Читать книгу Saved by the Viking Warrior - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCwenneth avoided looking at the pile of bodies and instead concentrated on the smouldering remains of the cart. Smoke hung in the air, getting in her eyes and lungs. Her entire life, including the future she hadn’t truly wanted but had been willing to experience for the sake of her people, was gone.
‘Is there anything left? Anything salvageable?’ she asked.
‘Either burnt or taken,’ came Thrand’s reply. ‘Did your lady only travel with one cart?’
‘There was a baggage cart as well.’ She frowned. ‘I should have said earlier.’
‘It is all gone then. Your lady’s dowry. They took anything that wasn’t nailed down and burnt the rest’
The words knifed through her.
‘But my things? My mother’s...comb.’ Cwenneth clamped her mouth shut before she mentioned the mirror and her jewellery. Since when would a maid have her own mirror, let alone rings and pendants?
It wasn’t the gold she missed, although she was furious about it. What she missed most was the lock of Richard’s hair, his soft baby hair. She used to wrap her fingers around it when she needed comfort and normally wore a pendant with it in to keep him close to her heart. Stupidly, she had taken off the pendant this morning and put it in the iron-bound trunk to keep it safe because the clasp was almost broken, and now it was gone for ever.
‘Time to go. There is no point in sifting through ash.’ Thrand put a heavy hand on her shoulder.
Cwenneth resisted the temptation to lean into him and draw strength from him. She stood on her own two feet now, rather than leaning on anyone, let alone a Norse warrior. ‘The sooner I am away from this place of death, the better.’
‘Take some boots. You will need them.’ The glacial blue in his eyes increased.
‘Why?’
It was clear from his expression what he thought of her. A barely tolerated encumbrance. Cwenneth didn’t mind. It was not as if she wanted to be friends. Somehow, some way she’d find an opportunity to escape.
Escape? Back to what? A brother who saw her as a counter to be used? And a sister-in-law who hated her? Cwenneth banished the disloyal thoughts. They were family. Lingwold was home and she loved its people. Whatever the future held, it wasn’t being a slave to this Norseman.
‘Why do I need boots?’
‘Unless you wish to walk in bare feet, you need boots. Your slippers will be torn to ribbons within a mile,’ he said with an exaggerated politeness.
‘From where?’ Cwenneth gestured about her. ‘Where are the boots stored? Where am I going to find a pair of boots?’
He gestured towards the bodies. His men immediately paused and backed away from them. ‘You are going to allow a good pair of boots to go to waste while your feet bleed?’
Her stomach knotted. He wanted her to rob the dead. ‘It feels wrong. They died wearing those boots.’
He made a cutting motion with his hand. ‘Do the dead care? Will they rise up and challenge you?’
A faint burn coursed up through her cheeks. She winced. He probably robbed the dead without a pang of guilt. Norsemen were like that. They took rather than respected the property of the living or the dead.
Cwenneth glared at him, hating his long blond hair, his huge shoulders and the fact that he was alive and her men were dead. ‘I have never robbed the dead before.’
‘Do you want to choose or shall I?’
‘I’ll choose.’ Cwenneth walked over to where the youngest of her men lay. Dain’s mother had been her nurse when she was little. She had asked for him because she thought he’d have a good future in her new household. Martha had readily agreed. ‘Dain’s boots. They are solid and new. His mother gave them to him before we departed. They are good leather to walk a thousand miles in, or so Martha proclaimed. She’d have liked me to have them.’
‘And you think they will fit?’ he asked in a casual tone. His eyes watched her as a cat might watch a mouse hole. ‘Shouldn’t you try them on first?’
She pressed her lips together. Perhaps she’d been too hasty at dismissing him as all brawn and very little brain. She needed to be very careful from here on out and weigh her words, rather than rushing to fill the silence.
‘I have large feet for a woman.’ She bent down and tore several strips of cloth from Dain’s cloak. Luckily the material ripped easily. ‘This should be enough to fill the toes.’
She knelt down and started to stuff the boots before she said anything more.
‘You have done this before,’ he remarked, hunkering down next to her.
Up close, she could see that his hair was a hundred different shades of yellow and that his features were finely made despite his overbearing size and manner. Their breath laced. Her hands trembled, and she redoubled her efforts. All she had to do was ignore her unwanted reaction to him. He wanted to unsettle her for his own perverse pleasure. Well, she’d disappoint him. She lifted her chin.
‘Once at Christmas, I dressed up as a bard.’ She gulped, rapidly shoving her feet into the boots before walking a few steps. ‘I mean, my lady did and I helped her. She wore her husband’s boots... When I get back to Lingwold, Martha will appreciate the gesture.’
‘And you believe the boots will last that long?’
‘I have to.’ She rubbed her hands together, pushing the thought away that she might never get back. Lingwold for all its faults was her home. ‘What shall I be riding in? Where is your cart?’
He appeared to grow several inches and his shoulders broadened. Barely tamed. Every inch the warrior. ‘Playtime is over. You won’t be riding, Lady Cwenneth.’ Thrand made a low bow. ‘Your ladyship will be walking. I am fresh out of carts and my horse is not overly fond of Northumbrians or women. And I’m not minded to inconvenience him for a proud Northumbrian lady like you. The only question is whether or not I have to tether you to my horse.’
She put her hand to her throat and her heartbeat resounded in her ears. He had called her Lady Cwenneth. Lady! ‘You know. How?’
His lips turned up into a humourless smile. ‘Did you think me an idiot? I’ve known since the first time you opened your mouth. It amused me to see how far you would push it and how many mistakes you’d make. You’re a very poor liar, my lady, even if your voice is sweet enough to charm birds from the trees.’
Cwenneth stared at her hands. Each word knifed her heart. She had been certain that she had fooled him. Naivety in the extreme. It would have been better if she’d died in the woods. She was Thrand Ammundson’s prisoner—worse than that, his slave. He knew her brother wanted his head and had been prepared to pay a high price to get it.
How could he be so cruel as to play this sadistic game? Giving her hope and then turning her over to the one man who would kill her? Her knees threatened to buckle. Summoning all her strength, she locked her knees and balled her fists.
‘Will you deliver me to Hagal? Trussed up like a prize? Was that what you were always planning on doing? Why bother with the play-acting?’ She stretched out her neck and attempted to seem fiercesome. ‘Why not cut off my head and send it back to my brother as a warning? Go on. Do it now.’
‘My enemy wants you dead. Why should I want to do that job for him?’ Something stirred in his lifeless eyes—a flash of warmth and admiration that was so quickly concealed Cwenneth wondered if she had imagined it. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I learnt that in Constantinople and it kept me alive.’
‘We do share a common enemy, but we will never be friends. Temporary allies at best,’ she said, tapping her finger against her mouth. The enemy of his enemy... She wanted to fall down and kiss the ground. They were on the same side. He needed her alive and unscathed.
‘You take my point.’
Her heart did a wild leap. She was going to see Lingwold’s grey walls again. She’d never complain about the tapestry weaving being done incorrectly again or the subjects her sister-in-law considered suitable for gossip, but which bored her senseless. She’d be back with her family and people who understood her.
‘Then you’ll be taking me to Lingwold.’ She clasped her hands together to keep from throwing them about his neck. ‘My brother will pay a huge ransom for me. I swear this on my mother’s grave. He has many men pledged to him. He could send an army against Hagal, assist you in getting rid of your enemy. My brother hates being taken for a fool, and Hagal played him.’
She knew in her relief she was babbling like a brook. When the words had all flowed out of her, she stood, waiting for his agreement. The silence grew deafening. The bravado leaked from her veins as his stare hardened.
‘We’re allies,’ she said in a small voice. ‘It makes sense.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll never go to Lingwold. Your brother’s assurances aren’t worth the spit it takes to say them. If I took you back to Lingwold, I would be truly fulfilling Hagal’s promise to your brother. I know what will happen to me if I enter Lingwold with you even if Hagal has been destroyed. After I’ve finished with you, you may go where you please. Your fate is not linked to mine beyond that day.’
‘I failed to consider that.’
Her brother could be every bit as ruthless as any Norsemen. War had brutalised the idealistic youth she’d known. He bragged about outsmarting them and leaving a band of them to die in a burning house. He proudly proclaimed that it was the only reason Thrand had left him alone for the last raiding season. Her brother might listen to her story, but only after he’d taken Thrand’s head. If Thrand had acted on her advice, she’d have ended up betraying the man she depended on to save her life.
Thrand nodded towards the muddy track. ‘Time to go, your ladyship. Walk—or would you prefer to have your hands bound and be tossed on the back of my horse? I’m in a generous mood after your display of courage. Not many women have asked me to take their life.’
‘I’m not a sack of wool. I will walk. Where are we headed? South to Jorvik?’
‘North to fulfil an oath to my late helmsmen. But I intend to return to Jorvik before the next Storting.’
‘When is that?’
‘Less than a month.’ He made low bow. ‘That will have to satisfy you, Lady Cwenneth. And you had best keep up. I have no time for stragglers, particularly when they are pampered Northumbrian ladies.’
Cwenneth touched her neck, her hand automatically seeking the reassurance of her lost pendant and Richard’s lock of hair. She forced her fingers down. ‘I will walk until it is time to stop. Have no fear on that. I won’t need special assistance.’
‘I shall be interested to see you try.’ He raised his voice so it rang out loud and clear. ‘Lads, the lady is for walking and reckons she can keep up. Do I have any takers? Will she be able to and for how long?’
All about her, Thrand’s men began to wager on how long she’d last. Several remarked on how all Northumbrian ladies were pampered and unused to hard work. One even predicted she would not make but a few yards beyond this place before she demanded to ride. Cwenneth gritted her teeth and silently damned them all to hell.
* * *
‘Do you always keep at this pace?’ she asked, trying to wring out her gown as she trudged through the mud. She must have blisters on top of blisters. Every fibre of her being longed for a warm hearth, a roof over her head and a soft bed to sink down in. But with every step she took and mile she passed, she took satisfaction in proving another Norseman wrong.
‘Getting through the woods and putting distance between us and the massacre is a priority.’
‘We’ve put miles between us and...and where the massacre happened. Surely it must be time to find shelter for the night.’
Every sinew in her body ached. She hurt even where she didn’t think she had muscles.
Thrand half turned from where he led his horse through a muddy puddle and lifted an arrogant eyebrow. ‘We need to make up for lost time. I want to get through these woods before night falls and the rain starts in earnest. We camp in safety. Does that suit your ladyship? Or has my lady changed her mind and now wishes to become a sack of wool?’
The exaggerated patience of his tone grated on her frayed nerves. She stopped and put a hand in the middle of her aching back. ‘Leave me at a farmhouse. Do your raiding or whatever you are going north to do and pick me up on your return. I’ll wait patiently.’
‘How would I know that you’d stay there? Waiting patiently?’
‘I’d give my word.’ She fixed him with a deliberately wide-eyed gaze, but kept her fingers crossed. If the opportunity to go happened, she wouldn’t linger, but she would send a reward once she made Lingwold. ‘No one has questioned it before.’
He made a disgusted noise. ‘If I had taken your word earlier, I would still think you the tire woman. Underestimating my intelligence does neither of us any credit.’
Cwenneth ground her teeth. Fair point. She forced her feet to start marching again. ‘A necessary deception. I had no idea if you were friend or foe.’
‘Once having deceived someone like that, how do you build trust? I’m curious to hear your answer, my lady.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Cwenneth admitted and concentrated on skirting the next puddle. ‘But you should consider the suggestion if you think I am slowing proceedings down. A good commander thinks of all his men. My late husband used to say that.’
‘Consider being left at the farmhouse.’ He slowed his horse slightly and kept pace with her feet. ‘Hagal and his men will begin hunting you once they suspect you live. They will not stop until you are dead or you have defeated Hagal. How will you ensure that farmer’s loyalty when his crops are threatened? A good commander should think about all eventualities before coming to a decision.’
Cwenneth’s stomach knotted. Hagal’s men, in particular Narfi, knew every farmhouse in the area. They were bound to check once they discovered the buried bodies and that hers wasn’t there. Her flesh crept. Thrand was right—why would any farmer shelter her? She wouldn’t be safe until Hagal was dead and she was back inside Lingwold’s walls. ‘I failed to think that far ahead.’
‘If you want to stay alive, let alone gain the revenge you want, you will have to start thinking ahead and you will stay with me. I’m your best...no...your only hope.’
‘But we are staying at a farmhouse. The thought of a bed and a pillow has kept me going for a while.’
His face took on a thoughtful expression. ‘People do remember travellers and when Hagal’s men come, they will answer their questions.’ He gave a half shrug, but his eyes were sharp as if seeking something from her. ‘A lone woman travelling with a group of Norsemen... I doubt many fine ladies travel through this part of the country. If Hagal’s men fail to find your body in the woods, they will check with the surrounding farms. It is what I would do.’
Cwenneth regarded the ground, rather than meeting Thrand’s direct stare. To think she had earlier dismissed him as being all brawn and no brain. He had considered several steps ahead rather than thinking about immediate needs. She needed to start thinking smarter and stop giving in to prejudice. Thrand Ammundson was highly intelligent as well as a formidable warrior.
Some place deep within her chimed in that he was also good-looking when he wasn’t scowling. She ignored it. She had not been interested in men since Aefirth died. Her very being had been encased in ice.
She narrowly avoided another muddy puddle and tried to think about what her next move should be in this real-life game of cat and mouse she was playing, rather than what Thrand looked like when he wasn’t scowling. The only advantage she held was that Hagal thought her dead.
‘You’ve fallen silent, my lady. Do we stop at the next farm? I can see smoke rising in the distance. There will be a welcome of sorts.’
Cwenneth hiked her gown up to keep it out of the mud and silently bid goodbye to all thoughts of a feather bed. The only thing keeping her out of Hagal’s clutches was his belief that she was dead. ‘You’re right, we need to continue on and stopping at a farm is far from a good idea. The stress of today is addling my nerves.’
‘Here you had dreams of a bed,’ he said with heavy irony. ‘Have you given up on your dreams so quickly? Are all Northumbrian ladies this weak willed?’
‘Do you know many Northumbrian ladies?’
‘I’ve met enough.’
‘They weren’t me.’ Cwenneth made a show of placing her feet down, even as the pain from the blister seared up her right leg. ‘I can keep going as long as you require it. There is no need to stop at a farmhouse or any settlement. The open air suits me fine.’
A hearty laugh rang out from his throat. ‘You learn quickly.’
‘Did you plan on stopping at a farm? Before...before you encountered me?’
He pulled his horse to a halt. All good humour vanished from his face. ‘I’ve my reasons for not wishing to be remembered.’
‘And they are?’
‘My own.’
* * *
Just when Cwenneth was convinced they would be trudging through the dank mud all night, Thrand imperiously lifted his hand and pulled his horse to a halt. The entire company stopped. ‘We will make camp here tonight. We should be safe. The ground is good in case of attack...from anyone or anything.’
Cwenneth sucked in her breath, giving silent thanks her walking for the day was done. But she was also pretty sure that she had beaten all wagers against her. It was strange—whenever she had considered quitting, she remembered the wagering and became more determined to prove them, particularly Thrand, wrong. ‘Expecting trouble?’
‘It is better to expect trouble than to encounter it, unprepared,’ Thrand said before issuing orders to his men. ‘Perhaps if your men had...’
‘They were outnumbered. The outcome would have been the same,’ she answered, placing her hands in the middle of her back, rather than giving in to the desire to collapse in a heap. Once down, she had her doubts about getting up again. ‘I keep wondering if there was something more I could have done, but my brother was determined on the match. He threatened me with a convent of his choosing and no dowry. I considered being the wife to a Norse jaarl was the better bet. Without a dowry, I’d have been little better than a scullery maid. It shows how wrong a person can be.’
‘And defeating me means more to your brother than his sister’s life?’
She pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘Edward had no part in this. He wanted to believe Hagal’s assurances and saw the marriage as a way to gain a powerful ally. But he’d never have sent me if he suspected the truth. A dead sister is no use to him in his quest for power within the Bernician court.’
His level gaze met hers. ‘There was nothing you could have done once the events were set in motion. The only mistake Hagal has made in this enterprise is to allow you to fall into my hands alive.’
‘But...’
‘He will pay for it. Now sit and rest. Women like you have no experience at setting up a camp and cause delays.’
‘You have a very low opinion of Northumbrian ladies.’
‘My dealings with them have been deliberately kept to a minimum.’ The glacial blue of his eyes thawed slightly. ‘However, you did better today than any of my men thought you would. You have earned your rest.’ He shook his head. ‘You are far stronger than even I thought you would be. You have made me revise my opinion of ladies. Not all are pale, puny creatures with less stamina than a mouse.’
‘Good.’ Cwenneth sank to the ground, rather than argue. Her feet throbbed and burnt. Sitting, being ignored, was bliss. But her journey home and back to her family had just begun. Somewhere along the way, she’d teach that arrogant Norse warrior that ladies from Lingwold were to be reckoned with. She clenched her fist and vowed it on her son’s grave.
‘Far from smart to provoke him, you know. His temper is legendary.’
She glanced up and saw a slender Norseman standing before her. She shaded her eyes. He’d been the one who had objected to Thrand bringing her along. Her own temper flared. ‘His nickname gives it away—the Destroyer. I doubt he acquired it through being kind and gentle to his enemies.’
‘Thrand is a great fighter. When a battle comes, he always wins. Halfdan’s most potent weapon. They say rather than take the risk, people shower him with gold when he appears on their doorstep.’
‘Have you travelled with him often?’
‘First time.’ The man leant forward and lowered his voice. ‘I promised my cousin on his deathbed I’d come. Someone has to see right for his child as it is kin. And Thrand, he is the sort of man to lead an expedition into enemy territory and return, more than likely with bags full of treasure and gold. Sven had a good war because of his friendship with Thrand. There are iron-bound chests full of gold back in Jorvik.’
‘That I can well believe.’ Cwenneth said a fervent prayer that Thrand and his men would not be returning to Jorvik with more treasure looted from Bernicia.
‘I want gold,’ Knui stated flatly. ‘Lots of it. But then you don’t have any as Thrand will have already taken it. So I’m not sure why I’m bothering with you.’
Her hand hit her belt. Her rings. Aefirth would have understood. Cwennie, survive, he would have said. Rely on no one but yourself. Maybe this warrior would go to Lingwold and let her brother know she survived.
Edward would raise an army to free her if he thought Thrand the Destroyer had her. He’d march to Jorvik and make his demands heard. She had to have patience and think long term. Her hand started to fumble for the rings and her blood became alive with excitement.
A warning sounded in her gut. Why was a Norseman trying to make friends with her? Did he guess that she possessed even a little bit of gold? Why mention it otherwise?
Her hand stilled and dropped to her side. She had to proceed with caution and trust no one.
‘Knui Crowslayer! Where have you hidden yourself this time?’ someone called. ‘I need some help with the firewood!’
‘It was good to speak with you,’ Cwenneth called after him. ‘We must speak another time.’
She hugged her knees to her chest, oddly pleased that she didn’t give up her rings at the first hint. If today had taught her anything, it was not to be blindly trusting. She would wait for her opportunity, rather than acting on impulse.
There was more than one way to get back to her old life. All she needed was patience and a workable plan. Thinking ahead rather than regretting mistakes.
* * *
‘You have remained in the same place since we arrived.’ Thrand’s voice rolled over her. ‘Is that wise? Surely my lady must have a complaint about the primitive standards of this camp.’
Cwenneth lifted her head. All of her muscles screamed with pain and the shadows had grown longer. She wasn’t sure if she had slept or if her mind had become mercifully blank. Now everything came flooding back. She remained in the nightmare and it was about to get worse because they had stopped for the night. And she had no idea of Thrand’s plans. He had claimed her as his woman.
Did he expect her to become his concubine? There had only been Aefirth. She knew how to be a wife, but she had little idea how to be a mistress. Refusing the position was out of the question, not if she wanted to live.
‘I wait for my orders, to find out what I need to do, rather than presuming.’ Muscles protesting at the slightest movement, Cwenneth struggled to stand, but he motioned she should stay seated. She gratefully sat back down.
‘Are you capable of following orders?’ Up close she was aware of his height, the broadness of his shoulders and the way his shirt tightened across his chest. There was power in those muscle-bound arms, but gentleness as well. She could clearly remember how he’d approached the wild boar—slowly and carefully, rather than scaring it. ‘Doing whatever I ask of you?’
‘If I’m going to stay alive, I have to learn.’
‘Clever woman.’
‘I’ve kept my word so far. There is no need to tie me up. I’m not going to run away tonight, not on these feet.’
His gaze slowly travelled over her, making her aware of how her hair tumbled about her neck and the way her gown was now hopelessly stained with mud. She must look like something the dog had dragged in.
His thin smile failed to reach his eyes. ‘I doubt you’d have the strength.’
‘I kept going today.’
He put a hand on her shoulder. Heat flooded her. She wanted to lean into his touch. ‘My men wagered that you wouldn’t.’
‘I heard them when we started. Who won in the end?’
‘I did.’
‘You bet on me?’
The blue in his eyes deepened. ‘My purse is heavier. But you lasted even longer than I thought you would. Impressive. I thought, back by the farm, you’d beg for a ride.’
‘Giving up is not an option if I want to return to my old life. It is better to be unbound. It makes me believe that one day I will regain my freedom.’ She kept her head erect. ‘I have my pride. The lords and ladies of Lingwold never beg.’
‘And you want to return?’
‘Very much. It is my home.’ Cwenneth looped a strand of hair about her ear. ‘Life is good at Lingwold. The walls are strong. Food is plentiful and everyone sleeps soundly in their bed. I would even kiss my sister-in-law and stop complaining about her silly rules about how you weave tapestry.’
‘If it is in my power, word will be sent after I have finished with you.’ He balanced the pouch of gold in his hand. ‘But you have presented me with another problem. You walked too slow.’
‘I hate horses.’ Cwenneth leant forward, wrapping her hands about her knees. There was no way her feet would harden by morning. ‘There, I have admitted it. My fear of horses was stronger than my hurting feet. Tomorrow may be a different story.’
She had been wary of horses ever since Edward’s stallion had bitten her arm when she was ten. All she had done was try to give it a carrot. Edward had laughed at her fear.
‘Here.’ He tossed a small phial of ointment to her. It landed in her lap. She twisted off the top and wrinkled her nose.
‘And this is?’
‘For your feet. An old family recipe. My grandmother used to swear by it. It heals blisters.’
She blinked twice as her mind reeled. She had thought he’d come to mock or worse. ‘Why?’
A faint smile touched his features, transforming them. A woman could drown in those eyes, Cwenneth thought abstractly as a lump formed in her throat. She refused to hope that he was being kind. She doubted Thrand the Destroyer knew the meaning of kindness or simple human decency. He probably had another wager that he wanted to win.
‘Put the ointment on. We will have to go miles tomorrow and I have no wish for you to hold the men back. Purely selfish. I need to be back from the north within the month.’
She weighed the small jar in her hand. The man she thought devoid of all humanity had shown that he wasn’t and that made him all the more dangerous. ‘I will in time.’
He made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. ‘It goes on now. Your feet need to have a chance to heal.’
Without waiting for an answer, he knelt down and eased off her boots. Her feet were rubbed raw with large blisters on the heels and base of her feet.
Cwenneth gave a moan of pain as the cool air hit them.
‘You kept going on these? Impressive.’
‘For a Northumbrian lady?’ She held up her hand. ‘Please, I did overhear banter when the men were wagering. I’m not deaf or daft. And, of course, Narfi thought I was a pampered pet who would not last the night.’
‘What do you think of Norsemen?’
‘That they are muscle and—’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘And I have seen firsthand your intelligence.’
‘You would do well to remember that.’ He nodded towards her feet. ‘And it is for anyone. I have seen young men in tears over less. And I think you do yourself a disservice. You have a stronger will than most other women I’ve met.’
‘You met someone with a stronger will?’
His body went rigid, and the stone planes in his face returned. ‘A long time ago.’
‘I had no choice. You would have tethered me to that horse and made me run simply for the pleasure of it. I’ve heard the stories.’
‘I would have slung you over the back with your hands tied behind your back to prevent you stealing my horse.’ His brows drew together. ‘Humiliating a woman ultimately humiliates the man more. My father taught me that.’
Cwenneth breathed a little easier. Thrand Ammundson was no nightmare of a warrior. ‘I stand corrected.’
‘Courage impresses my men. You never know when you will need allies. You impressed them today. Now let’s see about these blisters.’
He ran a finger along the base of her foot. For such a large man, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Warmth spread up her leg, making her feel alive and cared for. She wanted him to keep stroking, keep kneading the ball of her foot. A sharp pain went through her.
She jerked her foot back. ‘That hurt.’
‘The blisters can be healed. Give me the jar.’ He held out his hand. ‘I will show you how and tomorrow you do it yourself. Morning and night until your feet toughen. Tomorrow we go quicker.’ He took the jar from her unresisting fingers and knelt down before her.
A pulse of warmth radiated from his touch. He touched first one blister, then another, spreading the soothing ointment on. Cwenneth leant back on the green moss and gave herself up to the blissful relief of the pain vanishing.
A small sigh of pleasure escaped from her throat. Immediately, he stopped and dropped the jar beside her.
She glanced up at him. His eyes had darkened to midnight-blue.
‘Why do you stop?’ Her voice came out far huskier than she intended.
‘Finish it. You have the idea.’
‘Thank you for this,’ she said, reaching for the jar. A liquid heat had risen between her legs. He hadn’t even kissed her or touched her intimately, and she had behaved like...like a woman of the street rather than the lady she was. He was her enemy, not her friend. Her cheeks burnt with shame. Ever since Aefirth had died, she had been encased in ice. She had been so sure she’d never feel anything like that again and now this. With this man who should be the last person on the planet she was attracted to, her enemy but also her saviour.
