Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

C aedmon was not leaving just yet.

Ingrid had so dreaded to see him walk away without a backward glance after their two nights together that she repeated the sentence in her head incessantly, like an incantation. He was not leaving just yet. That meant they would have the opportunity to see where they could go from their nights of passion.

And if he decided to stay a bit longer, they might be able to build something together.

Hope fluttered in her chest. Could a future with him be possible?

He'd apparently started to help Magnus at the forge and even had a project to finish, yet another encouraging sign. Was he actually making the necklace for Frigyth, she wondered, to replace the one Sigurd had made? He had joked about it the day she'd told him about it, but it wouldn't surprise her if he had started on it. Was that why the two men had fought? Had the possessive Dane taken exception to it, thinking that another man had no right to give his wife gifts?

Well, she, for one, didn't care. As long as he stayed with her, Caedmon could make what he wanted, for whomever he wanted. He didn't trust women and she didn't trust men. And yet, somehow, they seemed to trust—and like each other. Perhaps together they could conquer their doubts?

Unable to contain her joy and hopes, desperate to share them with someone, she set off for Frigyth's hut. Caedmon's oldest friend knew him better than anyone else. Perhaps she could help her make sense of the workings of his mind. She could have gone to Dunne, who knew him as well, but she was loath to confide in her in case Bj?rn got wind of their conversation. She hadn't minded facing him when she'd only pretended to be Caedmon's lover but now that, in effect, that was what she was, she found herself oddly intimidated.

As she drew near the hut she heard Merewen's voice coming out from the window.

"Sigurd did ever so well. Considering his…explosive character, shall we say, I expected him to balk at the sight of a man in love with his wife. But he took it in his stride."

Ingrid stilled. Who had come calling to the village, claiming to be in love with Frigyth? In any case, Merewen was right, Sigurd would not take too well to that. He was very possessive, everyone knew that. Hadn't she just now been thinking he would take exception to the gift of a necklace to Frigyth from an old friend?

She waited, not sure she should interrupt such a conversation.

"I know," Frigyth said on a sigh. "I'm so proud of him. He's come a long way since our wedding day. I'll admit that when I saw Caedmon, I feared he would renew his offer of marriage, or even try to convince me that I had made the wrong choice when I married Sigurd and should have chosen him instead."

There was a pause during which Ingrid had to lean against the hut in support. Her legs had suddenly gone liquid. They were talking about Caedmon? He was the one in love with Frigyth? He was the one Sigurd would take exception to? And…he'd offered Frigyth marriage ? This was explosive, devastating news.

How on earth was she finding out about this only now?

"I don't think he ever believed me when I told him we would never suit but I am more convinced than ever that I was not the woman for him."

Another woman spoke, her calm voice at odds with the fluttering in Ingrid's heart. "Well, let us hope he has finally accepted it. He's going to be really unhappy if he hasn't."

Dunne. Frigyth's sister. In other words, one of Ingrid's best friends, someone who should have been on her side, and let her know what the situation was.

By the gods. How many people were in there, discussing this as if it was of little importance? Did everyone in the village know about Caedmon's feelings for his old friend? Know that he'd once asked her to marry him? And if that was such common knowledge, why had no one deemed it necessary to tell her? Everyone thought that she and the Saxon were lovers, they should have warned her that she was wasting her time, told her that he would never want more from her than a quick and convenient tumble because he was in love with another woman.

It was awful.

She felt ridiculous and betrayed.

To think that just a moment ago she had congratulated herself on the fact that he was making a necklace for Frigyth, because it meant he was not leaving yet! Well now she knew why he was in no hurry to leave the village, why he was making jewelry for the woman. Because he was in love with her. Because he was trying to prove to Sigurd that he could do something better than him. Because he wanted to show Frigyth that she had chosen the wrong man. Which went to show that he was a deluded fool as well as a deceitful schemer. Frigyth would need more than a necklace to fall into his arms and Sigurd would endure a thousand beatings before he surrendered his wife to anyone.

Ingrid wiped the tears pooling in her eyes. She'd been right all these years. Men were only ever interested in one thing. Bedding her. They were not interested in giving her the kind of life her parents had had. Even if, admittedly, Caedmon had gone about it with a lot more skill and thoughtfulness than Ivar, worrying about her pleasure while bedding her, the fact remained. He had never been interested in her beyond what her body could offer. While she had started to dream about a life she had ruled out years ago, he was only playing with her, waiting for a woman who would never be his.

How pathetic!

Hadn't she decided to be alone for that very reason? Because men could not be trusted to want to make her happy? Because she knew they were unreliable and would only hurt her in the end? Ivar had hurt her but it had not been the same. The pain and humiliation he and his friends had inflicted on her could have been inflicted by anyone else. She had been hurt in her pride, but her heart had not suffered because she'd not had any feelings for him.

With Caedmon, well…it was different.

Her heart had most definitely been struck.

She did have feelings for him and it had taken this betrayal for her to understand just how deep they were. Why hadn't she found out about his infatuation for Frigyth before? If she'd known from the start that he had come to the village to win his old friend around and only had eyes for her, everything would have been different. She would not have...

She stopped, realizing how stupid she was being.

If she'd known about his intentions, what would she have done differently? Nothing. She wasn't sure it was possible to stop yourself from falling in love with someone. Rant as she might, it seemed that she had been destined to fall in love with the Saxon.

And have her heart broken.

When Caedmon came back from the forge Ingrid was waiting for him. It was late afternoon already and she'd had ample time to mull over what she'd heard outside Frigyth's hut. Which was not a good thing because the more she thought about it, the more incensed she became.

Someone should have told her! Whichever way she looked at it, she could not understand their motivation for staying silent.

Just as the sun started to sink below the horizon, Caedmon walked in through the door, looking preoccupied. Earlier that day the look on his face might have worried her, and she might have asked him what the matter was. Now it only made her furious. What did he have to worry about? The best way to waylay another man's wife? How to seduce a woman who was in love with her husband and pregnant with his child? Oh, such deviousness was the mark of a good man indeed! Now she knew why he took exception to the name.

Because deep down he knew he was anything but.

She stood up, and went to plant herself in front of him. The bruise on his jaw and the cut on his lip seemed to taunt her, reminding her of his duplicitous nature. That morning he had fought a man because he'd been caught in the act of seducing his wife and, far from feeling shame at his actions, in the afternoon he'd gone to make a necklace for the woman. No wonder Sigurd had tried to flatten him when he'd realized what his intentions toward Frigyth were. The surprising part was that he had not damaged him more.

In that moment she wished she had the strength of the mighty Dane. Caedmon would not get away with just a bruise and a cut if she could swing her fists to devastating effect.

"The fight you had with Sigurd this morning," she started, knowing she would not be able to pretend nothing was amiss. It was better to address the problem right now.

He hesitated, as if reluctant to talk about it. Understandable, as it pertained to a secret he was trying to keep from her...

"Yes. What about it?"

What about it ? she wanted to roar. What sort of a monster was he? Did he really feel no remorse over the fact that he was trying to seduce a married, pregnant woman? Didn't he care that he was using her to slake his lust while he waited for the elusive moment when Frigyth would fall into his arms? Did he really think it acceptable to behave with such cynicism?

Ingrid turned and stormed to the window, overcome by a fury such as she had never experienced before. She had to calm down before she confronted Caedmon, however. In the state she was in she would only ridicule herself. The last thing she wanted was to show him how badly he had hurt her. An outburst would serve no purpose other than to place herself in the position of the victim, a position she refused to be in ever again.

Caedmon walked over to where she was. A moment later she felt two hands on her shoulders. She steeled herself against the pleasure that simple contact brought her. Why, oh why, did he have to touch her? It was the one thing guaranteed to make her defenses fall.

"What's up, Ingrid?" Slowly, he made her turn around. "Are you suffering with your monthly courses again? They're due round about now, are they not? Is that what it is?"

The question, as well as the genuine concern in his eyes, threw her. He knew she was approaching her time, he remembered that it had been more than three weeks since she's had her woman's flux? But, of course, he did. He would be keeping an eye on such things, because when she started to bleed then he would have to put a stop to their intimate encounters. A tumble in bed was all he wanted from her, so he needed to know what the situation was.

But he was wrong. Unfortunately this time the crippling sadness weighing on her chest was not due to her approaching menses. She raised her chin.

"I'll tell you what's wrong, shall I? I went to see Frigyth this afternoon." Let's see what he made of that.

He tensed. It was slight but unmistakable. She might have missed it if she had not been watching for his reaction but she was watching, with an eagle eye. And she saw how he stiffened, as if steeling himself for an uncomfortable discussion.

"And?"

"And I overheard a very illuminating conversation between her, Merewen, and Dunne." Her friends, who had not thought it worth telling her about the sort of man she was bedding.

Bile rose in her throat. If she didn't get this over with soon, she might well be sick. It was just too painful, too humiliating. So she launched her attack. "Is it true you're in love with Frigyth?"

The way he closed his eyes, like a man whose most precious secret had been unearthed, was enough to tell her the truth. Oh, what a fool she really was! In spite of everything, she had hoped to hear that she was mistaken, that she had somehow misunderstood the conversation she had overheard, that there was only one woman he was interested in.

Her.

But now all her hopes were dashed. Whatever the two of them had shared had been based on a false premise. There had never been a possibility for more, only she'd not suspected it.

Caedmon ran a hand through his hair. "Frigyth and I grew up together and I?—"

"Please," Ingrid interrupted. Suddenly she didn't need to know what he felt for the other woman. It would make little difference to hear that he'd been in love with her all his life, and why. She wasn't sure she could take the humiliation, the pain of it. "You're in love with her. That's all I wanted to know."

He grabbed her shoulders again. "No, you must listen to me."

"I ‘must' nothing!" she shouted, shrugging herself out of his hold. "Let me pass, Saxon!"

Pushing him out of the way, she ran out of the hut.

Now it was clear why he had stayed in the village for so long, even though he intended to live in town. It was not to be with her at all, it was because he was in love with Frigyth and wanted to be close to her, so he could try to win her around. Now she knew why Sigurd and Frigyth had wanted to put an end to the conversation about first kisses the other day. Because the "sweet, warm, delicious girl" Caedmon had kissed as a youth was none other than Frigyth, and they both knew it. Now she understood why he he'd fought with Sigurd and gotten injured this morning. Because he'd tried to steal Frigyth from him.

All along it had been about her.

Ingrid had tried to convince herself that she could mean something to him, that they could build something now that they had slept together. She'd even been ready to give him a chance. Against all odds, and after years of convincing herself she didn't need a man to be fulfilled, she'd considered giving up her independence and give family life a try. And all that time the man she had chosen had been lusting after another woman. All that time he'd been biding his time, lurking in the shadows, hoping to waylay his childhood sweetheart. It was so pathetic she could have laughed if she wasn't hurt. Had he not seen that nothing would ever come between Sigurd and his wife, that he was fighting a lost battle?

He had no chance of luring Frigyth away from her husband. But still he'd remained fixated on her, the girl he had loved all his life, and not even seen the other women who wanted to offer him more.

Women like her. Fools.

She bunched her fists.

A distraction, that was all she had been to him, nothing more. That was why he had allowed his wild side to shine through with her. Because in the end it didn't matter if she thought him crude or depraved. She'd never meant anything to him and she was disposable. How he must have rejoiced when she'd said she'd loved what he had done to her! He would have thought her the perfect woman to indulge his baser needs with while he waited for the woman he loved.

But then, if that was the case, why had he not tried to bed her again last night? Of a common accord, they had slept in the same pallet because after sleeping together twice it had seemed silly not to, but he'd not tried anything, merely held her tight until they'd both fallen asleep.

Oh, it was an insoluble puzzle, and it was useless trying to make sense of it. The more she thought about it, the more pain it would cause her. She placed her forehead against a tree trunk and closed her eyes.

And then she heard footsteps. Too heavy to be a woman's or a child's. Had Caedmon followed her? No! She didn't want to see him, now or ever again. What would be the point?

Determined not to hear his fumbled explanations, she did not turn around. Hopefully he would get the message and leave.

"Ingrid? What are you doing here at this time?"

She had no idea whether to be relieved the man was not the one she had dreaded to see or disappointed Caedmon had not even deigned come after her. To her dismay, disappointment won. But, of course, he hadn't come. Why would he bother? She was only good to indulge his masculine urges. Any woman could do that, and his heart belonged to someone else. He didn't need her. She would only ever be allowed access to his body, and that would never be enough to satisfy her, now that she had fallen in love with him.

She wanted his soul.

All of him.

Slowly, she turned around to face the Icelander. "Wolf. You?—"

The rest of the sentence got stuck in her throat when she saw that he too wore traces of a recent fight. This was wholly unexpected. He was not a violent man and always solved his problems with words. In twelve years, she had never seen him lose his temper once so she could think of only one reason for the bruise under his eye.

"Did you try to defend your friend when he fought with Caedmon?" she asked before he could even greet her. If he'd seen Caedmon and Sigurd locked in a fight, he would have run to the Dane's rescue. The two of them were like brothers.

He frowned. "I don't underst?—"

"No need to lie. I know what happened. Caedmon told me."

"He did?" No wonder he sounded surprised. It was true that Caedmon had told her about the fight, but not what it had been about. That had been supposed to remain a secret.

"He did, the stupid idiot," she said with feeling. Why had he not lied? It was conclusive proof that he cared not if she found out about the fight or the reason behind her. He had not even made any effort to spare her from the pain of discovery.

"Don't be mad at the Saxon," Wolf said, coming a step closer. "He did what he had to do. Even the most controlled of men can lose his head over a woman he cares about. I myself almost killed at least three men over Merewen."

Ingrid sighed. If Wolf, who was the fairest, most measured man she had ever met, thought it reasonable for Caedmon to act in such a dishonorable, underhanded manner, all because he was in love, then she had no chance of making him understand that she felt betrayed. Besides, she preferred not to expose the depth of her despair to anyone. Things were bad enough as they were.

"I'm not sure I agree with you," she said with no small amount of asperity. This discussion was quickly becoming too taxing for her.

"I don't expect you to, but it's all right. As I keep saying, women are always more forgiving and reasonable than men. We have a lot to learn from you. Anyway, the good news is, you won't have to see Ivar ever again."

"Ivar?" The name was little more than a croak. What did he have to do with this? And what did Wolf know about him?

"Once he could stand again, he was sent away. I saw to it." Wolf's face became a mask of barely controlled fury. "You won't have to face him ever again, I swear."

"What are you talking about?" she asked in a whisper.

"What are you talking about, if not the beating Caedmon inflicted on Ivar?"

Everything went numb inside Ingrid. Caedmon had not fought Sigurd over Frigyth at all, even if he was in love with her. He had fought Ivar —over her. What did that mean? She desperately needed to know.

"I have to see Caedmon," she breathed to herself.

And this time, she would listen to what he had to say, because she had a feeling she had done him a grave disservice.

But when she reached the hut Caedmon was nowhere to be found. Cursing the contretemps, she ran back out, in case he was in the vegetable patch digging for onions or leeks, by the coop chopping wood for the fire or gathering eggs. She found no one. Her heart started to beat a wild rhythm in her chest. Had he left for good, thinking that if she didn't want to speak to him there was no point in him staying any longer? Where would he have gone? Back to town as he intended, and his grandmother's house? Yes, perhaps. Should she try to go and see the old woman? But what would she say to explain their separation?

She went back to the hut, determined to be sensible this time, and think before she acted.

Night had fallen now. Nothing could be accomplished tonight. First she would get some sleep, then in the morning she would make sure Caedmon had really gone, and only then would she devise a plan of action.

She lay on the pallet, and gave a sob when Caedmon's scent hit her. Had they really woken up side by side this morning, entwined like lovers? Had she really thought everything might work out between them?

Tomorrow she would have to find him, as she feared she would go mad without him.