Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Avoiding Bj?rn was easy in the end, because he made sure to stay out of her way. Why? Dunne had expected having to find excuses for not seeing him, but she had not anticipated he would be the one avoiding her for days on end. What did it mean? Was he regretting their night together? Had he been offended by her suggestion that they should forget about it? Or perhaps it was even worse. Perhaps he had been piqued when she had refused to see him the other day because he had come to her hut for another wild tryst. If that were the case, then it meant he was only interested in her for the pleasure he could get out of her body, not a flattering or satisfying proposition to say the least.

Yes, Dunne reflected with a heavy heart, as awful as it was, he had to be avoiding her because he thought she would not indulge his senses anymore and he'd lost interest. In his mind, there was no point in coming to see her if she refused him access to her bed. He had found himself someone else and was too busy bedding his new lover to worry about her, a woman who had said she wanted to forget about what they had done.

The pain all this caused her was best not to be dwelled on. The sooner she left the village, the better. Away from Bj?rn's disturbing presence, and in a place where she was in no danger of bumping into him, where no one even knew him, she would be able to put all this behind her.

At least that was the hope.

Finally, the morning of her departure came.

Dunne stared at the group of people assembled by their carts, ready to leave. She didn't know any of them, except for one, one she had not thought would take part in the expedition.

"What is Bj?rn doing there?" she growled in her sister's ear. Surely he was not joining the convoy, and had only come to bid a friend farewell? But then why was he hoisting a bundle of clothes onto the back of a cart?

Frigyth shrugged. "He's going to the fair himself, apparently, to buy new casks for his ale."

Dunne recoiled. After having avoided her for a week and given her the impression he didn't care about her, the wretched man was going to travel with them? What was he playing at? "Does he have to travel hundreds of miles to get new casks?" she snapped. "Can't he get any in town?"

"What do I know? I don't know anything about the brewing of ale."

She was not so easily appeased. Say what Frigyth might, this could not be a simple coincidence. "You are behind this, are you not?" Had her sister gone to Bj?rn to beg him to travel with her? Had she wanted to give them a chance to talk about what they should do now?

"No, I swear. He came to see Sigurd the other day and they talked. That is all I know."

Dunned groaned. She could all too easily imagine how that conversation had gone. Bj?rn had asked if it was true she was going to Mercia and Sigurd had told him he'd organized it for her to travel with a group of merchants. Perhaps he had encouraged his young friend to go with them. Why? Did he know about her and Bj?rn? She wouldn't be surprised if Frigyth had betrayed her secret to the husband with whom she shared everything. Or was it worse than that? Had Sigurd been outside the hut that day as well, and heard them together? Was anyone else aware of what had happened? Her hut was not in the middle of the village but still, anyone could have walked by and heard her shout Bj?rn's name over and over again.

Whatever the reason for it, her brother-in-law evidently wanted to ensure that she and Bj?rn spent the next few days together, in the hope that it would force them to talk. Well, she would not be so easily manipulated. They couldn't talk if they weren't within speaking distance, could they?

Bj?rn's eyes threw daggers at her when she climbed into the cart of a man she had never seen before. The man, who seemed all too glad to have her travel by his side, introduced himself as Harald.

"I live just outside the village, that's why we've never met," he told her as the cart just in front of them started to move, signaling the departure of the convoy. "I'm going to sell my wool. My sheep have the best fleeces around, so I should get a good price for them."

Not sure what to answer, Dunne smiled politely. Mistaking this for an encouragement, Harald started to explain his technique to get the fleece off from the animal as neatly as possible while he steered his cart onto the path.

A moment later everyone was on their way and she resigned herself to hearing all there was to know about the shearing of sheep.

Bj?rn spent the whole morning ruminating to himself. Harald's cart was the second in the line and his was the last, which meant he was not able to keep an eye on the wool merchant and see that he behaved appropriately. He wouldn't put it past him to try and make the most of having a beautiful woman traveling by his side. There had been a glint in his eyes when Dunne had asked if he could have her in his cart, one he knew all too well. The man lusted after her. He couldn't blame him, but he could still fear the outcome of such interest.

Why had Dunne chosen to go to a man she barely knew in preference to him? Damn it all, he must have really committed some unspeakable offense the night he had bedded her because she had not only decided to flee him, she also seemed determined to make him pay for it.

His heart plummeted because he could guess all too well what this offense was. He had tried to avoid the truth all week, but he could not ignore it any longer. Not only had he behaved callously toward her, but he had not tried to protect her from the consequences of their lovemaking.

That had to be why she was so angry with him.

It was yet another proof of his inexperience that he had not understood before why she might be. It had taken a crude comment from Arne about him preferring to have women swallow his seed to make him realize what he had done. Instead of withdrawing when he was about to reach his release, like a careful lover should have, he had spilled inside her, repeatedly. It had been impossible not to, he had lacked the control—and worse, the will—to do what was needed to ensure that their encounter did not bear fruit.

No wonder she was furious with him. Lost to the moment, she had not thought about it, but upon waking up she had remembered how he had not even tried to spend outside her body, preferring his pleasure to her protection. And because of this she was now convinced he cared nothing for her or for the possibility that he might have made her with child.

Damn it, he should have offered his help in dealing with it all, thought to provide her with the means of washing herself, at least, instead of vanishing like a thief, assured her he would look after his child, if there was a child. Well, that was why he was here, to make sure they could talk about what to do next.

After what felt like an eternity, the miller, who was at the head of the convoy, called for a halt. Bj?rn was down from his seat in the blink of an eye and heading for the wool merchant. He reached the cart in time to see him hand Dunne down. Predictably, she didn't even look in his direction, even if it was obvious she had seen him.

Anger, fueled by shame at his inadequacies, caused something within him to snap.

She was determined to behave as if he didn't exist? Let's see how long it would last.

"Harald, listen," he told the merchant in Norse to make sure she did not understand him. There was little point as she was already walking away but he preferred to take his precautions. "Your mare is limping and your cart is piled high with bags. My horse is young and my cart is empty. I will take the Saxon with me this afternoon."

"Ah, don't worry about it, the nag will manage, it's only wool in the bags and the Saxon's not that heavy. A bit on the plump side maybe, but?—"

"She's not fat!" he instantly snarled, remembering how Dunne had been hurt by her husband's criticism. If Harald said one more word about her physique, he would throttle him on the spot. Anything to prevent him for reawakening her insecurities.

"Oh no, she's not fat, she's just right. I like to have something to hold on to while I?—"

This time Bj?rn grabbed the man by the tunic and slammed his back against the nearest tree. "You will spare me—and her—the tale of what you like to do to women in bed. She is coming with me this afternoon and that's that."

"Why should she travel with you?" There was nothing he could answer to that. He had no claim over her whatsoever. Seeing he had scored a point, Harald smirked. "I'll tell you what. We'll ask her what she prefers. It's only fair to give her a say in this, don't you think?"

Bj?rn's heart sank. Dunne would never choose him, not when she was at pains to avoid him. Nevertheless, short of removing her bodily from the wool merchant's cart, there was nothing he could do but agree with Harald's suggestion.

They found her by the stream, filling her cup with cool water. She stiffened when she saw them together, as if she anticipated problems and he could not blame her. In the mood he was in, it would not take much to push him into a fight.

"Dunne," Harald said, tucking his thumbs into his belt like a man assured of his victory. "We're about to set off. Who would you like to travel with this afternoon? Me again, or the ale-making pup?"

Bj?rn clenched his fists. The man was not only disparaging him for his age, but he was also mocking him for doing an activity usually reserved for women. He'd heard the jab many a time in the past few months and it had never bothered him. Now it did, because the last thing he wanted was to appear ridiculous in front of Dunne. Things were bad enough as it was.

He waited, doing his best to hide the pain in his chest.

Dunne's heart started fluttering. What could she tell Harald?

I don't want to travel with you, not when you spent the whole morning boring me to tears with your stories and touching my thigh every chance you got. But I don't want to be alone with Bj?rn either. It would be a recipe for disaster. I would only blurt out something I'd regret later.

She might want to avoid him but that didn't mean it would be easy, not when her whole body was yearning for him.

A short woman Dunne recognized as the miller's wife chose this moment to approach. She most likely had seen the confrontation from a distance and thought the Saxon needed help in dealing with the two menacing Norsemen, for which Dunne was grateful, because well, she did need help.

"Leave the poor woman alone, you strutting cockerels!" the woman admonished. Her accent made the words barely understandable but there was no mistaking her intent. "She will travel with me and my husband this afternoon and for the remainder of the journey. At least that way she will be assured no one will try to get under her skirts. We will go make some room for her in the back of the cart right now."

There was no gainsaying the woman. Neither of the men said a word. Relief washed through Dunne. The last thing she saw before following her savior back to the convoy were Bj?rn's eyes glinting with ill-contained fury.

After the company had partaken of a quick meal Dunne sat in the couple's cart, amongst sacks of flour of varying sizes. The journey was excruciating. She had to brace herself against whatever she could find to try to absorb the shocks every time the vehicle rounded a bend or jumped over a pothole. As if that was not enough, she had to endure the woman's endless questioning. Just before they stopped for the night, one of the sacks, the one that had threatened to fall for the whole journey, finally gave up and toppled onto her as the miller urged the horse to a trot. The sack was so heavy that it knocked her against the side of the cart. Her head hit the wood and stars exploded in her vision. When the company finally came to a halt shortly thereafter, Dunne could feel an egg-sized lump forming on her temple. No doubt she was bruised all over and covered in white powder as well, courtesy of the flour escaping through the rough sack material.

Everyone alighted, ready to set up camp. The miller's wife came to see her and skidded to a halt at the sight meeting her eyes.

"What on earth happened here? You look as if you've been in the wars, my dear, all bruised and battered! Is that flour in your hair?"

"Yes," Dunne mumbled. What else could it be? Really the woman's heart was in the right place, but she didn't have the sharpest mind. "One of the sacks fell on me."

"Will you look at that! You poor girl!" The woman was fussing, tapping her shoulders, her back, her hair, ignoring her protests that she was fine. "Mind you, the cart is not meant to transport people. I suppose it is not as comfortable as one might expect."

"No." That was the least Dunne could say. Another three days being tossed about between planks of wood and rock-hard sacks of flour was more than she could contemplate. "I thank you for the help, but I think I will carry on with Bj?rn for the rest of the journey."

She had tried her best to avoid him, but she had to concede defeat. She was not stupid enough to risk injuring herself just to stay out of his way.

"Well, if you're sure…" The woman made a face.

"It's all right. He's a good friend of my sister's husband. I'm sure I will be fine with him."

"Yes…" She still didn't sound convinced. Dunne had to put an end to the whole thing before she snapped. The miller's wife meant well but this conversation was the last straw. She was hungry, her head was throbbing, and her patience was running to an end more quickly than she would have liked.

"What threat can he pose to me, really? He grew that beard while he was in Denmark to make people forget the fact that he's only a boy, barely old enough to know what goes on between men and women."

The woman chuckled. "You're probably right there. Rorik and his wife always cosseted their children. His impressive physique notwithstanding, the boy might not yet know what delights he could find under a woman's skirts. My son Arne told me only the other day he refused to go with them in town to see to his…manly needs if you know what I mean. He clearly hasn't felt any urges yet."

Dunne could barely contain her disbelief. Was that what the woman thought? How blind could one be? Bj?rn was all about virility, his beard didn't hide anything, it only highlighted his masculinity. And if he hadn't gone to the stew house with his drunken friends, then that only proved he was a whole lot more mature than the lot of them. Still, she had finally got what she wanted—a way out of another day at the back of the miller's cart, so she kept her mouth shut.

"So you see. I can sit next to him tomorrow without fearing for my virtue," she concluded.

The woman nodded.

He's only a boy.

Bj?rn's fists tightened of their own accord while his blood started to drum in his temples. Was that what Dunne thought, even after all they'd done in her bed? That he had no idea of what should happen between a man and a woman? Was that why she didn't want to have anything to do with him, because she thought him too young? All this while he'd been worried she'd resented his callousness or thought him unwilling to commit to her, and now he was finding out that it was a lot more simple than that.

He's only a boy.

How dismissive she had sounded, how scathing! He suspected the wound she had inflicted with her hurtful words would fester until his dying day. She was rejecting him not for a mistake he had made that could be corrected for something he had no control over. His age. Of all the things she could have said, this was the worst. He could learn to pleasure her better, he could make amends for his thoughtlessness, he could offer to look after her if he had made her with child, but he could not make himself older. He would eventually grow into an old man, but all his life he would be ten years younger than she was. If she objected to that then there was nothing he could do.

Which didn't mean he did not feel the full force of his disillusion.

He remained hidden in the shadows, biding his time, knowing she would have to walk past him at some point or other. Then he would pounce and make her pay for the pain she had caused him.

The miller's wife ambled past, and did not see him, ensconced as he was in his hiding place. He waited. A moment later, it was Dunne's turn to walk past the bushes. Making sure to look as menacing as possible, he placed himself right on her path. She would have to rethink her definition of harmless little boys after today.

"Bj?rn!" His name was little more than a squeal. "Lord, you made me jump."

Oh, he would do more than make her jump. He would make her squirm. He might make her cry. And this time he would not comfort her. If she was hurt she would have no one but herself to blame. She had brought it on herself.

He opened his mouth, ready to unleash his wrath on to her—and froze. Night had not quite yet fallen. It was still light enough for him to see that there was a mighty bruise on Dunne's temple, just above her delicately-shaped eyebrow. His fury vanished in a puff of smoke at the sight.

"Who did that to you?" he asked, glaring in the direction of the wool merchant's cart. Had Harald tried to touch her? He could not understand when the man could have attacked her, but someone evidently had. Who?

"A sack of flour. Or rather, the c-cart, it?—"

"What are you talking about?" he growled, interrupting Dunne's mumbled explanation. Was she more seriously injured than he had first supposed? She wasn't making any sense, talking about sacks of flour and carts when he'd asked for the name of her attacker.

"No one hurt me. I simply bumped my head against the side of the cart when a sack of flour fell on me," she said more calmly. "The whole ride was horrid, really. I think I must be covered in bruises. That is why I would prefer to travel with you tomorrow, on a proper seat, if I may."

His nostrils flared. Now she wanted to make use of him? "So. Between another battering and time alone with me, you choose me. I'm flattered."

She recoiled at the ice in his tone but he didn't offer any apologies. If she knew she'd come a hair's breadth from the tongue lashing of her life, she would count herself lucky.

"If you prefer, I-I could?—"

"I prefer nothing. You will travel with me for the rest of the journey, and no one else. I mean for you to reach your sister's home in one piece. There will be no more fighting against sacks of flour or a smithy's tools or wool merchants or anything else. Since apparently I can pose no threat to you whatsoever, you will stay with me."

He planted himself in front of her and had the satisfaction of seeing her inhale at his proximity. The "boy" had the power to send her weak with fear. Or was it limp with arousal? Should he remove his shirt to make sure? The idea crossed his mind before he rejected it as foolish. He didn't need to prove she liked his body, he already knew that she did.

What he now needed to see was that she could like him for something else.