Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

EAST ANGLIA, SPRING 1047

" C ome, Bee, your mother will be waiting for you. We're late already."

"Ah. She won't worry, she knows I'm with you."

Ingrid rewarded this sensible answer with a smile and followed her niece out of the door. Strictly speaking, Bee, whose real name was Dawn, was not related to her through blood, as she was only her brother's adoptive daughter. When Bj?rn had married Dunne, a Saxon, five years ago, the four-year-old child had become his and they had become the best of friends. The Norseman never treated her differently than the two little boys who had been born since and he had made it so plain that he would skewer anyone who ever referred to the girl's real father that no one dared to even allude to the fact that he was not the one who had sired her.

She took the hand the little girl was holding out and made her way to the other side of the village.

As they came into view of the well, Bee spotted her parents deep in talk with her aunt Frigyth and her uncle Sigurd. She let go of her hand and ran to her brother Rorik with a shriek of joy. While the children hugged each other, Ingrid stopped in her tracks. A stranger was standing next to Bj?rn. Intrigued, she joined the group. It was not often they had visitors in the village.

The man was a Saxon, it took her less than a heartbeat to see it. Not that it was hard. He was a couple of inches shorter than the men populating the village, he didn't wear a beard, his hair was cut shorter, and it was brown. No, not brown, she amended, which was far too plain a color to describe it. It was much more vibrant than that. She had always been secretly jealous of her sister-in-law's hair and eyes. Not for Dunne, washed out blonde and common blue. Her hair was as glossy as a horse's coat and her eyes a striking gold. That was the problem with having fair hair, blue eyes and pale skin, Ingrid thought. It was somehow flat, and lacked depth. Growing up surrounded by people who all shared the same coloring, she had never thought anything of it. But since meeting Frigyth and Dunne, she did. These Saxons really had the most interesting shades of irises. One could never predict their color, and the members of a same family could look markedly different. A few years ago she had even seen a woman in the village with eyes as dark as coal. Eowyn's gaze had been riveting.

What would the man's be like?

As if he'd heard her musings, he turned to look at Bee and Rorik, and Ingrid's jaw almost dropped. Green. And brown. And blue. And gray. And gold. All rolled into one. No, she had most definitely never seen eyes like these, never even suspected they could exist. It was like looking into the heart of a precious gem that captured the light as it moved. She could only stare, fascinated, and hope he would not take exception to it.

He did not. In fact, he had not even looked at her once. After a brief glance at the children, his gaze was now fastened on Frigyth, who was making introductions, because Merewen had just joined the group, her young daughter, Eyja, straddling her hip.

"This is Caedmon, the friend I've told you about many times."

"Of course!" Wolf's wife smiled in welcome. "I'm delighted to finally meet you. We've heard so much about you."

At that, Sigurd scowled, apparently not liking the idea of his wife talking about her old friend to the whole village. Ingrid could not help a smile. As if he had anything to fear…Theirs was one of the strongest marriages she had ever seen. Before anyone could say anything else, Wolf approached the group, his face like thunder. It was an expression he rarely sported and her heart instantly picked up speed. Since his arrival in the village some twelve years ago, the Icelander had been in charge of the safety of its inhabitants. If he appeared worried, then she should pay attention.

Merewen placed a hand over her husband's chest. "What is it?" She clearly agreed that something must have happened for him to look so grave.

"Someone stole Demon."

Everyone save the Saxon, who had no idea what had been said, since the words had been spoken in Norse, stared at him in stupefied silence. Demon was Wolf's stallion, an animal he'd had since his arrival in his new country. The two of them were inseparable and Ingrid guessed he would be devastated by the loss of him.

"Any idea who might have done such a thing?" she asked.

"No. He was not in the field yonder with the other horses, for once. After my visit into town last night, I was tired so I left him to graze outside my hut." He shook his head, visibly wishing he hadn't been so lazy.

Sigurd slapped him on the shoulder. "We'll find him, my friend, don't worry. There aren't many stallions like him around. Someone's bound to have seen him. Come, let us see if Magnus saw anything suspicious this morning. He's always first up and the forge is not far from your hut."

After a brief kiss to their respective wives, the two friends left in the direction of the smithy's workshop. Just then, two men came running toward them. With a shiver of disgust Ingrid recognized the taller of the two as Ivar. Though she usually did her best to avoid him, it was not always possible in a village so small. She forced herself to act naturally. It would not do to betray any discomfort when her brother was present. Fortunately, Bj?rn was too occupied with his newborn son Ralph, who had started to fuss, to pay attention to her.

"Saxons!" the second man cried out. "They stole into the village last night and took the horses."

"All of them?" Ingrid gasped. Wolf had clearly thought only Demon had been stolen.

The question drew Ivar's attention to her. His gaze wandered over her the way it always did, slow and appraising. For five long years, she'd had to endure it and it was not getting any easier. Before she knew what she was doing, she shuffled closer to the man nearest to her, who happened to be the Saxon. Their arms touched briefly. He glanced at her in surprise then frowned and turned his attention back to the two men as if he'd guessed they were the reason for her unease.

Ivar had not missed her move, and a malevolent gleam appeared in his eyes. "It's him!" he said, pointing in Caedmon's direction. "The thief. I recognize him. He crept into the village while everyone was asleep."

By her side, the Saxon stiffened. He'd understood they were talking about him, even possibly realized they were accusing him of something but, as the conversation was being conducted in Norse, he had no idea what the problem was, or how to respond.

Her heart sank. This was all her fault. Ivar was accusing him because he'd seen her huddle close to him. He just wanted the Saxon punished because he thought it would hurt her.

"Don't be ridiculous," Frigyth scoffed, reversing to her friend's language so he could follow what was being said. "Caedmon did not steal any horses. He would never do anything like that."

"Wouldn't he? He's a Saxon. How do you know he can be trusted?" Ivar spat to the ground. "You're a Saxon yourself, so of course you would take his defense! But I?—"

"Careful," Bj?rn growled, taking a step forward. Even though he was holding a babe in his arms, he looked as menacing as she had had ever seen him. "That's my sister-in-law you are talking to, so you will mind your tongue."

Ingrid knew her brother would not countenance anyone inconveniencing his wife or her sister for any reason, much less for being Saxons. Ivar blanched, but everyone knew he'd gotten off lightly. If Sigurd had been here, he would already be flat on his back. The hot-tempered Dane would not have anyone insulting his wife.

Knowing Bj?rn would protect her if necessary, Frigyth stood her ground. "I've known him all my life. I'm telling you he didn't steal the horses. And if you saw him creep into the village, as you say, then why didn't you raise the alarm? And how did he manage to steal six horses on his own and in silence?" There was no answer. "This is all ridiculous. Caedmon is not the thief."

Although Ingrid had only just met Caedmon, instinct told her this was the truth. He looked too proud to be a thief, and too unruffled to be guilty of any wrongdoing. Besides, if he really had stolen the horses, he would not be so stupid as to come alone to the village the very next day, at the risk of being recognized.

No, he had to be innocent.

Ivar was not so easily beaten, however. "Are you saying that you can vouch for him because you know where he spent the night?" he sneered. "What do you think your husband would say if I told him you claim to know the man's whereabouts at such an incriminating time?"

Frigyth's cheeks flushed a violent red. "I don't advise you to try. He would tear you to shreds for spreading slander about me and well you know it."

Despite the spirited retort, a flash of panic had crossed Frigyth's eyes. She seemed desperate that her husband should not hear about her and the Saxon spending the night together, even if it was an outrageous lie. Ingrid could not see why she worried so. Surely Sigurd would not doubt her? The two of them were deeply in love. Trust Ivar to want to stir up trouble. He'd only accused Caedmon because he'd seen the way she'd shuffled next to him in search of protection and wanted to unsettle her.

The need to shut him up churned in her guts. When he smirked at her it boiled over. It was as if all the resentment, the hatred that had built up inside her since that dreadful night had finally decided to escape. For too long she had said nothing, for too long she had allowed him to have the upper hand.

No more.

"Enough!" she snapped, taking the Saxon by the arm. He stiffened but did not protest. "Caedmon did not steal the horses last night, as he was in bed with me. Or are you saying that a man can be in two places at once?"

Only a stunned silence answered her.

"I assume you will explain to me at some point why you said what you said?"

Caedmon stared at the woman in front of him, who had claimed to a party of onlookers, amongst which was her own brother, that they were lovers when they had not exchanged so much as a single word in their lives. What had possessed her to utter such a lie? That she had meant to help him was obvious, as he was being accused of theft at the time, but surely she could have defended him without compromising herself?

She shrugged, as if she hadn't done anything noteworthy. "Ivar was accusing you of stealing the horses and refusing to believe in your innocence. I had to do something."

"No, you didn't." He crossed his arms over his chest. Even if he appreciated her impulse, it wasn't her responsibility to help him, and they both knew it. She could easily have kept silent and let others help him. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for your help, but you might have spared yourself the trouble of lying. Frigyth had already taken my defense."

Yes, she had, and it had warmed him to hear her side with him so unconditionally. After all, she didn't know what he had been up to these last ten years, and he had reappeared out of the blue, just when a crime had been committed. She could have thought the coincidence a bit too convenient. But she hadn't hesitated in coming to his aid.

"Yes, she meant to help, I could see," the woman said. "But, unlike me, she lacked the means to provide you with an alibi for the night."

Yes, unfortunately she did. Oh, if only they had spent the night together!

Pushing the painful thought out of his mind, he took the opportunity to find out more about his old friend. "You mean that no one in the village would believe she spent the night anywhere else than in her husband's arms?"

The chuckle the woman gave was answer enough. Evidently the mere idea was ridiculous. His gut tightened. As he'd thought.

"No one," she said unnecessarily. "She and Sigurd are just too happy together."

"I see. But why do you believe in my innocence? You have no idea who I am or where I spent the night. I could have stolen those horses, for all you know."

"Well, did you?" She crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his pose. Was she mocking him? Perhaps. After all, she did not seem to be the shy kind.

He frowned and uncrossed his arms. This woman was unlike any he had ever met. She was also one of the loveliest. Up until today the only other Norse person he had seen up close was Sigurd and attractive was the last word he would have used to describe the tall Dane. But it seemed that blue eyes, blond hair and well-defined features, when they did not belong to a man you resented but a woman who intrigued you, could be rather...fascinating. No Saxon he had ever met had blue eyes quite that vibrant, or hair as shiny as gold. She was also blessed with a perfect figure.

Ironically, given the fact that they were posing as lovers, she was exactly the kind of woman he would have chosen for a night of passion. The fact that she resembled Frigyth in no way only added to the appeal. Without quite knowing why, he'd always refused to bed women who put him in mind of his childhood sweetheart.

"No, of course, I didn't steal the horses," he said, realizing the woman was still waiting for an answer.

"There you are then."

He shook his head. Clearly he was not going to win that argument. It seemed to him that she was not interested in the truth anyway. He had the feeling that she'd enjoyed getting one over that Ivar. The look on the man's face when she'd announced they were lovers had been one of surprise mingled with resentment. This might be less about defending him and more about jumping on the opportunity to get the better of someone she didn't like.

In any case, he didn't want to make her feel bad for it. Her motives mattered less than the result. She'd gotten him out of a potentially dangerous situation. If she'd settled a score with someone at the same time, he could not begrudge her the privilege. There was nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone, it only showed resourcefulness.

"Your brother didn't seem best pleased," he said instead. In fact, he was certain the Norseman would have hit him for debauching his sister had he not been holding an infant in his arms at the time.

The woman made a grimace. "No. He wasn't. But what do you expect from a big brother? Bj?rn still sees me as a baby."

Caedmon hid his smile. Now was not the time to tell her that she did look barely old enough to have lovers. "How old are you?"

Her answer surprised him. "Twenty-four."

He'd thought her younger. But then everything about her was not what it seemed at first glance. When she'd approached the group earlier he'd thought her timid and unassuming, but then she had gone and claimed in front of half the village that the two of them were lovers. She looked barely in her twenties but was actually of an age where she could have been married and have children. Her figure was not voluptuous enough to make men swoon but the way her clothes fit her showed it to advantage. Her face could have been described as plain until one looked into her eyes. There was a spark of mischief in the blue irises that kept you captive and she moved with an air of tranquil assurance, like someone happy with her life, that lent her an irresistible charm.

It was just as he had thought. She was intriguing, more and more with each passing moment.

"What's your name?"

"Ingrid."

"Were you born here?" Her accent, when she spoke his language, was flawless. He doubted she'd just arrived in his country.

"Yes."

"Do you live on your own?"

"As you can see." She looked around her and threw him a radiant, if slightly condescending, smile. "Do you have many more questions like this? Do you want to know if I like gruel perchance? I do, but I prefer sweet things. Do I have a dog? No, just chickens for my eggs. All of them red, except one gray one. She's my favorite."

"That's enough information, thank you. You don't need to detail what you like to wear when it's cold or why you prefer the gray hen." He couldn't help to smile back. Really he'd struck it lucky with Ingrid. The woman helping him could have been a stout matron or a vapid ninny. But his savior was both beautiful and engaging.

"Very well. My turn to ask questions then," she said, leaning a hip on the table next to her. "Why did you come to the village, if not to steal the horses? It is not often we see unknown Saxons here."

The smile vanished from his face. She had to bring this painful subject first, didn't she?

"I came to see an old acquaintance." Why did he hesitate in naming Frigyth? He had no idea and anyway, Ingrid might well have guessed who he meant. He imagined there weren't many Saxons living in the village. "But I won't linger. I stopped to say hello, but I was on my way to see my grandmother in town."

There was little point in staying here. He'd seen what he'd wanted to see, or rather what he'd dreaded to see. The woman he had never stopped loving was blissfully happy with her husband and their brood of adorable children. Once, he had been the only thing keeping her sane but there was no place in her life for him anymore.

He'd been replaced.

"You stopped here, you say?" Ingrid carried on. "So you don't intend to stay?"

"In the village you mean? No. But..." But he had no idea what he wanted to do, or where he wanted to live. At an age where most people were settled, his future had never been more uncertain. "I spent the last ten years in London and last month I decided it was time to leave. I'll start by going to town, see what I can find there."

Ingrid threw a glance out the window. "Well, you can't go now, it's already late." Either she was worried about him being outside at night or...

Or she meant to make the most of the presence of a man in her hut. Was that what it was? Did she mean to make him reward her for her help? There was no denying that her outlandish claim had put an end to what had been about to become a very unpleasant scene. The people around her hadn't seemed to give much credence to Ivar's accusation but he might easily have convinced other villagers it was worth interrogating him.

Yes, Ingrid's intervention had been both timely and efficient.

Did that mean he should agree to it if she demanded to be bedded? No. She could ask, but she could do nothing to force him. If he refused, there was not much she would be able to do. Small as she was, she would never be able to subdue him. A sudden vision of himself tied up to the wall, at the mercy of her whims, caused his blood to surge with a suddenness he could not account for.

He cleared his throat, perplexed. Since when did the idea of being tied up get him aroused? Well since now, apparently.

"You don't expect me to sleep in your pallet, I hope?" he asked.

Ingrid couldn't help a smile at Caedmon's question. He'd made it sound as if sharing a bed with her would be the worst fate imaginable for a man, some sort of punishment. The impulse to tease him washed over her. Mischief was a side of her personality she rarely indulged. For some reason, people saw her as shy and sensible, and they didn't know how to react when she behaved differently, so she had stopped trying long ago. But this stranger would not know she usually didn't go around teasing people. He would have to accept whatever side of her she wanted to present. The temptation was too strong to resist.

She smiled. Here was an all too rare opportunity to do something unusual. She'd known the people in the village all her life, had the same predictable conversations with them all the time, and did the same things every day. But tonight there was a man she didn't know in her hut, and she could not let the opportunity for amusement pass. It might be months before she met another stranger.

"Oh, I expect you to do much more than sleep in my pallet," she cooed.

A deafening silence followed her declaration. She had rendered him speechless, Ingrid saw with some satisfaction.

"You expect me to give you pleasure in exchange for your help out there?" he said after a while, his voice little more than a croak.

Give her pleasure ? Was that what his first thought was? Weren't men supposed to think of their own satisfaction first, if not exclusively, when bedding a woman? She had always thought so. The Saxon's question made her reassess her opinion. Perhaps they were not all like Ivar and his friends.

Her interest in him increased tenfold.

"Put it that way," she answered. "My sister-in-law, Dunne, is not going to be able to hold off Bj?rn forever. At some point my brother is going to remonstrate with me for taking a lover. He is never going to believe I lied just to help a stranger. He will simply think I'm trying to spare you from his ire, and with good reason. So I'm thinking...Since I am to be condemned for the crime anyway, I may as well commit it."

The satisfaction she had been feeling at unsettling him transformed into alarm because then the look in his eyes became incendiary. He was considering agreeing to the offer, something she had not anticipated. She had imagined he would laugh it off and find her delightfully refreshing, maybe tease her back or even just simply refuse.

"I see," he said slowly. "You really want me to?—"

"No! I was jesting, of course, I don't expect you to do anything! To me or...or to..."

Her throat went dry and she took a step backward. What had possessed her to say such a stupid thing? To jest about such matters with a man she didn't know, who didn't know her either and would take what she said at face value, who was alone with her in the hut? For all she knew, he had already decided to make the most of the opportunity of a night under her roof. It was as she had said. If he was going to get a beating in the morning for his supposed involvement with her, he might as well enjoy some benefit beforehand.

Ingrid could have kicked herself. That was why people behaved like what was expected of them. Because not doing so was not only silly but potentially dangerous.

Oh, what had she done? Should she demand he leave? Would even agree? After all, she had been the one inviting him in her hut, and then all but dragged him to her bed.

"Are you?—"

"Going to bed you? Sorry, no." He allowed his gaze to roam over her, as if trying to decide if he was making the right decision. "But I will accept your offer of a night in your hut and sleep on a fur in that corner, if I may. I swear I won't try anything. You have my word of honor, but you're welcome to place an axe next to you if you prefer."

Ingrid swallowed and realized that, although she didn't know him, she believed him. After all, if he'd wanted her that bad, he would simply have jumped at the offer and then pretended to ignore her protests. But he had looked appalled at the idea.

No, she would come to no harm with this man. Her shoulders relaxed.

Disaster had been avoided.