25
Fern
The next morning, I stretched out my legs, coming awake slowly. The cool air on my face and the solid warmth at my back.
The sun slanted into the cave, over the snow drifts. The snow had stopped a day or two ago. It’d been five—or was it six—days since I’d come. The cave was not the lodge originally promised me, but at least we had shelter.
The fire was low—Svein would have to replenish our wood store soon. Odd that he was still abed this late, but I would not complain. I snuggled back into his chest.
And froze as soft, thick hair tickled the back of my neck. The man behind me was not Svein. He was broader, with a long beard that scraped my bare shoulder, and a wild scent.
“Miss me, little dove?”
I jerked upright at the rough voice. Dagg lay there, a grin under his thick bea
