The Temperate Warrior (21 page)

“And I you, Gustaf.”

He gathered her hands in his and lowered his head again. “I cannot live without you. The thought of losing you rips my heart in pieces and I would just as soon die this instant than to live one moment without your love. Please, I beg of you. Forgive me for being so cruel. I deserve not your pardon, but I beseech it just the same.”

“Gustaf,” Æsa articulated as she knelt in front of him. “Look at me.”

Though ashamed, he did as he was told. His heart jumped in his throat as he endured the lengthy moments that passed while she continued to stare at him.

He felt her thumb stroke back and forth across his knuckles and a smile slowly emerged on her perfect lips. “You had my forgiveness when you asked me to ride with you.” She brought her fingers up to his bearded face and caressed him from temple to jaw.

His eyelids fell, encouraged by the soft brush of her touch along his skin. The tenderness in them soothed him more than he could imagine, but his heart still harbored a dull stab of regret for making her believe he was no different than the countless heathens from her past. He swore he would never behave in a manner that led her to think she meant nothing to him, yet soon after he abandoned his self-control at the waterfall, she had this ridiculous notion that he would want to take a mistress. Somewhere between wanting to give her the world and surrendering all of himself, he went wrong.

“Your forgiveness is not enough, Æsa. I want your trust.”

“M’lord, you have it. You have never lost it.”

“Oh, but I did. If you truly trusted in the love I have for you, you would have never thought that I would want another woman in my bed. I know you were only granting your permission because you loved me enough to give me an heir, but I failed to make you realize that only you can fill my heart with joy. Only you can satisfy my every need. Only you, Æsa.” Fervently, he cupped her face. “Only. You.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sex with Gustaf was always good, but this time proved to be more special than all the rest. There was an unmistakable gentleness in his touch as he blanketed his hard, muscled body over hers. His callused hands caressed her with light, butterfly strokes as if he were reverently worshipping every part of her. Each thrust was slow and methodical, tender and compassionate. It wasn’t because he tried to restrain himself amid this intimate moment. If anything, he was conceding more of himself than he’d ever surrendered before.

In hindsight, it was hard to fathom that this same man, hours before, took down an angry bear. Though he always resisted the pet name she’d given him, she knew below all the gruff and burly exterior lay a warrior with a temperate side.

As they coupled in sweet rapture at the base of the old oak tree, Æsa memorized this moment. The bright blue lake of Mjøsa stretched out for miles before them, the deep waters resting quietly beneath the twilight sky. The steep mountains of Jotunheimen stood guard to the northwest as the vast valley lay in peaceful bliss around them. The only sound was the serenade of night insects and the lulling cadence of Gustaf’s heart.

Æsa snuggled against him, finding complete solace in lying atop his chest beneath their usual cocoon of animal cloaks. She stroked her hand across the large plate of pectoral muscle and down over his flat stomach. With a playful finger, she then traced an imaginary line through the strip of dark blond hair that traveled alluringly from his navel to the sizeable manroot between his thighs.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. “You are tickling me.”

“You do not like to be tickled?” she asked, daring to touch him again.

He restrained her hand and pinned it behind her back. “I do not like to be tormented.”

“Release my hand, and I shall end your torment.”

Gustaf chuckled haughtily and rolled onto her, trapping her beneath the weight of his heavy body. “My torment will only just begin.”

“Why is that, m’lord?”

“‘Tis too soon,” he admitted, nibbling her upper lip. “I would like to say my mind is ready and willing, but other parts of me are not equipped for such a feat. There are some things that require patience, my dearest Æsa.”

With you, my temperate warrior, everything is worth the wait.

Long quiet moments passed. Gustaf continued to gaze into her eyes and stroke the hair that cascaded wildly around her shoulders. For once, they weren’t rushed to gather their clothes and join the others, nor was there a threat of others happening upon them. The only thing that mattered was taking the time to treasure this blessed private moment.

She secretly regarded how strikingly handsome he was sprawled across her body. His dark golden mane hung in loose curls around his sharply chiseled face. The corded muscles of his shoulders and arms bunched and flexed with every tender movement of his hands in her tangled hair. He was near godly as he spent time pampering her in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

“What holds your thoughts now, love?”

Æsa breathed in deeply and smiled. “You. And how beautiful you are. How beautiful your son will be…”

Gustaf’s expression changed. The carefree outward appearance that once lighted his facial features slipped into a dark seriousness. “Æsa,” he said sternly. “You needn’t overwhelm yourself with thoughts of carrying a child. I fear if you put too much hope in it, you will render yourself disappointed and beyond that, miserable and saddened. I do not want that for you. I want you to remain as you are now. Happy and content in my arms.”

Æsa could only smile, for she knew she would not fall prey to hopeless wishes turning into despair and misery as he suggested.

Gustaf furrowed his brow above curious eyes. “You find humor in my words?”

“Nay, m’lord.”

“Then why do your lips linger in a grin fit only for the self-satisfied lot of this world?”

“Because I am overjoyed with the news I have received as of late. A revelation, if you will.”

“Oh?” he asked, cocking his head. “And what would that be?”

Æsa straightened her face and looked him square in the eye. “I am with child.”

Immediately, he sat up and grimaced. “Stop this.”

“But ’tis true.”

“Odin help me!” He stood up, throwing the warm cloak off his back. He snatched his breeches from the ground and jammed his legs into each pant hole.

“Gustaf, please…”

“Æsa, I demand you cease this adamant behavior at once. You do not have to mislead me in order to keep me in your bed. I told you before, on my very knees, I would not take a mistress to conceive a child. Why will you not believe me? What must I say to convince you?”

Æsa ignored the cold air that wisped over her bare skin from his sudden retreat, and stood up as well, her hands on her hips. Naked as the day she was born, she planted herself in front of him. “What must I say to convince
you
?”

****

Gustaf regarded her obstinate stance, looking her up and down in her naked form. Her hair wildly fell in untidy scarlet locks over her breasts. Her navel, with no sign of pregnancy, peeked out above a tempting patch of auburn curls in the center of her curvaceous hips. Her legs, long and shapely, supported her stubborn self. If not for the cool, night air of the low-lying gorge, he imagined her smooth, ivory skin would be heated to a lovely shade of pink given how rapidly her blood heated under the discussion.

He almost allowed a smile to slip in seeing how beautiful she looked when she was angry. Thinking better of it, he bent to retrieve her kirtle from the ground and handed it to her. “You will catch your death of cold.”

She swiped it from his hands and threw it on. “Appease me not with your idle concerns over my health. What should concern you is that I am carrying your child.”

Frustrated, he gripped her arms and shook her once to stifle her incessantly wagging tongue. “How is it that you are now pregnant as the sun sets—and rightly sure of it—yet just this morning you feared you were incapable of such a thing? How is that possible, Æsa? Can you explain that to me?”

“I was mistaken.”

Groaning, he released her and gathered the rest of his belongings. “Mistaken, huh?” He punched his arms through his sleeves of his tunic and secured his sword and scabbard at his hip. His boots were next, along with his wolf-skin cloak. “Delirious, more like it,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” she snapped as she swung the bear cloak around her shoulders. As she slipped her feet into her thin leather shoes, she returned the favor by muttering as well. “And to think Halldora said all would be well after I told him. Humph!”

“What did you say?”

Exasperated, Æsa straightened from her stooped position and gave him a stern look. “I said, Halldora claimed all would be well once I told you I was with child. For a woman who boasts to know just about everything, she certainly lacks in predicting your swinging moods.”

“Wait,” he said, holding up his hands. “Halldora told you that you were with child?”

She crossed her arms. “Aye. When you went off to hunt with the others, she came to me and told me I carried your son.”

“A son.”

“Aye, a son,” Æsa reiterated. “Yours. Inside my womb.” She waved it off quickly. “Only you know her better than I. Would she lie about something like this?”

“A son.”

“Aye, Gustaf, a son.”

“My son.”

Æsa finally noticed he began to believe and was in dire need of reassurance. She stepped toward him and captured his hands, resting them on her belly. He stared at her middle in awe. Beneath his palms lay a tiny miracle, a blessing from the gods—if what Halldora said was true.

His overwhelming elation contracted in his heart and his throat went dry. He collapsed to his knees and leaned his forehead against her belly, hiding the pool of tears welling in his eyes. He held them at bay, refusing to let them fall in front of Æsa. He’d already bared enough of his soul for one day.

As he came to accept the news, Æsa threaded her fingers in his hair and cradled his head. “Can it be true?”

Gustaf lifted his face and peered into her loving eyes. “Halldora is an overbearing, intrusive old woman, but she is not a liar. Nor have I ever known her to be wrong. If she says a child grows in your womb, then ’tis so.” A grin split his lips as he heard his own words. He leapt to his feet and embraced her body in a joyous hug. Tucking his head in the soft haven of her thick hair, he whispered his delight. “We are going to have a son. A strong, stubborn, unreasonable, mischievous son!”

Æsa’s laughter filled his heart with an unfamiliar happiness. “Only if he takes after you.”

“Odin help us all if he does,” Gustaf said in haste. “Come, we must tell everyone the grand news.”

In an exuberant twist, he swung her up in his arms and carried her over to the tethered horse. Hoisting her upon its back, his excitement escalated as he imagined bursting through the mead hall and proclaiming the condition of his betrothed. Along with the good hunt, the men would have an additional reason to stay submerged in their cups.

Dashing to the tree, he jerked the knotted reins free and threw them over the horse’s head, unprepared for the arrow that sunk deep into his left shoulder.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The piercing pain and momentous force of the projectile hurled Gustaf’s upper body backward, forcing him to stagger on his feet. Everything happened so fast—the horse reared, Æsa screamed, and both toppled to the ground in a heap as he suddenly realized they were under attack.

From a distance, Gustaf heard the approach of thunderous hooves, but his concern lay solely on his pregnant betrothed beneath his flailing stead. He shouted her name and stumbled to save her, only to be halted by another arrow penetrating his right thigh.

Groaning in agony, his leg gave out and he plummeted to his knees. With his eyes locked on the horse scrambling to stand, he grasped the wooden arrow sticking out of his limb and broke off the end. By the time he did the same with the one in his shoulder, the horse jostled erect and sprinted away, leaving an unconscious Æsa behind.

“Æsa!” Gustaf bellowed. His heart sank and a cold sweat broke out over every inch of his body. He crawled to her, desperate to ensure she was still alive. He reached out to touch her and another arrow whizzed past his head.

He looked up and saw five men galloping towards him, their swords unsheathed and ready to cut down anything in their path. Struggling to stand, he unsheathed his weapon and limped several yards in front of Æsa, putting himself between their attackers and his helpless lover. Planting his feet wide, he double fisted his sword and set his sights on the man in the lead. With one harrowing sweep, he slashed at the legs of the charging horse, causing the animal to fall headfirst to the ground. The rider took a nasty spill, his blade hurling from his hand.

Gustaf had only enough time to see the weaponless man struggling to release his pinned leg from under the fallen horse before another rider aimed to take him down. He ducked below the oncoming sword, dodging decapitation, but couldn’t get back into position quick enough to warrant a counter blow.

The second rider circled, joining the other three who had already surrounded him, trotting in a wide berth out of Gustaf’s reach. He kept his eyes on the mounted men, glancing once in Æsa’s direction to see if her condition had changed. He tried not to worry about whether she was alive or dead, for he had more pressing matters at hand. If he didn’t ward of these men—someway, somehow—both of them were as good as dead.