Chapter 7
“Where’s your brother?” Steinar asked his eldest son, a frown creasing his brow.
Upon waking up, he had found the little boy’s pallet empty. But as, thankfully, Rothgar had gone back to sleeping as well as he always did, he should be in his bed at this hour. So where had he gone?
Though worry had spiked through him, Steinar fought to remain calm. He’d been irritable those last two days. He had no idea why that might be. but it didn’t help him react sensibly when he saw that his son was missing.
“Where is Rothgar?” he repeated, eyes narrowing. It seemed obvious from the way Ulf was avoiding his gaze that he was hiding something from him.
“I… I think he might have gone to the tree house.”
Steinar relaxed. So what if he had? Going to play wasn’t forbidden, even if it was early to have left the hut. But he’d dreaded to hear much worse.
“The tree house,” he said in a breath, relief washing through him.
He’d been getting himself agitated for nothing.
He really had to calm down, understand what was bothering him and start behaving in a manner he could be proud of.
Hadn’t he thought only the other day that, now that he was free from his late wife’s hold over his life, he could start being himself again? It was time to start.
“He’s only little,” Ulf carried on. “It’s not his fault he misses Moeir so much.”
“Of course, it’s normal. I never said it wasn’t.”
Why did the boy think he would be angry at Rothgar for missing his mother—or going to the tree house, for that matter?
Steinar knew all too well that his son missed Astrid.
Had he not gone to nestle in Cwenthryth’s arms the other night for that very reason, because he’d needed to cuddle in a woman’s warmth?
As much as he would have liked to comfort the boy, feminine softness was not something he, his father, could offer him.
Realization hit.
Suddenly he had a very good idea why Rothgar might have gone to the tree house in the middle of the night—and why Ulf might be reluctant to admit to it.
He also saw with clarity why he had not felt himself these last few days.
Because his mind was full of Cwenthryth.
Full of images of her lying on the pallet like a Saxon goddess of sensuality trying to lure weak mortals like him into her arms.
It was time to put an end to it.
“Stay here,” he instructed his son.
Determined to see if his gut feeling was correct, Steinar stormed out the door.
Just as he reached the oak at the edge of the forest, he saw Rothgar place his foot on the top rung of the ladder hanging from the tree house.
In his fist was a scrap of cloth tied in knots so as to resemble an animal—a rabbit, if the long ears were to be trusted.
Cwenthryth.
It made no doubt that she was the one who’d created the animal, just like it made no doubt she was sleeping in the hut, despite him having sent her away two days ago.
Would he never be rid of the woman? No matter how many times he’d asked her to go, it seemed she was still here in the village.
Steinar gritted his teeth as he watched his son descend the ladder.
When he saw who was waiting for him at the bottom, the little boy’s eyes went wide as cartwheels, betraying both guilt and alarm.
“Faeir?”
“Go inside the hut and stay with Ulf. We’ll talk later.”
“Please, don’t be angry at me.”
“I’m not,” Steinar replied curtly.
And he wasn’t. Rothgar had not done anything wrong. He missed his mother, that was all. No, his anger was directed at another person, one who shamelessly exploited this weakness for her own benefit.
He grabbed the rope ladder and hoisted himself up.
“I knew you’d want another anim—”
Cwenthryth froze, the knotted fox in her hand. Appearing in the doorway, blocking all the light was not Rothgar, back for another rag pet, but his father. His formidable, even more furious than usual father.
“I don’t want any of your damned animals,” he snarled, coming forward with all the deadly intent of a predator. “Or anything else from you.”
“Steinar.”
His name escaped her lips with what little breath had not yet been stolen by dread. But really, it would have been a miracle not to be impressed. No man had ever looked more menacing than he did in that moment.
“Yes, Steinar. Why do you look so surprised? Had you forgotten I existed? Had you forgotten I asked you to leave?”
“No.” How could she, when she knew she had nowhere safe to go? “But I—”
“You thought to use my sons against me, is that it? You forced them to choose a camp, no doubt with the promise of those bloody flat cakes or more of your pathetic, limp animals!” He gestured at the rags Rothgar had found for her with as much distaste as if they had been soaked in pig’s urine.
“You thought that if they begged me to let you stay, I’d not be able to resist and would eventually agree. ”
Her hold on the little fox tightened, as if in search of support. “No, I swear, I didn’t do any of that. They were the ones who suggested—”
“Well, let me tell you, it’s not going to work.”
She’d never thought it would, because she’d never thought to take advantage of the sweet little boys’ good nature.
She had been desperate, and they had offered her a solution she had gratefully taken.
But she had known it could only be temporary.
In fact, she had made up her mind to leave today, before she was found out.
Well, too late for that.
Cwenthryth placed the rag fox on one of the stools hoping Rothgar would find once she was gone. “Please, Steinar, don’t be angry at the boys, don’t punish them. They only thought to help me.”
“Help you. So you’re sticking to your story, even after all I’ve found out about you?”
Anger flashed through her, giving her the strength to stand up to him. “It’s not a story! It’s the truth!”
What was wrong with him? Why could he not believe her?
She did need to flee from a man, and she had thought to find refuge in the Norsemen village.
This was not such an implausible story. She had not claimed to have been sent to his door by a soothsayer who’d predicted she would marry a blond man whose name matched his stony personality, or to have stumbled in the village while running away from King William, the new Norman king.
No, what was happening to her was unfortunately far too common.
Something changed in Steinar’s eyes and he took a step forward. “You want to stay with me, then?”
“Yes.” The word escaped her lips before she could think because it was the truth. A few days ago she might have said she needed to stay with him, but now she knew she wanted to stay with him and the boys.
Another step. He was now dangerously close. “You want the protection I can offer?”
“Yes.” But not only that. Strangely enough, considering his behavior toward her, she felt at home here, in the village, in his hut that smelled so good. It was inexplicable, given his attitude toward her, but she did feel as if the two of them had been meant to meet.
“Is that the only thing you want from me, I wonder?”
With those words he caged her in against the wall, turning her away first so that her back was to him.
Her heart started to beat a wild rhythm that had nothing to do with alarm.
How odd. Had anyone else trapped her thus, she would have panicked.
Every time Godfrid had come within touching distance of her, she had died inside. Yet now she felt alive, vibrant.
“What else could I want from you?” she said, her voice hoarse.
“This.”
When he brought his body in contact with hers, Cwenthryth felt something hot and hard press against the small of her back. She was not an innocent, she knew exactly what it was. It was the proof that, despite his anger, he desired her. Her throat went dry. Did she want this?
Yes. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that she had wanted this from the moment she had met the tall, striking Norseman, only she had not dared to acknowledge it.
How could she not have been attracted to him?
He was so different from the man she was trying to flee, so obviously protective, despite the apparent gruffness.
The way he held his sons and talked to them betrayed a caring, loving nature, one she wanted aimed at her for once.
“Answer me, Cwenthryth, and do not think of lying, because as you can see, I’ve almost lost the ability to think straight,” Steinar rasped.
He did sound like a man about to lose control, but she still wasn’t afraid.
“I will stop if you tell me to, but it will have to be now. So. Answer me. Do you want this?”
Another nudge made his meaning clear. And suddenly there was only one answer she could have given him, because her whole body was on fire.
“Yes.”
“You’re not afraid of me, despite the way I talk to you,” he growled in her ear.
It was not a question, he seemed to have seen that for himself.
“You don’t push me away, despite the way I act.
” Two hands landed on her breasts, the gesture possessive.
She bit her lips to repress a moan. “Why is that?”
Easy, Cwenthryth thought. She wasn’t afraid because there was another man who scared her, a Saxon far more dangerous than he would ever be.
The Norseman might be fearsome in appearance and growl more than he spoke, but he would never raise a hand to her, he would never cause her any bodily harm.
The woman in her knew the difference between the two men, and that was why she didn’t push him away.
“Because I know you would never hurt me,” she found herself answering.
There was a silence. Steinar was still pressed tight against her, his hardness digging into the small of her back, his body caging hers, engulfing hers. So domineering, yet so careful. So hot. “No, I would never hurt a woman. Are you a virgin?”
“No.” He grunted, and she wondered if he distrusted her word, as he usually did.