Fifth, he liked my hair.
Sixth, he wanted to sleep with me cuddled to his side.
Seventh, he left me covered and cocooned, stoking up the fire to keep me warm.
Hmm.
On the other hand…
First, he’d married me, hauled me across country for hours upon hours through the freezing cold night and left me in a dirty house all by myself for six weeks (well, the house wasn’t dirty for six weeks, but he sure as hell left me there alone that long).
Second, when he first saw me again, he bossed me around right in front of everyone without even saying hello. Granted, he was with his buds, and maybe obviously virile, Viking-type Raiders behaved that way in front of their buds, but he could at least have said hello.
Third, for reasons unknown he’d carried me out like a sack of flour, again, right in front of everyone.
Fourth, he’d sent my horse galloping when I was not secure on her back.
Fifth, he barely spoke to me, didn’t let me talk when he was speaking and most of the stuff he said when he was speaking, I didn’t like much.
And last, he was huge, scared me most of the time and, um… he scared me most of the time (that was worth repeating).
I left Penelope to her purring, put my arm back under the covers, rolled to my back to stare at the ceiling and kept thinking.
I was an adventurer but I wasn’t a sexual adventurer.
There were two reasons for this.
First, I had a bunch of money. My father inherited a shitload from my grandfather and after the plane he was piloting with Mom in it went down over the Nile, I inherited his shitload of money.
Money made people do stupid stuff and lots of it was not so nice. And having lots of it made you a target for some not so nice folks who did stupid stuff mostly to get you to use your money on them or just to get your money. So, I’d learned early and Dad had taught me to be careful with my heart (and my money). So I was.
I had good friends but they were few. Trust was difficult when you were loaded like me.
I’d had far fewer lovers.
Second, I was just plain careful with my heart. I’d lost the two people I loved most in my life when I was fifteen. That hurt. Too much. I didn’t want that to happen again and if I was going to risk it, I was damn well going to make certain I took that risk on the right guy.
That guy, so far, had not made an appearance and, so far, no guy even came close.
So, two and two together meant that I didn’t go there. This didn’t mean I was a virgin, it was just – you share your body, you open a part of yourself and make it vulnerable. So unless I was sure I could cut ties or I had my head on straight (the latter being a rare occasion with me), I didn’t take that risk. Vulnerable was not something I liked to be.
But this situation was something else.
This was an adventure with a limited time span.
In ten and a half months, I was going home to my friends, my house, my money and new adventures. I wasn’t staying here, no way. They didn’t have planes here or cell phones or sushi.
True, it would have been good after what I read in those books, especially about the Raiders, to discover more than Lunwyn. Hawkvale sounded beautiful, Bellebryn gorgeous and Fleuridia was known to have really good food and it must be said, I liked really good food. To explore it all, I could use two years here, maybe three.
But that would mean leaving behind my friends, my house, my money and sushi for two years, maybe three.
I wasn’t about to do that.
And I was loaded but I couldn’t throw a million dollars at trip after trip.
This was a onetime deal.
So here I was, a princess in a frozen world with a very scary yet very hot husband who could really kiss and liked to cuddle.
And I knew I was going home so there was no risk because I knew those ties would be cut.
Then Sjofn would have to deal as she’d left me to do the same.
And Frey Drakkar…
Well, we’d see how I’d handle that.
First I had to see if he could communicate in the sense that he listened as well as talked and when he talked he didn’t only say scary shit or stuff that pissed me off but other… uh, stuff.
Then I would decide.
I rolled out of bed, banked the fire, shoved back the curtain and climbed down. I found fires burning merrily in both fireplaces as well as the kitchen stove (which, seriously, being iron, conducted a lot of heat, the kitchen was always cozy warm) and there was fresh brewed coffee – strong and good.
He could make good coffee and he could build good fires meaning I didn’t have to do either. This meant his plus column was growing. So far there were only four things on it but yesterday there were none so I had hope.
I heated some water, washed a bit at the basin in the bathroom space and pulled on some undergarments, cashmere stockings attached to garters and a long, dusty pink, soft wool knit dress that clung everywhere, had a scooped neckline, some serious cleavage (by the way, all my dresses had serious cleavage, this was the way they were made, this was what my underwear also made when I strapped it on and, it had to be said, natural cleavage was the way I was made) and long flowing sleeves that belled out at the wrists. I pulled my hair back from my face with a pink satin ribbon, tied the long, matching knit belt so it hung low on my hips, touched some perfume behind my ears and at my wrists and headed to the kitchen to make Penelope a late breakfast and her Momma some brunch.
Penelope was on all fours, belly to the floor and had her face in a bowl of leftover chicken I’d warmed by setting it on the stove when the backdoor opened, Frey Drakkar prowled through and then he stopped dead when he saw me.
I took him in.
A first, no knives or sword. Another first, his hair was partially wet. He’d also shaved. Someone had visited the hot spring.
Hmm.
It must be said, I kind of liked the beard.
As I took him in, I realized I kept forgetting how big he was. By then, I was used to that kitchen. It wasn’t mammoth but it wasn’t small either.
With him in it, it seemed tiny.
His eyes were on me standing at the butcher block whisking pancake batter. I watched them go down the length of me he could see then they went up.
I swallowed.
Then I said, “Hi.”
My word activated him, he moved in, swung his arm around that I hadn’t noticed was carrying a large stick over his shoulder and he plonked the dead carcass of a small (what looked like a baby) deer on the kitchen table.
I blinked.
Then I gagged.
Then I controlled my urge to hurl, pulled in breath and looked from the dead deer to him.
“Uh… I have a rule. No dead game on the kitchen table.”
His green-brown eyes held mine. He didn’t speak. He also didn’t move.
Okay, ignore big dead animal carcass and move on, Finnie, I told myself.
I searched for a good strategy. Then I hoped I found it.
“I… well, um… I just wanted to say, uh… before I forget, thanks for stoking the fire upstairs and keeping me warm while I slept in,” I said, thinking that was nice, noticing and commenting on something he did that was nice.
