Chapter 8 #3
Something like panic flashed through Gytha’s eyes. She caught him by the arm before he could move and glanced back to her room. “Wait. Aren’t you going to help me with Oswald?”
Oh, now she wanted him!
“No. I already helped you and all I got for my pains were accusations about my intentions. I think you can deal with him on your own. He’s not that heavy.”
With those words, he turned around and walked to the end of the corridor. The main hall was deserted, and once again he wondered why the house was left unguarded at night. He would have to have a word with the reeve about that.
It was only when he walked through the front door and felt the damp earth on the soles of his feet that he realized he didn’t have his boots on. Damnation! Now he was going to have to go retrieve them, and watch Gytha smirk at him.
Was he destined to appear ridiculous in front of this woman? It appeared so.
For a moment, he considered leaving barefoot, then he refused to let her win. The boots were a present from Rowena. They were almost new, and fitted him well. He didn’t see why he should have to leave them behind or risk injuring himself just because of an ungrateful minx.
Slamming the door, Haakon retraced his steps and entered the corridor once more.
“You bitch!” The snarl coming from Gytha’s room froze the blood in his veins. There was the sound of a slap, then a cry, then silence.
That silence was what spurred Haakon into action. He ran to the door. The sight meeting his eyes would haunt him for weeks to come. Oswald was towering over Gytha, who was crumpled on the floor, cradling the left side of her face.
“You knocked me cold when I came to you earlier,” the man was saying. “You’re going to regret it.”
With those words he made to grab her by the hair. Everything within Haakon leaped. He ran to the man, seized him by the tunic and slammed his back against the wall before he could touch Gytha.
“She didn’t knock you unconscious, I did, you maggot,” he snarled in his face.
His whole body was trembling with anger.
Never in his life had he been more furious.
“And I’m going to do it again. Only I might not stop there this time.
I might slice your throat while you lie on the floor like the limp sack of shit you are.
Or I might stick something you don’t want up your—”
“Please! Have mercy.” Oswald could hardly talk.
“Why should I? Isn’t that what you meant to do to Gytha, just because you happen to be stronger, get inside her?
Well, I’m stronger than you and I might want to amuse myself with your body, make it mine regardless of what you think.
How would you like that? Or would you prefer to be awake so you could feel everything? Pain, is that what you like?”
The man only whimpered.
Haakon could not stand his pathetic sounds a moment longer. He raised his fist. For the second time that day, Oswald was knocked cold. Only this time, it was on purpose and Haakon seriously considered inflicting further damage.
Only the fact that Gytha was in the room with him prevented him from giving the man what he deserved. The last thing he wanted was to show her the worst side of himself.
“Come. We need to leave.”
He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the hall.
Neither of them wanted to see Oswald’s prone body for a moment longer.
He took her as far away from her room as possible, and sat on the mighty chair at the end of the equally massive table.
She felt so small in his embrace, almost like a child. He never wanted to let go of her.
“Wait, let me look at you,” he said after a while, drawing back so he could examine her. How badly had she been hurt?
She wasn’t bleeding, he was relieved to see, but her whole left cheek was red, and a purple shadow had already formed on the cheekbone. There would be a bad bruise, pain and discomfort that would linger longer than he wished to consider.
Anger sent white-hot shards to the base of his skull.
“Did he hit you anywhere else?” He had not left her alone for very long, so he didn’t think so, but he had to make sure.
She shook her head and nestled back against his chest without a word.
“You came back,” she whispered, while he cradled her in his lap.
“Yes. Fuck, Gytha, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
What had possessed him to leave her alone with a man intent on raping her?
Had he had his boots on, he would have walked out of the house and not looked back, effectively washing his hands of her.
She had asked for his help in dealing with Oswald, but fool that he was, he’d thought she was worried about not being strong enough to move the body out of the room.
In reality, she had been thinking of what her attacker would do when he woke up.
He should have thought of that as well, instead of assuming the man would simply sleep his ale off.
Indeed, Oswald had woken up while they were arguing and he had pounced at the first opportunity.
It was all his fault, but Gytha didn’t seem to see it that way.
“It’s all right,” she said, burrowing further into his embrace. “You came back for me, it is all that matters.”
Guilt burned a hole in Haakon’s chest. Should he tell her the truth? At the moment she thought him a good man, who’d realized he’d made a mistake and had come back to make amends. He was not a good man. He’d only come back because he’d not wanted to ride home barefoot.
“I came back to get the boots and socks I had left in your room.”
Gytha stilled and then looked at his bare feet.
When her gaze met his again he thought she was smiling.
But that couldn’t be right. He had just admitted to being a selfish and uncaring bastard, how could she be smiling?
She should be screaming at him, push at his chest, demand he left on the instant, boots or no boots.
“Why did you tell me this, instead of allowing me to think you my savior?” she asked instead.
“Because I’m not a hero. I’m just an insensitive bast—”
“Perhaps we might agree on ‘idiot,’” she cut in before he could utter the rude word. “But you’re not so bad as all that. You’re honest, at least. You could have stayed silent and allowed me to think you’d run back to my rescue.”
“I could have. Which would have made me a coward as well as an insensitive bastard.” He would insist on the truth and not settle on “idiot.”
They looked at one another for a few, tension-filled heartbeats. And then—then he kissed her.
But only because she kissed him first.
Had Gytha not placed her lips on his, Haakon knew he would never have dared touch her, not after failing her so spectacularly. He didn’t feel he deserved her forgiveness or her passion. But she had left him no choice, thanks be to the gods.
Her lips were as soft and sweet as he remembered from their first kiss, but the rest was different.
Her tongue was more daring, her hands didn’t just grab at his tunic, they roamed all over his chest, and her scorching hot buttocks started to grind against his straining groin.
The response she provoked in him was nothing short of scandalous.
Indeed, this was nothing like their first kiss.
As hot as it had been, it had been for Alberic’s sake.
This one was for them only. They didn’t have to kiss in the first place. They didn’t have to pretend they enjoyed it or prove anything to anyone. They simply had to let their bodies absorb what they felt, which they did.
When Gytha moaned into his mouth a moment later, Haakon stilled. In his frenzy, had he hurt her? She had been hit not so long ago, what the hell was he doing?
With two hands at her waist, he forced her to still, and then he drew away.
“Gytha, stop. You’re hurt.” He really was an insensitive bastard. Here he was, devouring her moments after she’d been attacked. Her lovely face was already showing signs of a bruise, just as he’d feared. He brought his forehead in contact with hers, guilt quickly returning.
“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, covering his hands with hers.
No, he didn’t want to stop either, not when he was harder than a forged sword. But he had to.
“Saxon,” he growled, his mouth at her throat. “If we don’t stop right now I’m going to rip your clothes off and impale you on my cock.”
He froze when the shocking words escaped his mouth. Really, what was wrong with him? How could he speak to her so crudely? It was bad enough that he had thought those words, how could he have uttered them out loud?
Instead of slapping him, and storming out of the room, as she should, Gytha let out a shaky breath. “Why do I love it so much when you call me ‘Saxon’?”
He had no idea. Perhaps because, in spite of his resolve not to have anything to do with Saxon women, his deeply ingrained desire for them shone through when he used the word.
But was that all she had to say? Had she not heard the part about him ripping her clothes off and impaling her on his waiting cock?
Wasn’t she shocked, or at the very least wary of what he might do?
In that moment he sounded, and probably looked, like a man demented with lust.
And yet he could not act on it, not now.
“We cannot do this.”
They could not, for so many reasons. Aside from the odd relationship between them—which, admittedly, had been forgotten for a wild moment—and the fact that she had just been attacked, it was now broad daylight.
They were in the middle of the main hall.
The risk of someone, or even worse, her father, walking in on them, was too great.
And, of course, Oswald was still in the next room.
Before anything else, he had to be dealt with.
“I know,” Gytha said.
Was that regret in her voice? Perhaps, but he decided not to dwell on it. Haakon stood up, panting hard, making sure not to look at her.
“Stay here. I’m going to see what’s happening with our friend.”