Chapter 11
Wolf found Merewen almost buried under the covers.
Clenching his jaw, he went to put a pot of water to boil.
He did not fear being overwhelmed by desire for her when attending to the injuries she had sustained during an attack, even if she was all but naked, but seeing the proof of the viciousness of the man was sure to send him into a blinding rage and he did not want to frighten her or add to her distress by glowering like a madman.
Mercifully, as she had her back to him she would not see the traces on his fury on his face.
“Can I start now?” he asked once the water had reached a pleasant temperature.
“Yes.” He took a clean piece of cloth, the pliers she had used on him the other day and placed them next to the pallet, feeling oddly intimidated.
Though he had touched her much more intimately once before, it felt different, much more significant.
She had been little more than a stranger back then, if a very alluring one.
Now she was Merewen, the woman he had married and toward whom he had come to feel… He shook his head.
What had he come to feel toward her exactly? He had just told her that in her he hoped to find a wife to cherish but that still did not mean much.
It was not the moment to start pondering on such important questions, however, right now she was waiting for him to tend to her injuries.
“Can I uncover you?”
His voice was hoarse, his hands trembled like those of an untried youth about to see his first conquest naked. He could not remember being half as nervous then or even since, with any of the women he had bedded. He had to master himself before Merewen started to wonder what was wrong with him.
When she nodded her agreement, he peeled the covers to reveal her back. Just as he had feared, it was streaked with blood, peppered with small pebbles embedded into her skin. Anger blazed through him and he let out a small grunt.
“Is it that bad?” she asked in a voice that tugged at his heart. He hadn’t meant to worry her.
“I will clean it,” he said instead of answering. Yes, it was that bad, to him at least. A single scratch, a single drop of blood would have been one too many for him to accept. No woman deserved to be treated thus, and a woman under his protection should have been safe from harm.
Dipping the cloth in the warm water, he started to wash the dirt and blood away so he could see just how many stones he would have to extract from her flesh.
He forced himself to ignore how shapely her body was, with its narrow waist and flaring hips ready for a man’s hand, how smooth and creamy her skin appeared to be under the grime but he could not quite do it.
It was as impossible as finding oneself outside at dawn and not marveling at the beauty of the rising sun.
Despite his best intentions, Wolf’s groin tightened further with each passing moment.
Never had he seen anything as sensual as the curve of Merewen’s spine.
As to the beauty spot on the swell of her right buttock, it had undoubtedly been placed there by the gods with the express purpose of sending him mad with longing.
The thought crossed his mind that he might well be the first man to see it, or even the first person.
He was not sure Merewen herself knew she was graced with such an erotic mark.
What would he not give to be allowed to kiss it night after night as they lay in bed, naked and sated from passionate lovemaking…
Well, so much for not getting aroused, he thought ruefully.
Slowly, he brushed the cloth over her back, careful not to catch the biggest scratches as he did so. Little by little all the blood was wiped away.
Merewen lay still as a statue while Wolf washed her, remembering how arousing she had found it to tend to his injuries the other day.
Dare she hope that he was finding it as arousing as she had found it to see and touch her naked back?
But, of course, he would not. Her skin was not burnished bronze like his, there were no muscles under it making it ripple and after her ordeal she probably smelled worse than a farm animal.
Still, he was stroking her so gently that she could almost forget about it all and feel precious.
“It’s clean now. Was it not too painful?” he asked slowly.
“No.” Merewen could tell how careful he was being and she relished his caresses. If only she could remain here forever, being tended to by a man who treated her as if she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen!
“I’m afraid you will end up being just as bruised as I am,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.
“It’s all right,” she answered. “I can live with a few bruises.”
But I’m not sure how I can handle the memory of a man forcing himself on me.
A knock on the door prevented her from saying this out loud. Through the wood came a sentence, spoken in Norse.
“Can I let Sigurd in?” Wolf asked, covering her back. “He has brought you a potion from old Helga, the village healer. I asked her to prepare it for you, to help with the pain.”
Though in truth, she was not in any real pain, Merewen nodded, touched that he would have gone to so much trouble for her. “Let him in.”
A moment later, Sigurd walked in, carrying a vial. He avoided looking at her, she noticed, as if he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable while she was in bed. Wolf took the potion from his friend and poured some of it into a cup he handed out to her.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting it.
While she sipped the drink, the two men started talking together in hushed tones.
Merewen assumed they were discussing the attack and she was grateful for their discretion because she did not wish to hear anything about the man who had pounced on her.
After a moment she stopped trying to hear her name and just closed her eyes, feeling both refreshed by Wolf’s cleaning and soothed by the woman’s potion.
The raspy, slightly rugged sounds of the foreign language washed over her, lulling her into sleep.
As he talked, Wolf looked at Merewen. She had gone utterly still.
Had she fallen asleep? Her hair was fanned over her shoulders in a river of flaming copper.
He ached to sink his fingers into it, and feel it flow like water under his touch.
He could not detach his eyes from her, imagining the shapely back, the sensual hips and that damn beauty spot!
Could Sigurd tell she was naked under the furs?
Probably. One of her shoulders was peeking from under the covers, clear proof that she was not wearing anything.
“Thank you for the potion,” he told his friend, as an unexpected pang of jealousy invaded him. He didn’t want anyone to see or even imagine his wife naked. She was his, and his alone. “You can leave now.”
Sigurd cocked his head at the sharp command but left without a word. Once he was gone, Wolf leaned in to speak into Merewen’s ear.
“Sleep, little one,” he murmured, not knowing whether she was awake or not.
“Am I so little?” was her somewhat slurred answer.
“You are to me.”
“That’s only because you are such a big brute of a man.”
“Is that so?” A smile threatened to break through.
“Yes. A big, hulking brute. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed!”
He understood that old Helga would have put some herbs in the drink to calm Merewen’s anxiety as well as her pain and send her to sleep.
Would she have called him a big hulking brute otherwise?
Mayhap. His wife was not exactly the shy sort, after all.
The smile he had been fighting bloomed on his lips.
She had never sounded so calm and happy before, so at ease with him. It was wonderful.
“What else am I? Please tell me.” He was not going to let this opportunity pass.
She sighed. “Many things. Too many things, and not all of them bad, unfortunately.”
This time Wolf chuckled outright. “You can’t know how flattered I am to hear this.”
“And I like the way you laugh. You sound like a little boy.”
“A little boy? You just told me I was a big brute.”
“Well… Maybe not so big, and definitely not a brute,” she mumbled. “I feel sleepy.”
“Then go to sleep, there is nothing better for you to do,” he answered, before doing what he had been itching to do all along.
He buried his fingers into her glorious hair and heard her sigh of contentment when he started to massage her scalp.
So soft… “Sleep, little one,” he repeated, enjoying the intimacy of having a special name for her and being allowed to murmur into her ear while stroking her hair. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
As he watched her sleep, something swelled within him. Once again he was kneeling down next to her while she was barely conscious, like that night in the pig sty. What if she started to stroke herself in her sleep? Would he resist the temptation of taking her?
Then she placed a balled fist next to her face and he had his answer. Yes, he would be able to resist, because everything had changed between them.
That night, lust had blazed through him.
But now he was overcome by something else, something altogether deeper, something he was afraid to identify.
So many things had changed since that night.
They were married and he was desperate to make Merewen see they could have a satisfying marriage.
He needed to earn her trust, now more than ever.
He had promised to wait until he bedded her and he would keep his word, however much it cost him.
The only thing he would do if she started to pleasure herself was make sure she got as much satisfaction as she could get before wrapping her into his arms and watching her sleep.