Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (41 page)

To his relief, he found none. Some of the scrapes and cuts were deep, and he found several large, angry bruises, but her injuries did not appear life-threatening. She had been fortunate. This time.

Cold fear slid through him at the thought of what
could
have happened when the ship went down.

Forcing aside the gut-churning image, he pulled the bedcovers over her to keep her warm and then stood up—too fast.

Stabs of agony stole his breath. He grabbed the nearest bedpost, swaying on his feet. He pressed one hand to his rib cage and crossed to the far side of the chamber, to a chest near the corner where he kept his foodstuffs. Shoving aside the wedding gifts piled on top, he hunted inside until he found a bag of dried herbs and an earthen jar of salve.

As he made his way back through the darkness, he heard her stir, heard her moan in pain.

The sound went through him like a blade. His own injuries forgotten, he returned to the bed quickly.

“Lie still,” he ordered as he sat next to her, his voice rough. “You are hurt. Lie still and let me help you.”

Still asleep, she kept moving her head restlessly, her wet hair almost black against the pillow. Then her lashes fluttered open.

When she looked up and saw him, her pupils constricted to black pinpricks in the firelight. She started to sit up, only to gasp in pain—then she abruptly seemed to realize she was naked beneath the blankets.

He resisted the urge to hold her still, knowing his touch might upset her further. “Avril, calm yourself. You are all right—”

“W-what happened?” She lay back down, staring at him. “You were—”

“What?” he asked innocently. “Will you please cease looking at me as if I were a ghost?”

“I-I thought you were
dead
.”

Hauk uttered a scoffing sound, and at the same time he felt relief. Her voice was clear and steady, which helped reassure him that her injuries were not serious—and she seemed more worried for him than afraid of him.

“Obviously I was not,” he said dryly, setting the bandages and herbs on the bedside table and opening the jar of salve, “or I would not be sitting here beside you, would I?”

Her brow furrowed.

For once, he felt grateful that Avril was a woman of keen intelligence. She could not argue with simple logic.

He only wished he knew what she was thinking—and he wondered what in the name of Loki had happened to the connection he had felt between them earlier. When her life had been in danger, he had experienced her thoughts, her emotions.

Now he could not tell what she was feeling.

“I could not find your pulse,” she said a bit uncertainly. “I listened for your heartbeat—”

“And you were distraught from your ordeal. And in pain. Mayhap you had seawater in your ears.” He shrugged as if it were all nonsense, took her hand, and gently started applying the salve to her cuts and scrapes. “With the surf so loud, I am surprised you could hear at all. Avril, you need to sleep now.”

He met her gaze, silently willing her to stop asking questions and get the rest she urgently needed.

Blinking up at him with those keen emerald eyes, she was the picture of abject confusion.

And stubbornness. She kept trying to sort out the conflicting evidence. “I tried shaking you,” she said slowly. “I even slapped you.”

He glanced away. So
that
was why he had roused too soon. “We both blacked out. You awoke first.” He took her other hand, applying the salve lightly, gently to her palm, her arm, her shoulder. “And your manhandling succeeded in waking me.”

Setting the salve down, he wove his fingers through hers, entwining their hands. “Could a dead man touch you like this?” he asked in a deep, soft voice.

Spots of bright pink colored her pale cheeks, and a more familiar wariness replaced the bewilderment in her eyes.

She pulled her hand from his, turning her face away, toward the closed shutters.

“I am... grateful that you are all right,” she said haltingly. “Thank you for saving my life, Hauk.” She gathered the covers to her chin. “How did you find me? How did you know where I was, out there in the fog?”

“I heard you calling for help.” His heart thudded at the memory, and he quickly changed the subject before either of them could further examine
that
strange facet of their ordeal. “It is not important now. I need you to tell me if this hurts.” He lifted the blanket, lightly touched a particularly angry bruise on her stomach.

She flinched away and squeezed her eyes shut.

Her pain at the gentle brush of his fingertips made his gut wrench tight. “You will be all right, Avril, I promise. All you need is to sleep and let yourself heal.” He picked up the jar of salve. “I will take care of you.”

Her lashes fluttered open, but she kept her face turned away. Her lower lip quivered. “I do not want you to take care of me. I can—”

“Take care of yourself?” he asked tightly. “So you have said. But I believe your ill-advised adventure tonight proves you wrong.” His anger simmered again. “What were you
thinking
, woman? What made you believe you could sail through that maze of rocks and fog by yourself? You could have—”

“Escaped,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

He swallowed the rest of his rebuke, equally maddened and impressed by her courage. Her determination.

Her unwavering devotion to her plan to leave him.

“You cannot do everything alone,” he said gruffly. Looking down at his headstrong bride, snuggled safely in his bed, he felt a wave of protectiveness. She needed someone to take care of her, this tempestuous, vulnerable, reckless lady.

She needed him.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Gently, being careful of her modesty, he pulled the blankets aside a bit further, so he could continue applying the healing salve. She flinched, then remained absolutely still. And silent.

He touched her without speaking, not even allowing himself to think as he treated her cuts and scrapes. Working briskly, he finished in a matter of moments.

And felt as if every beautiful inch of her had been branded onto his hands.

After drawing the covers back over her, he set the jar down on the table—a bit too sharply—and stood up, fighting another wave of dizziness. Biting back a pained curse, he stepped toward the hearth and reached for a small copper cookpot.

He filled it with fresh rainwater from the barrel and then suspended it from a hook over the fire.

“Tell me, Avril,” he said when he trusted himself to speak evenly, “how did you come to be in possession of a boat?”

For a moment, he did not think she would answer.

“I found it,” she said evasively.

Hauk picked up the bag of herbs and took a cup from its place on the shelf. “And how did you happen to
find
a boat?”

She remained silent.

“Avril, I saw two sets of footprints. Who helped you?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.

She regarded him with a familiar, mutinous spark in her eyes. “I am not going to tell you. I do not think the person who helped me deserves to be punished for it.”

“I beg to differ,” he said with a growl. “Whoever was trying to help the
vokter’s
bride leave Asgard needs to have a few of our laws explained to him. By the
vokter
.”

Her gaze shifted to the weapons displayed behind him on the wall. “Now I am definitely not going to tell you.”

He muttered an oath but decided not to press her further until she was well. Turning back to the hearth, he used an iron poker to tip the steaming cookpot and pour hot water into the cup. Then he scooped a spoonful of herbs into it and sat on the edge of the bed.

He slid a hand beneath Avril’s pillow to support her head, holding the cup to her lips. “Drink this.”

Sniffing at it, she made a face and hesitated.

“I hardly intend to poison you,” he said dryly, “after spending half this night in freezing water trying to save your life and earning a few broken ribs for my trouble. Drink.”

Eyes narrowing at his scolding, she took a sip. She wrinkled her nose at the taste but drained the cup without protest.

He let her head down gently, then moved back to the hearth, where he made a second cup of the brew for himself, sighing. “Avril, you are my wife—”

“Your captive,” she corrected quietly.

“On second thought, poisoning you does possess a certain appeal.” He gulped a mouthful of the tea, felt it burn down his throat. “You are the most stubborn, most troublesome female I have ever—”

“If you find me disagreeable,” she suggested lightly, “you could let me go.”

“Nay. That I can never do.” He scowled at her. “Do you understand what that word means?
Never
.” He set the cup on the table with a crack that echoed through the dark chamber.

Stalking away from her, into a far corner, he peeled off his still-damp leggings, toweled dry, and changed into a fresh pair.

Then he returned to the bed.

And lay down on the other side.

It was mayhap a measure of how tired she was or how much pain she was in that she did not object.

Even if she had, he thought in annoyance, he was not going to spend the night on the floor. Not when he had broken ribs. He remained atop the covers. And it was a large bed. There was ample distance between them.

“I have been too lenient with you,” he said, half to himself. “It is time to cease this foolishness about escape, once and for all. You are my wife, you will not be leaving, and you must accept that.”

“I will never stop trying to get home,” she whispered fiercely. “I cannot stay here. And I do not
want
to be your wife.”

“Indeed, milady?” he asked mockingly, turning his head to stare at her across the pillows. “Were those not tears I saw in your eyes, tonight on the beach, when you thought I was dead?”

She looked away, toward the hearth. “
Nei
.”

He grimaced up at the rafters. “I should have known that would be the first word of Norse you learned to use.”

“If you thought you saw tears,” she said stiffly, “it must have been seawater. Mayhap it affected my
eyes
as well as my hearing.”

Hauk responded only with an irritated grumble, too tired to argue with her any more. Too tired even to feel any stirrings at sharing a bed with his wife for the first time, lying so close to her lush, naked body. Separated from her only by the covers.

Which was a sign of just how badly he needed sleep, he thought blackly. He closed his eyes and lay still, drifting downward into soothing darkness.

Until he heard quiet, snuffling sounds from her side of the bed.

He opened his eyes, glanced toward her. Her whole body was trembling.

“Avril?” Alarm shot through him. “What is wrong?”

She kept her face turned away, lifted a hand to cover her eyes.

And he realized she was not suffering a spasm of pain.

She was crying. Struggling to hold back tears.

“Y-you are... right,” she said hoarsely, a tortured breath escaping with each word. “I may never... be able to leave here. I may never see my home or... my daughter again.”

A single, deep sob slipped out.

Hauk could not move, felt as if his limbs were held fast by iron bonds. It was the first time he had heard her admit even the
possibility
of defeat.

But he did not feel relief that she was facing the facts at last. The sight of her in despair, lying there alone and hurt and fighting so hard to keep it all inside, tore at him. Made him hate himself—almost as much as she must hate him for taking her away from her little girl.

And suddenly the tears overwhelmed her, wrenching sobs that she could not hold back, though she buried her face in both hands.

Hauk did not know what to do, did not know how he could comfort her.

But he could not lie there in silence while she suffered alone. He reached out, touched her shoulder.

And instead of flinching away or cursing him as he had expected, she allowed him to pull her close, just as she had in the water earlier tonight.

He gathered her to him with the blankets, offering her his strength and his silence, stunned that she would accept solace from the very man responsible for her pain.

She cried her tears against his chest, her body shaking with the force of her sorrow, and he shut his eyes, burned by each salty droplet.

He could not allow her to continue suffering this way. Damn him to Hel, he had taken vows to protect and care for her and see to her happiness—and he had failed at every one. In trying to spare himself misery and torment, he had inflicted both on her.

For her sake, and her safety, he had to persuade her to accept what could not be changed. Had to do what all the other grooms on Asgard had been doing the past several days.

Begin wooing his wife. With care and gentleness and affection.

Not only because of the vows he had taken—but because he had been lying to himself, mayhap from the very beginning. From that moment on the streetcorner in Antwerp when she had knocked him off balance and left him breathless.

She had been making him feel that same way every moment since.

And it was useless to keep trying to convince himself that he could keep his distance from her, that he had no feelings for her. That he could somehow have this fierce, enchanting lady in his home and in his life and even in his bed and yet... keep her out of his heart.

Because she was already there.

Odin help him, she was already there.