Timeless (18 page)

Misery and torment
, he reminded himself.
She can only bring you misery and torment in the end.

Avril sighed in enjoyment as she finished her meal—and Hauk realized he had unintentionally fulfilled one of the commands set forth in the
Havamal:
A new husband was to discover his bride’s favorite foods and provide them for her.

Just as he was to discover all of her favorite, secret pleasures.

“Did you eat naught while I was away?” he asked, chagrined.

“What?”

“You eat as if you had been starving, and you are”—despite himself, he found his gaze drawn back to her—”unusually quiet.”

They regarded each other across the scant distance that separated them, the cookfire making the night air crackle with flames and heat.

As before, she held his gaze only a moment before she glanced away, color rising in her cheeks. “If I seem quiet, it is simply because I am tired. As I told you earlier, the storm kept me awake.”

Her blush deepened.

Hauk frowned at her in confusion, unable to fathom why she would turn scarlet because a storm had kept her awake.

Unless it was not, in truth, the weather that had disturbed her sleep... but something else.

He almost choked on his own breath, remembering the unfinished explanation she had offered earlier, just before she began babbling on about the storm.

I have had bad...

Dreams? Was it her dreams that left her blushing and breathless?

Had she been unable to sleep for the same reason as him?

His heart thudded a single, violent stroke then began pounding. He had heard legends of Asgard men and their mates who shared a bond so deep that they did not need words to communicate, even when distance separated them—a bond so strong they even shared the same dreams.

He had always dismissed such tales as fanciful nonsense.

But he could not dismiss the way Avril was reacting to him tonight. How different she seemed. His brain rioted with questions.

Had she been dreaming of him?
Was it desire that made her blush? Was that why she remained by his side—because she was drawn to him in the same powerful, inescapable way he was drawn to her?

How might she respond if he closed the distance between them now, if he drew her near and kissed her? Would it win him a slap? A knife in his gullet?

Or the kind of response he had dreamed of?

Her gaze still lowered, she wiped his knife in the sand and tossed it aside. It landed next to his discarded sword. “Sword, knife, battle-ax,” she mused. “You travel heavily armed, Hauk. Was your journey dangerous?”

“Were you worried for me, wife?” His voice sounded husky, even to his own ears.

“Do not call me that,” she chided.

He noticed she had not answered his question.

He also noted that at some point, she had started calling him by his first name rather than “Norseman” or “Valbrand.”

How would she taste?
Would her mouth be hot and hungry beneath his, or sweet and soft?

“Fear not,” he managed to say, “I am unharmed. I suffered naught but a small gash.” Lifting his right hand, he revealed an angry red mark that ran up his arm from wrist to elbow, earned when he slipped on a jagged outcropping of stone while running home through the rain.

She gasped. “Sweet Mary.” Lips parted, she started to say more, then stopped herself, regarding him with a look that held...

By all the gods, it was concern he saw in her gaze. Concern for his pain. For him. She
had
been worried about him.

Just as he had been worried about her.

He turned away abruptly, shaking off the feelings, unable to look into his wife’s sparkling emerald eyes a moment longer. He would not
do
this to himself. It was bad enough that she trespassed on his thoughts waking and sleeping. Bad enough that she made him
want
, in a way he had not wanted in half a lifetime.

He had to accept her presence in his life, had to protect her and see to her needs—but he could
not
allow her to stir the ashes of feelings he had forgotten how to feel. For the sake of his sanity, he had to leave them buried. Buried, like the sketches and belongings he kept shut away in trunks because he could not bear to look at them and could not bring himself to destroy them.

He stretched out on the sand, on his side, giving her his back. Then he reached for his cloak, pounding it into the shape of a pillow and jamming it under his head. Avril was merely a woman, like any other. He could control the desire he felt for her, and the other feelings as well.

It was only fatigue that made the task seem unusually difficult.

“You are going to sleep?” she asked curiously.

“It is what I normally do when I am tired after a long journey,” he grated out.

“Oh.” She remained quiet a moment. “I thought we might...”

He clenched his teeth to resist the suggestive replies that sprang to mind:
Kiss? Slowly undress one another? Discover how your naked body would feel against mine? Make hot, passionate love under the moon?

“Talk,” she said.

He released a harsh breath. “We can talk on the morrow.” Horn of Odin, if he had to look at her again, he was not sure he could keep himself from pulling her into his arms, pressing her down beside the fire, lifting the hem of her shift until her naked bottom met warm sand and his fingers found soft, wet silk.

He wrestled his unruly thoughts under control, thwacked his pillow for good measure. “Go to sleep, Avril.”

After a moment, he heard her move away a few paces, then stretch out on the sand. Grateful, he shut his eyes and prayed to all the gods to grant him sleep.

Dreamless sleep.

But apparently the gods were busy elsewhere this night.

“I am certain your wounded arm will heal,” she said quietly. “No doubt within the hour.”

“That does not make it hurt any less,” he muttered. The ocean breeze felt cool against his chest, the fire’s warmth hot against the bare skin of his back. The soothing, familiar sound of the wind and waves might have lulled him to sleep eventually.

If he had not been blessed with a talkative bride.

“How can that be?” she prodded. “How is it that wounds heal so quickly here? My jaw
was
broken in Antwerp, I am certain of it. And the other night, when I cut my hand, it healed almost at once. And
everyone
in the town seems to be in perfect health.”

He did not reply.

“Hauk?”

He glared into the night, annoyed with himself for having leaped to half-witted conclusions earlier like some naive, first-time groom. He had been wrong, of course. He and Avril did not share dreams or desire or any gentler sort of feelings.

This
was why she had remained near him: because she hoped to glean information about Asgard, while he was tired enough to be careless. Information that might help her in whatever escape attempt she was no doubt planning.

“Hauk? Are you awake?”

He could pretend to be asleep, but he had known from the beginning that he would have to answer her questions about the island sooner or later. Revealing part of the truth—a small part—might satisfy her curiosity for now.

And keep her from asking questions he truly did not wish to answer.

“Asgard has certain natural healing qualities,” he said simply, remaining on his side with his back to her. “Injuries heal swiftly and illness is unknown among us.”

He could hear her sitting up. “But how is that possible? Is it some quality of the air? Or the water or the food? Or... or some unique herb or root found here and nowhere else?”

“We do not know.”

She uttered a scoffing sound. “I do not believe you. You know but you do not wish to tell me.”

“I am speaking the truth. Many among us have sought to answer the question you ask.” He paused for a moment, an image of his father bright and sharp in his mind. “But no one knows for certain. It may be a combination of several qualities found in nature here, native to Asgard. We do not know.”

She fell silent, as if weighing what he had said and trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

“It is a shame that it remains a mystery,” she said at last.

“Aye,” he agreed, with a bitterness he doubted she could fathom.

“But even if you do not know
how
this place offers such wondrous healing, why do you not share it with the world? Why take such care to keep your island secret? Imagine the good you could do. Imagine the people you could help—”

“Imagine how quickly Asgard would be overrun and destroyed,” he said flatly. “We
must
keep it secret. It is the only way to protect our home and those who live here.”

A soft note of understanding came into her voice. “And that is why you will not allow any of the captives to leave.”

“Aye.”

There was more to it than that, but he was not ready to reveal the rest. There was no telling what a woman as unpredictable as Avril might do—especially when she was still bent on escape.

“But why bring captives here at all?” she asked, sounding bewildered. “It seems a terrible risk to take, merely to...” She hesitated. “To
what
? What in the name of all the saints
do
you want with us?”

He rolled onto his back, sighing wearily and staring up at the cloud-darkened sky. It seemed he would get no more sleep tonight than he had the last two nights. “I told you before, I do not want you at—”

“Aye, I know. You do not want me at all. You acquired me purely by accident,” she said dryly. “But what about the others? Why would men risk so much simply to get a wife?”

“Some young hotheads find risk exciting. And they want what most men want. Companionship. A comely wench to warm their beds.” He slanted her a glance.

Avril reddened and lowered her lashes. “But why not marry one of the women who are already here?” she persisted. “Why not marry a... an
innfodt
woman?”

Hauk narrowed his eyes, wondering who had told her that word—and how much she had been told about the difference between
utlending
and
innfodt
women. That discussion was supposed to be left for a husband to have with his wife. When he decided the time was right.

“Some do,” he said slowly. “But others want...” He paused, assaulted by shards of memories, hopes and dreams shattered long ago. The unborn son he had lost. The family the gods had never granted him.

He shrugged, the sand rough against his bare back. There was no need to open that painful subject. Not yet. Not now. “Bringing
utlending
brides here is a tradition.”

“It seems a foolish tradition.”

“Aye, I have said the same. Many times. But young ears are too often deaf to reason.”

If she understood that he included her in that comment, she gave no sign.

Still looking down, she drew a fingertip through the sand. “Then if you agree that it is a foolish tradition, and if I vowed by my child’s life that I would keep your secret—”

“I still would not be able to set you free. By Thor’s hammer, Avril, save your breath and cease asking.” He let his head fall back, flung an arm over his eyes, wished he could shut her out. “And I would be a fool to trust your word of honor, since you have already lied to me once. Your friend told me the truth about your husband. About the fact that you are a widow.”

“You cannot blame me for lying about that.” Avril’s voice sharpened. “Josette should not have... she did not mean to...” She whispered an oath. “She mistakenly thought she was helping me.”

The breeze caught the flames of the dying cookfire, making them snap and hiss.

“I could bring her here to live with you.”

“Josette?” Avril asked in confusion.

Hauk let his arm drop to the sand, realizing he had just voiced an idea that had been forming in his mind the past two days.

“Your daughter,” he said quietly. “It might be possible for me to bring your daughter here to live with you.”

For an instant Avril seemed incapable of speech. “
What?
”

He pushed himself up and met her gaze beyond the dancing fire. “Despite your belief that we Norsemen are uncivilized and barbaric, I would not see a child made an orphan.”

She gaped at him, blinking, as if the moon had just fallen through the clouds and landed beside her. “You would go and get Giselle?” she whispered. Her face brightened. “Aye, it is an excellent idea. I will go with you. I will take you there myself—”

“Nay, milady, you will not,” he said with a frown, not taken in for a second by that suggestion. She meant to escape the instant she set foot on her home soil. “You will remain here. I would go alone.”

She lowered her gaze. “But you will not find her without my help. And Gaston and Celine would not simply hand her over to a stranger. Her uncle will never allow you to take her—”

“The uncle who is a
duc
, who lives in the Artois region?” He had thought the child might be in Brittany or somewhere else.

Somewhere closer.

“Aye, Duc Gaston de Varennes.” Her head came up, her eyes widening. “Hauk, he is not a man to be trifled with. You cannot even
think
of going there without me. He would
kill
anyone who tried to take Giselle—”

“The Artois is too far.” Hauk shook his head, not sure what bothered him more: the fact that he had actually considered the idea, or that he felt genuine regret because it would not work. “It is impossible.”

Avril was silent a moment.

Her voice sounded unsteady when she spoke again. “And I would not see my daughter made a captive along with me,” she admitted. “Her life and her freedom mean more to me than my own. It is out of the question.” She closed her eyes, her lashes dark against her pale cheeks. “But you are... kind to be concerned about her well-being.” Slowly she looked up, her eyes searching his face. “You are not uncivilized and barbaric, Hauk. That is not what I think of you. You are... much different from what I thought a Viking warrior would be like. I did not expect kindness of you. Or thoughtfulness or gentleness.”

Hauk could not summon a reply, the warmth in her expression playing havoc with his heartbeat. He did not
want
to be thoughtful or gentle or kind. Did not want this spirited, emerald-eyed lady to rouse such tenderness within him, make him remember what it was like to feel concern. And protectiveness.