The Temperate Warrior (20 page)

He gave her a stern look and crossed his arms. “You speak as though you know something I do not.”

“What I know is not my place to say.”

Gustaf shook his head and scoffed, slapping the reins absently against his palm. “You and your riddles. I should have known better than to think you would be forthcoming where other’s private thoughts are concerned.”

“Trust me, son. You will be glad of what you hear and that it came from Æsa’s lips. Not mine.”

He looked askance at the old woman. He respected her to no end, but it drove him crazy that she knew every person’s innermost thoughts. She was like a priest from the new Christian religion who swore to keep all confessions confidential. What set her apart from the sworn holy men trying to convert the known world was that she had no qualms about boasting her mystic powers of telepathy to the common man.

Halldora reached up and patted Gustaf’s cheeks with both hands. The gentle gesture eased the tension from his jaw just as if his own caring mother had done it. He pulled her hands away and tenderly cupped them in his. “I know you mean well, Halldora, but I grow tired of talking in circles with you. Now, if you will pardon me, I aim to strike up a real conversation with a woman who knows not my every word before it falls from my lips.” He regarded her carefully as he pat her bony knuckles. “I thank you for keeping watch over Æsa, even if ‘twas only to meddle.”

“The pleasure was all mine, oh great son of Rælik.”

Gustaf had to laugh as he turned and mounted his horse. He pointed at her and waved his finger. “Stay out of my head,
seið-kona
.”

“What would be the fun of that?”

Gustaf raised his brows for extra measure. “I mean it, Halldora.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Æsa’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the thunderous hooves of Gustaf’s horse galloping across the meadow. She wanted nothing more than to run up to him and throw her arms around his neck and revel in the fact he was unharmed. Unfortunately for him, she’d had hours to reflect on the way he’d treated her, and thus, she suppressed her excitement for both his return and revealing the news of the child in her womb.

She distracted herself by continuing to witness the budding relationship that had taken place between Helga and Øyven. The comely girl never said much, but when she did, Øyven hung on her every word. From the sporadic smiles that graced the shy warrior’s lips, it didn’t take much brilliance to realize he was utterly charmed by her.

Feigning enthrallment with the falcon perched on her gloved hand, Æsa ignored Gustaf as he came to a halt at her side. It was one thing to be scolded in private, but if he decided to do so in front of Øyven and Helga, she’d die a slow death of humiliation.

“My lady,” she heard him say.

Despite the meekness of his voice, she declined to face him. Her heart still ached to know he’d left her in haste without a proper introduction or even a sympathetic word. “My lord,” was all she could muster at the moment.

She petted the bird and continued to gaze upon it, the heat of Gustaf’s eyes blazing through her back like a sweltering afternoon sun. The awkward silence thereafter seemed to have gotten the best of Gustaf as well, for he trotted around her and acquired a position in her line of sight.

“I know I deserve not your affections, but I implore you to at least acknowledge me, Æsa.”

She straightened her back and lifted her chin, giving him exactly what he asked for and nothing more. “I see you have returned from your hunt a hero. Well done, m’lord.”

Gustaf inclined his head and smiled as if amused by her sarcasm. “I would like to believe you are relieved by my return. Perhaps, a bit of sincerity might be in order?”

“Sincerity, you say?” Æsa tamped down her mounting frustration and forced herself to breathe before opening her mouth again. “What little I gave you is quite more than you deserve. If you wanted sincerity, then mayhap you might have thought to furnish me with the same kindness, instead of leaving me to consort with strangers—which incidentally I chose not to do.” She looked at Øyven, who was now approaching. “At least a selected few have not forgotten how to be cordial and accommodating.”

“Is everything all right, m’lord?” Øyven asked humbly.

Gustaf gave his horse freedom to graze and leaned forward, his elbow resting on the pommel of the saddle. “I appreciate you keeping Æsa company in my absence.”

“In your absence?” Æsa repeated. “You mean in your deliberate desertion.”

“There is that,” Gustaf agreed without dispute. “Nonetheless, I am grateful.”

Øyven glanced between the two before replying. “’Twas an honor, m’lord.”

Æsa regarded Gustaf and the efforts he was making to be less confrontational since his departure. His somber face indicated that he harbored more regret than she thought possible of her stubborn warrior. Consequently, the fervor she once had for making him work to earn her forgiveness fizzled out.

She held out her hand to Øyven and transferred the falcon to his wrist. “I hope you allow me the honor of assisting you with her lessons on the morrow.”

Øyven smiled. “I would like that very much. It seems Sæhildr is quick to learn when you are near.”

Æsa couldn’t agree more. The young bird, though barely a
passager
, expressed an uncanny sense of being manned and lured without prior rigorous schooling.

“Perhaps, tomorrow we can hack her.”

Æsa’s eyes bulged, aghast by the cruelty Øyven suggested upon his precious falcon.

“That means to give her liberty to fly,” he explained, jiggling the leather twine fastened around her leg.

Æsa breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course.”

Øyven looked at Gustaf and, like he had done many times before, sought his chieftain’s permission. “Would that be possible, m’lord?”

Gustaf nodded once. “I can assure you there are plenty of things I can do to occupy my time while the two of you tend to the bird’s training. I suspect one of those tasks might be to keep Snorri away lest he break his fast with a morning meal of roasted fowl. In the meantime, I request the honor of my betrothed.” He held out his hand and lowered his heated gaze at Æsa. “Will you ride with me?”

This was the gentle warrior she knew and loved. She could no more refuse his invitation than she could stop her heart from beating. In the instant she took his hand, he hoisted her up behind him. With one hand holding fast to the reins, he held the horse in check while she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself against his back. She’d almost forgotten how big he was until she tried to link her hands together at his navel. Between the mass of muscle in his torso and the thickness of the wolf-skin cloak keeping him warm, she could barely reach.

She felt his left forearm lay across hers as he gripped her elbow and secured her to him. “Ready, my dearest Æsa?”

“M’lord,” Øyven interjected. “You
will
be back in time for the feast, I assume.”

“I would not miss it,” Gustaf said, restraining the horse that pranced beneath him. “But I trust I leave you in good hands with Helga.” He lowered his head and furrowed his brow. “A word of advice…”

“Aye?”

Gustaf glanced around the spacious meadow before speaking. “You are never truly alone.”

Øyven chuckled under his breath. “I am well aware of Halldora’s—gifts.”

Gustaf found Øyven’s clever modification of his words amusing and laughed in spite of it. “You can change your words all you like. Halldora still knows what goes unspoken.”

“Dually noted, m’lord.”

****

Gustaf closed his eyes and tried to settle his nerves as he steered his horse along the banks of the crystalline lake. He sought a much-needed refuge from the many villagers who inhabited the secret valley to be alone with his beautiful betrothed—away from one specific person.

What he had to say, he wanted heard by only one woman. He was about to bare his soul to Æsa and grovel at her feet if he had to, to make amends. Showing this weaker side of himself was not something he cared to demonstrate to others, particularly a nosey old woman who loved to take permanent residence in his head.

He knew exactly how far the scattered spellbound rune stones lay within the valley floor and he would not think or speak one word to Æsa until he crossed the threshold. He willed his mind to be blank as he trudged onward into the thick, plentiful woodlands of Norway’s terrain.

Veritably, that was easier said than done. With Æsa’s soft, warm body scrunched against his back and her tight arms around his waist, his thoughts refused to remain vacant. He couldn’t help but recall this morning—the image of her naked flesh—her curvaceous hips and breasts open to the elements and, of course, bare for only his viewing pleasure. Before he knew it, he drifted into the moment he’d shamelessly brought Æsa on all fours and plunged into her from behind, sparing nothing when it came to the intimate details of his final release. He almost laughed as he envisioned Halldora cringing with disgust.

Serves her well for infringing upon my personal thoughts.

But then, as he recalled the way he couldn’t keep his hands off her once they mounted for the last leg of their journey, he remembered the way she’d thrown him for a loop with the subject of infertility and a mistress. Again, he closed his eyes and forced his thoughts elsewhere. He refused to give Halldora any more sustenance than she already possessed at the moment.

To his relief, the perimeter of the sacred rune stones finally came into view. With careful guidance, he led his horse across, looking downward to make certain its hooves didn’t disturb a single stone.

He heard Æsa giggle behind him.

“Halldora unravels you to no end, does she not?”

Gustaf took a deep breath and spoke openly about his feelings now that he was safe from the witch’s intrusion. “She is one woman I would always want on my side in war, but I care little for her when the battle I wage is with myself.” He leaped from the horse and tied its reins to a nearby tree. He couldn’t yet look at Æsa, his heart bleeding as he recalled how harsh and cold he’d been toward her. Though riddled with regret, his mind was plagued with thoughts of taking her into his arms and ravishing her with a kiss she’d never forget. He stared at the ground, trying to gather his wits.

“M’lord,” Æsa began to say, but he stopped her with a raised hand.

“There is no need for you to speak, but to listen.” He clenched his jaw and slowly turned around to face her. His eyes lifted to find Æsa reaching for his hand. Everything he planned to say escaped him as he saw in that moment just how beautiful she was and how close he’d come to losing her.

He stepped forward in haste, took hold of her hand and pulled her off the horse into his arms. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the potent aroma of sweet primrose. The warmth of her neck against his cheek had him craving her heat and softness. He missed touching her body, tasting her flesh, and before he realized, he’d crushed her against his chest and dove to her mouth.

His tongue parted her surprised lips, slipping between her teeth and entangling with hers. He moaned as he sucked, sweeping over every inch of her open mouth. The more their tongues knotted, the harder he became.

All the blood from his brain rushed to his groin, deserting his original objective of begging for her forgiveness with words of sincerity and compassion. The only thing he found himself doing was corrupting her good sense along with his own and, for once, he didn’t care.

All that concerned him was seizing as much of her as she’d allow. His hands searched over her back, pulling her against him. Although he tried, he just couldn’t get close enough.

Spinning her around, he backed her against the tree and ground his throbbing arousal against the region of her body he ached to be inside. The rasp of his woolen breeches against her silken kirtle frustrated him as the fabrics kept him from relishing flesh on flesh.

He gripped the material of her gown and dragged his fists along the outer edge of her thighs. Creamy smooth skin met hard coarse knuckles and it took everything he had not to tear her dress in two.

Æsa, both breathless and wickedly erotic with her mouth half parted and her ebony lashes hovering over light wanton eyes, planted her hands on Gustaf’s chest and pushed him out the frenzy of their kiss.

Both stared at each other, panting, trembling.

A lazy smile adorned her swollen lips and she let her head fall back against the tree. “Is that your notion of an apology, m’lord?”

Gustaf hung his head and huffed a massive sigh of reprieve to settle his labored breaths. He released his grasp on her clothes and staggered on unsteady legs. “’Twas merely a kiss.”

She scoffed once as if amused by his aloof description of the immense passion in that mere kiss. “I fear knowing what you might consider excessive.”

Gustaf knew her words were only meant to make light of the situation, but nonetheless he felt remorse for allowing himself to be consumed with lust. “I did not plan to take you in such a way. Forgive me.”

“Gustaf,” she crooned, her voice filled with pity.

He shook his head and raised his hand to silence her. “You deserve better.” Moved with emotion, he dropped to his knees. “I am not a man who knows the proper conduct necessary for reparation, but I shall give it my best effort.” He swallowed and drew in a long breath. “I was a fool, Æsa. I allowed my pride to rise up during a moment when it had no purpose. I heard your words, but I did not listen to the unselfishness intent you wished to convey to me. I scolded you like a child, when I should have been sympathetic. You were only being honest with me, about your…possible…” He couldn’t utter the words ‘barren womb.’ It sounded as insulting as proclaiming a man absent his manhood. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed onward, assuming she understood what he meant. He lifted his eyes to her. “I care not if you are unable to produce an heir. I desire not to take you to wife so I may gain a son. I wish to marry you for no other reason than because I love you.”