Chapter 18 #2
Since their overwhelming victory against Harald Hardrada a couple of years ago, however, and the subsequent coronation of a ruler whose Danish blood had been diluted so much as to become insignificant, the Saxons’ attitude toward them had started to change.
Over the last few months some of the most aggressive and short-sighted amongst them had tried to impress upon the Norse people that this had never been their home and they should leave, go back to wherever they came from.
Forgetting that some of them had lived here in peace for longer than they had been alive, they were doing all they could to rid the country of their presence, by whatever means necessary. Was the reeve one of them?
“Leave it to me,” Wolf said, his voice made rough by anger. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. But believe me, before the day is over, the reeve will know his place, and Aldred will not be in a position to accuse or kill anyone else.”
Before Steinar could ask exactly what he meant to do, his father stormed back to his horse, leaving Cwenthryth alone with him.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, taking both her hands in his.
She was trembling, and so was he. He had found it hard enough to let her face Aldred when he’d thought she’d only gone to find information.
Had he known how dangerous the man really was, he would have hacked his way inside the house to get her out, consequences be damned.
The axe had quickly become his weapon of choice when it came to defend the little Saxon.
“The man didn’t suspect anything? He didn’t hurt you? ”
“Yes. No. And no.” A small, tentative smile was playing on her lips.
Did she think him ridiculous for fussing as he was?
He dearly hoped not. He didn’t want to appear ridiculous in her eyes.
She probably already thought him high-handed, unreasonable, and distrustful.
Not that he blamed her if she did. He had been all those things with her. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do that. I find I will probably always worry about you from now on. The best, the only way to set my fears at rest would be for you to stay where I can see you, always.”
“Where would that be?” Her voice had been reduced to a breath.
She sounded wary of understanding what he meant.
Steinar smiled. No need to be wary. She had not misunderstood.
He’d promised himself earlier that he would only ask her to marry him once he was free to do so, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to wait until then.
Besides, now that they knew who had accused him and why, his father would clear his name in no time.
Which meant he could finally get the woman he needed.
“Stay in my house. In my arms.”
Before she could do much more than widen her eyes, he drew her into his arms and started to kiss her.
Tenderly at first, then with scandalous eagerness.
She was so soft, so responsive that this kiss was like no other he had ever shared with anyone.
Cwenthryth moaned into his mouth, and the sound sent him hard as stone.
She inhaled when she felt him press against her stomach—and it became clear that the market hall was not the best place to indulge in such activities.
Another moment and he would pin her to the pillar behind her and give her the ravishing he’d wanted to give her since he’d come back from the reeve’s gaol.
For that, he needed privacy, he needed time, he needed her full assent.
As if to help him remain cool-headed, at that moment it started to rain.
Gasping, Steinar drew back to look into dark eyes made hazy by desire.
Feeling on the verge of losing control, despite the rain, despite the crowd, despite everything, he wiped at Cwenthryth’s cheek, where a drop of water had had the audacity to fall on her skin.
Then he licked the one that had landed on her bottom lip. He groaned.
Fuck, they had to leave. Now.
He took her by the hand. “Let’s go home.”
Given the intensity of the kiss they had shared in town, Cwenthryth had imagined that Steinar would pounce on her as soon as he entered the hut. He’d sent her ahead to get dry while he saw to Fáfnir, promising he wouldn’t be long.
She barely had time to remove her cloak and run a comb through her damp hair before he walked in through the door, shaking his own cloak off, a cloak which, she noticed with no little amount of amusement, was made of wool and trimmed with, of all things, rabbit fur.
Not quite the pelt of a fearsome animal she had once imagined he’d wear…
Instead of taking her into his arms like he had on the market square and devour her, to her utter shock, he asked her to be his wife.
Cwenthryth froze in disbelief. He’d hinted at the fact that he wanted her to stay with him earlier, but marriage?
She knew how deeply he had been hurt with Astrid, how wary he was of giving his trust to another woman.
Yet he seemed as determined to have her accept the offer as he had been to see her leave his house less than a month ago.
She could barely believe it.
But perhaps she should not be surprised. After all, it had taken her less than a month to fall in love with him.
“Cwenthryth. I love you,” he said, sitting her on the table like he had the day before, bringing his face down to hers. His braided hair was still damp. It had not rained long, but long enough to turn the gold into a beautiful, deep amber color. “I need you in my life. Say you will marry me.”
Not only did he want to marry her, but he loved her as well? And he was not afraid to admit it before she’d made her own declaration? Cwenthryth could barely talk for shock, could barely think. “I…I—”
The light in Steinar’s eyes dimmed at what he took for hesitation, as if he thought she was about to refuse him. She was not—she was simply too bewildered.
“I know I might not be the most appealing prospect for a young woman like you, being a decade older,” he said, his tone low and husky.
“I told you I preferred older men,” Cwenthryth reminded him, finding her voice at last. She could not let him think such a ridiculous thing.
He was the most appealing prospect she had ever seen in her life.
“And I’m not that young myself.” She was three-and-twenty.
At her age, the majority of women were married.
“I also have two children. You might prefer to—”
“No. I love Ulf and Rothgar. It would be my honor to help you raise them if you’ll let me. They might…” She swallowed, emotion overcoming her. “After what happened to me, they might be my only chance at motherhood.”
“Ah, sweet.” Steinar brought his forehead in contact with hers, his hands cradling her face with infinite tenderness. He’d done the same the day before and the gesture already felt familiar. “You don’t know that.”
“No. But you don’t either. What if I could not… What if I could not give you the little girl you’ve always wanted, or even another son? What if I were barren?”
“Then it wouldn’t matter. I would still have you, my wife, the woman I need, the woman I love.
I already have children, but I don’t have you.
Say you will marry me, Cwenthryth,” he urged, settling himself more firmly between her spread legs.
“If you don’t, I will only ask again, and again, until I get my way. You know how stubborn I can get.”
“Yes.” The word shot out of her mouth, the only one she could think of.
“Yes, you know or yes, you will marry me?”
Her decision was made in a heartbeat. There was really one answer she could give him, because she did want to marry him.
How could she not? She could not refuse to marry the man she loved, at the risk of being miserable all her life, at the risk of seeing him marry another woman. It would be pure madness.
“Yes, I will marry you because I do know how stubborn you can get. And because I love you, too.”
This time he lifted her into his arms, making her wrap her legs around his waist in support. The position was shocking, perfect.
“Ast min, kyss mik.”
Cwenthryth’s heart missed a beat. She’d always loved to hear him speak his language, but she would have liked to understand what he was saying. It sounded so heartfelt. “One of these days you’ll have to teach me Norse, you know,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek and giving a stroke.
“Of course. I’ll have my whole life to do it.” Steinar’s lips stretched into a smile. “In the meantime, kiss me, my love.”
She’d thought the kiss at the market scandalous enough.
She now saw that it had been nothing. This kiss was carnality itself.
Steinar worshipped her mouth with as much thoroughness as he had licked her intimate folds the other day.
Of course thinking about that only added to the wickedness of the moment, and she tightened her hold around his neck for fear she would collapse to the floor.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Steinar breathed, his lips against hers.
He must have felt her sag against him. “And this time, we won’t be interrupted.
The children are with my mother, I’ve locked the door and warned my brothers, or rather Sven, not to come within twenty yards of the hut on pain of death. ”
“Death?” she breathed back, torn between amusement and shock—and desperate desire.
“Death,” he confirmed roughly, his hands kneading her bottom in the most suggestive manner. “I will not go to sleep until I’ve had you.”
“Yes.”
“Naked.”
“Yes.”
“Preferably more than once.”
“Yes.”
“In every conceivable—”
“Yes, naked, over and over again, in every position you can think of.” She kissed him again, unable to contain her own desire. “Steinar, stop talking.”