On the surface, it’s a sweet thing to say, but a shiver still rolls through me. Because it’s like he knows that I will be the instrument of his demise, and he still cradles me like a priceless treasure. Tears sting my eyes, spilling down my cheeks as a sadness I can’t master overwhelms me. I should go. Before whatever tragedy he’s expecting comes to pass.
Slowly he nuzzles the top of my head and I lose the will to move, let alone leave. There’s no point in deceiving myself. Even if Bitterburn lets me, I won’t abandon him. He’s sunk the hook too deep. When I arrived, my heart was too damaged for him to take hold of it, so he’s latched on deeper and woven his lonely threads through the tapestry of my soul.
Belatedly I realize that I’ve only offered silence in response. “I wish you wouldn’t take such a tragic tone,” I say lightly. “Perhaps we’re meant to live out our days together.”
But to him, even that would be painful, as I can’t stay forever. My mortal lifetime precludes it. From his shuddering breath against my back, Njål knows it too but he allows me the illusion of a happy ending.
“I hope so.” He tightens his arms, loath to let me go.
“Me too.”
I snuggle against him, content to remain this way as long as he wants to. The reassuring thump of his heartbeat against my back fills me with peace, and the tension trickles out of me, leaving me boneless in his arms.
“It’s maddening how much you trust me,” he growls.
“Is it?”
“I want you so much that it’s all I can do not to drag you to bed. I remember the way you stroked me and . . .” Njål shifts, his hardness jutting against my back.
Heat scalds my cheeks, but it’s not all embarrassment. “I thought you were sated for the time being since you haven’t made any overtures.”
“I’m never satisfied. I ache for you constantly.” His hips move as he speaks, reinforcing my impression of his desire. Then he quiets himself with effort that renders his entire body rigid, muscles locked.
I recall the way he panted and came undone as I touched him, the salty smell of his juices on my fingers. It would be so easy to do that again, a quick and dirty stroke to offer him some relief, but I want more. He’s proven that he’ll wait for me. I’m ready to go a bit farther and learn a little more.
Making a swift decision, I say, “If I say that I want to do . . . other things but not that, yet, will you honor it?”
Njål’s voice deepens, sending an exciting shock through me when he speaks near my ear. “You want me to promise not to ravish you.”
“Yes. And I would like to . . . explore more of you, if you’re willing. I can wear a blindfold,” I add quickly, as he’s expressed a desire not to be seen.
A little shudder runs through him. “I’m willing. Let me wash and I’ll come to your room when I’m done. Wait for me?”
He’s gone before I can respond. I put my hands to my hot cheeks, wondering whether this is wise, but I have no intention of changing my mind. A bath sounds like a good idea because I don’t know what will happen between us precisely. Springing into motion, I haul some ice and snow, melt it into warm water, and scrub up quickly. There’s no time to wash my hair, but I damp it with herb-freshened water and then plait it like I’m going to bed. I have no mirror in my tiny room and it occurs to me that Njål might prefer my hair tumbling loose.
I don’t know how to get ready for such an assignation.
Eventually, I don my nightdress and unbraid my hair, fluffing it so it crackles with electricity. The last step is the blindfold I mentioned. I pull the sash from my good dress, fold it over, and wrap it around my eyes, tying it neatly behind my head. At last I fumble my way to bed and slide under the covers.
Now I’ve only to wait for the lover whose face I’ve never seen.
15.
I know Njål has come from the soft footfalls and the scent of lye soap and pine.
But he hesitates in the doorway. He’s never been this close to my private space before, and he seems unsure. So I invite him in. “Please, I want you here.”
For him, this little room will be all firelight, shifting and romantic. For me, it’s darkness, but I know where I am and who’s with me. I’m not afraid.
Tentatively he approaches the bed and I put out my hand. He takes it. “Are you sure? I don’t want to push you.”
“I was certain in the kitchen, and that hasn’t changed. I still want to kiss and touch you, all night if you’ll let me.”
The mattress sinks at his weight and the bedframe groans. I never considered this issue; I just want this to happen where I feel safe. Too late to suggest a change of venue. I expect we’ll be close enough tonight that the size of the bed won’t matter.
“I’ve never seen your hair down. It’s beautiful.”
Self-conscious, I touch the long, wild locks, but I believe him. “Thank you. I don’t often wear it this way.”
Njål draws in a deep breath, possibly incited by some aspect of my gesture. “Ah, what you do to me,” he growls.
I reach out and encounter bare flesh. For the first time, he’s dispensed with the cloak and he’s not wearing a shirt either. His skin feels unusual. Inhuman. Thicker and tougher, not as soft. I don’t find it off-putting; it’s just another facet of him. Njål trusted me to keep my promise about the blindfold, and somehow, not seeing what I’m touching makes this more exciting.
