Chapter 9 #2
All the blood drained from her veins, along with her hopes and dreams. Was that how Steinar would remember her?
As a schemer, lying her way into people’s homes, using her wiles on the men she could find as a way to trick them into offering her a life of idleness?
And this while she remembered him as the first man she had ever had fallen in love with.
Cwenthryth fell to her knees, allowing the tears she had fought to finally spill down her cheeks. It would seem she wasn’t done feeling for herself after all.
Where was Cwenthryth? Damn it all to hell, she should have been back by now.
Steinar stared into the darkness to the place where he’d last seen her, willing her to come back, getting increasingly worried.
Had she gotten lost in the forest? Fallen into a hole?
Hit her head on a low branch? Been attacked by a beast?
It was all too possible, but if anything had happed to her, it would be his fault.
He had been the one driving her away. He’d been too harsh, he knew it, asked her an unforgivably coarse question.
What had possessed him to ask her if she enjoyed having men ramming their—
Bloody hell, he could not even think back to what he’d said without wincing.
No matter how riled he’d been at seeing her laugh with another man, he should never have allowed himself to speak to her thus.
No wonder she had run away. But she should be back by now.
It would not have taken her long to see that he had not launched himself in hot pursuit.
Or…
Or perhaps there was a good reason for her absence, and she was not in any danger whatsoever.
Steinar looked back to the banquet table, wondering.
Haakon had disappeared as well. Had he gone in search of Cwenthryth?
Had the two of them agreed to go for a tryst in the woods earlier, while they were dancing?
Was that where she actually was? With her young suitor, offering him her body? And if she was, why should he care?
He stood up.
Because, damn it all, he did care. Haakon would not get under her skirts, or offer her something other than pastry to put into her mouth, not if Steinar had anything to do with it. Bunching his fists, he headed toward the forest.
Under the trees the obscurity was almost complete, but he pushed on.
He could not sit idly by the fire with the others, he had to know where Cwenthryth was—and with whom.
Either she was in trouble and she needed help, or she was with that accursed Haakon and she needed…
Well, she needed to not be. His sanity depended on it.
He walked a while, making sure to look all around, then stopped dead when he heard a feminine voice on the other side of a clump of bushes.
Though it was probably too dark for anyone to see him, he automatically crouched down, because he fully intended to ascertain the identity of the woman before moving on.
Only once he was certain that this was not Cwenthryth could he resume his search.
“Not here!” the woman was saying in an urgent whisper. “Someone could see us.”
“Here. Now.” The man with her sounded equally urgent. “No one will see a thing, ’tis far too dark. I’ve watched you dance all evening in your new dress. I can’t take it anymore. I need you naked and under me. Now.”
There was a series of crude Norse words, followed by the unmistakable sound of clothes being discarded in haste.
Everything within Steinar stilled. The two lovers had spoken too low for him to recognize their voices, but he had an awful suspicion he knew who the Norseman might be, and the woman he was trying to entice could all too easily be Cwenthryth.
“Fuck, how is it that every time I touch you, I feel like the sixteen-year-old who fell in love with you?”
Before Steinar could wonder how on earth Haakon could have met Cwenthryth as a youth, the woman answered, her voice little more than a moan.
“I don’t know, but it is the same for me. Touch me, Bjorn, please, kiss me.”
Oh, what an unreasonable, ridiculous idiot he really was. The adventurous couple was not the one he’d dreaded to find, it was none other than Bjorn and his wife Dunne, who had indeed met when he was just a youth.
Thanking his lucky stars he had not pounced on the two lovers before ascertaining who they were, Steinar made to stand up.
Just then someone walked straight into him, compromising his fragile balance—and sent him sprawling to the ground.
Cwenthryth.
This time he did not hesitate. He would have recognized her delicious, liquorice scent anywhere.
She fell on top of him, her soft breasts cushioned against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck.
They remained in this way along moment, not talking, adjusting to the sudden intimacy, trying to contain the wild beating of their hearts.
“Take me now! Hard.”
Even though Cwenthryth had not been the one uttering the lewd order, Steinar’s whole body surged. It was exactly what he’d hoped she would ask him to do the previous morning in the tree house, and his blood reacted accordingly.
“I thought you didn’t want to be taken here?” Bjorn purred, oblivious to the fact that someone could hear them.
“Will you stop teasing me and just take me!” Dunne exploded.
The noises coming from behind the bushes soon made it clear that her husband was obeying the order with all the passion he was capable of.
Steinar closed his eyes, fighting the desire raging in his own body.
Cwenthryth still had not slid to the ground and he’d made no move to lift her off him.
They were still as close as only lovers could be.
She was lying on top of him, her weight delicious, her warmth spreading through his clothes all the way to his skin.
He wanted to roll over and do to her what Bjorn was doing to his wife.
He could not; they had to go, now. Having to listen to another man getting his pleasure was more than he could bear at the moment.
“Please, can we leave?” Cwenthryth murmured, her breath hot on the skin of his neck. “This is embarrassing.”
Yes. Embarrassing was not quite the word he would have used, but they certainly had better leave, before he surrendered to the desire burning his loins.
Before long there would be only cinders left.
And then he would not be answerable for his actions.
But he could not touch her, not after what he’d told her earlier.
“Let’s go.”
He could not help placing his hands on Cwenthryth’s waist before she could scramble back up, to keep her against him a heartbeat longer. By the gods, but she felt so good, so lush and womanly, so pliable and warm. So—
A raw cry split the night, telling them Dunne’s body had just gone up in flames.
“Please. Let’s leave.”
Once they were up, Steinar took Cwenthryth’s hand to lead her back to the village.
Unlike her, he’d been wandering in these woods since he’d been a child, so despite the lack of light, there was no chance he would ever get lost. He guessed that was what had happened to her.
It would explain why she had stayed away so long.
It was clear at least that, unlike what he had feared, she had not been waylaid by any young Norsemen looking to use her for their pleasure.
Small mercies.
Not ready to be parted from her yet, he stopped as soon as they got a glimpse of the three fires burning around the long banquet table.
To his relief, Cwenthryth did not protest, did not disentangle her fingers from his.
Instead, she lifted her head to him. Her eyes were two bottomless pools mirroring the starry night sky above.
Steinar could not take his gaze from her.
So beautiful. And so… The word that popped in his head was, oddly enough, innocent.
Odd, considering that not so long ago he’d been certain she was trying to manipulate him.
“Thank you for coming to get me. I was starting to think I would have to wait until morning to find my way back,” she murmured.
He nodded. Perhaps his fit of jealousy had had one benefit. Without it, she would still be wandering in the dark woods alone and afraid. It was something, he supposed.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” he said, eager to address the issue before it poisoned the air between them. She didn’t seem angry any longer, but he knew he’d acted like a fool and he wasn’t above admitting it, not when he felt so bad about it. “About what I told you before, about suggesting you liked—”
“It’s all right.” He guessed from the hoarseness in her tone that she had gone bright red. “It’s forgotten. As long as you know I don’t—”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry. You should have slapped me harder. It was all I deserved for being so crude.” That was why he had not reacted when she’d hit him. Even moments after having uttered the words, he’d know he’d gone too far.
“I don’t think I could have done that if my life depended on it. I almost broke my arm in half as it was. Have you ever tried slapping stone?” She gave a tentative smile.
“No, I cannot say I have.” He returned the smile.
“I don’t recommend it.”
Before he knew what he was doing, Steinar raised the hand he was still holding to his lips. It was the right one, the one she had used to slap him. “Here. Let me kiss it better.” Gaze planted into hers, he repeated, speaking against the fragrant skin of her palm, “I truly am sorry.”
“I know. But, please, I don’t want to talk about this ever again.”
“Of course.” But before he laid the topic to rest, there was still one question he needed to ask her. “You are not seriously considering letting the pup woo you, though, are you?” Steinar asked, unable to let it go.
He had to know if she was interested in Rowena’s brother, because the man was indeed looking to settle down, and he’d often jested that he would like to find a Saxon bride, like so many men in the village had done before him.
Would Cwenthryth be interested in the prospect of a Norse husband?
It was not impossible. And yet it was…well, impossible.
He would never bear to see her settled in the village as another man’s bride.
Not that he wanted to marry her himself, of course. He wanted her gone. Now more than ever, because he could not ignore any longer that she was not good for his peace of mind. Or for keeping control over his body’s urges. Or for helping him to think straight.
“Haakon is not so young,” she defended, sidestepping the question.
Perhaps not, and admittedly, he was a grown man, able to provide for a family, but he was still a good decade younger than Steinar was.
Perhaps that was the source of his annoyance.
He felt inadequate when compared to a young, attractive, more personable man.
He was already three-and-thirty, not three-and-twenty anymore, and he had two children, something some women might find hard to accept.
Haakon was much closer to Cwenthryth in age, he didn’t live with anyone, and his winning smile would be a stark—and no doubt welcome—contrast to his own scowling countenance.
Why would she not want to give him a chance, now that she knew he was interested? She was free to do so, was she not?
“He’s younger than me,” he said, rather needlessly.
“Yes. Too young, really. I’ve always preferred older, more mature men.”
Steinar blinked. Had she really said that? Had she meant for him to hear the confession? And what was she saying? He was older, more mature. Was she saying that she preferred him? Something in his chest leaped at the thought.
Before he could wonder any further, she took a step back, eased her hand from his, and spoke again.
“I wanted to stay for the wedding because Rowena was kind enough to ask me and I’m glad I did. But I will leave in the morning, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” If he were honest, her presence here was no longer a concern. He’d once been eager to see her go, but he was now wondering if he wouldn’t have preferred her to stay. Which was the real worrying thing.
Since their fiery encounter in the tree house, his mind was full of her, so much so that he was barking at his friends for no reason and getting jealous, something that had never happened before.
His body was consumed with the need to possess her, so much so that he’d spent the day in an almost constant state of arousal.
In short, he was losing control, and this when he had to focus on sorting out a new chapter of his life, adjust to being a widower, and ensure his sons’ happiness.
So yes, he could only agree that she had better leave.
“Yes,” he said, taking a step back himself. “I think it’s for the best.”