Had he not despised her so much he might have found her attractive. That was not true. He still found her attractive despite the fact that she had broken their truce and imprisoned him again and he was all the angrier for it. Also, he did not really despise her. He hated that she had imprisoned him, hated that she was part of the family who had plotted to murder his father, but he could not find it in him to hate her. He wanted to, and in his darkest moments a tiny part of him did, but it never took. The grudging respect took over. In an attempt to disguise that, as well as because his throat was raw from all the yelling he had done that day, his voice came out more harshly than he had intended.
‘Who were the men Wilfrid hired to kill my father?’ he asked, picking up where they had left off.
She winced at the callousness of his tone and a thread of satisfaction wove its way around his spine, straightening it. As the day had worn on, Rurik found himself latching on to the idea of the assassins as a drowning man might grasp at a piece of driftwood. He had been denied the release of satisfaction he would find in killing a healthy Wilfrid, but had been gifted with the knowledge that there were others involved in the vicious plot. Just as the search for justice had led him from King Feann of Killcobar to Glannoventa, it appeared to be leading him to other men. Other warriors who had sought to end his father’s life. Would the search never reach its own end? Would everyone involved ever be punished?
She shook her head and he grasped the bars in his fists, unwilling to be denied his justifiable revenge. This time she took a step back from him. He was reminded of where they had left off in the conversation before her men had intervened. ‘What did you mean earlier? How do you have blood on your hands?’
This time she shook her head harder. ‘There has been too much death in regards to Wilfrid and Sigurd and their dispute. I will not be the cause of more. There was enough with Sigurd. Let it end there and forget the men who came to Wilfrid.’
Before he could think better of it, he sneered at her. ‘Forget. That is an easy word for you when your family wielded the last blow.’
She straightened her shoulders and became very still. ‘They are not easy words, Norseman. I have lost as you have. I know what it is to have death change your entire life.’
Remorse hit him immediately. Of course she had lost. This was not a battle of losses; if it were she might have won, having lost a husband, a babe and very nearly her father-in-law. Rurik had lost his father, but no one belonging to him. Gilla and Ingrid had been kind women, but he had not known them well. Their losses had been keenly felt by their families. Rurik’s pain had come from how Ingrid’s death had nearly destroyed his eldest brother Brandt. How his brother Alarr had almost lost his legs. How his family had been nearly destroyed.
In terms of personal loss and pain, Annis had him bested. Her family had been destroyed as well, coupled with numerous personal losses.
‘There were more killed than Sigurd. Innocents.’
Her brows drew together, not in anger but compassion. ‘I know. It was a terrible thing that happened to your family. If I could go back and change this whole mess, then I would. I have no stomach for revenge. Not any more.’ She drew in a breath and he could not help but study how her bottom lip trembled with it. ‘I am here because I have a proposition for you.’
‘You are not here because my yelling drew you down?’
Her eyes narrowed while a white line appeared around her lips and another zing of satisfaction surged through him. She had heard him and been annoyed by him. He would be content with any small blow he could land to her regal composure.
‘Wilfrid is asking for you,’ she said, continuing without acknowledging his question.
‘I am surprised he remembers me.’
‘If I’m honest, so am I. He has a keen mind much of the time. There are days when he seems to forget almost everything, but other days when he remembers. This is one of those days. Unfortunately, he remembers what you told him...about us.’
The blush on her cheeks reminded him of his comment about them being lovers, something he had almost forgotten. It had been a stroke of brilliance to unsettle her in that way and watch her squirm so prettily. Rurik’s gaze dropped to her lips, remembering how soft and warm they had been beneath his. Even knowing who she was, he would enjoy having her beneath him once. To his immense surprise, she was looking at his mouth, possibly remembering their kiss. She did not look disgusted. When her gaze flicked back to his, there was a moment of awareness that passed between them before she forcibly looked away.
‘Is he angry?’ he asked.
‘He...he wants you to dine with us. He wants to meet you again to discuss matters, he says.’ She said this with a raise of her chin as if she had been caught doing something wrong and was willing to face her punishment.
‘He’s not angry that we’re lovers?’ He found that impossible to believe.
‘Concerned, perhaps, but he isn’t like any man you have met before. He knows how much Grim’s loss meant. He seems content that I have found a bit of happiness.’
If that were true, then Wilfrid was indeed like no man he had met before. Propping his arm on the bars, he enjoyed watching her obvious embarrassment play out
