Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Eldberg's first instinct was to chase her—to wrap her in his arms and prevent her from leaving, to let her wail and rant all she liked, as long as she remained. She would cry herself out and collapse at last against him, knowing it was there she belonged.

But Hedda was not like other women. If anything, she was more like him, and that belief kept Eldberg rooted to the spot. Overwhelmed by whatever was troubling her, she sought privacy, and he would respect that wish.

Nevertheless, he listened in case she might fall and call for help. The way she'd set off, running with imprudent haste, she might easily come to grief.

Though he couldn't determine her progress—the track being hidden by the dense foliage of the hillside—he imagined her making her way down and looked ahead to where she would appear at the foot of the slope.

Eldberg passed his hand over his brow. The discussion had not gone as he'd hoped. Somehow, his suggestion that Hedda accompany him—of her own free will, albeit under his protection—had only inspired her anger.

‘Twas all bound up with that husband of hers, though he detected little from her in the way of mourning. The fate of the island's men remained a mystery, but Eldberg would wager they weren't returning.

Did Hedda grieve?

‘Twas a sore point with her, that he could see, though from what she'd told him, the man who'd wedded her hadn't been worthy to call her his wife.

And you think you're any better?

She was still sprinting when she appeared in view, taking a route not back to the longhouse but toward the dunes. Twice, she stumbled, her feet sinking into the soft, dry sands, but she reached the flat expanse at last.

No harm would come to her now. She simply wished to be alone, and the beach offered plenty of space for that. Eldberg let out a long exhalation.

The way she carried on, he might almost think she had a true softness for him. Women's tempers flamed brightest when stoked by jealousy or some such vexation. Where they cared naught, they didn't waste their breath, though it made no sense in this case. Hedda had made it clear from the outset that he was an irritation she'd happily be free of.

He knew ‘twas only the passion between them that kept her interest. She'd been long without a bed companion and was taking full advantage of his being at her beck and call. When the time for him to leave came, as she must surely realize would happen, Hedda would see him off without a backward glance.

Except that I won't let that happen! The vixen may not know what's good for her, but I do.

His gaze followed her advance across the sands, her run now a more moderated walk. She was heading in the direction of where his ship rested.

Better for us never to have washed upon this shore. Never to have left Skálavík even! I could be sitting by my own hearth, with a horn of ale, a hearty stew, and a different wench in my bed every night—three at a time if I wished it—and none with the lip on them that Hedda gives me!

He kicked at a stone.

There was no point lying to himself. He knew well that it had been nigh two years since he'd brought any woman to his bed. It hadn't been due to any deficit of desire, merely a lack of interest in the women available to him. Back in Skálavík, his position as jarl meant he was never short of willing partners—even with his gnarled appearance.

Hedda had changed that. Her stubbornness and hot temper drove him to distraction, but they were also the very aspects of her personality that most attracted him. She might be his inferior in physical strength, but her indomitable will was more than a match for his own.

Besides which, she made him laugh, playing him at his own games of taunting and teasing, until they tumbled once more between the furs and needed no more talk to understand what the other hankered for.

He knew what he'd been craving, and the only woman capable of giving that to him he'd just driven away. He stared down at her, so far below, willing her to turn her head and scan the clifftop.

If she does, I'll know she feels the same—that she feels for me, at least some of what I do for her.

"Make her look at me!" Eldberg voiced the need aloud. "Odin, if this scene amuses you, visit the wench's thoughts and make her give me some sign!"

To his despair, she did nothing more than drop to her knees, curling up on her side next to the boat. She rested her head upon the bow but remained gazing out to sea.

Eldberg clenched his fists.

‘Twas no more than he deserved for he'd done nothing to merit Hedda's tenderness. He'd offered no more than a veiled invitation to become—what? His bed slut, relished until he tired of her? And what then—to be passed to some other, and perhaps another again, until she was too aged to be of interest to any man?

As if I'd let that ever happen!

But she was not to know. He'd made no declaration of deeper feeling, yet had asked if she'd leave the only place she called home and all she knew.

If Bretta was observing him now, what would she make of it? She'd always believed in the best of him, even when he'd not been able to see it himself. Had expected him to deal fairly with those in his service and to protect the interests of all under his jarlship.

He could almost see the disappointment in Bretta's eyes at him treating Hedda this way, promising her so little.

His Bretta had been quite the opposite of fiery Hedda, and their path toward one another had been different. He'd coveted her from first sight, the ambition of earning her hand keeping him loyal to Skálavík's former jarl. When he'd discovered she returned his love, he'd vowed to spend his life guarding her happiness—and how miserably he'd failed on that count, letting her be taken from him.

Hedda would never replace Bretta—she was her own woman in every way—but if he were to claim her, to take her from this place and make her his, he owed it to her to offer more.

He'd been thick-headed not to have seen it before. All the more reason for her to tell him to go fuck himself and not darken her door again.

Was it too late? Even if he laid his feelings bare, would it matter to her?

Whether ‘twas the sun or the tumult of emotions working upon him, he knew not, but his head suddenly ached. It seemed there was no escape. Hedda was all he could think of, and he'd have no rest until he knew that she wished to be his as much as he yearned to make her so.

How long should he wait? Knowing Hedda, she'd need some time to calm down. Besides which, he needed to set his thoughts in order before he went blundering in. He was a man of many talents, but sweet-talking was not among them. What if he said the wrong thing and only compounded his mistake?

Blowing out another deep breath, he set off farther up the hillside. He'd go to the crest visible above, then slowly make his way down again, setting out to find Hedda on the beach. He could only pray the gods would guide him in finding the right words.

He'd had enough ill luck to last a lifetime. It was about time the wise women who wove the fates of all placed kindlier thread in their loom where he was concerned.

It took but a few hundred strides to reach the cape. Eldberg closed his eyes. The cool wind was welcome on his skin, easing somewhat the pounding at his temples.

He'd faced the battlefield more times than he could remember, ready to fight to his death. Surely, he could summon the courage to face Hedda and be honest with her.

What was the worst that could happen? The wench might beat him with her fists and say she loathed him, might swear she'd rather scratch out her own eyes than allow him back in her bed… but in his soul, he believed there were softer emotions behind her wildcat ways. He felt it in his bones that a tender place in her heart was reserved for him. He'd only to convince her to trust in him.

On the breeze, he could almost believe that he heard her call his name. Was he in her thoughts? He kept his eyes closed tight, summoning her face and sending his impassioned declaration through the distance between them.

Give me a chance, Hedda. Let me prove to you that my actions can speak louder than my clumsy words.

Again, he thought he heard her call.

Hope filled his heart, and he took a step toward her voice.

Lost in a trance, he didn't notice the crumbling rock until he found himself skidding upon loose scree. With flailing arms, he sought his balance, but there was none to be had for the ground was crumbling beneath him.

The world was a blur as Eldberg slid irrevocably toward the edge of the sheer cliff.