Freezing air gusted over my face and I twitched.
“Cold,” I grunted.
“Stay in bed, little one. Fergus will be back soon. It was his turn to get the wood.”
Wulfgar bent over me to tuck a great fur robe around me before reseating himself by the fire.
I bit my lip, and didn’t ask why he would avoid my bed.
Soreness lingered in my cunny, a pleasant reminder of the night’s events. My men had taken me completely. Yseult would approve.
Yet they still had not giving me claiming marks. I touched my shoulders and frowned.
Wulfgar had come so close to marking me, and then drawn back. Why? What had I done wrong?
Shadows played over the great warrior’s face as he drank from a horn and watched the fire.
Fergus came in, his breath like smoke.
“It’s coming down hard out there.” He dusted white po
