Vagn had suffered a relapse immediately following their outrageous kiss in her solar… outrageous because the kiss had caused her bones to melt and her usually strong self-control to disappear like dandelion fluff on the wind. Not that the kiss had been the cause of his decline. Leastways, she hoped not. She would not want to add that to her wordfame as Helga the Homely. Helga the Kiss-Killer, or something equally objectionable. Nay, Vagn had just risen from his sickbed too soon. And his wounds had been grievous, after all.
She’d almost lost him three times when his fever had raged so high he’d become delirious. Where she’d gotten the idea that he was hers to lose, she had no idea, but for some unfathomable reason she felt a personal interest in his recovery.
Always, in the throes of his delirium these two long days and nights, he called out for his brother Toste. She suspected that his longing for his brother had contributed to his relapse as much as his moving about too soon.
“How is he doing today?” her father asked. He came into the chamber and lowered his massive body into an armed chair on the other side of the pallet. He wore heavy furs over his tunic and braies to ward off the cold of the castle corridors.
“I think he’s a little better.”
“Is it my fault?” For all his blundering ways, Gorm was a good man. He fought like a warrior when called upon, but he cared intensely for those under his shield,
“Of course not. You probably saved his life, bringing him here from the battlefield. And I don’t think your restraints did him any harm.”
Gorm nodded his acceptance of her words.
“In truth, most men would have died long ago from such grave wounds. He is strong, I will give him that, and, though he claims to welcome death, he is fighting mightily for life.”
“I just wanted to find a good husband for you, a strong man to take over my holdings. I will not live forever, Helga. Who will care for you when I am gone?” Her father’s lips quivered with emotion.
“Oh, Father, you have never understood. I can care for myself.”
“Alone,” he said as if that were the worst thing that could happen to her.
“Toste… Toste…” Vagn moaned the familiar refrain.
Gorm shook his head from side to side. “Ne’er have I heard of brothers so close as those two seemed to be. ‘Tis hard for me to understand why he cannot get over his brother’s passing. ‘Tis not like a beloved wife or child he has lost. Death is a way of life for us men of the North.”
Helga shrugged. “They were twins. I daresay there is something mystical about twins… something the rest of us cannot understand. I always wished I had brothers or sisters.”
Her father sighed deeply. “I always wanted brothers or sisters for you, too.”
She had to smile at the old man’s lack of subtlety. “Don’t think you can guilt me into marriage and giving you babes to coddle.” If I could, I would, Father. Just to make you happy, if naught else.
“It would be a good match. You and Vagn. Admit that much.”
“Don’t push me, Father.” But in her mind, she kept remembering the kiss. How can I be indifferent to a man who kisses like that? How can I not at least wonder about the possibilities when the rogue has such an effect on me? “How is his horse doing? I swear, when Vagn is not muttering his brother’s name, he is calling out for Clod. And what a name for a warhorse!”
Her father smiled, exposing his yellowed teeth. “I checked on his horse a bit ago. The starveling beast is not as old and decrepit as first appeared. Just malnourished and mistreated.”
“By Vagn?” That surprised her.
Her father shook his head. “Nay. Methinks the animal was not long in his possession.”
“I won him in a bet,” a croaky voice said.
She and her father jerked with surprise and looked down on Vagn, whose eyes were wide open. The fever must have broken. Praise the gods!