Chapter Eleven #2
As he moved closer, the woman’s profile became clearer.
What man could forget such curves? Frida must have sensed his presence because she shifted and pulled the covers down.
He rather enjoyed the unobstructed view of her well-formed calves.
Able to see her tear-stained cheeks, he shook his head.
Was she another victim of Tyr’s gall? Rage against his cousin simmered in his chest. Female companionship of any kind would suffice on this accursed night.
Neither said anything as he halted to devour her with his gaze.
Primitive passion sparked inside him. He’d been made to sleep with the animals, why shouldn’t he act like one?
Would it be considered a sin to comfort a grieving woman?
He stripped off his boots and tartan, then hung his weapon belt on a hook on the nearest wall.
She didn’t object when he slipped under the blankets and spooned her.
She scooted back until her arse met his crotch.
Frida sighed. He liked the feel of her soft skin rubbing against him.
Comfort comes in many forms. There was nothing selfish or intrusive about his behavior.
Gritting his teeth, he groaned as she gyrated against his thigh.
The idea of leaving his seed inside a woman Tyr bedded regularly invigorated him.
He worked his hand between her thighs, then fingered her wet slit.
He stifled a wild growl as he pierced her in one angry thrust. He bit her neck and felt the jolt of excitement travel through her body.
Inflicting pain excited him. It reminded women of their inherent place—beneath him.
Painful silence deafened Tyr’s ears as he eyed Rachelle.
Sadly, he didn’t completely trust her. He couldn’t.
Not after she’d attempted to take her own life.
The possibility of her harming herself again was very real.
Something inside her had changed already.
The spark in her eyes was gone, replaced by a vacant stare.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked.
She covered her face with her hands, made a strangled sound, then stared at the ceiling.
Surely, this girl hadn’t been completely undone by the devastating news Edwin had so callously shared.
Anger and fear were acceptable emotions to feel, but broken?
Never. Not this spirited wench. Not his Rachelle.
Tyr recognized the qualities that made someone resilient.
The Norse had perfected it. If you get knocked down, stand up quickly.
“There’s no reason to believe your uncle was targeted by the Normans. On the contrary, your family bears a Norman name.” He meant to ease her mind, if only a little. On any other night, he’d welcome blessed silence. Speak woman.
“I’ll believe whatever you wish, milord.”
He smiled inwardly. Now she played the submissive. Stubbornness creased the pretty spot between her finely shaped eyebrows. A tiny spark remained after all.
“From this day forward, I won’t shield you from the hard truth. I’m sorry that bastard made such a shocking announcement. I would never—”
“Yes, you would,” her voice rang sharply. “You withheld the truth. I admit there’s no excuse for Prince Edwin’s behavior. Both of you have proven just how far you’ll go to get what you want.”
A log fell in the fireplace and Rachelle startled.
Beyond weary, Tyr exhaled. Irritation raked his spine.
At times, women didn’t make any sense. His heart-felt apology should be accepted, but remembering how he’d felt after he found his twin dead made him more accepting of her sadness and confusion.
Reason had fled his mind that night on the battlefield near York.
She must feel the same. Maybe she suffered more because she didn’t know her uncle’s fate.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “I cannot deny it. I’m the sort of man who’d go to any lengths to protect what I consider my own. It’s what my father taught me.”
She stared. Damn those cold, steely-blue eyes.
“Truth is finally revealed,” she cracked. “We both know why you kidnapped me. Money. And then you have the audacity to propose to me. Edwin did nothing so underhanded. You are unusually cruel, even for a Norseman.”
He didn’t want to hear her judgment. “Goddamnit, woman.” He gritted his teeth. “Can you not recognize when a man is trying to make atonement?”
“A pathetic attempt, if I ever heard one.”
That’s where he drew the line; he’d protect his honor, even if he was wrong. How could she judge him so carelessly? She didn’t know the truth, because she refused to believe a word he said.
He lifted her by the shoulders, then gave her a small shake. “You’re not an idiot. Stop acting like one for the sake of spurning me. What will you have me do to prove myself?”
“Send me home.”
Her welfare was his primary concern. He shook his head.
Reports from England were grave. The Normans had ransacked and burned dozens of cities, enslaved families, and executed rebels without trials.
That was only the beginning of the atrocities.
“You request the only thing I cannot give. Conditions in England are deteriorating by the hour. Would you risk your life by returning?”
Visibly rattled by his reply, she folded her arms across her chest and turned away.
“I pledge to share any information I receive concerning your home if it eases your pain. Although I don’t understand how it would. Some things are better left unsaid. My spies are searching for your uncle in northern England as we speak. If he’s alive, they’ll find him. For now, be strong.”
“Strong?” She twisted around. “Haven’t I been? I’ve endured much since I first met you. Imprisonment, seduction, murder …”
Sympathy hadn’t softened her. Brutality wouldn’t help. Yet, the more defiant she grew, the more aroused he became. Those soft lips weren’t meant for spewing insults. Infinite passion thrived inside her. He felt it and wanted it for himself—but only at her invitation.
Perhaps a blast of arctic air would clear his head and tame his groin. “Do you want to go outside?”
Glancing up, she asked, “Now?”
“Aye.”
She gave him a brief, half smile. Praise the gods for helping him think of something to break through her icy exterior.