“Gambling! That figures,” Helga remarked prissily, when what she felt was elation that the man just might recover, after all. In fact, tears of relief welled in her eyes. She removed the damp cloth from his forehead, which was still warm but no longer fiery hot.
“Are you weeping for me?” he asked weakly, licking his dry lips.
He lives! Oh, thank the heavens, he lives! “Nay, I weep out of frustration for all the trouble you have caused me.”
“Daughter!” her father reprimanded her, but she could tell that he shared her joy that Vagn had wakened finally.
She quickly brought a cup of water to his bedside and held it to his lips. He drank thirstily. When done, he fell back on the pillow and said, “You cannot fool me, wench. You are smitten with me.”
“Oh, really? And how wouldst you know that?” She was straightening his bed linens as she spoke, pretending an outrage she did not feel. I must mask my feelings better, or this rogue will have me drooling over him like a besotted girl.
“Don’t you remember, sweetling?” he chided her softly.
Helga’s heart wrenched at the endearment. No man had ever called her such. “Remember what?” Surely such a small happenstance as a kiss does not stick in his mind.
“Our kiss,” he replied matter-of-factly.
It did. “I forgot,” she lied. I will remember it always.
“You kissed?” her father chortled. “Loki’s lips! There is hope yet.”
Now he has done it. My father will be planning the wedding feast.
“You are mine now,” Vagn murmured even as he drifted back to sleep… abnormal sleep, not the sickbed fever. “Not Toste’s. Not any other man’s. Mine.”
He does not mean it. He must be under the influence of his fever. Brain fuzzy. Still, her heart sang at his words. In that instant, Helga the Homely became Helga the Hopeful. And that was a dangerous thing for her.
“Come closer,” said the (Viking) wolf to the lamb …
A sennight later, Vagn was in the stable grooming his horse.
“What a good fellow you are, Clod! I no longer see your ribs, and your coat is nigh glossy with good health. Mayhap we both are survivors. What think you of that?”
Clod’s answer was to reach back and lip him on the shoulder. A horse kiss.
“Are you ready for a long trip, boy?”
Clod neighed his response, which Vagn chose to believe was positive. After all, neigh and yea sounded much alike.
“That’s good. I’m thinking one more week and we should both be in good enough shape.”
“Are you talking to yourself?” Helga asked, coming into the barn and shutting the door after her to keep out the cold. She herself was warm in a full-length russet wool cape with a red fox lining. “Father asked me to find you. He is perched afore the fire in the great hall wanting to finish the game of chess you started yestereve.”
Vagn did not look at her directly, but he was very much aware of her presence. He was in an odd mood—lustsome, actually, now that his body was regaining its normal vigor—and if Helga knew what was good for her, she would pick up her skirts and run for her life.
“I was talking to my horse,” he said, continuing to run the brush from back to flanks, then over again. “We are planning a journey.” Is that lavender I smell? Uhhhmmm. Come close, Helga, and let me see if it is your clothing or your skin that emits that scent. Just a little closer.
He saw an expression of alarm flash across her face at the news of his impending departure; she immediately masked it. A good sign. She tried to fight her female urgings, but she was tempted by him. Vagn could tell these kinds of things about women. Beware, m’lady, this Viking has been celibate for a year. You play with fire coming into my lair.
“Where are you going?”
Blah, blah, blah! More chit-chat. Ask me why I have turned away from you. Ask me what I hide beneath my braies. “To Vestfold. To my father’s estates.” But first, I have a few things to take care of here. Like you. And those luscious lips that beg for attention. Lick them one more time, m’lady. Go ahead. See how far you can push a Viking on the mend.