Читать книгу In Bed With The Viking Warrior - Harper George St. - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Magnus.

As he put his arm around the woman at his side, the name pounded through his skull. It didn’t fit any more now than it had the first time he’d heard it, but he was becoming more certain that it was his name. There would be no reason for his captor to lie about it, particularly when he’d had no notion that his memories were addled. A twinge of guilt threatened to plague him at his lie, but he put it out of his mind. There was no need to reveal his name to the woman when he had no idea where he was or even who he was. Instinct told him to reveal nothing for his own safety, at least until he was sure these people weren’t enemies.

He was certain the head wound had festered and he was fevered. His choice was simple. Either die slowly over the next several days or risk her village. At least if he risked her village, he would stand a chance. And if he died, he would die with the fair maiden at his side. He glanced down at the woman, his gaze catching on the way she caught her plump bottom lip between her teeth as she helped him navigate a small incline. His arm tightened around her, tucking her soft, well-formed body closer to his side.

Once they were safely up the hill, his gaze travelled the curve of her cheekbone to her eyes. Long, dark golden lashes framed the light green gems. She felt his gaze on her and glanced up just to blush and look away. He continued his perusal, across the light sprinkling of flecks of colour that swept across her face from cheekbone to cheekbone, finally stopping to admire the little bit of reddish hair he could see shining from beneath her headrail. She was lovely.

The vivid, mossy green of her eyes met his again and this time she didn’t look away immediately. They were kind and gentle as they swept over his face before she dragged them away. He had to force himself to turn his attention to the trees around them, needing to stay vigilant.

It bothered him how hard he had to turn the words over in his head before he found the ones he wanted to say. Her language was certainly not his native one. ‘How far is your village?’ They had moved further into the forest, away from the stream.

‘It’s a bit of a walk. We’ll stop frequently if you need to rest,’ she hurried to reassure him.

Stifling his laugh, Magnus shook his head but stopped when it made his head ache. The woman had no qualms about wounding his pride. ‘I can make the walk, fair one. I merely wondered why you’d be alone so far from safety.’

‘I’m hardly alone. I brought my sword.’

He didn’t want to say how the sword hadn’t saved her from the Dane.

‘You think I couldn’t have handled him.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘I think he was more than twice your size. Do you have no man to protect you?’

The question made her step falter, but then she continued onward without looking at him. ‘Nay, I do not need a man.’ Her jaw clenched as she stared ahead.

What would make a woman so young think she didn’t want a man in her life? The question was interesting, but he didn’t press her further. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other without falling, his gaze scanning the forest for any sign of warriors. They walked in silence for a while, her softness fitting so naturally against him that he allowed himself to relish it. Apparently it had been a while since he’d enjoyed the nearness of a woman. Finally she stiffened beneath his arm, becoming more alert, meaning they must be getting close to the village.

Pulling away from her earned him a puzzled frown, but he wouldn’t let anyone else know the true extent of his injuries. He couldn’t count on anyone to keep him safe, though he believed the woman would try. He trusted her.

‘Your village?’ he asked, spotting a break in the trees far ahead. A wall made of earth and wood rose up tall on the far side of a clearing. The thought that it was easily scalable teased the edges of his mind. His memory might be gone, but his warrior instincts were intact.

The straw of a thatched roof could be seen just above the edge of the wall. It would make an excellent target for an archer with an arrow dipped in pitch. Trying to be mindful of his head wound, he turned his head left, then right to look for the sentries who must have seen them by now and saw no one. Though the movement caused black spots to dance before his vision, making him stumble with the next step, almost toppling the poor woman beneath him.

She stifled a cry of surprise and he did his best to land on his other side, jarring his bruised ribs and grimacing as his head roiled with pain. It was a moment before the roaring in his ears died down and he could hear her speaking to him. It was a moment more before he could concentrate enough on her strange words to make sense of them. The grey at the edges of his vision cleared enough that he could see her lovely face as she stared down at him, her brow furrowed in concern.

‘Please don’t die. Please don’t die. Please don’t die.’ She spoke the words like a mantra.

He couldn’t say why she reduced him to a grinning fool, but the smile spread across his face just the same. It was as if now that he was so close to death, the complexities of life had ceased to matter. Somehow his hand found its way to her cheek. He saw his thumb caressing her cheekbone before he actually felt the sensation of her silken skin. ‘I’ll not die. Not yet.’

Her smile was mesmerising in its beauty. He wondered if he’d found a nymph intent on leading him to his death, but he admitted that he’d happily follow her. He’d already followed her this far into the unknown.

‘That’s my village.’ She nodded towards the wall, though her gaze never broke with his. ‘It’s only a little further.’

‘I’ll stay here. If there are others after me, I won’t lead them to you in the village. It’s not safe.’

She frowned. ‘We’ll be safer inside the walls.’

Shaking his head, he grimaced at the inevitable pain and stilled. ‘It’s close to the stream. There are no fortifications. Nothing stands between you and danger.’

‘There is a wall.’ She frowned. ‘We’re not that close to the stream and there are men always posted on lookout.’

‘It’s too low—that wall is no match for determined warriors. If there are sentries, they should have seen us already.’

She chewed her bottom lip and gave him a searching glance. She was wondering how he’d know that and he couldn’t blame her. The need to run niggled at the edge of his mind, but it failed to give strength to his body and clarity to his vision. There was no help for it. He was at the mercy of her warriors, which was why he wouldn’t go inside the walls.

‘We’ve only approached through the back way and I know where they hide, so I avoided them.’ He glanced at her face at that admission and she gave him a shy smile. ‘I thought it might be best if others don’t know of your presence right away.’

‘Am I in danger from them? A danger to you?’

‘I vow no one will harm you while you’re in my home.’ Their eyes met and held and Aisly had to struggle to take a breath. Something about this stranger affected her more than it should. She didn’t know him at all, but she felt safe inviting him into her home. The danger in that would come from the elders, not the man himself.

He broke the stare, looking back towards the wall of her village. ‘I believe you, fair one. It’s not my intention to make things difficult for you, but it’s best I stay outside. I’ll be on my way after the meal you’ve offered. If you could just bring it out, I’d be grateful.’

She ignored the casual endearment and the fact that she liked it. ‘My name is Aisly. And I fear you won’t be going anywhere for a while in your condition.’ Whether he realised it or not, his wound was grievous. She was amazed that he’d made it two whole days without falling into the deep sleep that could sometimes claim people after such an injury. That sleep usually led to death and it would happen to him soon if she couldn’t figure out how to get nourishment into him quickly. Even that might not be enough. If only the warriors would see things her way and allow her to care for him before they tried to determine if he was a threat to the village.

‘I just need a short rest. I’ll recover quickly.’ He grinned at her.

Typical warrior, refusing to admit to his weakness even when it was to his detriment. Even through the layers of his tunic and undershirt, the heat from his body had been unnatural and a touch to his temple confirmed her fears. He was feverish and wouldn’t last more than another day on his own, and that was if more of those rebel Danes weren’t after him.

‘You need sleep and a meal. Stay here. I’ll go and get you some food and a dressing for your wound.’

He agreed and reached for the sword strapped to his back. When his face twisted in pain, she reached around to unfasten the scabbard so that he could lie back. He smiled at her again as he sat back against a tree trunk and held the sword tight to his chest with both hands. The way he looked at her, so intense, so admiring, made something flutter deep in her belly.

‘Many thanks, fair one.’

She opened her mouth to remind him again that her name was Aisly but decided to let it pass. Rising to her feet, she gave him one last lingering glance. ‘Please stay here. Don’t try to go.’

‘You have my vow.’ His eyes were already half-lidded, making her wonder if that deep sleep would claim him before she could get back to him.

Turning abruptly, she hurried through the woods so that she could approach the gate from the front. It wouldn’t do to have anyone wondering why she was meandering around behind the village, just in case someone got suspicious. She’d tell them about the stranger later, after she had done the minimum to help him.

Pausing a moment at the tree line, she smoothed a hand down her headrail and then her skirt to make sure she didn’t look as harried as she felt. A quick glance at the sun confirmed it was nearing midday. A glance to the left showed movement in the fields. Men and women would still be there for a bit, so it’d be less likely for anyone to question her coming and going. Taking a breath, she took off at a sedate pace across the field towards the open gates. A warrior leaned back against one of the doors that had been blackened from a skirmish with the rebel Danes. He’d been one of the men who had served under Godric but hadn’t been at the settlement that deadly day just over two months ago. She gave him a smile and he nodded before turning back to the warrior at his side.

No one was loitering about just inside the shadow of the walls. The autumn harvest required almost everyone to work, which was a great help to her just then. She breathed easier as she skirted around behind the row of small houses that lined the wall. In the small spaces separating each one, she could see Cuthbert’s hall in the centre of the village. Though most of the warriors were helping in the fields, some of the warriors were sparring. They wouldn’t bother her, but she didn’t want to chance drawing their notice, either, so she stayed mostly hidden until she made her way past the hall and the expanse of land around it.

The blacksmith’s shop was also in the centre of the village; the constant fire meant it needed to be away from the wall. Once she passed it, she was sure the stone forge would help hide her from view of the hall, so she moved back on to the path. She was just in time to see the tow-headed curls of her best apprentice, Bryn, disappearing around a corner. Squeals of children’s laughter followed. It seemed her apprentices had run off, but she was glad of it for once.

Now that she was close to home and didn’t feel like such an interloper, she hurried her pace. Her home was one of the larger houses situated in the western section of the village. Her plot of land was large enough for a small garden, the corral for the few sheep she kept and the structure that held her wool. The thought of it empty now still made her angry. The Danes had come close to ruining all hope of her gaining her independence.

But there was still a sliver of hope. If nothing else, she could ask Lord Oswine for help. There was always hope.

Hurrying inside, she found her home empty. The girls had finished the pieces they had been embroidering and left them neatly folded on the table in front. Resolving to check their work later, she rushed past the hearth in the centre of the house and placed the pack with the plants on the table where she prepared her meals to be dealt with later. The day was turning unseasonably warm, but the plaster walls still held in the cold of the previous night, so she added two pieces of wood to the fire. Then she filled a large bowl with stew simmering in the pot over the fire and placed it inside the basket she used in the garden. She covered it with another bowl to help contain any spills and grabbed a long length of linen, before grabbing her flagon of water and adding it to the basket.

The entire walk back to the stranger, she said prayers that she would find him alive. People were starting to trickle in from the fields, but she kept her gaze averted in the hopes that none of them would offer more than a greeting. The warriors at the gate were so accustomed to her coming and going that they barely gave her a glance. She still waited until she crossed the field and reached the forest before turning in the stranger’s direction.

She walked as fast as she could without sloshing the stew all over the basket. When she finally saw his form in much the same position as she’d left him propped beneath a fir, she sent up a prayer of thanks. He wasn’t asleep as she’d anticipated and he hadn’t left. He was watching her through slitted eyes, a faint smile on his lips despite his pallor. He looked horrible. A fine sheen of sweat now dotted his forehead and his skin seemed even paler than before. But, somehow, he was still striking.

Sinking to her knees beside him, she opened her basket. ‘I’ve brought some food.’

His eyes widened as she lifted out the bowl and his nostrils flared as he caught the scent. ‘The gods have sent you to save me.’ The soft smile lingered on his lips.

Gods? She’d heard the Northmen believed in gods. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t comment on it as she brought the bowl to his mouth for him to drink. It wasn’t until he’d taken a fair amount and leaned his head back to take a breath that she asked, ‘What do you know of gods?’

He shook his head, wincing and stopping, because he’d forgotten the pain it caused. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know of any gods. I spoke before I thought.’

He seemed genuinely unaware. Keeping her hands on the outside of his, she guided the bowl back to his mouth so he could drink down a bit more. She used the opportunity to get a closer look at the ugly gash on his head. It had definitely festered and was pink and swollen at the edges. It should have been sewn up, but it was probably too late for that now.

‘I’ve brought some linen and water to clean your wound, but it needs a poultice.’

He pulled back after taking a healthy drink. ‘I told you, I’ll not stay.’

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from pointing out that he didn’t have much of a choice. She’d wager he wouldn’t be able to make it more than a handful of steps. ‘Then I should at least attempt to clean the grime from your wound before you go.’

His deep brown gaze caught hers again, warming her. ‘Aye, I’d be grateful.’ Then he brought the bowl back to his lips and his eyes never wavered from hers.

When a delightful shiver ran through her, she broke his stare to take out the linen and rip it in half. Retrieving the flagon of water from the basket, she pulled out the stopper with a pop and wet a wadded half of cloth. He gave a barely perceptible nod when she raised it in question, so she gently pressed it to his wound. The soft moan deep in his throat tugged at her heart.

She chewed her bottom lip as she gingerly moved the cloth around the edges of the wound, working her way inward as far as she dared to without causing him more pain. Except it was fairly well crusted over and not hurting him was impossible. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, as she cleaned the area around the wound. Once that was done, she had no choice but to attempt to clean the wound itself. ‘This may hurt,’ she warned.

He didn’t answer, so she chanced a glance down and found his eyes watching her, studying her. Swallowing against an unexpected feeling of breathlessness, she turned her attention back to her task. He didn’t so much as grimace when she started to clean the wound in earnest and he didn’t look away from her face.

It was a delicate task to clean the grime while making sure it didn’t start bleeding again. But after a few minutes she was satisfied that she’d done all that she could. She’d have to see Edyth about a poultice, if she could convince him to agree to come home with her. Discarding the soiled linen, she folded the clean linen and wet it through. The flesh around the eye under his injury was an angry blue and swollen. ‘Let’s keep this over your eye for a while. I hope the cool water will help the swelling.’

He’d finished the stew and placed the bowl on the brown pine needles that were his pallet. When she put the linen in place, his hand came up to cover hers. She almost gasped at the strange pleasure that skittered up her arm, before pulling her hand away. Her gaze jerked to his and she knew he’d felt it, too. He was studying her with a puzzled look.

‘You should at least rest before you move on.’

He nodded, a slight move, but he didn’t speak as he continued to watch her. His body was sagging against the tree more now than when she’d first come upon him. His eyelids were heavier and she knew that it would be but moments before sleep overtook him. She only hoped that he’d wake up.

She began to cautiously repack the items in the basket, but when she moved to set it aside, his eyes didn’t follow her. ‘Stranger,’ she called. He found her then, but he seemed to have trouble focusing, blinking several times. ‘Rest and I’ll keep vigil.’

The command hardly mattered because his large body was already sliding down to the ground. She lurched forward and barely managed to put her hands under him to break his fall, before she gently placed his head on the pine needles.

He took a deep, shaky breath, his brow furrowing a bit before he spoke again. ‘You should tell your warriors about the Dane. If there are more of them close behind, you could be in danger.’

Now that he was almost unconscious, she hoped to wait. While she didn’t think the men in her village would harm him, she wanted to give him a few hours to rest and regain strength from the nourishment, before bringing that hurdle to them. Did he sense that he wouldn’t be waking up soon?

He must have seen her hesitation, because he grabbed her wrist and his eyes opened wider in entreaty. ‘Promise you’ll tell them.’ His words were slightly slurred.

‘Aye, I’ll tell them.’ She nodded and clenched her fist tight.

His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths and she wondered how long that would hold true. His body was on fire.