He studied her and shrugged. ‘I need nothing.’
And yet, he continued to stare. His demeanour utterly disarmed her, though she tried to remind herself that it was only an unwanted flare of interest, one that would go away soon. She knew better than to let her wayward thoughts become something more. If his interest was real, then it was only a physical attraction. Alarr would bring her home to her foster father and then leave her behind. She would never see him again.
She was interrupted by Caragh who said, ‘Breanne, we have need of your help, if you can join us.’
‘Go with her,’ Alarr commanded. Without waiting for her answer, he went back to join his brother and the other men.
Caragh took her by the hand and led her towards an outdoor table laden with apples. ‘Some of the apples have ripened, and we are drying them for the winter.’ On another table, there was a heavy length of wool set out with apple slices to be dried in the sun. She offered Breanne a small knife and bade her join the others at the table.
She began slicing the fruit, grateful for the distraction. Her failed attempts at attracting Alarr’s interest embarrassed her, and she inwardly chided herself. She’d never been very good at flirting with a man. Why should today have been any different?
An old woman nudged her and spoke in the Norse language, laughing as she nodded towards Alarr. Breanne had no idea what she’d said, but she flushed at the teasing.
‘She offered to make you a love charm,’ Caragh said. ‘That is, if you’re wanting one.’
‘No,’ she blurted out. ‘That’s the last thing I need.’ She was Alarr’s captive, and she did not want to be too close to him. His focused attention already made her ill at ease.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Caragh said. ‘There are advantages to love.’ A soft smile stole over her face, and she lowered her hands to her abdomen. Breanne answered her smile.
‘When will your baby come?’ she asked.
‘In the spring.’ The young woman’s expression brightened at the thought. Caragh glanced towards the men where she spied her husband. A soft smile came over her face. Then she rose from the pile of apples and left Breanne among the other women.
The old woman nudged her again as she glanced over at Alarr. Then she cackled and passed her another apple. Breanne saw the other women suppressing their laughter, but she stiffened and turned her attention to cutting the fruit. In time, they stopped their teasing.
After a few hours, it was growing dark. Her neck and shoulders ached, but all the apples had been peeled, sliced, and laid out to dry. She stood from the table, rubbing her sore neck. The women went back to the longhouse where they had dined the previous night, and Breanne joined them. She did not see Alarr or Rurik, and she took a bit of meat and cheese for a light meal. It was already dark outside, and she was weary from the work.
She decided to return to the sleeping space, and when she arrived, she saw Alarr seated on the pallet. Her first instinct was to back away, but then, that would accomplish nothing.
‘Come here,’ he ordered. ‘I have need of your help.’
She obeyed, not understanding what he wanted. When she drew closer, she saw that he was holding a small wooden box that contained an herbal salve. She couldn’t quite make out all the scents, but one of them was strong, like mint.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
He handed her the box. ‘I want you to rub this into my scars.’ Alarr lifted the edge of his hose and showed her an angry red scar just below his knees. It appeared that someone had tried to cut off his legs, and she was shocked at the evidence of such a violent injury.
‘What happened to you?’
‘I was badly wounded in battle,’ he answered. ‘The healer thought I might never walk again.’
‘You proved her wrong,’ Breanne said. She didn’t pry, realising that this was what had caused his limp. He disguised it well, and now that she had seen the scars, it made her sympathise with him.
He added, ‘The pain plagues me when I stand for too long. This medicine helps.’
She opened the box and the scent of mint grew stronger. ‘You are very fortunate to have survived.’ Then she knelt down beside the pallet. ‘Turn over.’
He obeyed, and she dipped her hands in the salve. She put a generous amount on his right calf, rubbing it into his skin. The red scar left an indentation in his flesh, and she moved her hands over his legs. His calves and thighs were large, revealing the muscled strength of a warrior. She had never touched a man like this before, and she moved her palms over him in a circular motion. He flinched at her touch, but she gentled it, feeling the knotted muscles beneath her fingertips. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘Yes,’ he gritted out.
She used her fingers to massage his calf muscle, being more careful when she reached the deep scars. Slowly, she rubbed the salve into his skin, pressing gently against the muscles. It was strangely intimate, caring for him in this way. And yet, she recognised the pain he was in. With every touch of her hands, she saw his knuckles clench against the fur coverlet.
For the next few minutes, she tried to soothe the aches, sliding her hands over his skin. Though she supposed she should feel uncomfortable touching him in such a way, the truth was, she found satisfaction in working out the knots. She could tell when she had eased his pain from the way he relaxed beneath her hands. And when he no longer flinched at her touch, she drew back.
‘Is that better?’
He rolled over, and the flare of heat in his eyes caught her
