Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

" I need you to do me a favor."

The Dane would no doubt be surprised by the demand but he only crossed his arms over his chest, the very image of composure. "Let's hear it, Coldman."

Caedmon started to explain what he had in mind. After a night in Ingrid's arms, he had gone to find Ivar at dawn, as he'd intended. Now that he knew who was responsible for what had happened to her, he could not just walk away. Before he left the village, he would lead the man into a trap and avenge her, using his injured pride as a pretext. In truth, he cared not about what the Norseman had accused him of the day they had met but he could not let what he had done to Ingrid go unpunished. Someone had to do something. That someone would be him.

"You accused me of stealing your horses the other day," he told the loathsome man, whom he'd cornered in a narrow alleyway. "I cannot let that accusation lie. The whole village knows I didn't commit the crime but now that I am recovered from my injury, you will pay for insulting my honor."

"Pay how?"

"You will meet me later in the forest and we will sort this out together once and for all."

The bastard had had the audacity to smile. "With pleasure."

Caedmon clenched his teeth. Soon that smile would be wiped off his face.

"I don't care about him accusing me of stealing the horses, of course," he told Sigurd. "It's all just a pretext."

He could tell the Dane was intrigued. Perhaps despite the latent animosity between them he would consent to help him. "What do you care about then?"

"I will tell you in good time. But I need another man first, someone you can trust to be discreet. Not Bj?rn," he specified quickly. "This is about his sister, so we cannot have him involved. He may well kill Ivar when he knows why I intend to fight him."

A pause. "Would that be such a bad thing? It seems to me that you're on a punitive expedition. Perhaps the man deserves everything he would get."

"Perhaps." Caedmon conceded. "All the same, I'm sure Ingrid would not like that."

Sigurd nodded slowly. "You're probably right. Women are much more generous than we are. Let me go get Wolf. He can be relied on to keep a cool head. Then you can tell us about your plan."

When he'd finished telling the two Norsemen what Ivar had done to Ingrid, they looked about to run off in the direction of his hut and put an end to his miserable life without further ado.

"I had no idea the man was such a weasel," Wolf said between his teeth. "I should have seen it, I should have done something."

Caedmon knew the Icelander was the acknowledged protector of the village and would see this as a failure on his part. "You cannot know what goes on behind closed doors," he argued. "And Ingrid made sure never to tell anyone. It's not your fault." Still, the man didn't appear convinced.

"Where do we come in?" Sigurd growled, exhibiting the temper he was renowned for.

"I'm going to give him a taste of his own medicine."

"Don't tell me you want us to rape him?" The Dane arched a brow. "That's something I'm not sure I would be?—"

"No, of course not. But he agreed to a fight with me. He will actually find himself having to handle three men at once."

"Very clever," Wolf approved, nodding to himself. "A most fitting punishment. Shall we?"

Caedmon afforded a smile. Handling three men at once, and all without warning. Ivar had thought Ingrid wouldn't mind.

Let's see how he liked it.

"What is that?"

Ivar stared at Wolf and Sigurd, who had just emerged from their hiding places behind the bushes, a scowl on their faces. No wonder he sounded worried. Never had two men looked more menacing.

"The fight we agreed on." Caedmon spoke with terrible calm. In that moment he felt exactly like the "Coldman" Sigurd always called him. "Or is your memory failing you?"

"No, but this is not what we?—"

"You agreed to it so you cannot complain now." He used the words Ivar had had the gall to tell Ingrid that night.

"I agreed to fight you , you mongrel Saxon, not to have to face three men on my own!"

Caedmon unveiled his teeth in a feral smile. The man had walked straight into his trap. "Precisely. How rotten of me to take advantage of you thus, and have you deal with three men when you expected only one. Perhaps you'll consider that in the future, when you want to play games. Let it be a lesson for you."

Ivar's body stiffened. He'd finally understood what was going to happen—and why. "What is this really about?"

"Oh, I think you know, or you wouldn't look so panicked," Caedmon hissed. He was having the hardest time controlling his temper. For the first time he understood why Sigurd just snapped when his emotions ran high. It was the only way to stay sane. Though he'd had a lifetime of practice at being sensible, he was on the verge of explosion, and the only person his restraint was hurting was himself. "I care not if you accuse me of theft, I know my conscience is clear and I didn't steal those horses. But I care when I hear you raped an innocent woman."

Even if Ivar had not yet guessed what he was talking about, he would know now. After all, Caedmon was supposed to be Ingrid's lover. It stood to reason that she would have confided her past with him.

"There was no rape," the man started to protest. "She agreed, she said she would let me blindfold her, I only?—"

"She agreed to a little game with you, her chosen lover, not to have you offer her up to your bastard friends without her knowledge, to use as they wished!" he barked.

His temper was about to explode but he noticed that the two Norsemen behind him made no move to stop him, as if they agreed Ivar would get nothing more than he deserved if he lost control and ripped him to shreds. Neither did they make any move to take over, for which he was grateful. This was important to him, and he wanted to be the one doling out the punishment.

He needed it.

"Let us see how you like it to have to deal with three men at once."

Ivar recoiled. The smirk had well and truly been wiped off his face. A small satisfaction. "It was years ago, I was only?—"

"This is no excuse! Had you been only ten you would have been old enough to know what you were doing was wrong. Now enough talking, you will pay for your crime."

Because Ivar was both determined to defend himself and more experienced than him, Caedmon found the fight hard going. Good man that he was, had never fought a single fight in his life and his inexperience showed. He received a great deal more blows than he would have liked. All the same, he could have kept punching all day. Forget making necklaces, this was what was needed to take the pain and frustration out of him. Each strike helped to rid himself of some of his doubts, each grunt took away some of the disillusioned man he'd been for so long.

The new Caedmon apparently fought bare knuckle fights and bedded his conquests in the most uncompromising manner.

And he enjoyed every moment of it, because his opponent deserved everything he got, and the woman he'd taken to bed had loved it as much as he had.

He fought with renewed intent, knowing he would not be able to last much longer. The two Norsemen let him deal with Ivar, only intervening to hammer the point home that he was facing three men at once and making sure the lesson sank in in his maggot brain. It was for the best, of course, because if they had decided to really get involved into the fight, the man would never get out of it alive.

Finally it was over.

Caedmon stood, panting, over Ivar's prone body, trying to calm the roaring in his blood urging him to deliver the coup de grace . His lip was cut and his jaw was throbbing but he didn't mind because he'd succeeded in his task. The Norseman was still conscious but appeared unwilling to move in case the men finished him off. A wise, if cowardly decision. Right now Caedmon didn't know what he wanted to do. Should he let him go? Did he really deserve to be spared?

Sigurd placed a hand on his shoulder, as if he understood he was battling his conscience and for the first time was considering killing a man. It was a frightening proposition but he could not bear the idea of what that man had done to Ingrid. Now that he'd made love to her and seen her for the trusting, passionate, generous lover she was, he could not bear to imagine her in the arms of a man who had used her body against her consent.

"Let's go. Wolf will take care of the bastard. He knows what to do."

They had agreed together that after the beating Ivar would be sent away from the village. The Icelander would see to it that he could not harm anyone else here. Yes. It was probably for the best, because all in all Caedmon didn't want to have the murder of a man on his conscience. He had to trust Ivar had learned his lesson.

"Come, Caedmon. Our work here is done."

Caedmon arched a brow. "You are not calling me Coldman anymore?"

The Dane shook his head slowly. "I called you Coldman because a part of me hated you. I was jealous of your complicity with Frigyth when we met. Then when you came back, I feared that you would ask her to leave me and follow you."

"I would never have?—"

"You would have, given the slightest chance, because she's an amazing woman and you wanted her for yourself, understandably. You'd be a fool not to want to steal her away. I don't even blame you for it. You're only a man after all. No..." He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, looking more uncomfortable than Caedmon had ever seen him. It was a sight to see the mighty Dane less than confident, one he was not even sure he enjoyed because he knew how doubts could make you feel. "What I was really scared of was that she would agree she'd be better off with someone like you and leave me."

Privately Caedmon knew that it would never happen. Frigyth was head over heels in love with her husband. How could the man not see it? A part of him, a part he was not proud of, a part of what was left of the old Caedmon, leapt in joy. The Norseman thought it possible that his beloved wife could leave him for her erstwhile sweetheart. To know that he was not the only one battling doubt was a revelation.

If Sigurd, who had actually married Frigyth and should have nothing to fear, could allow his feelings for her to disturb him so, then Caedmon had nothing to be ashamed of. It just meant that she was, as the Dane had said, an amazing woman worthy of admiration.

The difference was, now he knew she was not the only one.

"You're not scared I would try to steal her away anymore?" he asked, feeling as if a weight had been dislodged from his chest. About time too.

Sigurd looked at the bloodied Ivar on the floor and gave a slanted smile. "No. I'm not, because I think you've finally stopped loving Frigyth."

Everything stilled and peace descended inside Caedmon.

He had.

"Yes. I think so too. I'm even wondering if I ever really loved her," he said under his breath.

A bark of a laugh answered him, then Sigurd slapped him on the shoulder. "I wouldn't go that far. You were definitely smitten, man. Now, come, let's get back to our women."

On the road leading back to the village, the two men didn't exchange a single word but Caedmon knew from now on things would be easier between them. When Sigurd nodded to him before veering in the direction of his hut, he didn't feel any pang of envy. Let the Dane go to his wife, he had his own woman to go to.

All he had to do now was to make her see what she meant to him.

He would have to find a way to do that sooner rather than later, because the inner jolt he felt when he spotted her graceful form by the gate leading to the vegetable patch told him he was in a lot deeper than he'd thought.

She turned when she heard his approach—and gasped.

"Caedmon! What happened to you?"

Dropping the basket she was holding, Ingrid rushed out to him. He could easily guess that he had a bruise on his jaw, courtesy of Ivar's blows, and unlike the Norsemen, he had no beard to cover it up. She would be able to see it, as well as the cut on his lip. Damn it all! He had not wanted her to know about the fight. He should have left Sigurd and Wolf deal with Ivar but he had been unable to deny himself the satisfaction of bringing the man down himself.

"'Tis nothing. Sigurd and I got into a fight," he grumbled.

After all, that was the truth, even if they had not been fighting each other and Ingrid was bound to see the bruise on the Dane's face as well. It was the best explanation he could come up with at such short notice because he could not admit to the truth. He wasn't sure she would like it.

"Why on earth would you fight the man?"

"Leave it."

She didn't. "And with your injury so fresh, as well!" She sounded mightily aggrieved. "Tell me you didn't do any damage to the?—"

"I'm fine!" he snapped.

The satisfaction of having finally punished Ivar for what he'd done, the realization that sometime in the last few weeks he had fallen out of love with Frigyth and in love with Ingrid, the uncertainty about what the future held for them, everything conspired to make his temper shorter than usual. He needed time to absorb it all and decide on the best course of action.

"I will go and see Magnus. He asked me to help with a gate door he's making and I still have something to finish from the other night."

Ingrid hesitated, then said, her voice full of what he didn't dare hope was relief. "So, you won't be leaving the village just yet?"

"No. Not just yet."

Or ever, if he had his way.