Chapter 2
FIVE MONTHS LATER
It was her. The woman. Alva, as he’d started to call her in his mind.
Sven could not believe what he was seeing.
The woman who’d just slipped inside his brother’s hut was none other than the mysterious Saxon woman he had lost hope of ever finding again.
The cloak covering her body was hiding all the luscious curves he remembered, but the riot of midnight curls that made her so distinctive and the reaction in his body at the sight of her could not be mistaken.
It was her.
What was she doing here, in Steinar’s hut of all places? Only the fact that his brother was besotted with his wife and the epitome of the faithful husband prevented jealousy from ripping at Sven’s guts. She wasn’t there because she was having an affair with him, that was for sure. What, then?
Determined not to let her slip away a second time, he placed himself by the fence surrounding the geese pen. As soon as she passed through the door on her way out, she would see him. If she had gone in, he reasoned, she would come out again eventually, and the hut only had one opening.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, she emerged from the hut.
“Good afternoon.” The words left his lips in a growl that bore little resemblance to his normal voice.
He had the satisfaction of seeing her jump—and look guilty. So, she had recognized him and was aware that she had behaved inconsiderately toward him back in the summer, leaving his bed without a word while he slept on, oblivious to the fact.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when it became obvious he was going to have to start the conversation himself.
“I came to see Cwenthryth to congratulate her on the birth of her new daughter,” she said, glancing back to the hut she’d just left. “She’s my closest friend.”
Her friend!
Sven recoiled. unable to believe how stupid he’d been.
Of course, if she’d not come to see his father, she would have come to visit one of the Saxons living in the village, and there weren’t many, much less the same age as her.
He should have asked Cwenthryth if she knew the dark-haired Saxon.
If he had, he would have known who the woman was, and where to find her.
He wouldn’t have spent the last five months feeling like something was missing from his life. He’d lost some of his usual gaiety, and he didn’t like it, nor the comments that came with it.
“And how do you know Cwenthryth?” Alva asked, making a polite attempt at conversation even if he could tell she wished herself miles away from here.
Her attitude today was completely different to what it had been back in the summer.
If he didn’t know better, he would think her a shy woman unused to male attention.
But he did know better. She was anything but shy, in bed at least.
“Cwenthryth is my sister-in-law,” he said, doing his best not to let the memory of their wild night rankle him. The last thing he needed now was to think with his cock. “She’s married to my eldest brother.”
And she’d just given birth to their second daughter, which was apparently the reason for the Saxon’s visit. Sven made a mental note to kiss little Liv the next time he saw her. Thanks to her, he had been reunited with the woman he had spent five months obsessing about.
At first, refusing to be defeated, he’d gone into the surrounding villages and even into town a few times, to enquire about a tall, curvy, dark-haired woman.
Unfortunately, his description could apply to dozens of women and without a name to offer, he’d not been able to get any useful leads.
There had been no need to bestir himself thus.
It seemed that all he’d had to do was wait, and she would come to him.
How amusing.
“So, your best friend is my brother’s wife. Well, if that isn’t lucky,” he told her, his lips stretching into a grin.
Lucky?
In truth, Eahlswith couldn’t believe how unlucky she’d been.
Of course, she had guessed that Sven would still be in the village, but now she was told he was none other than the brother of the only Norseman she knew.
Although, now that she thought about it, she wondered how she had not seen the similarities before.
The two men looked so alike they could have been twins, but for the expression on their faces.
Steinar always seemed rather serious, whereas Sven appeared carefree and full of mischief.
Which, of course, he was, mischief and wickedness personified. She knew from experience.
Would she have come today had she known there was a good chance she would walk into him? She wasn’t sure.
She had not wanted her moment of folly to get in the way of seeing her friend and her new baby, but she had hoped to slip in and out of the village without being seen.
No such luck.
She had spent five months trying to forget the scandalous Norseman.
In vain. And now that he was in front of her, she understood why.
It was not the crystal blue eyes, striking as they may be, that drew her to him.
Nor was it the intricately braided hair falling over his shoulders, even if she had never seen anything like it before she’d set foot in the village where her friend now lived.
Or even his impressive height and body, though she certainly remembered the advantages his strength could offer.
It was the gleam in his eyes, the mirth lurking under the surface, the smile always ready to burst out.
Sven was someone anyone would have been drawn to, a man any lone soul would have found attractive, a lover any woman would dream of having.
“Alva, now that you’re—”
“What did you just say?” Eahlswith interrupted. Had he insulted her in Norse?
“I called you Alva.”
“That is not my name.”
Sven gave her what she imagined was his naughtiest smile. “I know it’s not, but since you never told me your actual name, I had to make one up for you.”
Why? Why had he needed to give her a name in his mind?
Her heart fluttered in what felt suspiciously like pleasure.
If he’d thought never to see her again and hadn’t minded, then he wouldn’t have bothered.
He would simply have forgotten her. But, far from that, he had jumped on her at the first opportunity to speak to her.
It looked like he most decidedly had not forgotten her.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip again the fence. Did he have any idea how that move made him appear? Both lethal and approachable. Both intense and mischievous. Such a combination should not exist, should not make sense. And yet it did.
Just like her feelings for him. They should not exist, yet they were burning a hole in her chest.
“What is your real name then?” he asked. The naughty smile had still not completely disappeared.
“Eahlswith.”
Telling him felt so absurdly intimate.
“Eahlswith. It’s beautiful. I’ve never met anyone by this name before.”
Why did it feel as if he’d told her something of significance?
She had no idea, but it was clear that she could not behave naturally in front of this man.
Perhaps it was little wonder, given the way he looked, the heat in his gaze when he looked at her—and the memory of their fiery encounter playing on her mind.
“It’s cold. Will you come inside, have a drink with me?”
“I…” Could she accept? Of course, she was free to do what she liked. Should she?
No.
“Yes.”
The word shot out of her mouth, and she forced herself not to change her mind. After all, she was thirsty. Well, not really, but she might be in a moment, and it was better to have a drink before setting off for town. Yes, probably. One could never be too prudent.
“This way.”
She followed, though she already knew the way to his hut, which only increased her uneasiness. How many women had he taken home with the intention of tumbling them into his bed? It was better not to wonder.
As soon as Sven had closed the door behind her, Eahlswith was transported back to the night they had shared in the summer.
Her gaze landed on the table where he had sat her while he knelt on the floor and burrowed under her skirt.
Her spasms of pleasure had been so fierce that she’d thought never to get up again.
As if he’d sensed it, he had picked her up and pinned her against the wall.
Keeping her trapped between the smooth stone and his equally hard body, he’d buried himself inside her and forced her into a second, even more shocking release.
Then instead of following her into the abyss, he had brought her down to the pallet and thrust into her with astounding skill and determination.
Her world had exploded and she wasn’t sure the pieces had all come back into place just yet. Wasn’t sure they ever would.
“What would you like?” His deep voice cut through her thoughts.
Another night with you.
Could she tell him as much? Could she admit it to herself?
“I have ale or milk. Or I could go get some mead from my neighbor.”
Eahlswith blinked at him. He wanted to know what she wanted to drink, of course. That was why she was here, not to be stroked with tender care, licked with wicked intent or fucked until she dissolved in ecstasy.
She blinked again in disbelief. Fucked? Since when did she think such crude words? But that was the only way to describe what Sven had done to her. It had been too intense to be anything else, and anyway, she refused to think that it had been more significant than that.
“Ale will be fine, thank you,” she answered. Anything would be fine at this point, for she was suddenly parched.
He handed her a cup filled with the sweetest smelling, frothiest ale she had ever drunk. Once she’d downed half the cup, she noticed the unusual shape of the earthenware vessel. It was wide and smooth, almost like a bowl and the rim was very thin.
“Did you make this?” Without knowing why, the idea of a man like Sven creating such a delicate object set her nerves aflutter.