Norse Jewel (Entangled Scandalous) (20 page)

Chapter Twenty

Lady Marie gawked slack-jawed at Helena and then at Guerin and back to Helena. Hakan tightened his grip on her shoulder, but Helena absorbed this news like cloth soaking up color. She glanced at Hakan and read the anger flashing in his eyes: he wanted to wipe the filthy floor with Aubergon’s lord. Helena touched his hand, pulling strength from him and giving assurance.

Sir Arval stood up. “Come on, men, we needs attend the watch.” Benches scraped and feet shuffled as the men-at-arms escaped the unfolding scene.

“Guerin, I need to sit down.” Lady Marie’s hand fluttered over her stomach and Guerin helped her to the bench.

“Giles, some wine. Quickly,” Guerin said, snapping his fingers at a servant.

Lady Marie gulped the ruby liquid from a wooden cup like a lusty, lowborn woman.

“More.” Lady Marie held the vessel out for more but her eyes never left Hakan and Helena. She swallowed much wine before setting down the cup.

“Guerin told me you were taken by Danes.” Marie’s breath heaved as she stared at Helena. “Forgive me, but I thought you dead.” The Lady’s watchfulness shifted to Hakan and her neat brows twitched. “But, I see a Nor’man has returned you safely to Aubergon. A most unusual arrangement.” Glancing at the scar on Helena’s cheek, she winced and added without malice, “Methinks you’ve suffered many trials.”

“Aye, there’ve been hardships, but ‘twas a fair summer in many ways. Bittersweet, I think.”

“Bittersweet.” Marie nodded her agreement, rubbing her bulging belly. “Hard losses and sweet surprises.”

“When does the child come?” Helena asked, the peaceful promise of a child warming her bruised heart.

“She comes by All Soul’s Day, to be sure.”

“She?”

“Aye. I’m certain I bear a girl.” Marie beamed a proud smile. “And ‘tis glad I am to have someone trained in the apothecary arts back in Aubergon.”

Helena canted her head, and her brain counted the months leading to that feast.

“But, if you bear a child by All Soul’s Day—”

Marie interrupted. “She was conceived while Guerin studied in Paris…just before the Danes attacked in early spring.”

Helena’s former betrothed squirmed, but anger failed to raise its sharp head in Helena’s breast. Oddly, sadness of his betrayal mingled with…relief? Guerin blushed as he fiddled with a chipped fragment atop the trestle table. His wife patted his hand.

“’Tis done, Guerin.” Lady Marie shook her head and clucked her tongue. “The truth is out.” Turning to Helena, she confided, “We grew to care for each other when he came to study with my family tutor after Michaelmas.”

Her eyes fairly twinkled as she said, “My father hoped we’d marry. He was desperate to find me a husband. He bemoans allowing me an education, but once I started learning, I couldn’t stop.”

Helena leaned fully against Hakan’s legs behind her, and his hands gently rubbed her shoulders. The Lord and Lady of Aubergon engaged in their own dance of comfort amidst the awkwardness. The new lady of Aubergon was strong, intelligent, and capable but not beautiful. Her nose was overlong and large in the center of her face. Her lips made a wide, narrow line, but never mind such things. Her eyes sparkled full of life. She was strong where Guerin was weak, both well-suited for each other in ways that mattered.

Helena couldn’t help but compare Hakan and Guerin. Had she not done this from time to time all summer? Hakan was strong and capable, content to learn from the world by experience. A man of honor, he kept his word to return her home despite the cost of this voyage.

Guerin, on the other hand, couldn’t be counted on to honor a betrothal for a single winter. True, he was learned, but his experience came through tutors. He’d never venture far. If Aubergon ever grew to significance, ‘twould be through the capable hands of the lady next to him. The odd dance between men and women, attraction that burned bright, was ever a mystery.

Helena cast a sidelong look at Hakan. He stood proud, silent. The chieftain never valued wealth, yet gained riches. Nor did he flaunt such things. He counted his treasures in his son, his friends, and his family. Such a strong face framed by thick blonde hair. He honored a thrall’s wants over his own. Helena wished she had never said “nay” to him and the attraction that once threaded between them. Now, turmoil in Hakan’s homeland demanded his attention, and she’d be nothing more than a memory. At the notion, her stomach clenched, filling with heaviness.

As though sensing her turmoil, Hakan asked, “Tired?”

Tears wet her eyes again. Agony at having to say good-bye to Hakan began to set.

“Of course you’re tired.” Lady Marie’s hands fluttered to her chest. “But Guerin, where can we put our guests?”

“I—”

“Oh dear,” Lady Marie interrupted. “We cannot put you in the room upstairs.” She made a face of disgust. “Fleas. The bedding was thick with them. We burned it all just this morn.”

“Don’t worry about me, lady. My vessel awaits. The sooner I return, the better,” Hakan said.

“Nay!” Helena’s yell echoed in the high tower.

Lady Marie’s assessing glance slid from Hakan to Helena and back again.

“’Tis late, and you told Emund three days…” Helena began.

Lady Marie clasped her hands in artful supplication, addressing Hakan. “You must stay. We put a new roof on the barn. The loft is clean and dry. And we’ll honor you with a feast on the morrow…our thanks for bringing Helena home safe.” Sounding very practical, she added, “At the very least, your horse must rest.”

“’Tis decided.” Guerin rose as if the matter was done. “Come.”

Helena clasped Hakan’s arm, not wanting to let go. Had she been a prideful fool? She stayed by his side as they walked to the barn. Insects droned their night chorus, so peaceful in the simple village. Within Helena, a song of heartbreak hummed: after tonight, she’d never see him again.

…

Helena tossed and turned, plumping hay beneath the blanket over which she lay. Nothing would satisfy. All felt wrong and ill-shaped. This makeshift bed didn’t work. Her dress failed to fit.

The hideously patched pea green dress she wore was a loan from Lady Marie, since Helena’s Norse tunic was filthy from the journey. But this Frankish dress…’twas all wrong, with seams that scratched her waist, side lacing cinched tight, and a too-small bodice. She tugged hard on the neckline, but stitches ripped loudly in the darkness.

“What’ve I done?” she mumbled, close to tears.

Her hands fumbled with the irksome side lacing, but the knot shrunk under her fingers. She groaned at the struggle, yanking all the harder on the tie that bound her.

A rustle of sweet-smelling hay and Hakan stirred. “Helena?”

“Sorry I woke you. This dress…I, I can’t undo the knot,” she wailed between gasps.

“Shhh,” he soothed her. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Hakan’s broad-shouldered form, a shadow in darkness, scooted near, and wetness, so like tiny spurs, pricked her eyes at his gentle demeanor. Helena swiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

“I don’t want to cry anymore,” she said, sniffling.

His smile crooked with mischief. “I agree. ‘Tis an ugly dress. You can burn it come morning.”

A small giggle unfurled, and Helena rested her head on his shoulder, sighing blissful contentment at his easy humor. He smelled clean, having earlier washed himself at a rain barrel. Hakan stroked the back of her head, a tender calming touch. More than stillness, ’twas trust and pleasure that blossomed within her at his closeness. She could stay this way all night. “You make me happy,” she whispered.

Silence hung between them, the kind that held a wealth of words unsaid, yet neither ventured to fill the void. Hakan’s arms gripped her tight before he loosened his hold.

“I tried.” Strain etched his voice, and he moved a fraction from her. “Let me loosen this knot.”

That narrow space could be a chasm, and the emptiness, the pang of loss, made her want to weep anew. What could she do? Hakan bent his head to the task. His large fingers moved over her side, grazing her dress-covered ribs.

“Lay down in the moonlight. I can’t see the knot.”

Helena reclined on the blanket. Overhead, clouds had cleared a path for the moon, and that orb’s light filtered through cracks. When she looked up, Hakan’s eyes glowed white-blue in pearled light. She lay vulnerable to this warrior. Threads of trust and longing entwined them as he loosened her dress, and she was struck with Hakan’s concern for her comfort.

“You are most honorable among men,” she said.

His ice-blue gaze flicked to her face and his fingers slowed their movement against her side.

“My thanks.” A gruff note of surprise rang in his voice.

“’Tis true. Many have betrayed you, yet you hold to what is right. You have more honor than my former betrothed,” she snorted. “If I measure his honor by the size of Lady Marie’s belly.”

Hakan shifted on the hay, resting an arm on one upraised knee. “Rail against the wrongness tonight, but tomorrow look to what comes next.”

“Next,” she whispered. “I lose you.”

“Helena…” His voice trailed.

Agony squeezed her chest, making breath sparse. She turned her face into the blanket and heard iron’s high-pitched song. He set his palm on her ribs and angled Helena on her side.

“I must cut the tie…the knot’s too tight.” His voice was thick. “Don’t move.”

The blade’s tip nudged the lacing, then one gentle rocking motion and another and the tie snapped. She was free. The dress slackened, and Hakan’s hand slipped into the slim opening, parting the garment at her side.

Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed her naked ribs. Such tantalizing friction teased her.

“Did I cut you?” His head dipped to check her skin.

“Nay. But, you’ve cut me free. Again.” She rolled onto her back, feeling the warm invasion of his hand still on her, and managed a wobbly smile.

Awareness, thick and hazy, shrouded them when their gazes collided. Her attempt at conversation was lost. Labored breath moved in and out of her chest, and ’twas clear in that moment why women tossed well-laid plans to the four winds. A good man, the right man, muddled a woman’s mind and made her want to bare body and soul. Make him handsome and strong, and temptation stripped away clear thinking, and gladly so.

Helena lay beneath him, open and wanting, but Hakan looked away and sheathed his knife, withdrawing his touch. That slight move away from her wilted her spirit.

She grasped his arm, intent on keeping their connection. “Stay, Hakan. I belong with you.”

“You don’t belong to me,” he said, rough-voiced. “You’re in the land of the Franks. A freewoman.”

“Such practical counsel.” She tipped her head back and hay crunched beneath her. Helena stretched on the blanket with slight invitation. Hakan’s head snapped to attention. ‘Twas enough to give her knowledge of the turmoil just beneath his control.

He stared at her as if she were a feast to be devoured, entranced by the rise and fall of her breasts. Her thumb stroked the corded flesh of his forearm. Hakan stiffened when her fingers moved in lazy, exploring swirls over his arm.

“Freedom isn’t found in a place, Hakan.” Her lips parted. Aye, all of her opened to him. ‘Twas a sensation that spread across her limbs and settled between her legs as she lay before this hardened warrior. “My freedom is with you. I belong
with
you.”

A wolf sounded in the distance. Did that fierce creature of the forest seek a mate? Or did he howl at the moon, lost? Helena read a play of emotions in Hakan’s ice-blue eyes, eyes that darkened in moonlight. Masculine hair grazed her palm, and her seeking hand moved higher past the crook of his elbow, a deliberate summons to be with her.

“Touch me.”

He inhaled sharply. “Understand what you’re saying?” he asked, his voice raspy and pained.

“I do,” she said and nodded ever so slowly.

A smile curved his mouth. The plain soap he must’ve used wafted from him, a warm, clean scent. Hakan braced one hand on the hay and leaned over her. His other hand sought the side opening of her dress and slipped back inside. Calloused fingers skimmed her midsection with lazy, caressing circles.

“I’ll not rush this,” he said, moving his thigh flush to hers.

She nodded and licked her lips as pleasure laced her skin. He planted whispery kisses on her hairline and temple, indulgent kisses, slow kisses, tender little touches of his mouth to her face. Waves of gooseflesh spread down her legs. Breath fluttered ragged and halting between her lips. Her eyelids drooped, growing heavier with each unhurried rotation of his hand inside her dress. Hakan’s strokes moved feather-light across her belly, inviting bliss everywhere he touched, even places he didn’t.

How could touch make this strange kind of torment? Helena squirmed. She wanted, nay
needed
, him to massage the same skin growing hot from his attentions, yet her body cried for those tantalizing circles to explore her. His hand grazed her ribs, moving higher. Her breasts, full and wanting, throbbed with need, yearning for contact.

Did he grasp her craving? Her eyes opened wider. She met the satisfied half-smile of a man who reveled in the sweet torture he rendered. Fraction by fraction, Hakan’s thumb circled high, barely grazing the underside of her breast, until his warm palm kneaded that flesh, heavy and curved.

“So soft,” he murmured above her.

Whimpering loudly, she wiggled closer to him, aching for more intimacy. When his thumb grazed her nipple, a cry left her lips and heat bolted through her. Her body strung taut and stiff from the shot of intense pleasure. No man had ever touched there. Helena slid her hand along the curve of her hip, stroking with invitation:
touch me here
.

Her skirt inched up her leg and cool night air caressed her ankle, her leg, her knee. The cumbersome cloth bothered hot, sensitive skin. Helena wanted the barrier gone. She wanted Hakan…to feel his skin, his scars, the masculine hairs of his legs brushing hers. She needed him closer.

Suddenly, his hand withdrew from her dress.

She began to protest, but beside her Hakan removed his leather jerkin. His broad back, roped with muscles and sinew, flexed as he moved to untie one boot. Helena hitched up on an elbow and drew unhurried circles on the small of his back. Languid fingers skimmed the top of his buttocks, scratching tight flesh through his trousers. Her impish touch earned a wave of gooseflesh across his back and a sharp, hungry look from Hakan, who quickly shucked the other boot.