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‘You won the race to the farm,’ Brand said, very definitely changing the subject.
‘Meera is a fast horse.’
‘We should have wagered to make it more interesting.’
‘Is it necessary to wager when you are racing? I simply enjoyed allowing Meera her head.’ Her body felt as if a thousand butterflies were fluttering through it.
‘There has to be some reason for racing.’ A shadow of a smile showed on his face. ‘But I will give you a chance. Shall we see who will be the first to make it to the river?’
‘And what are we racing for? It had better be something that is worth my while.’ Her heart gave a little lurch. She was flirting. Effortlessly. And it was pleasant, rather than a chore. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘Something special?’
‘Something simple.’ He leant forwards and patted his horse’s neck. ‘A kiss.’
‘A kiss?’ Her limbs became liquid. He wanted to kiss her. He hadn’t attempted to kiss her since that first time.
‘A kiss freely given, if I win.’ His smile turned positively wolfish. ‘If you win, you may choose the forfeit.’
‘You’re going to lose,’ Edith said firmly, banishing all thought of how his lips tasted. He was seeking to unsettle and distract her. Meera was faster than his warhorse.
‘You are certain of that.’
‘I wouldn’t race if I wasn’t.’ She had to win for the sake of her pride. ‘You want an honest opponent.’
‘I will give you a head start.’ His face appeared entirely innocent. ‘But you need to specify a forfeit before we begin.’
‘Very well, I will claim the right for the priest to bless the corn,’ Edith said quickly before she gave in to the impulse to ask for a kiss as well.
He tilted his head to one side, assessing her. ‘You always think of others before yourself.’
‘Someone has to consider them,’ she argued back. He was so certain and sure that he’d win, even to offering her a head start. ‘And I have no need of pointless gestures. I mean to win this race. Why not race for something that truly matters?’
‘And a kiss has no significance?’
Her heart skittered. ‘None whatsoever.’
She hoped she sounded far more confident than she felt. Kissing him again would bring up all the feelings she tried to keep buried. Last night had been the first time that she’d been able to sleep, rather than lying and looking up at the ceiling while her mind went over each time she encountered him. She tried to tell herself that it had to do with the running of the household, but increasingly she found her thoughts turning to his hands, or the set of his shoulders.
‘Choose something else. Something just for you. A new dress or a hairnet?’
She tightened her grip on the reins. It was hard to remember the last time anyone asked her to choose a present. After they were married, Egbert had never bothered and her mother had drummed into her head that it was rude to ask. She hesitated and then she knew what she wanted. Hilda would no doubt tell her that she had it wrong and that she should ask for something that would enhance her, but Edith knew precisely what she wanted.
‘I would like a book of Beowulf. My copy was lost years ago.’ There was no need to tell him that Egbert had sold it to pay a gambling debt of his. She had drowned her sorrows in the estate, rather than letting him see how angry it made her. ‘I used to love the language of it. My heart positively soared when I first heard it recited on a mid-winter’s evening. I must have been about four.’
‘Beowulf it shall be, if you win.’ He inclined his head. The feather in his hat bobbed up and down, highlighting the planes of his face. ‘It is always best to race for something that really matters.’
‘Shall we begin?’ Her limbs seemed wobbly. He thought a kiss from her would matter? Impossible!
‘Count to three. First one to the old oak tree by the water. And we shall see which is the more important—a book or a kiss.’
At the sound of ‘go’, Edith dug in her heels and Meera took off at a gallop. She concentrated, hunching down over Meera’s neck. The race was less about winning, and more about proving to Brand that he was supremely arrogant. But a few hundred yards from the end, Brand passed her.
He laughed as she drew up. ‘You lost. A kiss obviously means more.’
Her hands ached from clenching the reins so tightly, but her heart leapt. She wanted to be kissed. ‘Yes, I did. I tried very hard to win. Beowulf will have to wait.’
