Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

I ngrid was cocooned in delicious warmth and finding it difficult to emerge from sleep. She could tell by the light pervading through the window that dawn had already broken but she was not ready to wake up just yet. She tried to stretch, turn to her other side and go back to sleep a moment—and found she could not. Something was holding her.

Some one .

A man.

Her eyes snapped open to confirm what she'd already understood. She was nestled against Caedmon's chest, bathing in his woodsy scent and warmth. Why? Even when she'd been supposed to keep an eye on him at night because of his wound they had not lain with each other.

Everything came back to her in a flash. They weren't in her hut but in his grandmother's house in town, pretending to be husband and wife, and sharing a bed as a consequence. It was an odd sensation. She had never slept with a man before, not in that sense at least, but now she found herself thinking that it was the most comforting thing she had ever done.

They weren't simply lying next to each other either, they were completely entwined. It looked as if she had burrowed into his arms during the night and he had then closed his arms around her to stop her from leaving. They were face to face, her nose was buried in the crook of his neck and her left arm was wrapped around his middle. She whimpered. How was she going to wiggle out from his embrace without waking him up? It seemed impossible but she didn't want him to see them in such in intimate position.

Before she could come up with a solution, Caedmon started stirring. She froze. And then he spoke, his voice hoarse from sleep, deeper than usual. Every single one of her nerve endings caught fire.

"Mm. Good morning."

"Good morning," she croaked back, trying to act as if there were nothing unusual in their position.

As soon as he heard her, he opened his eyes. He blinked like someone trying to make sense of what he was seeing and then scrambled away as if he'd been burned when he saw how close they were to one another.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean?—"

"Forgive me for?—"

They spoke at the same time and stopped when they realized they were saying the same thing. Of a common accord, they stood up and put some order to their clothing.

"No need to apologize," Ingrid murmured eventually. Not when she had been the one nestling herself against him after insisting they could sleep next to one another.

Caedmon ran a hand through his hair, looking guilty, and she wondered if he had not been the one to draw her into his arms, after all. Well, it mattered not who had initiated it, the result was the same, the other one had complied only too readily.

Her gaze automatically went to his groin. There was a sizeable bulge tenting the front of his braies, betraying a very masculine state of arousal. Her throat went dry at the sight, even if she knew men tended to wake up hard, no matter where they were. Should she avert her eyes? Should she say anything?

She blinked. No, of course, not! What was she thinking? Caedmon already seemed ill at ease with his body's uncontrollable reaction, she should not add to his discomfort. The only thing to do was to act as if she had not noticed anything, and take a step—or three—back. They were too close to one another, close only as lovers could be. But she didn't seem able to move.

Just then the door opened on his grandmother. She took one look at them and beamed when she saw their reddened faces and unseemly proximity. Evidently, she thought they had just finished making love or had been about to jump on one another. Probably the latter since, fortunately, they were fully dressed. Wonderful. Ingrid had never thought embarrassment could reach such proportions.

"Good morning!" the old woman said with ill-placed cheerfulness. "Instead of asking if the two of you slept well, I will ask if you slept enough ."

To Ingrid's mortification, she winked. By the gods, it seemed that embarrassment had unsuspected depths after all...

"Yes, thank you, Gran, what about you?" Caedmon answered with commendable effort at breeziness.

She appreciated the way he tried to shield her and take the brunt of the discomfort on to himself. But, of course, it was the least he could do since she was doing him a favor by going along with the pretense that they were husband and wife. She could have exposed the lie by now, she should perhaps have done so. It might have been better received coming from her, as it could more easily have been brushed off as a misunderstanding. Only…It had not seemed an option somehow. The old woman had seemed so happy to be reunited with her only grandson, she had looked at the two of them with such emotion in her eyes. Ingrid could no more have spoiled that joy than she could refuse her little nephew a hug when he ran toward her with extended arms.

"I slept well enough, lad, or at least not worse than usual. Don't worry about me," the old woman said with her usual briskness. Ingrid couldn't help a smile. She would be like that in fifty years time, she decided, telling things the way they were and not worrying about what anyone thought. Pity she didn't have the nerve to do it now. It must very liberating. "Shall we break our fasts?"

"Yes. And then we'll be on our way."

"Of course. I imagine you have much to do at home and I had planned to go visit my neighbor's daughter and see the new babe anyway. I love children. I cannot wait to hold my first great-grandchild in my arms."

As she spoke, she threw a none too subtle glance toward Ingrid's stomach.

Caedmon winced inwardly.

Somehow the whole lie seemed ten times worse this morning. He felt like a child caught doing something naughty and he could not imagine how Ingrid must feel. From the moment he had opened his eyes it had been a succession of awkward moments. When he'd woken up with her in his arms it had taken him far longer than it should have to understand that it was not normal for them to be in such close proximity. Why? It should have been instantaneous. He had never woken up with a woman in his arms, so the newness of the experience should have registered immediately. He had never found himself in that situation, as he usually didn't stay the night when he bedded a lover and Mildred had never wanted to cuddle up at night. Ingrid was apparently different, since she had nestled herself against him. Or…was she?

Had she really been the one initiating the embrace? He could not be sure. It could have been him. Considering what he had done the day before, he could well have been the one to draw her closer, even if he did not remember doing so.

It made little difference anyway, he had not pulled away when she'd come to him, but instead he'd wrapped his arm around her to stop her from moving away. As a result, they had been entwined as only lovers could be when he'd woken up. Thank God he'd realized what was happening before he could start caressing her, moved by instinct. Because he'd been hard, as he always was upon waking up. He was still hard, in fact, even if he'd angled his body away to hide the fact from his grandmother.

As for Ingrid, it was too late to hide anything from her. She knew full well that he was as hard as one of Magnus' pokers. He had not missed the glance she had thrown at his groin earlier—or the color on her cheeks when she'd seen the proof of his arousal.

Ah, well. It was not as if it was the first time it had happened.

They all settled down at the table. His grandmother had bought some hot pies to go along with the gruel she always had in the mornings. Everything was delicious and Caedmon ate with as much relish as if he'd not eaten in days. The only thing missing was a cup of Bj?rn's ale.

Finally the moment to leave came. He and Ingrid glanced at each other, understanding he would have to go back to the Norsemen village with her, at least for a few days. He could not stay in town as he'd intended, not without explaining to his grandmother why they didn't live together. Even if he could muster the courage to do it, he had a suspicion that she would never believe them. Not only did the old woman think they were married and trying for a babe, but she was convinced she had just walked in on them about to make love.

What was happening? Every time he tried to leave, fate seemed to force him back to the Norsemen village. Or rather, to Ingrid. Should he start to heed the signs?

Perhaps. But he wasn't sure he was brave enough.

They left after one last hug to his grandmother, and a promise to visit her again very soon.

"I thank you for what you did," he told Ingrid as soon as they were far enough away from the house. He was uncomfortable about having lied to the old woman but that was his burden to bear, not hers, and she should know how grateful he was to her. "You made my grandmother very happy."

The little shrug she gave was adorable. "From the moment she saw me in your arms and heard you call me your bride, all hope of convincing her that we weren't really husband and wife was lost. And she seemed so happy to see you again, I did not have the heart to tell her the truth. It seemed unnecessarily cruel."

"I know. I felt the same. Still, it cannot have been easy for you to act the part of my bride."

"It was not exactly hard either." She smiled, and went from adorable to stunning. "We once pretended to be lovers and made my brother mad in the process. After that, it was little hardship to pretend to be married and make a kind old woman happy."

"I suppose so."

As they carried on walking Ingrid became wistful. "I never knew my grandparents, you know."

"I had guessed as much, yes."

"They stayed in Denmark when my parents came here, and meeting your Gran made me see what I was missing. I wish I had known at least one of them."

"Yes," Caedmon murmured.

His childhood had not been easy, but at least he'd had a grandmother who doted on him to compensate for the misery at home. And, apparently, time had not diminished her feelings for him. Which was the problem. If she'd cared less about him, he would not have hesitated in telling her the truth. He sighed, overwhelmed by the enormity of the lie he'd told. What was he going to tell her when he came back to town without his "lovely bride"? He was going back to the hut with Ingrid because not doing so would have given the lie away, and he had nowhere else to hide, but the situation could not last indefinitely. What would he do in a few days' time? What could he tell the old woman to explain the fact that he was not married anymore? He would have to find a way, one that did not present Ingrid in a bad light. Saying that his wife had left him or that she had died was out of the question.

Which left only one solution. He would have to take the blame, make it appear as if he had left her.

Yes…and then his grandmother would rant at him, remind him where his duty lay, maybe even force him to go grovel and get his wife back.

What a mess he'd gotten himself into. The whole country seemed convinced he and Ingrid were either lovers or husband and wife. No one they had ever met had supposed they were nothing to each other.

Was that what they were? The thought was depressing to say the least.

"Come, we should not dally," he said, feeling more confused than ever.

"Yes."

Ingrid had a sudden urge to be home, settled with Caedmon, and able to savor the fact that he was staying a bit longer with her.

But she seemed unable to move, unable to believe her luck. Only the day before she had bemoaned the fact that he was leaving her. Now, against all odds, she had been given more time with him. Pretending to be his wife had been surprisingly easy, felt so natural. What would it be like to be married to him for real? To be his lover in truth? It would most probably be wonderful, be everything she had never thought she never wanted and everything she secretly craved for. He was so thoughtful, so protective, so handsome…Perhaps with him she could?—

"Why are you looking at me like this?"

Ingrid blinked. "Like w-what?"

"Like you are trying to puzzle out something."

"I..." In a way, she was trying to solve a puzzle. Just how many colors had he captured in his amazing irises? "I'm sorry. It's just…I've never seen eyes like yours. They fascinate me." He shrugged, as if he thought them perfectly ordinary. They were anything but. But, of course, he had never seen them, had he? Everyone could enjoy them, except him. It didn't seem fair, somehow. "They appear different depending on the time of day or the weather, or even what you're wearing. Today, for example, they are more green, but of a yellowish green that looks almost amber. Perhaps it's the morning light lending them its glow, I'm not sure, it could be..."

Her voice trailed away when he stared at her as if she'd been speaking in Norse.

"My," he said, drawing out the word. "You have been observing them."

She could not deny it. "Yes."

"I'd much rather look at yours. Now, there's an interesting color, if ever I saw one."

"Mine? They are blue." She shrugged much as he had done before. "I can think of nothing less inspiring."

He barked a laugh. "That's because you're a Dane. But believe me, before I went to the Norsemen village I had no idea eyes could exhibit so many hues of the color. They're all beautiful but yours…yours is my favorite."

Her heart skipped a beat because he was staring at her intently as he spoke. "Is it?"

"Yes…It's like a deep lake when the sun tries to pierce all the way to the bottom only to have its light illuminate the whole expanse of water."

Ingrid didn't know how to react. A deep lake…She didn't quite know what he meant, as she had never seen a lake other than the one next to the village but his description was fascinating. Were her eyes really like that? She had no idea, and would never know. The reflection she glimpsed in puddles was not precise enough for her to see. She imagined Bj?rn's face if she asked him if her eyes were really as blue as a bottomless lake. He would think her mad and ask if the Saxon always spoke such nonsense. Her brother had still not accepted the fact that she had a lover. Not that she really had, of course, but as far as he thought she and Caedmon had?—

In the corner of her eye she spotted three men coming toward them. Three men she had last seen lying on the ground, unconscious and bleeding.

"The men from the forest," she said to herself, her voice barely audible.

"I'm sorry?" Caedmon frowned.

Her decision was made in a heartbeat. The men could not be allowed to see him. If they recognized him for the traitor who had foiled their plans and caused them to get the beating of their lives, they would pounce. And this time no help would come. He was on his own, for she would not be able to do anything to stop the attack.

Before she could think, she threw Caedmon against the wall and placed herself in front of him.

"What are you?—"

"Hush." She was too small to act as an efficient shield but she would do what she could to hide him. Placing both her palms on his face to hide his features, she forced his head down. Damnation, too much of him was still visible. She had to make sure the men could not see his face when they walked past. If they recognized him, it would be a disaster.

There was only one solution.

Hoisting herself up onto her tiptoes, she kissed him.

Ingrid was kissing him.

Caedmon's mind registered the shocking fact only briefly before his senses took over and he responded like any hot-blooded man would. Why she was kissing him didn't matter, what mattered was that she was kissing him. He didn't want to know her reasons, didn't need to know them, as long as she did kiss him. There would be a reason behind the impulse, and he was sure to hear it in a moment, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the experience.

Ever since they had kissed the day before, he had obsessed about it. The smell of her, the heat of her, the softness of her. He wanted more of everything. And finally, he was getting it.

When she moaned he switched their positions so that she was the one with her back against the wall. With her where he wanted and unable to move, the kiss took on a new dimension. She moaned again, the sound causing arousal to shoot up his spine. Unable to resist, he wedged his leg between hers and started to rub against the sensitive folds hidden under her skirts. This was way more than a kiss, it was a whole body experience. Delicious. The more intimately he touched her, the more he wanted her.

Another moan brought him back to the reality of the situation. What the hell was he doing? They were in the middle of the road, in full view of everyone, and he was all but making love to her. His shaft was pressing against her hip and she was riding his thigh in search of the friction she needed. If they carried on like this he might well erupt and she might well come against him.

He drew back, panting hard. "We have to?—"

"—can stop now."

Just like they had this morning upon waking up in each other's arms, they talked at the same time. She sounded just as out of breath as he was and refused to meet his eye.

"I'm sorry."

He arched a brow. She was sorry? Why? She had not been the one transforming the kiss into something far more licentious. "I should be the one to apologize," he forced himself to say. His groin was still throbbing, making it hard to focus.

She shook her head. "I took you by surprise. I know I shouldn't have kissed you thus, but there was no other choice."

No choice? Did she mean she had kissed him for another reason than irrepressible desire? Something within him bristled and he had an inkling of how she would have felt yesterday when he had admitted to kissing her because they'd happened to be in the place where he had shared his first kiss with a woman. Why, he almost felt like crying himself.

"What do you mean?" he asked, not quite knowing what to make of her admission.

She threw a nervous glance behind him. "Three men just walked past us."

Hearing panic in her voice, he looked to the place she was indicating and saw a group of men with their backs to them. The hairs on his nape stood on end when he saw that the smallest one was limping and had dark, greasy hair.

"The bastards from the forest," he said between his teeth.

"Yes. I didn't want them to see you and start wondering where they knew you from. I panicked, sorry. There was no time to hide you or warn you."

Caedmon didn't know whether to be disappointed or gratified. She had wanted to protect him, which warmed his soul, but she had not, after all, kissed him out of desire, which crushed his feelings. He'd been overwhelmed by the moment, while she had only been trying to hide his face from view. The thought was sobering.

"I thank you. You seem to be spending your time helping me."

"It's no issue. The last thing I wanted was for them to recognize you and?—"

And beat you up for saving the women they had meant to rape. This time you might not have survived it.

Ingrid didn't finish her sentence but there was no need. It was obvious Caedmon had understood what she meant and was grateful for her help.

"Thank you," he repeated.

He placed his lips over hers, a swift, chaste caress that was nothing like the kiss he had given her a moment ago. It had been unlike anything she had ever experienced or dreamed could exist, wild, intoxicating, fierce, very different from the kiss they had shared the day before. This kiss had been for her, not to erase someone else, she had felt it in every bone of her body. She'd initiated it, but he'd quickly taken over, pinning her against the wall and wedging a strong thigh between her legs to rub her on the sweet spot needing friction. And she had relished every moment, almost begged for more. What would have happened if they had not been in the middle of the town?

Ingrid berated herself for the stupid question, for she already knew the answer.

If they had not been in full view of everyone, she would have let him lift her skirts and take her where she stood. She would have begged him to put an end to the need pulsing between her legs. Once he'd put his hands on her, her body had caught on fire with shocking speed. What had started as a means to protect him had bloomed into something out of her control. Was that because she had gone so long without a man's touch? Perhaps. Did that mean anyone else could have provoked such desire inside her? She doubted it. Confusedly, she sensed this could only have happened with Caedmon.

What must he be thinking? He would have felt the way she had rubbed herself against him, without hesitation or shame, heard her lewd moaning, seen that she was utterly overcome with desire. Would he not think her the most wanton creature, like Mildred had been? Would his opinion of her change as a result? She dearly hoped not.

"Shall we?" he asked after a while.

She nodded. Yes. They had better go, before she said or did something she would regret.

As they approached the town gates Caedmon placed a hand on her lower back to steer her into a smaller road, away from the place where her parents had died. Emotion swelled within her. Not only did he remember what she had told him, but he wanted to spare her grief.

It was then she knew that she wouldn't be able to let this man walk out of her life before she had experienced a night in his arms. She would seize this chance with both hands and not worry about what he would think of her morals or what was the sensible thing to do. Against all odds, they had been allowed more time together. Yet again. Every time he tried to leave, something happened to keep him with her. It had to mean something.

Today he was coming back to the village to appease his grandmother and there was no knowing how long the reprieve would last. One thing was for sure. They had kissed twice now, both times for reasons other than the need to taste each other. She wouldn't let him go until she had placed her lips over every inch of his body for the right reasons.

As they entered the forest, Caedmon finally plucked up the courage to ask Ingrid the question that had been bothering him for days.

Being forced to go back to the village once again was surely a sign that he should not let it go.

"The boy who used you so ill when you were eighteen," he started, guessing she would hate talking about it. But he had to know. "Was his name Ivar by any chance?"

Ingrid came to stop, providing him with the answer to his question. It was.

Now he understood why she had wanted to put the man back in his place the day he had accused him of stealing the horses, why she had wanted to parade a so-called lover to his face, why she had appeared so distraught the day he had talked to her in the vegetable patch.

Because he was the one who had hurt her so badly.

Caedmon could not believe how slow he'd been. He should have guessed her attacker's identity earlier, but in his defense, he had assumed the bastard had left the village after committing his crime for fear of reprisal. But it appeared that for five long years Ingrid had had to endure his presence, and perhaps even his taunts. Well, no more. It was time he paid for it.

"Does your brother know what happened?"

But he already knew the answer to that question. She'd told him Bj?rn had been away at the time and the Norseman was very protective of her. If he'd found out how the man had treated his sister, he would have punished him for sure. And yet Ivar didn't seem to walk with a limp and still had all his teeth and fingers, as far as Caedmon could tell.

"No," Ingrid confirmed in a breath. "He already hates Ivar. He would kill him if he knew."

"So?" What was the problem with that?

"So he has a wife who loves him, and a family to look after," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I will not have him becoming a murderer for me or risk being killed, in turn, when someone wants to avenge Ivar. Too many people need him. I need him."

Yes. She was right. Bj?rn should not be asked to place himself or his family in danger. But he didn't have a wife, loving or otherwise, he didn't have any children who would suffer if he died, and he would be leaving the village in a few days anyway. People who wanted to avenge Ivar would not know where to find him. He was the perfect choice to be her champion. Not that he would tell her what he intended to do.

"There wasn't any..." He bit his lip. How could he word the delicate question? Should he even ask it?

Yes. Otherwise he would only torture himself over it in the next few weeks. If he overstepped the mark, Ingrid could always refuse to answer.

"There wasn't any child from the…encounters?"

He didn't think so, as he had not seen any, but he doubted Ivar would have exercised any restraint while he was bedding her, and he was certain the bastard who had come to her while she was blindfolded had no intention of curtailing his pleasure to protect her either. If he'd had time to reach his release, she could well have fallen with child.

"N-no."

The answer should have been reassuring, but he sensed there was something she wasn't telling him. He didn't push her. It was obvious the topic was a painful one, and he should leave it at that, now that he knew what he needed to know. But she surprised him by carrying on with her explanation.

"As you can imagine, I waited anxiously for my courses after that night. I dreaded the prospect of finding myself with child, because not only would it have been imposed on me, but..." She swallowed. "I would not even have been able to ascertain the father's identity. The idea was torture to me. The night I started bleeding, though the pain was just as crippling as usual, I wept with relief."

Caedmon's fingers bunched into fists. If she'd thought she might be with child, it meant that her attacker had had time to reach his pleasure inside her. Hatred threatened to boil over. "Of course," he said, not knowing what to do to stop it from erupting.

"It made me…Well, scared, of anything to do with pregnancy. It's one more reason never to get married."

Those three bastards had done more than violate her body that night, they had taken away her trust in men and the ability to choose whether to bear a child or not. They might not have inflicted pain on her body, but they had left indelible scars none the less. The trauma they had caused was why she was alone and not looking to change her situation, why she didn't need a family. But was she really happy about it? Choosing something because the alternative was too frightening was not a solution.

"Are the two other men still here in the village?" If they were, he would have to find them and exert his revenge on them as well. He could not bear the idea that the three accomplices had been allowed to get away with what they had done.

"No. They were two brothers and they left soon after."

Brothers? Dear God, it was getting worse and worse.

"And…Do any of your friends know what happened?"

"No."

No. Just as he'd feared. She had heeded the men's advice and kept quiet about that night's events, in case it reflected badly on her . So it would be up to him to give Ivar what he deserved. And he knew just how. Caedmon straightened his spine.

Damn it all. He would have to go see Sigurd and ask for his help.