ceiling.
It was not overly feminine but oddly intoxicating.
Like her. She was not the most demure of girls, and yet… The appeal was undeniable.
Yes, this had to be Gytha’s personal room.
He had not expected to be sent here to wait for her, or that she would have a room to herself, even.
This was a rare luxury, indicating either that the family had extraordinary means or that the little minx had insisted to be given some privacy. Haakon smiled to himself.
The latter was more probable.
Slowly, he looked around. Had the guard really meant to send him here, or had he made a mistake, and indicated the wrong door?
Well, it mattered not. Haakon was now here, and he was not leaving.
He was bone tired, and he couldn’t help but feel that Gytha wouldn’t mind if he waited for her here.
Weren’t the two of them supposed to be betrothed?
His smile widened. Yes, they were, at least four people had been told about their fake betrothal by now, they might as well take advantage of the unusual situation to the full.
Besides, she would know from the fact that he worked with Wolf that he could be trusted.
At first he settled himself on the stool next to the brazier.
There, he fought to ignore the need for sleep, but he could not stop his eyes from closing and his body from slumping to the side.
After nearly falling off the stool twice, he decided to take his boots off and lie on the bed that was piled high with inviting furs.
As soon as he did, he knew he would never be able to fight the lure of sleep.
And why should he? The confrontation at the harbor had drained him of all energy.
He would feel better for taking the nap he so desperately needed, and therefore be able to explain everything more clearly.
Without further ado, he burrowed under the covers and fell into oblivion.
Haakon was awoken by a weight pressing down on him.
It took him a moment to understand where he was and what was happening. Then everything came back to him in a rush. Of course. Gytha’s personal room, Gytha’s bed, where he had fallen asleep while waiting for her.
And now he was no longer alone in it.
Only a faint glow emanated from the brazier to his right, indicating that it was the middle of the night and he had slept for far longer than he’d anticipated.
It mattered not because finally, Gytha had come back, found him in bed—and decided to lie on top of him, like the sultriest temptress.
What did that mean? Did she intend to seduce him at last?
How should he respond? His body knew what it wanted him to do, but his reason was resisting.
Was this really a good idea? Hadn’t he decided not to have anything to do with Saxon women because they only ever wanted amusement and could not commit to more?
True, thanks to her father and Wolf’s friendship, Gytha seemed more accepting and knowledgeable than most toward his people and she had just seen her best friend marrying someone from the village but was that enough to convince her to give a Norseman a real chance?
Was he ready to risk going through another disillusion?
Before he could make a decision, a foul smell reached his nostrils. Not cypress or flowers, more like sour ale. Then a voice whispered in his ear.
“Mm. Having you under me feels even better than I imagined. I can’t wait to get inside you.”
The words were slurred, the voice masculine, and now that he thought of it, the weight pushing him down into the straw mattress, far too heavy to be Gytha. There was also a hardness against the small of his back that could most definitely not belong to her or any woman.
Haakon reared up before the man who’d mistaken him for his lover could start fondling him, or get inside anything, and sent him flying off the bed in the process. There was a thud as the Saxon fell to the floor and then silence. Apparently, he’d been knocked out cold.
Using the last embers from the brazier, Haakon lit up the tallow candle he’d spotted on the table earlier and walked over to the other side of the bed. The flickering flame revealed a man in his early thirties, with dark brown hair and the shadow of a beard.
Who was he and more importantly, what was he doing here, in Gytha’s personal room? Hadn’t there been someone at the door to stop him from entering? Was the house guarded only during the day? Or had the intruder paid the guard to let him through?
That he’d been in his cups had been obvious from his speech and his smell.
So, had he made a mistake and gone to the wrong bed to find the lover waiting for him?
But no other woman than Gytha lived here.
So had he intended to come find her because he’d been imagining her in bed under him countless times?
Because, in his own admission, he wanted to get inside her?
Well, even if he had, he would not be getting anywhere near her tonight, especially in that pitiful state.
Against all odds, Haakon had been the one in bed on the night the man had chosen to act on his desire for her.
What would have happened otherwise didn’t bear thinking about.
The idea that she would have been forced sent ice down his veins and the possibility that she would have willingly opened her legs to him made his blood boil.
Haakon stared at the immobile man. What should he do with him?
Perhaps it was better to simply leave him where he was until Gytha came back. Even supposing he woke up in the meantime, he might well then turn over to his other side and sleep the sour ale off.
Deciding it was best to leave him for now, Haakon went to retrieve his boots but stopped before he could touch the first one.
There was a shuffling in the corridor. This time it could well be Gytha.
It was clear from the discreet noises that it wasn’t another drunken, stumbling oaf of a man but someone who knew the house well and did not want to disturb anyone who might be sleeping.
Haakon went to open the door, candle still in hand, and found himself face to face with Gytha, who gave a muffled scream when she saw him.
“Haakon?” Surprise caused her lovely eyes to round. “Heavens, you made me jump again. What on earth are you doing here?”
He blinked. What was he doing here?
“I came to see your father earlier, as agreed, and was told he was not home,” he finally remembered.
Gytha waited, indicating that this explanation was not sufficient.
Perhaps she had meant to ask what he was doing in her room.
He decided to ignore the question for the moment.
“I had come to tell him about what happened with the slave trader. But all that can wait right now. Here. Come and have a look.”
He took her by the arm and led her to the place where the man was still lying down. She went deathly pale when she saw him.
“Oswald,” he heard her say.
Ah. So she did know the man. Had she been expecting him also? Was she about to remonstrate with him for hurting her lover? For preventing their night of wild passion? His grip on her elbow tightened at the idea.
“Is he your lover?” he asked with more ferocity than he’d intended.
Damn, he sounded angry. And…jealous. Again.
He had a sudden vision of Gytha asking him if Rowena was his lover.
Had she felt as upset at the idea as he was?
If so, it was no wonder she had been so unreasonable.
“Sorry I sent him to the floor, knocking him out cold, but he didn’t give me any choice. He was about to assault me.”
“He’s not my lover.” Gytha said in a tone he had never heard. She sounded both incensed at the assumption and disgusted by the idea of this man going anywhere near her. She was not lying, he was not her lover. The hold around her elbow slackened. “Though he wants to be. And possibly more.”
Yes. This, Haakon had already guessed. Why else would this Oswald come to her bed in the middle of the night, talking of getting inside her?
He wanted her, but it seemed that she had not given her agreement to the scheme.
This had not been an arranged visit but an intrusion and it would have turned into an assault had she actually been in her bed.
Jealousy transformed into outrage.
“Who the fuck is he, that he knows where to find you at night?”
When she didn’t answer, he led her back outside, in the corridor, where they would be able to talk without waking the man up or being overheard. His blazing eyes made it clear he was waiting for her to start her explanation. Eventually, she did, looking ill at ease.