Chapter 8
Ashout, then a thud, followed by another shout and a grunt.
Abandoning the pot she had just placed over the fire to boil, Merewen ran outside and came to a skidding halt when she saw Wolf throw a man over his shoulder with a supple twist of his body.
The man landed on his back with sickening force and did not even try to get up.
Her heart started to beat wildly. What was happening? Was the village under attack?
No. With her mind calmer, she recognized the red-haired man groaning on the floor as one of the villagers she had seen milling around before. This was not an attack, but a private disagreement, nothing more.
Wolf snarled something to the man and turned his back to him, evidently considering that the matter was closed.
Merewen watched him walk toward her with smoldering intent.
Without knowing quite why, she had the feeling that the fight had been over her.
She was therefore not surprised when Wolf ordered her back inside the hut, as if to get her out of sight.
What neither of them anticipated was that a second man would want to avenge his friend’s honor.
As he reached Merewen, Wolf saw a movement in the corner of his eye.
He turned his head just in time to see someone coming at him armed with, of all things, a plank of wood.
There was no time to think. By now he was so close to Merewen that the fool might well hit her as well as him when he wielded his makeshift weapon.
He placed himself in front of her, offering his back to the man, shielding her with his body.
The pain exploding in his shoulder blade was like nothing he had ever experienced. It was a slap and a burn all at once, and he felt dozens of tiny and not so tiny splinters embed themselves in his flesh, their bite as sharp as if they had been made of iron.
Not giving the man time to swing his weapon again, he sent him reeling with a kick that shattered the plank into a thousand shards, then floored him with a neat blow to the chin.
There, that should do it.
“If you both go back home now we will hear no more of this,” he barked in Norse, standing over the two men lying at his feet. “And if you even look at her, then you will have me to contend with, and I will certainly not arm myself with a plank of wood. Am I making myself clear?”
A nod was all the answer he got.
“Let’s go back in,” he growled, taking Merewen by the arm.
For once, she followed without a word of protest.
“What was that all about?” she asked once the door was closed.
Wolf shook his head and took a moment to quell his towering rage.
He would not tell Merewen why he had lunged at Rolf.
Overhearing the two men discuss what they would like to do to such a fine woman had sent him blind with fury.
Still, he might have left it at that if the fools had not then added that it would not be long before he tired of her and then they would take their turn with her.
He’d burst in on them before he could even draw a breath, wishing he was already married to her.
No one in their right mind would dare touch a woman he had claimed for himself.
With each passing day it was becoming more and more imperative that they marry.
It would be the only way to protect her from all sorts of dangers.
“’Tis nothing, just drunken idiots boasting to each other and looking for trouble,” he grumbled. “Rolf had it coming. He cannot hold his tongue.”
He rolled his shoulder. The whole right side of his body ached, testimony to the force of the blow he had received.
“You will need to remove those shards,” Merewen told him, frowning.
“How? I can’t see and I can barely reach,” he growled, pain making him even angrier.
“No, but I can.”
He stared at her in incredulity. “You would offer to do that?”
“I wouldn’t offer, I am offering it,” she answered roundly. “I cannot help but feel that the fight had something to do with me and after all, if you had not stepped in front of me those same shards might well have ended up on my face. It’s only fair I should help you remove them.”
Wolf was surprised by her willingness to help him and her insight.
How had she guessed that she had been the cause of the fight?
He had made a point of talking in his language so she didn’t understand.
And why was she not appalled by his inability to handle the disagreement with Rolf without resorting to his fists?
She had just seen him fight him like a man possessed.
Wouldn’t she think him unforgivably violent? He hoped not.
When he reached out to stroke her cheek, he could tell that the tenderness of the gesture disconcerted her but at least she didn’t pull away.
“Yes, the fool might well have hit you,” he said in a low voice. “So I cannot regret taking the blow.”
“I…” She seemed at a loss for words for once.
“You can thank me for defending you, you know,” he told her slowly. “It is allowed.”
“I know,” she answered just as slowly.
Wolf bared his teeth when she stayed silent. Evidently the stubborn little minx would not stoop so low as to thank the man who had bought her for any reason… “Never mind. You can show your gratitude by removing these wretched shards out of me.”
Heart in her throat, Merewen watched Wolf take off both his tunic and undershirt in one fluid motion.
She knew he was a big man but nothing had prepared her for seeing him bare-chested.
The only other man she had seen thus was her brother, and Leofric had been a sickly youth, barely on the cusp manhood, not a warrior in his prime.
This man was nothing short of breathtaking.
Short blond hairs shone like a dusting of gold on stone, covering a chest that was rippling with muscles and sculpted to perfection.
This was a chest meant to be admired, stroked and kissed.
And she wanted to be the one doing it, could be the one doing it, if she agreed to his offer.
With one last tug he freed himself of his undershirt and winced when the movement drew most of the pieces of wood out with it.
“Careful!” she cried out, shaken out of her awe-struck contemplation by the sight in front of her.
In contrast to his perfect chest, his back was stained with blood and splinters were sticking out of his flesh.
Merewen shivered. Had Wolf not shielded her from the blow the man might well have caught her with the plank and she would never have been able to withstand such a blow.
Not only would the wood have ripped her cheek open but she would probably have fallen to the floor and injured herself.
Wolf had not hesitated, not given his own safety any thought, he had stepped between her and the man in the blink of an eye, enveloping her so completely that she hadn’t had time to be afraid or feel a thing.
“You don’t want to leave some splinters inside when you remove the shards!” she said in a breath as he threw his clothes to the floor.
“I told you. I cannot see!” he growled, glancing over his shoulder— and making her all but gasp when the movement caused the muscles on his taut stomach to twist and stretch. Her insides rippled, mirroring the movement.
Oh, Lord… Why couldn’t the man have struck him on the leg instead?
She could not imagine being half as affected by the sight of his calf than she was by the honey-colored chest. She shook her head.
What was she thinking! If he had been hurt on the leg then he would have had to remove his braies and that would be even worse!
She would just have to take a deep breath and do what she had just volunteered to do.
“Well, I can see where the splinters are,” she said firmly, focusing on the task at hand. “So let me take them out.”
“Are you not going to swoon?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Swoon? No. It is not as if I had to sew a bleeding, jagged wound!”
“I was not talking about my injuries,” he clarified, before glancing down at his naked torso. “Only, you seemed quite overwhelmed for a moment.”
Oh, the wretched man! He had seen her reaction to his nakedness and he was enjoying teasing her!
Without a word, she went to the basket by the window and turned to face him, pliers in hand. They could be used to prize the finer shards of wood from his flesh.
“Sit while I put these in boiling water,” she ordered crossly. He would not be allowed to amuse himself at her expense for a moment longer. “And once I start working, do not move a muscle or I might hurt you. Unintentionally, you understand.”
“Of course,” he agreed, sitting down on the stool. “Completely unintentionally.”
Well. Wolf allowed himself a smile. His first impression of the Saxon girl had been proven right a hundred times over.
She truly was impossible.
Impossibly intriguing. With each passing moment he was discovering something else he liked about her. She was not only brave, passionate, and clever, but she was willing to help and she had a ready sense of humor.
He would be looking a long time to find a more suitable wife, or one who would appeal to his senses more.
“I’m all yours,” he drawled, knowing she would understand the double entendre.
She did, as her next comment proved. “You really are determined to have me accept your offer, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Nothing, even your outrageous claim that you are married, will stop me. Doesn’t that tell you I can be determined?”
She sighed. “Mayhap your friends should start calling you Bull instead of Wolf.”
“Mayhap. It’s a thought…” Wolf stroked his chin pensively.
“Why me?” Merewen sounded slightly breathless but she couldn’t help it, not when his bicep bulged and the muscles on his forearm twisted so. “Why would you want to marry me, a stranger you bought and who refuses you when surely you can have all the women you want?”
“Ah, don’t let poor Sigurd hear you. You will break his heart!”