Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Why does he not care if we are lovers?’
That question cut through the pain on her face, bringing her eyes sharply back to him. ‘How could you tell him that? It is not the truth.’
‘We did kiss.’
Her chin came up. ‘You stole a kiss.’
‘You would deny that you kissed me back?’ There had been a glorious moment when she had welcomed his kiss, her lips moving beneath his, her tongue in his mouth.
‘This is not appropriate conversation.’ Seeming to gather herself so that she was once more the Queen, lowering herself to address a servant, she asked, ‘Why are you here, Norseman? What do you want from us? Explain yourself.’
She was right. The game between them had gone on long enough. It was time to get to the truth. If the truth resulted in a fight, then Rurik would fight to the death if need be, but he would have answers. ‘I want to know why Wilfrid would want my father dead.’
There was a flicker of knowledge in her eyes. It had gone as quickly as it had appeared, but Rurik was certain he had seen it. Even as she asked the next question, he knew that she already knew the answer. ‘Who is your father?’
‘King Sigurd of Maerr. Wilfrid helped kill him two years ago and I would know why.’
Chapter Six
Annis had known all along that Rurik must have come because of the massacre that had happened in Maerr. She had hoped she was wrong, but deep down, where the scar on her soul was almost too much to bear, she had known. The wound had throbbed to aching life the moment she had heard that someone was in the village asking questions about Wilfrid. Rurik had come to avenge his father’s death. More than his father. There were other dead, too. Possibly family members. She thought of the pregnant woman’s face in the moment the woman had realised death had come to claim her.
Anger and sorrow spun around inside Annis so fast that she was not certain which one she should feel more. It had been the same ever since that day in Maerr—before then, if she was being completely honest. Losing Grim and the baby had been difficult, sowing the seeds for both the fury and the sadness. Maerr had only sharpened them both, putting an edge on an otherwise dull blade. An ache filled her throat so that it was a moment before she could speak.
She could not change her involvement with the past, but she could give Rurik his due. He deserved some sort of answer.
‘I will discuss it with you, but not here.’ She nodded towards Wilfrid.
Unfortunately, Wilfrid had already got wind of their discussion. He sat up straighter, his eyes as sharp and alert as they had ever been. ‘What of Sigurd? Has he come back?’ he asked in the garbled speech she had come to understand. His hand touched her arm and his gaze searched them both almost frantically, as if expecting the news that his enemy was approaching. Rurik probably had not understood every word, but he knew the word Sigurd. His eyes had sharpened.
‘Father.’ Rising, she set the dagger down on the coverlet and moved to his side, casting an anxious glance towards Rurik as she put her arms around Wilfrid’s shoulders to calm him. ‘I have told you before, Sigurd is dead.’
Wilfrid touched her hand and lowered his face. Remembering Sigurd would surely remind him of Grim. She had never seen him cry for Grim, but she knew that he still grieved the death of his son. His only son to reach adulthood.
‘You’re certain?’ he asked. When she assured him that Sigurd was truly dead, he shook his head. ‘I cannot remember. I have trouble remembering.’
‘Perhaps you should lie down. The sun has yet to rise.’ His mind seemed to be muddled the worst during these nights when he did not sleep well. She hoped his wakefulness now did not bode ill for the next day. Watching him struggle to remember the simplest things was a painful reminder of how she was losing him.
He agreed and she helped him stand. His muscles seemed particularly weak on these nights as well, so it was no surprise when his knee gave way. They would have tumbled to the floor had Rurik not grabbed her waist to brace her. Surprise and a strange sort of delight made her glance at the Norseman. He met her gaze, but his expression revealed nothing. His face was as strong and impassive as she had ever seen it. She gave him a nod of thanks and braced her weight under Wilfrid, helping him shift into the bed.
Before pulling the blanket up, he turned to look at Rurik. ‘Good evening. I look forward to speaking with you later in the day.’ The words were spoken as plainly as he was capable, a testament to how important the words were to him. Yet they still managed to run together.
Annis glanced at her long dagger, which had been pushed off on to the floor, and then at the seax in Rurik’s hand. Only then did she notice his knuckles were raw, as if he had dragged them against the stone in his cage, a stark reminder that he was her enemy. There was nothing certain about Rurik not trying to kill them at any moment, yet she did not feel threatened any more. He could have killed them both by now if he chose. Nevertheless, the caution and discipline both Wilfrid and Cedric
