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He winked as he took the folded bundle from me. “I’m sure it’s spectacular.”
Warmth pulsed in my chest. It really wouldn’t be amazing. Turns out, I wasn’t very good at making clothes. Aya did most of the measurement work in the end; I just had to put the pieces together and add details.
Yet as Diego unfurled the red runic and rubbed the material with his fingers in appreciation, that stopped mattering. The warmth in my chest spread, and deep down I craved to hear praise from his lips.
That gentle warmth kindled into something hotter when Diego began pulling his tunic up.
“Diego, what are you doing?” I hissed.
He paused, his spectacular abs on display. “Putting the new tunic on. You spent all that time making it, I want to wear it.”
A few in the crowd found that rather sweet, while I hid half my face in my hand and fought the heat rising in my cheeks. Just because that’s what he said, didn’t mean he told the truth. He had a wicked grin on his face. Diego knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t playing fair.
Diego pulled his tan tunic over his head, and I swear I heard the drool drop from salivating onlookers. Someone even wolf-whistled. A bizarre sensation of possessiveness flashed through me and I squashed that quickly.
To my dismay, Diego took his time putting the new tunic on, insisting on feeling the fabric again while he was half-naked.This man…Immortal or not, I was going to go to an early grave at this rate.
When he finally pulled the red fabric over his head, I should have found myself relieved. Instead, I watched the garment slide down his body and fit him perfectly. My heart did that stupid pitter-patter thing, and I mentally shushed it. Right now wasn’t the time for me to swoon over a man—not in public, and not when I hadn’t put in the time to figure out what I wanted.
But the heart rarely listened to the mind, and it refused to behave.
“It looks great on you,” I said.
Diego adjusted his belt to hang around his hips just right again. “It’s perfect. You did an amazing job.”
Heat seared my cheeks, and my tongue caught when I tried to confess how little I’d actually contributed to the shirt.Past me’s doing, I know.She wanted me to take the credit and bask in his praise. And I couldn’t deny a part of present-me desperately wanted to as well.
Diego took my hands in his, and I prepared myself for him to say something, when Aya spoke up instead. “There was another form of affection that was displayed during this era—one thought so powerful, it became outlawed later, to never be used on unwed maidens.”
My fingers tingled, memories surfacing faster than Aya could speak. I knew what she was about to say. Would Diego actually do it?Of course he would.This man danced with me in front of everyone without hesitation.
“Poetry,” Aya said.
A mixed rumble of mocking laughter and excited clamor responded to her reveal. No surprise. Poetry wasn’t as well received as it once had been. And the idea of professing one’s love in such a way was deemed too soft and ridiculous to many.
“Don’t be so quick to laugh,” Aya said. I pictured her wagging her finger in scolding. “To the Norse people of the time, poetry was a gift from the gods, and as such, had great power. Skalds were hailed over the lands for their way with verse. The best were in direct service of kings and jarls.”
Aya breezed around, as if she were dancing or something—I wasn’t sure. My eyes refused to leave Diego’s face, the anticipation growing within me.
“And because poetry was seen as something so powerful, it was believed to be an ultimate form of confessing one’s love, if used appropriately. There were times when it was believed to be an insult to women to recite them love poems, while other times, it would undoubtedly ensure you weren’t spending the night alone.”
I licked my lips, waiting for Aya to finish and for Diego to speak. My soul yearned to hear what he had to say, as if starved and hungry, and he had the only source of sustenance for it to survive.
His grip on my hand tightened, and then he animatedly recited his poetry.
Let her kiss me over and over, for her love is better than wine.
She draws me after her. Oh! My heart desires that she would be mine.
Honey-sweet lips beckon me near, my fingers ache with hers to twine.
If she would kiss me sweetly once, from happiness I would sing.
Her locks fall free, like daisies red across the mountainside.
They draw me after her, binding my soul to hers, tethered and tied.
Silky crimson tresses washed in tears the gods on her behalf have cried.
