Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

T hey set off just after dawn. Walking side by side, they barely exchanged a word but every chance she got, Ingrid stole a glance in Caedmon's direction.

Why did this man call to every part of her, when she had sworn never to get herself tangled with anyone? Why did he appeal to her so? She did not understand. He was handsome, for sure, extremely so, but that could not be the only reason for her growing obsession, surely?

No, it was not the only reason, she decided. He was also amusing, patient and helpful. He saw her for who she was and didn't give her the impression he was only interested in what she had between her legs. Hadn't he refused her barely veiled invitation to sleep with her last night? Clearly, he was not like the men she despised, and all he wanted from her was company. Which was fine, as she'd kept telling herself all night, while she tossed and turned in her bed. She didn't want more than his company either. Conversation was the only thing she should and did want from him. A conversation with him was more than satisfactory anyway, as it allowed her to look him straight in the eye. She could have gazed at him for days and still discover in his irises a hue she had not seen before.

As they got nearer to town, she grew increasingly agitated.

Where had her peace of mind gone? Since Caedmon had appeared in the village she had been oddly restless. She felt like someone who'd been allowed to walk at her own pace all her life and then without warning had been bundled onto a galloping horse over which she had no mastery. She did not like the loss of control, not one little bit.

That the horse in question was a headstrong, impetuous stallion only made matters worse. She lacked the strength or the experience needed to handle such a mount and she feared a disaster.

For years, her independence had been her most cherished possession, and she had thought nothing would take precedence over her need for freedom. That was why she had tried to remain detached, though what she felt for Caedmon had been getting stronger with each passing day. But it seemed that there was something she valued more than freedom: a bond to someone worthy of her affection, someone who saw her more than a body to use for his pleasure. It wasn't demeaning or suffocating to live with someone when it made you feel special. Caedmon had looked after her of his own initiative when she'd gotten her flux, he'd taken it upon himself to save her from the men's assault without asking for anything in return, he helped around the house as if it was natural. What could have felt like high-handedness, with him, just felt…right.

The time spent with Caedmon had made her see that independence was not so desirable if it meant loneliness. After years of craving freedom she had gone to the other extreme and rejected everything and everyone that might compromise her tranquility. No more.

From now on, she would accept letting other people in.

It took her less than a heartbeat to understand that she wanted to start with the man walking next to her.

In other words, the man who was leaving her. Today she would have to say goodbye to him. Tomorrow she would wake up alone in the hut. Her revelation had come too late.

For a moment she was tempted to ask Caedmon to change his mind and walk back to the village with her, to stay a while longer. She didn't, as she was not brave enough to risk a refusal.

They walked through the gates just as the sun parted the clouds.

Caedmon had expected to feel, if not joy exactly, at least something when entering the town of his youth for the first time in ten years. But he felt nothing, save that same tightening in his chest he'd felt the other day, and last night, when he'd understood he was going to have to say goodbye to Ingrid.

It only told him he was right to leave while he could. Things were getting too personal.

They walked on past the church, then, for no reason that he could discern, she stopped next to a crumbling building.

"Is anything the matter?" he enquired, glancing around. Had he missed something? Did she think the damaged walls were about to fall on top of her?

"This is where my..." Her voice trailed. "Where my parents died."

Oh. "I'm sorry. I had no idea." Why did he have to go in through the South gate? If only he'd chosen the other one, she wouldn't have had to be reminded of her loss.

"It's not your fault. You weren't to know. But their death hit me hard. I was only seventeen and..."

Her lips started to tremble. Caedmon placed a hand over her shoulder. Could he do more? Could he draw her into his arms? He dearly wanted to, as ever. "I think it had nothing to do with your age, and more with the suddenness of it. That, and the fact that you loved them very much. If you'd been less happy with them, their loss would not have been so hard to bear."

His mother's death had certainly not devastated him and he had not been much older than seventeen himself.

She nodded as if she'd understood exactly what he'd just thought.

"How did they die?"

"In a cart accident. Here, at the corner of this road. A dog shot out of nowhere and spooked their horse, who became uncontrollable. They broke their necks when the cart overturned in a bend." She shook her head. "I was told they didn't suffer. I'm not sure it is quite the truth, but I try to believe it."

Yes. It was probably for the best. No point in thinking they had endured agony before dying of their wounds or had time to realize they were going leave their beloved children behind.

"I'm so sorry." The shock must have been awful. One moment they were a happy family, the next she was an orphan, and all for a stupid reason.

"I was too young to accept their loss as an inevitable part of life and too old not to understand exactly what it meant. I remember every moment of happiness spent together."

"At least knowing you had made the most of your time together must help, in some small way."

Ingrid nodded. "It does. Now. But at first it only made the loss more shocking." Of course. One misses more what one loves. "Did you know your parents?" she asked.

He let go of her shoulder and stared into the distance, in the direction where their house had been. Was it still standing or was it falling apart, like the house in front of them? It wouldn't surprise him if it was. It had been in a bad state ten years ago. It might well have fallen to dust since he'd left.

"I knew my mother," he said eventually.

Something about Caedmon's answer caused the hairs at the back of Ingrid's neck to stand on end. He'd known the woman, but clearly he did not have good memories of his time with her.

"And your father?" she could not help but ask.

"I might have met him, but I don't remember him." This was said with such bitterness that she knew she would not insist. This was a sensitive topic. "I only have my grandmother left. If she is still alive, of course…After all this time I cannot be sure."

"Of course." Ingrid knew about the old woman, since that was why they were here, but she'd had no idea she was his only remaining family. "No siblings?" she asked in a small voice. At least she had Bj?rn, and now Dunne and the children. She could not imagine a childhood with no company and parents who weren't there or didn't love her.

"No. My mother miscarried a few times after she had me and I suspect the last one damaged her body. She never bore another child after that, despite having numerous lovers, each more disagreeable than the last. They made my life a misery, not that I ever told her about it. She had her own issues with them."

"Oh, Caedmon." She placed a hand on his arm. What a way to live.

"It's all right." He gave her a small, wistful smile. "It's all in the past."

Yes, it was. But that did not make it less awful.

Having said all there was to say on the subject of their childhood, they walked on. Just as they entered a narrow road leading to the wash house, a cart loaded with barrels came from the opposite end, blocking their way. Instead of retracing their steps, they took refuge in a crevice between two houses while the wide vehicle trundled past. The space was just big enough to allow them to squeeze in.

For a moment they stood face to face, so close their bodies touched and their scents mingled.

Ingrid forgot to breathe. The sun shone directly overhead, making Caedmon's eyes shine a brilliant gold. There was an odd expression on his face, like that of a man debating on his next course of action. Before she had time to wonder what that might be, he leaned in—and kissed her.

Everything within her surged. Caedmon was kissing her. It made no sense. Why was he kissing her? She had no idea. Did it matter? Probably. Did she care? Not even one little bit. Was she supposed to push him away and demand an explanation? Without a doubt. Should she just stop thinking and just enjoy it? Yes .

Most definitely yes.

She closed her arms around his neck and drew him closer, pressing her body against his, allowing him to explore her mouth exactly how he wanted. He did so with exquisite tenderness and consummate skill, teasing her lips with his own, coaxing them open, licking her into surrender. Everything within her was melting. Never had she been kissed like this. If he carried on, she might well allow him to take more than a kiss, here, in the little crevice that seemed created for such scandalous encounters.

After a long moment that still managed to be too short, he drew away. Ingrid stared at him, her trembling fingers at her lips.

"You kissed me."

As soon as the words were out, she kicked herself. What a ridiculous thing to say. Of course, he already knew that! "You kissed me" had to be the worst thing anyone had ever said after a kiss.

"I know. Yes. I kissed you. I'm sorry."

Uh. Ingrid stared at Caedmon in disbelief. No, that had to be the worst thing anyone had ever said after a kiss. He was sorry? That had to mean he had not intended to kiss her at best, that he regretted it at worst. Neither proposition was flattering.

Her heart plummeted in her chest when she realized she had hoped to hear something quite different.

Only moments ago she had been bemoaning the fact that they were to part ways before she was ready. After he'd kissed her, a part of her had jumped to the conclusion that he must feel the same and wanted to make the most of their last moments together, or even prolong them.

Evidently he did not.

"It's all right. You don't need to apologize." Not when it made her feel so wretched. "I think we should just forget it happened," she mumbled, staring at the wall, at her feet, anywhere but at him. She would have taken a step back but she could not, in the tight space.

"But I do need to apologize. I need to explain why I kissed you."

Ingrid barely repressed a groan. This was getting worse by the moment. If he needed to explain the impulse, it meant that it had been motivated by something other than the usual desire men felt for women.

"I really would prefer it if you?—"

"Please."

Oh, this would be bad, she just knew it. Nevertheless, Ingrid nodded, indicating she would listen. What other choice did she have? She could not run away, give herself time to think, when she knew that if she left she would never see him again. Their parting could not be so pathetic. She waited while he seemed to build up the courage to speak.

"This is where I shared my first kiss."

Oh. She had guessed this would be bad, but it was even worse than she had anticipated. He regretted kissing her. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, he'd kissed her in the same place he'd kissed the infamous "sweet, warm, delicious girl" who made his eyes go all dreamy and his lips spout poetry when he thought about her. The girl she'd started to hate with unreasonable ferocity.

"I found myself pressed against you just now and it just?—"

"Yes, I understand."

He'd only wanted to recreate a fond memory, nothing more. She bit back the impulse to cry. How had she thought it would be any different? Only last night he'd refused to bed her. Why would he want to kiss her now?

Caedmon could see from the expression on Ingrid's face that he was making a mess of his explanation but he didn't know how to justify his bewildering impulse to kiss her, when he was not quite sure why it had been so important.

Because it had felt important to do it, vital even.

The only problem was, it was making her cry. And he hated it.

"No, I don't think you understand," he murmured. "I'm not sure I do myself."

Confusedly, he'd felt as if he'd wanted to exchange one memory with another, more satisfying one. Today it was sunny and warm. The night he had kissed Frigyth it had been cold and miserable, they had both been drenched and shivering. With hindsight it appeared like an ill omen, one he should have heeded. But right now he and Ingrid were basking in sunshine and there was no discomfort, only pleasure. He'd felt her supple body against his and suddenly he'd wanted to erase the memory of a woman who didn't want him, never had.

"I felt it was time to leave behind the boy I was and the girl I obsessed about for years." Just like the evening before, he refused to name Frigyth or to admit how long the infatuation had lasted, because for the first time he saw the ludicrousness in it all. Who remained fixated for so long on someone who did not love them, who had refused their offer of marriage twice, who was married to another man and living at the other end of the country? "I want to leave my miserable past behind, be another man."

One who was not in love with a woman out of his reach. He wanted to be free of Frigyth at last. In the last few weeks he'd come to understand that they could never be together and the prospect of spending the rest of his life hankering after someone he could never have scared him witless. It had made him too miserable for too long. It was time to do something about it.

For a reason he could not fathom, he now felt strong enough, brave enough to try.

Coming back here, seeing her happy with her Norseman, pregnant with his child, raising his family, had put an end to the painful hopes he had entertained about Frigyth. The two of them were only friends, they would never be more. He should have understood it years ago. Well, at least he'd seen it now.

It was not too late. He could try and salvage what was left of him.

The only regret he had was having brought Ingrid into this mess when it was not her fight. He should never have used her thus. And yet…yet he could not regret the kiss. It had been sweet, hot, slow, deep, more satisfying than any he had ever shared with anyone. As far as experiments went, it had been a success, and it was a comfort to know that every time he thought about this place he would no longer see Frigyth, or at least, not only her.

It was clear that neither he nor Ingrid knew how to recover after the awkwardness of the moment, however. The cart had long since disappeared yet they seemed rooted to the spot in the gap between houses.

They needed time apart. It was the only thing that would help.

"You go get your thread, while I buy something for us to eat. We'll meet by the wash house when you've finished."

She fled without a word.

"I swear I'm going to swoon. Those eyes!"

"That smile!"

"That body !"

The three women giggled in unison then stopped when they saw Ingrid just behind them. Looking caught out, they hurried away whispering to each other like excitable children. Ingrid didn't need to hear the rest of their conversation to know they were still talking about the man who had captured their interest and describing what they would like to do to that amazing body of his. As to his identity, she didn't doubt it for a moment.

A moment later, Caedmon exited the baker's shop, confirming her suspicion. The Saxons had been struck by none other than the man who was supposed to be her lover, the man who had kissed her earlier that afternoon, who had burst into her tranquil, ordered life like a tempest When he saw her, the smile that had just been praised bloomed on his lips, making her catch her breath. The eyes that had almost made the women swoon lit up, reducing her insides to warm butter. As for the body?—

"All finished?"

"Finished?" Ingrid repeated, jolted out of her contemplation. What was he talking about?

"Did you find the thread you wanted?" he asked, eyeing up the bundle in her hand. Oh, the thread, of course. She'd forgotten all about that.

"Y-yes."

"Are you all right?" The smile disappeared from Caedmon's lips as he edged closer to her.

"Yes," she repeated, this time without the stammer. Damnation, no wonder he thought there was a problem, she was acting like someone who'd been scared out of her wits—or a besotted fool. She should be used to the effect he had on her by now. But…Only moments ago he'd held her close in his arms, his tongue had stroked hers in a sensual dance, their bodies had shared their heat. She could be forgiven for being a bit overwhelmed in his presence.

"Did anything happen while you were alone?" Frowning, he glanced around in search of a potential threat. "Did anyone bother you?"

"No, but someone might well bother you if I leave you on your own."

It was best to joke about it, Ingrid thought, rather than allow misplaced jealousy to get the better of her. She only felt that way about the women's comments because Caedmon had kissed her moments ago, she assured herself. At any other time she would have barely registered them. Although he had told her the kiss didn't mean anything, she already knew that she would remember it all her life and mull over what might have happened for weeks. But for now it was better to follow his lead and act as if nothing unusual had happened. She was grateful to the women for providing them with a topic of conversation.

"What do you mean, someone might bother me? Who?" Caedmon asked.

"The three women in the baker's shop with you just now?" He nodded, indicating he knew who she was talking about. "They seemed highly interested in you."

That was the least she could say. However, he didn't appear pleased or even interested. He shrugged and a part of her, the part that was fighting an ill-placed jealousy, inwardly rejoiced. He didn't care a jot about those women.

"Did they? Well, don't worry. I'm sure I'll be fine, even if the three of them gang up on me."

The moment the words passed his lips Caedmon wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Ingrid had gone the color of whey and looked about to retch. What was wrong with him? Being assaulted was no laughing matter, especially for a woman who'd been set upon by men, not just once but twice.

"All three gang up on you," he thought he heard her say.

She wasn't talking about the women anymore, but about the man who had offered her to two others without her knowledge or consent. She was not worried about what could happen to him, but rather remembering what had happened to her with her lover's friends and then the other day in the forest with the Saxons who'd wanted to rape her.

He moved forward but stopped before he could draw her into his arms. After his tactless comment, he didn't feel he had the right to touch her. "Ingrid, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I don't know why I said that. I should never have?—"

She shook her head, interrupting the pathetic apology. "Don't worry about it. I…I think we should eat. I'm hungry."

"Of course."

If she chose to be brave and behave as if his ill-advised comment had not affected her, then he should respect her wishes and make it easier for her. It was all his fault she had been reminded of her ordeal. What had possessed him to say such a callous thing? He could only blame a temporary madness, similar to the one that had made him kiss her earlier.

They made their way toward the wash house where they found a stone bench tucked in the shade of a tall beech. There they ate the bread and pies he'd bought.

"It's not the best bread I've ever had," he observed after a while.

It was an inane comment but he wasn't sure what else to say and he couldn't bear the silence between them. Really, he had done everything wrong today. Not only had he reminded Ingrid of her terrible night with the three Norsemen, but moments before that he had kissed her out of the blue and almost made her cry. Though she had fought the tears with all her might, he had not missed the effort it had cost her. As a result, there was a new awkwardness between them. He wanted nothing more than to recapture the ease between them, so that they could part ways with no ill feelings.

Ingrid chewed on her mouthful of bread before answering. "It's not wonderful, but it's not the worst I've ever had either. And I was hungry."

He stood up as fast as if he'd been poked in the back with a spike. What the hell was wrong with him today? Couldn't he do anything right for her? Apparently not.

"Let me go and get you another pie." He'd not bought much in the shop, and if she was hungry, she would need more food.

"It's all right." She looked surprised by his eagerness, and no wonder. He felt rather like a puppy trying to please its master after having been caught reducing his most precious possession to shreds. But he felt guilty for making her think of the bastards who had used her and he was ready to do whatever it took to make amends, just like that guilty puppy.

"Stay where you are. I won't be long."

"Look at that hair."

"That skin."

"She has to be a Norsewoman."

Ingrid stiffened. The three Saxon women were back. Only this time they were talking about her and the whispered comments were not compliments.

Quite the contrary.

She did her best to appear as if she could not hear them, even if they were not making any effort to be discreet. They probably thought she couldn't understand their language and did not see the need to lower their voices. Either that or they knew only too well what they were doing and they wanted to goad her into reacting. Well, they were wasting their time. She took another bite of bread and forced herself to remain calm.

Let them play their childish game if it pleased them, she would not be a part of it.

"I wonder how anyone could find such a woman attractive," the tallest one was saying, looking as disgusted as she would in front of a disembowelled rabbit. "They look odd and they sound even worse. Their language resembles boar grunts to my ear. It's bad enough when a man speaks it, but a woman!"

"Yes. And everything about her is so pale it's almost transparent. Really, what's attractive about that? Her skin looks like watered milk. "

"No sane man would want such a cold, strange creature in their bed, that's for sure."

The comments, crass as they were, hit a nerve. Ingrid was not confident enough in her appeal to dismiss the women's opinion as simple malice. She knew she was not the most beautiful of women.

The Saxons' teasing had brought her back to some ten years ago. One of Bj?rn's friends' sister, Gertrud, a stunning girl, had taken great delight in disparaging her appearance every time they met. That she was doing it to make herself seem even more attractive by comparison had been clear and her brother had urged her to ignore the ill-intentioned comments. She'd known it was the wisest thing to do, of course. Still, it had hurt to constantly be called "scrawny" and "plain" in front of the village boys, none of which had ever contested it.

Ingrid gritted her teeth and waited for the storm to pass. If she didn't react, eventually the women would tire of their little game and walk away. She was not a shy, gangly fourteen-year-old girl anymore, she could take it.

The scathing comments drifting to him caused Caedmon to stop in his tracks.

Cold, strange creature. Skin like watered milk. Unattractive.

It was so far removed from what he thought of Ingrid that it took him a moment to understand that was who the women were talking about. Hearing his approach, they turned and stared at him with open mouths. Understanding tore through him. They had to be the three Saxons Ingrid had warned him about, the ones who had ogled him in the baker's shop earlier, the ones who wanted to gang up on him.

Fury caused his vision to blur. They dared simper at him after having disparaged one of the most beautiful woman he knew? They dared insult the sweetest soul he'd ever met and expected him to ignore the slurs? They had just revealed how mean and spiteful they were and yet they thought he would respond to their advances?

That they didn't know he and Ingrid were acquainted was not an excuse. He had to make them understand he was not interested in them, and at the same time prove how wrong they were to suppose Ingrid could not attract anyone.

He could only think of one way.

"Ah, there you are," he said, fastening his gaze onto Ingrid. Walking past the three women as if they were transparent, he went straight to her. After placing the pies he'd bought on the bench, he swooped her into his arms. "My lovely bride, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Caedmon."

His name was said in a throaty whisper that caused every single hair on his body to stand up to attention. The moment was almost too intense for comfort. Ingrid was in his arms and looking at him with her amazing blue eyes. He could tell she was grateful for his intervention, which had shown the women in the most unequivocal manner that some men found Norsewomen in general, and her in particular, desirable. He certainly did.

In that moment she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—and he dearly wanted to kiss her again. Not because he wanted to erase a memory this time, not even because he wanted to teach the Saxons a lesson but because she was Ingrid, she was in his arms, and it just felt right. Behind them, he heard the women walk away with scandalized whispers. Good riddance.

"Thank you," Ingrid murmured.

"Please. I could not let them speak about you in such a way," he said in her ear. At least he had done one thing right today, he thought with satisfaction. "Ignore them, they have no idea what they're talking about.

Silence stretched between them. Then?—

"Caedmon! My boy. Finally, you're back."

The voice he had not heard for ten years, speared through him. Caedmon turned around slowly, already knowing who would be standing behind him with tears in her eyes.

But when he saw her, the old woman was not crying, contrary to what he'd imagined. She was beaming at him.

"Oh, it is you. And you've brought your bride for me to meet!"