Chapter 2 #2
Sigurd snaps, “That is far too big. Rein yourself in, you fool.”
“Pardon?” I gasp.
Strong hands steady me, and I try to blink the water away, my eyes stinging with the salt. Fabric is pushed into my hands, and I automatically rub my eyes.
I lower the fabric, realising it’s Sigurd’s sarong at the same moment I see him naked as the day he was born.
He’s glaring at the seal in the water, his hands on his narrow hips.
I think I hear that same laughter for a second on the wind, but it’s a gull cawing raucously overhead as if jeering at me.
My eyes take in the lovely swell of Sigurd’s arse, tanned the same colour as the rest of him, and I slowly scan the tattoos covering his back. They’re obviously old, and they’ve faded to a sepia colour that contrasts with his skin.
He turns, catching the direction of my gaze, and I immediately shove the sarong at him. “Thank you,” I say. “It won’t do for you to catch a chill on that.” I gesture awkwardly at his backside.
His eyes twinkle. “No indeed. It is best that it remains in working order.”
I move and grimace at the clammy feeling of my wet jeans. I look down in dismay. My clothes are soaked.
“Shit,” I say dismally. “I see I’m making my usual sterling first impression. What’s next? All my clothes drop off?”
His lip twitches. “I do not find that as much of a calamity as you appear to do.”
I snort and then give a violent shiver.
A look of concern crosses his handsome face. “You will catch an ague. You should allow me to take you to my home, where I shall give you some warmer attire.”
As I hesitate, the wind blows icily, making my teeth chatter. I can’t believe he’s standing there half naked without a sign of goosebumps. And I’d definitely know about that, because I appear to have mapped every inch of his very fine body.
“Are you s-sure?” I say. “I’m so cold that I don’t care if you’re a murderer as long as you’ve got a fire and warm clothes.”
He smiles. “Ah, Cary. I am definitely no killer. Not for many centuries.”
“What?” I must have mistaken his words because of his accent.
He says calmly, “I will swear to you on all I hold dear that I mean you no harm.”
“And what do you hold dear?”
“Englar and duty,” he says formally. He hesitates and I’m sure he’s about to say something else, but he falls silent.
As I look into his eyes, I feel a sudden deep certainty that I’m safe with him. His presence seems to exude care.
Finally, I nod. “I will come if that’s okay with you.”
His whole face lights up as though I’ve given him the best news.
It’s an extraordinarily lovely expression, and I can’t help but smile.
Then I shiver again so violently that my teeth clatter together.
He exclaims something in his own language, but the concern is obvious.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt such attention directed at me by another man, and it makes me feel both lovely and rather awkward.
“Come, then,” he says, sounding rather regal for a man wearing nothing but a sarong. His red-blond hair blows in the breeze, and I smell something warm and spicy. It must be his shampoo. “Now I will be able to feed you.”
“I’ve never met anyone who looks so happy about doing that,” I observe.
His forehead wrinkles. “Then I am sorry about that, Cary.”
We walk along the beach for a moment, but when we reach the rocks, I shake my head. “I wouldn’t take that way.”
“Why? It is the… It is the back entrance.”
“Normally I’d say that’s good. Happy things often happen around a back entrance.” He chuckles, and I gesture toward the spot where I saw the opening in the rocks. “I had a bit of a weird experience there.”
“What do you mean?”
I scratch my head. “Don’t think I’m barmy, but I saw a fissure between those two tall rocks. When I looked again, the fissure had become an actual door, and marks along the nearby stone were lit.” I smile as he raises his eyebrows. “Bet you’re regretting your invitation to food right about now.”
“The door was open to you?” His voice is thick, his accent very strong.
“What door? That’s my point. I must be joking, because after I turned away and looked back again, all I saw was darkness and shadows.” I daringly nudge him. “Maybe I do need food if I imagined that, eh?”
I wonder if he’s going to rescind his invitation, and my disappointment is so powerful that it worries me. I hardly know him.
I shiver, and he startles back into motion. “Cary, you are cold. Come. Follow me. You shall have a warm shower while I prepare food.”
The strength of my relief makes it difficult to speak. So, I follow him silently.
We walk up the beach, Sigurd adjusting his long strides for my own shorter ones without being asked. Adrian would have attained Olympic sprinter speeds just to spite me. I shoot Sigurd a grateful look, and he smiles.
When we reach the steps, I pause warily.
“What ails you, Cary?” he says immediately.
“Oh, it’s going to sound really silly, but I had another weird encounter on these steps.”
“Weird?”
I nod. “The branches seemed to grab hold of me and wouldn’t let go. It must have been the wind.”
Something crosses his face and is gone too quickly for me to parse it. “It is very windy today,” he says.
“It was the funniest thing. One moment I was traveling down the stairs just fine, and the next, the branches wouldn’t let me through. Then a lady appeared.”
His eyes sharpen. “What did she look like?”
“Blonde. Her hair was very long, and she had a Cornish accent. She told me off for being late.” I give an awkward laugh and scrub my hand through my hair. “I’m having rather an odd day.”
“Well…” He licks his lips and seems to change his mind about what he was going to say. “Let us get out of this wind. You are shivering.”
As if to prove his point, a shudder passes through me, and he exclaims, ushering me up the steps and then following.
I look back, intending to say something, but the comment dies away as I see him make a gesture. It’s an almost lazy sweep of his fingers, but for a moment, I could swear the branches on either side of the steps cringe away.
His eyes are very gold and solemn. “It is best to guard yourself on the steps, Cary. They are neither up nor down, you see.”
Not really, but I nod politely.
His expression clears. “Come, I shall show you my home. It is not far from here. You shall feast and warm yourself.”
Once up the steps, he turns right, and I see a sandy path wending its way through the gorse bushes.
“I didn’t see this when I walked this way earlier,” I say chattily.
He smiles at me. “Few do.”
We walk, and he lowers his hand to my back to guide me around a rocky patch. Once we’re through, he leaves his hand there. It’s big and warm, and I fight the urge to shove into his touch.
I catch him watching my arse, and I repress a smile. “My face is up here.”
He looks up, and rather than look abashed, his face is merry. “Ah, but when a work of fine art presents itself, it demands obeisance.”
“Well, my bottom has always been very demanding.”
His laughter is rich and warm, and his gaze is hot when he meets mine.
He’s a very appealing man—warm and flirty.
I wonder how often he picks up men. With the potency of his personality and body, I bet it’s a lot.
The thought makes me smile, and my body thrums with interest. It looks like my sojourn to Cornwall might have an unexpected benefit.
The path widens and comes out in front of a towering cliff face. The stone is golden, and a plant grows up the face of it, nearly concealing the massive wooden door set into the rock.
“Here?” I say in disbelief. “You live here?”
“Aye. There are many rooms carved out beneath the cliff.”
“Ah. I remember seeing an Airbnb once that had been made out of a cave.” I nod at the plant. “Wisteria?” I ask, and he nods. “I bet that looks pretty in the spring.”
“Ah, Cary. The whole of Kernow is beautiful in spring when the gorse flowers are sunshine bright. The cliffs are carpeted with gorse, and the air smells of coconut and salt.”
“That sounds nice,” I say wistfully.
“You shall see for yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’ll be back, but it’s a nice thought.”
He cocks his head. “I think you shall see it,” he says, his accent softening the words, making the simple sentiment beautiful.
“Kernow? I’ve seen that on signs and stickers while I’ve been here. What does it mean?”
“Ah, ’tis the ancient and true name for Cornwall.”
He steps up to the door and pushes it open.
“You don’t lock it,” I say, astonished.
“Nay. What for?”
“Well, burglars, squatters, criminal damage, arson.”
He chuckles. “Such a litany of disaster. But you should have no fear. No one enters my domain without my permission.” He swings open the door and gestures me forward with a courtly gesture.
For a second, I hesitate. It’s dark beyond the opening, and I feel a sudden trill of fear.
I shoot a worried look at him, and he’s watching me calmly with no offence.
“You need have no fear in my home, Cary,” he says solemnly. “Everything here welcomes you. Alt mitt er ditt.”
I wonder what the last bit means. It sounds lovely.
“Thank you,” I say, my caution falling away.
A dim part of my brain is still informing me that he could be a serial killer, but he’s still the most interesting person I’ve met in my entire life, so I can’t bring myself to worry too much.
If he murders me, at least I’ll have died interested.