Naughty Temptations

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

She straightened her back and drew a hard breath. “Nay,” she answered. “Though I am grateful for your offer, and a part of me wants very much to say those words to you, yet will I not. You’ve told me how long you’ve waited for this chance to go exploring the world. Your heart yearns for it. Do you stay here at my request, you will never be completely happy. Always there will be something missing, and someday you’ll ask yourself what you might have lost for your loyalty to me. I would not be the cause of that. I love you too much to settle for a man who yearns for something else.”

“My heart yearns for you, too,” he answered. “It is being torn in half. I know not how to choose.”

“I am choosing for you,” she said. “The man I love now is not the one you will be in a few years, if your yearning for adventure and new sights be not assuaged.”

His face tightened into an expression of pain. “I wish… You could wait for me here,” he offered. “My father and my brother will shelter you and protect you.”

She considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “Nay. It will do naught but cause disruption and possibly conflict between your village and mine. Should I return to town to serve someone who is ill, I’d do so under the shadow of death. Yet, did I not accede to someone’s pleas for help, there would be anger and hard feelings about it. And should they learn that I’m here and yet unwed, I’ve no doubt Artur and the others will seek to capture and claim me.”

He nodded slightly, then continued to stand there, watching her. The pain and conflict in his eyes was more than she could bear. She took his arm and turned him toward the longhouse. “It is settled. Do not tear yourself apart over it. You will go on your adventuring, and when you finally return, rich, sated, and ready to settle, if we’re meant to be together, there will be a way.”

She remembered the vision she’d seen in her dagger’s jewel. In some way, he was her destiny. “There will be a way,” she repeated, as much for herself as for him.

Use what you learn from the dagger wisely, her mother had told her. Why was wisdom so difficult and so unclear?

He nodded again and they went to the longhouse, where a crowd that surely comprised most of the settlement was already gathered and waiting. A round of cheering erupted and those who were seated stood as they entered the room.

A series of trestle tables were pushed together, end to end, to make one very long table that filled most of the space in the room. At the far end, Henrik’s father waited. Two empty seats remained beside him at the head of the table. Henrik escorted her there and seated her in the middle place, where she would be between him and his father. The end of the table accommodated two people comfortably. Pressing her in between made it somewhat crowded, but neither of the men flanking her seemed to mind.

Servers carrying laden trays began delivering food. Each course of the many served that night were presented first to the three of them at the head and then passed on down the table. The quantity and variety of the offerings astonished her. They really had gone to considerable effort to make this meal a special thanks to her. At least three varieties of meats were offered, bowls of assorted vegetables, baskets of fragrant breads, and an assortment of fruits. Considering that it was spring, with no harvests yet in, they must have emptied some larders to accomplish this. She hoped no one would be short later as a result.

But to spurn anything would insult their efforts, so Fianna ate until she could hold no more without danger of exploding. Accompanying the food, pitchers of a strong-tasting, potent drink were passed around to fill the cups by each person’s place.

When she asked Henrik about it, he told her, “’Tis mead, a drink of fermented honey. If you like it not, I can ask them to bring you water instead.”

She sipped at it carefully. “Nay. It merely takes some adjusting to the taste, and the way it burns.”

Much conversation and laughter occurred during the meal. Henrik translated some of the jests so she could share in their amusement, though in truth, many of them made little sense to her. Nonetheless she tried to smile and be gracious. With Henrik’s help in translating, his father asked about her and the town, her family, how long she’d been a healer, and how she’d learned it.

He expressed sorrow to learn she had no parents or other relatives, then stunned her by telling her, through Henrik, that she must consider himself and his sons as her family. Should she ever be in need of anything, any help he could give, she must come to him. Fianna was touched by the obvious genuineness of the offer. There was some comfort in knowing she could believe in that promise and call on it if needed. She thanked him in turn for it.

The most difficult and most precious part of the evening, though, was being close to Henrik, talking with him, accepting morsels of food from him, watching him eat and drink. It might well be the last time she did so. Whatever the dagger might have shown, she had doubts she’d see him again after the morrow. She stored each view of him, each action, each expression, to be a comfort to her when he was no longer present. But otherwise she tried to bury the sorrow deep within. These people deserved better from her than morose acceptance of their hospitality.

She believed she succeeded, as no one seemed to notice anything amiss. Whenever she met a set of eyes around the table, the owner would smile at her, often saluting her with an upraised cup or piece of bread. She tried to acknowledge the greeting in like fashion.

The meal lasted far into the night, with courses being brought one at a time, and allowed to settle somewhat before the next appeared. By the time it ended, Fianna was so full she could barely move and so tired she could scarce keep her eyes open. She felt light-headed and dizzy as well, probably from the mead.

People finally began to rise and filter out. Henrik smiled at her as she began to nod off and excused them both from the table, saying goodnight to his father. She barely remembered making the trip from the longhouse to Henrik’s home. Nor did she recall later how she’d gotten out of her clothes and into bed.

She woke in the morning with Henrik’s arms around her and a feeling of dread anticipation hanging over her. This day she would leave and likely never see him again. Though he hadn’t said when he would go, she imagined he wouldn’t delay long now that his time had arrived. It was spring, as well—a good time for setting out on long journeys.

Before they rose, he held her and made long, slow, sweet love to her. As if he needed to memorize each inch of skin, each move, he stroked her up and down with infinite patience and gentleness, touching every sensitive spot, kissing her all over, until the need he could always rouse was screaming for unity with him. She stroked him as well, filling her senses with the feel of his flesh and hair, the scent of his body, his low moans of pleasure. She savored each one as a treasure to be guarded.

When he moved over her and filled her, she kept her eyes open, drinking in the sight of him as the exquisite pleasure tightened his features. She watched his face, hoarding the love she saw there. He slid into the final, stretched moments of highest tension before it let go with the release of his seed into her. Only then did she close her eyes. His last powerful stroke drove her over the edge as well, taking her to that soul-shattering place of jolting, shuddering joy.

Afterward they lay together quietly for a while. Neither of them wanted to end their final moments of private connection, but eventually the increasing light forced them into action.

They dressed quickly and broke their fast on warm porridge ladled from a large pot simmering in his father’s house. Then the two young men who’d been with Henrik at the equinox festival arrived, dressed in riding gear and weapons. They’d brought Henrik’s horse along with them.

Before they left, Ranulf emerged from the other room, standing shakily, a man and woman on either side of him for support. With Henrik translating, he added his thanks and reiterated the promise for himself that she could at any time ask him for help and it would be granted. She kissed his cheek and warned him to take care and not try to do too much until he was stronger. Then she went outside with Henrik to the horses.

Fianna had an alarming moment of déjà vu when they lifted her onto the horse behind Henrik, but she wound her arms around him and held on tight all the way back to town. The trip didn’t take nearly long enough.

Their journey through town to Marla’s house again attracted attention, but no one followed them. When they reached the place, all of the men dismounted, but only Henrik accompanied her inside. Marla wasn’t there, and Fianna was absurdly grateful since it gave them one last private moment for their farewells.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her, but only briefly. “I know not when I’ll be setting out,” he said, “but I hope it will be soon. Do not forget, though, if you have trouble or need anything, you can go to my father for protection.”

“I won’t forget,” she promised. “I won’t forget you either.”

“Nor will I forget you. However far I sail, you will always ride with me in my heart.”

“And you will have a home here in mine always.”

He turned quickly and walked out the door. She watched him go directly to his horse, mount swiftly, and ride away.