“Of course,” I assured. While it was one thing to be a renowned shield-maiden, it was another entirely to be what most in these parts would consider a witch. Even Declan would have labeled me as such, not all that long ago. “I will tell him what he needs to hear and no more.”
“Good,” he said, his voice turning gruff in a way that told me he was growing as aroused as I was despite the precarious conversation. “We best go, then.”
Yet neither of us moved.
Instead, I felt as caught in his gaze as I sensed he did mine. Imprisoned in our ever-growing need for one another. Captured by this intense pull that tethered us together. One that only intensified as he traced a finger along my jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb over my lower lip as if he imagined how it would feel to kiss me.
I struggled to breathe when he stepped even closer and murmured, “I dinnae think I can last another minute without tasting you, lass.”
“Then you should not,” I whispered huskily, taking the matter out of his hands when I stood on my tiptoes and brought his lips down to mine. Though only the lightest and briefest of kisses because we couldn’t afford to get caught, I felt it in my heart. My very soul. And I knew as I pulled away before it led to a far deeper kiss and things we might not be able to stop, he felt the same. It was there in his emerald gaze. In the desire and adoration in his eyes.
Lachlann hadn’t been wrong. He had claimed once we stopped squabbling, we would find something special together, and we had. Something I suspected was going to intensify quickly, making it harder than ever to pretend he was nothing more than my protector at Lachlann’s bequest.
Yet we would.
We had to.
So we forced ourselves to step apart and resume the roles the king needed us to play. Stepping outside with Oksana beside us, we made our way to King Alexander’s tent, and I yet again spun another tall tale for the sake of progress.
Chapter Ten
-DECLAN-
If not for my overwhelming need to keep Astrid safe, I was positive I never would have been able to allow our first kiss to be so brief. Not when the mere touch of her plush lips against mine ignited a fire inside me.
I had never, not for a second, wanted a lass as fiercely as I wanted her.
Watching her tend to her countrymen the night before had been the most beguiling thing I’d ever seen. She had been mesmerizing while speaking to the wounded men, regaling them with tales of old, painting a picture of not terrible lands to the north, but a stunning oasis of snow, ice, and mystical landscapes. Even her stories of battle enraptured me, making me crave seeing her fight even as I longed to protect her.
If all that didn’t enchant me enough, when she had begun singing softly with the voice of an angel, I well and truly had lost myself to her.
How had I ever thought of her as the enemy when she was the furthest thing from it? Watching her tend to men I could have very well cut down in battle had I been here, I had felt a sense of forgiveness blossoming inside me for the first time in a long time.. Not for the monster who had killed my mother, but for all the innocent Norse Astrid was here to protect.
As if something about my thinking that as well as the sweet sound of her voice which had invoked flames to twirl off the fire, not aggressively but gently, and momentarily covered the wounded. There could be no doubt she had woven some sort of spell, but it didn’t frighten me. Instead, I experienced a strange sense of peace.
That is, until she’d slumped to the cot and I thought I had lost her.
As I swept her up into my arms and confirmed she was still alive, things became crystal clear. Although I had never felt such for a lass, as I sat with Astrid on my lap and gazed at her beautiful, slumbering face, I knew I had fallen in love. And that realization was brutal in its own way because she was at such blasted risk on this journey. Truly vulnerable, whether she could fight well or not.
Something I tried to push to the back of my mind as we entered King Alexander’s tent that morning to break our fast, only to find Gustav there already, proving yet again how close he had become to my king.
“I dinnae see any point in lingering here if you dinnae think these wounded Norsemen will be of any use, Astrid,” Alexander said as drinks and a light fare of fresh venison and baked beans were set down on a small wooden table. “So we will leave after we eat and head to the next village north of us, where ‘tis rumored there is a sizeable Norse population.” He sighed and shook his head. “Mayhap we will even find this mysterious fierce Norse warrior they call Soren there, for how far could the man have gone in such an injured state?”
“Aye,” Gustav agreed, digging into his food. “’Tis verra likely. From the sounds of it, his wounds were every bit as bad as those Astrid tended overnight.”
“And yet they still live,” Alexander noted, eyeing Astrid, “when I was under the impression they likely wouldnae by morning.”
“’Tis hard to pinpoint these things,” she replied smoothly enough, sipping her mead, undoubtedly as grateful as I that they didn't know exactly who Soren was, given he was as well-known a warrior on our shores as I evidently was on his. This not only made him especially valuable to King Alexander but a dangerouspoint of interest if he ever learned Soren had married Astrid's sister.
So best to keep his true identity forever a secret.
“And whilst I understand your desire to set out straight away,” Astrid went on, speaking to the king, “I would ask that you have someone continue tending the wounded in my absence as a gesture of goodwill that might again carry to Norse ears. Innocent Norse ears that consider themselves your countrymen now. Those who consider you their rightful king.”
Alexander considered her for a moment before nodding once. “Aye, ‘twill be done, lass.”
“Thank you, my liege,” she replied, surprising me by how genuine she sounded when she addressed him that way. As expected, King Alexander seemed most pleased by it, no doubt seeing the truth of it in her eyes like the rest of us. Enough that he asked questions that could prove precarious if she did not answer correctly.
“What do you make of my attacking the Isles, Astrid?” he wondered, watching her a little too closely for my taste to see how she responded. “And of King Hákon attacking in what some call ‘retaliation’, yet I callinvading?”
