Wilfrid gazed at Rurik in open curiosity. ‘Not a Dane? But you have the look.’
Whether Rurik understood that or inferred the meaning, he replied easily, ‘I am from the North. I was raised Norse with my father’s family, but my mother is—was from Éireann.’
‘Éireann?’ Cedric spoke the word in a clipped voice, his eyes alert as they settled on Rurik as if looking for signs in his features that he spoke the truth.
Rurik’s hand settled on her shoulder and her eyes widened at the physical contact. Squeezing gently, he tilted his head a bit to look down at her. ‘My father kidnapped her and made her his concubine...or slave, depending on who you ask.’
He was taunting her, trying to unsettle her. She was ashamed to admit that it was working. An image flashed through her mind of him standing over her, much like he had looked down at her after their kiss, his eyes livid with desire. The very same look that was in his eyes right now as he stared at her before Wilfrid and Cedric and whomever else bothered to see it. Only, in her imagination, she was his...she belonged to him in a way that was so completely consuming that it lit a fire inside her. A shrug of her shoulder dislodged his hand, but only to have it move down her spine in a slow caress that ended at the small of her back. Tingles of a pleasant sensation followed the path, unsettling her more than his words could have.
She did not want to belong to him or anyone else but herself. Then why on earth would she find anything pleasing in anything that he did to her? Or in that image that had been planted in her head?
‘How did you...?’ Wilfrid’s voice trailed off as he stared at them. His eyes were more alert than they had been in a long time and she had the oddest feeling that he knew more than she wanted him to.
She opened her mouth to answer his unasked question, uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, as Rurik’s hand seemed to burn right through her clothing. Her own husband had never touched her this way. Rurik certainly did not have that right. She had already planned to explain to Wilfrid that Rurik had misspoke, or perhaps been too eager in his word choice when he had said they were lovers. Rurik touching her now and looking at her as he did would not help convince her father-in-law of the truth.
‘Rurik misspoke last night,’ she said.
Wilfrid’s gaze turned questioning.
‘We are not lovers...not the way you think he meant it.’
Rurik moved his palm from her back, but only to grab her hand with his, making hers feel small in the confines of his larger palm. ‘Certainly, the things that have passed between us deserve that description.’ He smirked, clearly challenging her to deny him.
His thumb traced a path from her wrist to her palm, stroking a small circle in the centre. The warmth of his touch felt so unexpectedly good on her cold skin that she jerked her hand away. His grin widened and, mercifully, he did not reach for her again as he went back to his meal. Of its own accord, her hand found its way to her lap where she cradled it. Her thumb absently tracing the path that his had taken, trying and failing to recreate the heat.
‘I am...f-fond of you.’ The word tripped over itself as she said it. ‘But we must respect propriety.’
He smirked behind the chalice as he brought it to his lips and took a long drink. She could not help the way her eyes dipped down to his neck to watch the way it moved as he swallowed. She could imagine pressing her face there so easily that it scared her into looking away. Unfortunately, her gaze caught Cedric’s disapproving one.
‘At least one of you can remember your decency,’ said Cedric.
Her face flamed, so she stared down at her food. Somehow this evening was getting away from her. Damn the Norseman.
‘Dane or not,’ came Wilfrid’s voice, ‘Jarl Eirik’s men are welcome here. It is the least I can do after...’ Wilfrid’s words sputtered out. Annis was not certain if he was simply grasping for the correct word or if he had forgotten.
‘After what?’ Annis urged.
As usual, Cedric seemed attuned to Wilfrid in a way that anticipated his words. ‘After the way in which he and Jarl Eirik parted at their last meeting,’ Cedric explained.
Annis jerked her head to stare at her father-in-law. ‘What do you mean? His last visit was...’ She thought back. ‘Why, it must have been after...after Grim’s death? He and Lady Merewyn had come to pay their respects.’
She remembered the visit well. Having had a significant hand in raising Annis for the first years of her life, her Aunt Merewyn held a special place in her heart. Annis had been comforted by the visit, confessing the loss of her child to the woman. Aunt Merewyn had three small children at home at the time and had professed to losing a babe early in pregnancy between her second and third child. At a time when Annis had felt that no one could understand her grief, the shared experience had been a comfort to her. The visit had been a timely and well-received one.
Or so she had thought.
Wilfrid gave a jerky nod in agreement. ‘He had the... He spoke of a marriage for you. Grim was not even... He was hardly in his grave.’ His eyes hardened as if the mere memory still had the power to stir the fire of anger to life within him.
She reached out to him, wanting to be able to reassure him that he did not have to think of it if it would upset him, but she could not say it. She was too shocked. ‘I had no idea.’ There had been
