Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I n the morning, Caedmon woke up alone, and still naked. The light pouring into the hut indicated it was at least mid-morning. He could not remember ever sleeping so well, or for so long. Then again, he had never almost died in a woman's arms before. What had happened last night would force him to redefine what he thought of lovemaking.

It had been more, or rather, nothing like it.

As he got dressed, he listened, wondering if Ingrid was by the door, milking her goat or churning butter but he didn't hear anything. As soon as he was ready, he exited the hut, seized by the need to see her. Why hadn't she woken him up? Why had she left before they could talk? He could not help but worry over it. He knew he had not forced her hand last night but equally, he knew that she prized her independence, and why. Now that her senses had cooled, was she regretting their tryst? Was that why she had left the bed before he woke up?

He found her by the chicken coop, gathering eggs as she did every morning. The sight was a relief. Nothing had changed despite the intimacy they had shared. Life was going on as usual.

"There you are." The words left his lips in an exhale.

She turned to face him and smiled. He received that smile like a punch to the gut. Dear God, this woman might force him to redefine his views on feminine beauty as well. It had little to do with a harmonious arrangement of features, he realized now, it was much more than that. A woman's beauty was in the sparkle in her eyes, in the joy behind her smile, in her sighs when they touched, in her moans when they kissed, in her laugh, in the way she moved against his body and beamed at him when she saw him.

He thought back to Sigurd mocking him for speaking like a poet. For certain the Dane would choke on his tongue if he ever heard his fanciful musings.

"Of course, I'm here," Ingrid said, mercifully oblivious to what was passing through his mind. "Where else would I be?"

He stayed silent, feeling like a prized fool. Indeed where else would she be? This was her home. If one of them had to leave, it was he.

A delicious color crept up her cheeks, causing his groin to stir. "You thought I'd fled, too ashamed about what we'd done last night, is that it?"

"Well, yes." He had thought exactly that but had not expected her to be so honest about it. Would she ever cease to surprise him? He hoped not.

"I told you, Saxon, I wanted you. I'm hardly going to change my mind now, when you gave me so much pleasure."

This woman really was like no other, talking so openly about pleasure and what she wanted. Because she was like no other, he dared ask the question that had been lurking at the back of his mind.

"Why did you ask me to make love to you last night?"

She seemed to ponder this a while, as if she wasn't sure herself. He forced himself not to take personally the fact that she had not immediately responded: "Because I just can't resist you."

"When you kissed me the other day, you told me you wanted to change a memory from the past," she answered eventually. "I suppose I wanted to do the same. It seemed even more important that I did, as, unlike yours, my memory was a bad one. I didn't want to keep thinking of men as selfish creatures looking only for their own pleasure in bed, I didn't want to think of lovemaking as something degrading for the rest of my life. And now thanks to you, I won't."

Relief and pride blossomed through him. He'd made her see that some men considered their lover's pleasure a priority, made her change her mind about lovemaking. It was the best thing he had heard in his life.

"Thank you. I'm humbled. Why me, though?" He could understand her reasoning, understand why she'd wanted to alter her opinion of men and lovemaking, but he was not sure why she had chosen him to do that. He didn't feel he deserved that honor, when he had not promised her anything and up until recently his mind had been occupied by another woman.

What would she think if she knew he'd once been in love with her friend, Frigyth?

He frowned. Had once been in love? Where had that thought come from? He was still in love with her, was he not? They hadn't argued or anything, and people didn't fall out of love for no reason, did they? But perhaps they did…What did he know? Perhaps the fact that he wanted to start living a different life proved he had indeed fallen out of love with her.

Ingrid sighed and placed a light hand over his chest, the gesture intimate. "I came to you because you're a good man, I sensed you would treat me well and give me pleasure. I knew you would respect me and ensure I didn't fall with child because you know the idea scares me. And I was right to trust you."

Though she undoubtedly meant all this as a compliment and he should have been flattered, Caedmon bristled.

A good man.

Again.

That was all he had ever been, all his life.

Harmless, dependable, sensible Caedmon. Frigyth had only ever seen him as a friend, preferring a fierce, daunting Norseman to him. With Mildred it had been even worse, she'd only used him for her and her lover's benefit. The women he'd met in London had only been after sex or protection—or even simply pretty jewels—but never commitment. They had come to him because he was a good man. Even that blasted Sigurd, who should hate him, had taken to calling him that. Women who came to his bed only ever saw what they wanted to see, took what they needed from him, not what he wanted to give them. He was always the best friend, the helper, the protector, never the one they wanted to marry, spend their life or even wild nights with. They came to him because they knew he would treat them well and not make them with child, they knew he would forgo his own pleasure and instead ensure their reputation was safe, because he was honorable, trustworthy.

A good man.

Something within him snapped. Perhaps he didn't want to be a good man anymore, perhaps he wanted to spend a wild night for once, worry about nothing but his own pleasure, not think about the future but just enjoy the present.

Before he knew what he was doing he had lifted Ingrid into his arms.

"What are you doing?" she cried out, her hands coming to grab his neck.

"I'll show you just how much of a good man I really am," he growled, marching her back toward the hut.

"Caedmon!" She sounded breathless, though not with fright.

"Yes, that's my name," he confirmed, kicking the door open. He would make sure she screamed it over and over again until she was hoarse. He dropped rather than deposited her onto the pallet where, the night before, he had been so careful, made love to her so gently, where he'd been a good man.

Well, not today.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, already removing his shirt.

Her eyes widened and for a moment he feared he'd gone too far. She would get back up and usher him out with a curse. It would be nothing more than he deserved, as well. What was he doing, treating her thus when he knew what she had been through and she wanted to believe men could be trusted?

Heart thumping, he waited. Then she bit her lip, her arousal evident, and obeyed. Once she was in position, she slowly gathered her skirts up, revealing her perfect, rounded backside, giving her agreement.

Everything within him roared.

Not a good man. Not today. Today he was going to be a wicked man.

"Why did you do that?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Outside it had started raining. Ingrid was lying by his side, her body covered with a thin sheen of sweat, one arm draped over his chest. Caedmon stared at the wooden beams above. What could he tell her?

The truth, a small voice within him barked. She's asked a question, she deserves a real answer. She can take it.

"Because I am tired of only ever being a good man, never more than a good friend, never the passionate lover. I am tired of being overlooked in favor of more assertive men, men who tumble their women in bed whenever they want, not when they're asked, men who just take what they need and don't worry about it."

There. Now she knew. He was not a good man, could not be, if he harbored such shameful feelings. Why had he told her? She was the last woman to whom he should have exposed the dark side of his nature no one knew about.

For a long moment Ingrid didn't say anything.

"You think that's how I see you? You think I?—"

"Isn't it?" he cut in before she could lie and claim that was not what she thought. "If it's not, then what did you mean when you said you knew I would treat you well and ensure I didn't get you with child?" She stayed silent, as if that point was inarguable. "So in answer to your question, I did what I did because for once I wanted to think of what I wanted to do and nothing else, to behave like no one thinks I will. No one seems to credit me with the same urges and needs as other men, but I do have them. I wanted to reach my release inside a woman for once, not withdraw, and experience the full glory of it."

Glory. Yes. It had been glorious.

He sighed and finally turned to look at Ingrid. Unsurprisingly, she had gone bright red. Perhaps he should not have been so honest and claimed he'd simply lost his mind for a moment. This might be excused. Instead he had just admitted to being a crude individual harboring shameful desires, and he feared there would be no going back from there.

Well, perhaps it was for the best.

"I didn't know it was possible to do what we did," she said eventually. "No man has ever possessed me in that way."

"I should hope not," Caedmon growled. Considering who her other two lovers—if one could call them that—had been, he would have hated to hear she was familiar with what they had just done. "And, in truth, I shouldn't have done it either, but?—"

"I liked it." The color on her cheeks had reached alarming proportions. She was embarrassed by the admission but still brave enough to make it. Caedmon could scarcely believe his ears. "You thought last night you had to be gentle with me after what happened with Ivar and his cronies and I thank you for the intention but…I loved to see the real side of you."

Real? Could that have been the real side of him?

No. Caedmon recoiled. It was the dark side, the side he had always fought to keep hidden, the side he'd always thought people would reject. It had started with his mother, whom he hadn't wanted to disappoint, then carried on with Frigyth. Because of her drunkard father, she'd been afraid of violent, impetuous men and he'd done his best to provide her with the reassuring company she craved. Intent on impressing her, he had made sure never to let his emotions out of control, going as far as never swearing in front of her.

And in the end it had been for nothing. She had married a hot-headed, menacing looking giant with a foul mouth. True, now that he knew Sigurd better, he knew that for all his bluster and menacing appearance, the Norseman would never hurt her, but it went to show he'd been wasting his time trying to be the man he thought she wanted. For the first time he considered what his life would have been like if she'd accepted his offer of marriage.

He would have played a role all his life. Never allowing his instinct to take over would have been exhausting.

In London he'd made the same mistake. He'd been a good friend to everyone, a gentle lover to the women who had allowed him in their bed. Yes. And where had that taken him? He would have ended up as the husband of a schemer who had taken advantage of his good nature, a woman he had never known or even wanted.

But now he had revealed his true nature to Ingrid and, unlike what he had feared, she had not fled in horror. Even better, she had liked what he'd done, if her claim was to be trusted. He wasn't sure what to make of that, or even if he could accept it, because this darkness was a side of himself he was not comfortable with.

"As you know, I grew up on my own with my mother." Though Ingrid seemed puzzled as to why he might mention this now, she waited. Why was he talking about this now? He wasn't sure. She had told him she'd liked what he had done, shouldn't he leave it at that? Probably. But the guilt was not so easily forgotten and he wanted to make her understand. "She kept telling me she wanted me to grow into a good man, not someone like my father, the wastrel who had treated her like his property for months and then left before I was born, or her lovers, who only ever wanted one thing from her."

A good man. Again. It always came back to the same thing with him.

A light hand landed on his chest. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I can't stand the idea that I'm turning into them. Those bastards who were only interested in bedding her." He took in a deep inhale. "My father, who hurt and abandoned her, instead of providing her with the love and protection she wanted."

There. He'd said it. All his life he had been terrified he would be one of those men who treated women like a commodity and finally today, after years of exerting iron control, he had snapped, allowing his baser urges to take over with a woman who did not deserve it. After what she'd been through already, she should have been spared his crude attentions.

Ingrid lifted herself up onto one elbow. "You're not turning into your father, Saxon, or these selfish men. You need not fear it, it will never happen. You're nothing like them."

"Aren't I?" A glance at her naked body made his meaning clear. He'd just possessed her relentlessly. She blushed but stood her ground.

"That is not the same at all. A good man is entitled to be wicked in bed and give himself and his lover pleasure in any way he sees fit. It doesn't mean a thing about his character."

He rewarded her answer with a kiss to the temple then extended a hand to stroke her cheek. The reassurance meant the world to him. He would have hated to lose her esteem. "You don't think I?—"

"No. I think you acted in the way you've wanted for years and gave me immense pleasure in turn. I will never think less of you for being yourself. I could have said no, and we both know you would have accepted my refusal. But I didn't want to say no."

Caedmon's whole body relaxed. He'd been so worried she wouldn't want to have anything to do with him again after what had happened. He'd made her pay for doing nothing more than call him "a good man," something dozens of people had done throughout his life. He had used her to alleviate the frustration others had created within him. She should be incensed but here she was, telling him she didn't resent him for it.

Even more puzzling was the fact that she seemed to like to see this darker side of him. Certainly she hadn't shied away from his caresses, and he'd felt her spasm for him twice, the undeniable proof that she wasn't lying about having had pleasure.

"Thank you."

Ingrid was relieved when Caedmon extended an arm to draw her against his flank once more. Peace was restored.

For a moment she'd feared he would be too ashamed of what they had done to look at her in the eye. Or worse, be disgusted by the fact that she had liked every moment of it. Perhaps she should not have admitted to such a thing but she had. He thought he'd been crude and selfish, when in reality he'd been assertive and generous, pleasuring her extensively beforehand, whispering in her ear, preparing her carefully for his possession, soothing her afterward. He'd been unashamedly male, forcing her to take amazing pleasure she had no idea existed.

She was not lying when she said she had enjoyed what he had done to her. When he'd ordered her to position herself on her hands and knees, her heart had almost stopped. She had heard about that position, but she had never experienced it. It had only taken her a moment to decide that she trusted him and wanted to see for herself how it would feel.

And, oh, how right she'd been to surrender control over to him!

He had not tried to trick her, he had made his intentions clear and even asked for her permission. She could have said no. She had not. As soon as she had felt his fingers on her most secret opening she'd known she would agree to anything he wanted to do, however forbidden, however licentious. He'd been so gentle, so careful, he had created so many sensations within her that she already knew she would ask him to do it again.

It had been perfect, a proof that he trusted her to accept him as he was.

But it had not lasted long. Once his body had recovered from the fit of lust, he had been assaulted by doubt and self loathing, thinking he'd shocked her. His explanation had torn her heart out. Having had such a happy childhood, having been so loved by her family, she found it difficult to understand how he could feel, weighed down by the weight of expectations, never free to give his feelings and desire free rein. To think she had felt frustrated just because no one expected her to be whimsical!

What could she do, what could she say to make him understand that she liked him the way he was?

She didn't know.

Soon Caedmon succumbed to a deep sleep. Once Ingrid was assured he'd fallen asleep she tightened her hold around him, relishing the intimacy of the contact.

For weeks they had pretended to be lovers, and now that was what they were in truth.

The only question was, how long would that last?

Not long, in all probability. She suspected Caedmon would not dare bed her again, even if she asked. He would be too afraid of losing control. Besides, he was supposed to leave in a few days, for good. Would he want to prolong his stay? This was far from certain.

Well, for now, he was here, and she was in his arms. She would enjoy what she could.