The Viking's Heart by Jacqueline Navin

Author:Jacqueline Navin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2013-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

His words stayed with her, dogging her, leaping up to nip at her conscience.

You want me.

Oh, aye, she wanted him. But what good was it?

Sighing, she raised her eyes and scanned the woods. Where was Davey? He should have returned by now. When she had refused to leave Agravar until she was assured he would recover, he had ridden to the rendezvous spot to leave a message for the boat he expected, informing them of the delay and arranging another time. It had been midmorning when he left, and now the sun was drifting along on the waning side of its zenith. She had no talent to tell the hour by it, but would suppose it was two or three hours after noon.

Sometimes she stole looks over at Agravar’s sleeping form. She had taken the blanket from her horse to cover him, even though it was warm enough here where the sun slanted down in yellow bars between the remnants of the cathedral walls. Still, if it didn’t bring him comfort, it made her feel better to see him tucked up more cozily than just strewn carelessly onto the ground.

He was such a beautiful man. In sleep, his features in repose, he was perfect. It made her heart ache a little to look at him.

After a while, she went to the far corner of the ruin and sat to await Davey.

When he awoke again, he was in the same spot, in the same position. There was a blanket over him. It smelled of hay and horse sweat and it was making him impossibly hot.

Looking above him, he saw that there were shattered remnants of stone arches reaching aimlessly toward the thin blue of the sky. He hadn’t noticed before how the place looked like a carcass, bare ribs cradling him in the cavity where once the heart had resided.

Rosamund? Where had she gone? Had she left already?

Turning his head, he saw her. She was sitting a ways off, where the nave would have been in this derelict cathedral.

“Weren’t you going to leave England?” he said dryly.

Her head came up at the sound of his voice and she was at his side in an instant, a skin of water in her hand. “Here, drink,” she prodded.

He did so and felt better. His head still ached, but his thoughts were clear. His limbs were stiff from their immobility and the bindings cut painfully into his flesh. “Where is your man?” he asked. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Only a few hours. Davey is down the river a ways. We were to make a rendezvous, but the delay meant he had to go to his friend to arrange—” She cut off abruptly, perhaps considering that it was not wise to tell him so much.

His laugh was humorless. “I was merely curious. I am hardly in a position to stop you.”

“I shall never underestimate the mighty Viking Agravar,” she said, and nearly smiled.

“You imbue me with powers I do not have, I assure you.

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