Bjorn Page 8

  Bjorn knelt in front of her and took it as a good sign when she didn’t flinch. He reached for her hands and undid the bindings on her wrists. The leather fell away, and he frowned at the angry grooves marring her flesh.

  “You should have said it was too tight,” he growled, but his true anger was directed at himself. He massaged circles on her wrists with his strong, callused thumbs, aiding the circulation.

  Her fingers flexed. Bjorn raised her hand and kissed the delicate skin inside her wrist. Rhiannon’s eyes flickered, and he held his breath. She blinked, and the confusion melted from them to focus on his at long last.

  “Bjorn?” she whispered, voice cracking from lack of use.

  The tightness in his chest eased, and relief swamped him.

  “I’m here, Rhiannon.” He cupped her cheek before he could second-guess the action. “You’re safe.”

  She gave him a tremendous watery smile that took his breath away, and he ran the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone.

  “We need to talk,” he said softly.

  Her gaze flickered to the fire, and applying a gentle pressure to the small of her back, he urged her closer to its warmth. A strained silence reigned except for the intermittent pop of the flames, and it became obvious he was going to have to broach the delicate subject.

  “What happened, Rhiannon?”

  She didn’t say a word. Swallowing hard, she hugged her knees to her chest, her shoulders rounded as if warding off physical blows rather than questions. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get any answers there and, scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried a different tack.

  “Why did you run?”

  A flicker of humour ghosted over her face, and the corners of her mouth tugged upwards.

  “Because I didn’t appreciate having a skelped arse,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Bjorn’s lips twitched. Fragile and bruised, but she was still the she-wolf who had gutted him.

  “Then perhaps you could tell me why you left?” he asked, keeping his frustration at her blatant dodges on a tight leash.

  Her lips pressed together in a mutinous line. Rhiannon’s defences were firmly in place. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how to approach this.

  “Rhiannon,” he began slowly, forging ahead before he could think better of it. “Eithne told me—”

  Rhiannon reared back, eyes flying wide open. “She had no right,” she snarled, becoming animated, the harsh sound reminding him of a cornered animal.

  “I’m pleased she did,” Bjorn said.

  Rhiannon sneered. “Why? Do I disgust you?” She pushed to her feet and paced, her strides sharp and jerky. “Do you think I will now spread my legs for you without being wed?”

  She cast the accusation carelessly at him and, taking a firm hold of his temper, Bjorn allowed them to bounce off him. He could cope with her rage far better than her fear and that blank, desolate look.

  “Do you still think I am worthy to be a member of your family?” she demanded.

  That was enough.

  Unfolding his arms, Bjorn stepped into her direct path. “Stop,” he commanded, injecting as much authority into his voice as he could muster to pierce the angry shell Rhiannon had wrapped herself in. It forced her to stop and crane her neck to peer up at him. “I would kill the men who harmed you,” he stated clearly, anger beating at him and baking him from the inside out. “I’d deliver their heads to you in fucking offering. But I will never, ever hurt you like that.” Raw emotion vibrated in his voice. After today, it was the one vow he could make with certainty. How the argumentative, fiery woman had burrowed her way into his heart he didn’t know, but she had.

  “You didn’t give me a choice either,” she spat. “You would expect to take me to your bed, and I can’t.” She was hyperventilating, her pupils dilating. “I just can’t.”

  Bjorn clasped her shoulders and pulled her unresistingly into his chest, cradling the back of her head. He leaned down to hear her muffled sobs.

  “Now you know why I can’t wed. Who wants a wife who is afraid of her husband’s touch, who flinches away?”

  Bjorn’s heart went out to her and, curling a finger under her chin, he found jewelled teardrops clinging to her dark lashes. Their gazes locked, and in that moment the sounds of the fire and night creatures faded, and there was only Rhiannon.

  “I would,” he said.

  Her mouth dropped open, and at any other time he would have enjoyed the novelty of shocking her speechless. Bjorn never stopped rubbing her back, aware she was slowly calming. His heart heavy, he knew there was only one thing left to do. Set her free.

  “Though I desire you, I will not force you. I want a willing wife.” The words left him dead inside, all his hopes and dreams for the future crumbled to dust. But if she needed to be free to make her happy, he would step back and allow her that freedom.

  “If I don’t accept you, I will have to leave anyway,” she whispered.

  Bjorn pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache building between his eyes. “You let me worry about my brother.” She might not want him, but he would protect her. “Go and sit by the fire while I prepare our bed.”

  “But—” The argument that had clearly been on the tip of her tongue died when he fixed her with a look.

  It was late, his limbs were like lead weights, and the pain that had been tugging at his side said he had pushed much too hard, too quickly.

  “Go on,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the warm, welcoming circle of light, his tone brooking no argument.

  Reluctantly, she shuffled off and curled her knees to her chest, and he sensed her fretful gaze drilling into him, following every move he made. Rhiannon was wary, like a distrustful animal, and though he understood it, it still hurt. Finished with arranging the furs and blankets, he turned back to her, hands on his hips, and braced himself for her reaction.

  “We’ll have to share a bed, Rhiannon, it’ll be cold tonight.” The cloudless sky would see to that.

  But forever the woman of the unexpected, she shifted closer to the fire. “You sleep. I’ll stay up and tend the fire and watch for wolves.”

  Bjorn frowned. She would freeze in the meantime—unacceptable. He paused and considered his options. As much as he would like to, he didn’t have the heart to force her under the covers, and that only left one alternative. Stretching his back, he sat back down next to the fire, and the warmth licked at his skin like a lover’s touch.

  “What are you doing?” Rhiannon demanded.

  “Tending the fire and keeping an eye out for wolves.” He repeated her own ridiculous words back at her. How he kept a straight face for the last part of the statement he didn’t know. The summer game had been plentiful, and the wolves wouldn’t bother them.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’ll freeze,” she growled through gritted teeth.

  Bjorn shrugged his weary shoulders, the small movement taking a momentous effort. “And you won’t?”

  A myriad of emotions flickered across her expressive face: frustration, rebellion, and a little bit of fear. Despite the situation, the first inklings of humour bubbled inside him as he watched the prickly woman draw her own conclusions and realised she had been outmaneuvered.

  “Fine,” she bit out savagely around her pursed lips. “I suppose if I go to bed, you will, too?”

  Bjorn snapped his fingers and said with false astonishment, “Now that’s a fine idea.”

  Rhiannon’s lips twitched, and she snorted, but the mirth quickly fled.

  “Very well then,” she sighed out, resigned.

  Bjorn fed the fire and banked it, then eased down under the furs. He curled his head up and just looked at her then shifted to hold out his arm in an open invitation. Biting her lower lip, Rhiannon crept forward on her hands and knees and laid her body down beside his, stiff as a board, her back to him with her muscles locked tight. Bjorn stretched his arms behind him with a yawn, cradling his head with his palms as he stared up stars, burnin
g with awareness for the woman who lay so close but very far away. How to get her to relax?

  “I was married once,” Bjorn began. “It was not a good marriage; we were both too young and too…” He paused to search for the right word. “Too different.” He settled for that at last, and without conscious thought, he stroked her flank.

  Rhiannon jerked at the contact at first before relaxing into his touch.

  “I was hot-headed and…and she spoilt and lonely.”

  The stiff line of her body eased, and he continued talking in a soft, low voice that was barely more than a rumble.

  “What was her name?” Her voice was rusty, but he was pleased she had asked a question.

  “Hilde.” He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. “We divorced after she turned to another man. I was richly compensated but I did not intend to take a bride again.”

  “Until me?”

  “Aye.” He smirked. “Until a dark-haired wench thought to stab me.”

  In the dull firelight, a hot blush edged her cheekbones. “I’m sorry about that.” Sadness edged her words. “I’m sorry about everything.”

  Bjorn echoed that sadness. “So am I.” He sighed and twisted to find a comfortable spot. “Sleep now, Rhiannon. You are safe, and we have a long journey tomorrow.”

  Bjorn stayed awake a long time after Rhiannon’s breathing had softened and her muscles went slack. She was exhausted, and in her sleep, she snuggled closer to his side, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder that seemed to be made for her. Could he really let her go? He would not force her to wed but he could court her, earn her trust. Kiss her until she was lost in a sea of sensation, gentle her to his touch until she no longer flinched. It was possible if he was willing to wait.

  He released a breath, and the air misted in front of him. Patience had never been his strong suit. Then the woman in his arms wiggled closer, drawing one leg over his as her palm slid up his chest to rest over his heart. A wave of tenderness flooded that organ. Who was he trying to fool? He didn’t have a choice; he was lost for the woman sleeping in his arms.

  Chapter 7

  Rhiannon had awoken curled around Bjorn’s body like a piece of clinging ivy, and she didn’t feel even a whisper of the clawing panic. Confused, she rose onto her elbow. It wasn’t—she touched to tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth—unpleasant. Bjorn woke, his body stiffening with awareness and immediately disentangled their limbs and moved away, but not before his hardened shaft had prodded her stomach. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Bjorn to keep his distance? Then why, for all that was holy, did it hurt so much? Like the hole in her middle had just grown larger instead of smaller.

  Breaking camp, they retraced the trail that Rhiannon had taken. Bjorn was setting a slow pace, and she didn’t argue, was just merely thankful. She had pushed herself much too hard over the recent days, they both had. Apart from offering the odd comment, they were content to keep their own counsel. It was like they had become strangers overnight and they no longer knew how to act around each other. It gave her plenty of time to think, her mind repeating the words spoken last night over and over again.

  “Who wants a wife who is afraid of her husband’s touch, who flinches away?”

  Blue eyes ablaze, Bjorn had spoken two words that had rocked her to the core. “I would.”

  Hope sparked within her being, a hope that she thought had been extinguished a long time ago. A husband and children, a family of her own, if she was brave enough to stay the course.

  Could he truly want her, even after everything? What if it was all within reach and she was too scared to seize it with both hands?

  They stopped to make camp early despite not covering nearly enough ground, and they would have to spend another night in the open before they reached home. Not that she was in a hurry to face her family. Her mother would hug her tight, Eithne would look at her with pity, everyone would be so kind and understanding, and she would deserve none of it.

  Bjorn worked on breathing life into a smouldering ember. Rhiannon picked through the slim offerings of dried grass and dead tree limbs to aid him in the task. Soon the fire was going, and they ate their meagre meal of dried meat and stale bread. Rhiannon attempted to find her courage. She jumped when Bjorn covered her shoulders with a cloak to ward off the evening chill. Before she could think better of it, she reached up and grasped his hand, and Bjorn looked startled, his head tilted in silent question.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “That you would be willing to take me to wife, despite being damaged?”

  He didn’t know how much it had cost her to say the words. He could guess but he would never really know. Breathtakingly vulnerable, gazing up at him, her eyes full of hope and the fire at her back streaking her hair with red, she had never looked more beautiful.

  Bjorn settled next to her, never letting go of her hand. “Yes, I meant it.” His voice turned stern. “And you are not damaged.”

  “Why?”

  Bjorn seemed to mull the answer round for a moment, and Rhiannon found herself holding her breath.

  “I care deeply for you. We have the beginnings of something very special, very rare, but I believe in time it can grow into love,” he said at last, running his thumb over her knuckles. “You are a brave, courageous woman, who will weather any hardship for the ones she loves, and I admire that. I believe we can have a good marriage, a strong marriage.”

  His fingers laced through hers, tethering them together, and Rhiannon’s heart thumped a little harder against her ribs, awareness shooting through her, skin tingling where they touched. It felt right.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  Rhiannon jiggled her head in a nod.

  “Then what do you think of that?”

  Rhiannon’s mind was a mess with a thousand thoughts at once, each shouting to be heard. How to even begin to try to tell him everything she was thinking and feeling. But he didn’t push her, didn’t rush, just let her pick through the tangled emotions until she knew exactly what she wanted to say.

  “I like the way you touch me.” She trembled beside him, praying that this wouldn’t go terribly wrong. “I was glad that you came after me—I like being with you. I don’t want to give the memory power over me, I don’t want them to have power over me.” Rhiannon swallowed hard and licked her dry lips, trying to force out the words that were stuck in her throat. “I’m afraid, Bjorn, and I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she rattled out on a breath and snapped her eyes closed. There, she’d said it. Sort of.

  Bjorn inhaled sharply and hesitantly reached out to tuck an escaped lock behind her ear. Her fingers shaking, Rhiannon rose to her feet, letting the cloak drop away. She drew her tunic over her head, the cold air pricking at her skin. Hands on his knees, Bjorn leaned forward, his attention rapt. Before her courage could desert her, she tugged her belt loose at her waist, and the fabric of her trousers whispered against her skin as they slid to the ground. Standing naked before him with the fire at her back, she had rarely been more vulnerable, and that terrified her. Bjorn’s dark glower didn’t put her at ease, and she fought the urge to snatch up her clothes and cover herself. Wasn’t he pleased? Did the thin scar running above her hip repel him? She’d received it in a skirmish shortly after Alpin’s death. She’d been lucky, where her brother had not. The wound had not turned bad, and with Myrna’s skilled hands, it was now just a long, pale line. The same for the nicks on her lower arms, but Bjorn had seen those already.

  Self-conscious, Rhiannon crossed her arms over her breasts and waited, unsure what to do next. After a heart-stopping pause, Bjorn crooked a finger at her, an invitation for Rhiannon to go to him, and her feet obeyed until she stood before him. His large hands settled on her waist and pulled her between his muscular thighs.

  “If we do this, Rhiannon, you will be accepting me as your husband in all but name,” he warned, his face a mask of savage strain. “I
f we do this, you will become my wife, we will be wed as soon as the ceremony can take place. I will not allow you to run from me.”

  At the fierce possession that shone in his eyes, she tried to move back a step, but his hands tightened on her hips, keeping her in place.

  “Do you understand?” he bit out.

  Rhiannon flinched at his harshness. “Yes.” The single word rasped against her dry throat.

  Bjorn gave a stilted nod, but the tension in his face eased a notch. “Very well.”

  He effortlessly lifted her onto his lap, and Rhiannon immediately curled into his chest in an attempt to hide her nakedness from him.

  “Do you fear me?” he asked, a low, roughened rumble that started deep in his chest, the tone gentler that before.

  She swallowed hard and turned her head into the crook of his neck, unable to meet his eyes. That was the question. Capturing her chin between thumb and forefinger, and though his touch was gentle, it was insistent, he turned her head back and snared her with his gaze, leaving her with nowhere to hide.

  “I expect an answer, Rhiannon.”

  She worked her mouth, but no words came out.

  “Rhiannon,” he warned softly.

  “No,” she said faintly, unable to believe the answer she came to, the whisper, so soft he appeared unable to hear at first and dipped his head closer to her. Amazingly, she didn’t fear Bjorn himself. She was terrified of what they were about to attempt, but not him.

  “What was that, Rhiannon?”

  Her heart thundered, and she licked her lips, stunned by her revelation. “No,” she repeated, stronger than before. “I don’t fear you.”

  He released a pent-up breath, the tense muscles in his arms relaxing as fingers lazily trailed over her lower back. “Good. Now tell me what caused you to fear before?”

  Her bottom lip trembling, Rhiannon sucked in a breath, steadied herself and, curling her fingers into his tunic, she bravely held his gaze.

  “My hands pinned over my head, on my back with your weight pressing down on me.” She swallowed hard, rocking slightly back and forth. “I panicked and couldn’t stop it. I was back there again. I could smell them like I could reach out and touch them.” Rhiannon drew in a ragged breath, blinking back tears. “Being helpless and in pain.” Bile burned her throat. “Violation.”