and watched him stalk toward the wall, one hand staved into his hair. Viciously he cursed. Her or the tapestry of The Great Flood, she was not certain.
Pivoting, he stormed past, toward a wooden chest, and threw open its lid. With stony intent, he peered inside. Almost at once, impatience shattered his features. From inside he grabbed an armful of clothing, and hurled the misshapen bundle at her. "Black Hell! Put something on."
She sat up, but made no move to touch the garments. She did not understand. If lust had ruled his actions a moment ago, why did he turn his eyes from her now? She smothered the little voice that had attempted to squeak out a claim of his innocence.
His blue eyes flashed. "Did it ever occur to you that two winters ago this—" He jabbed his finger at the center of his jerkin. "This animal, this barbarian as you call me, came to Calldarington as a guest? Because he was invited?"
"Invited," she scoffed. "Do you truly expect me to believe that?"
His eyes descended to where her hand covered her breast. Darkness hollowed the place beneath his cheekbones, and for a moment she believed what she saw was not lust, but yearning.
A wall, built deep inside her heart, threatened to give way. Impossible. A flush bloomed upward from her breasts, to heat her neck and face.
He stood, his legs braced wide. "Of course you would not believe." He swirled a hand in the air. "Barely a word spoken between us but already you know, verily, I speak only lies and treachery."
She forced an expression of scorn. "What sort of fool would have invited a Norse mercenary here, when there was no need?"
"What sort of fool?" the Dane repeated in a low voice.
"Yes, fool." Her chin jutted out in defiance.
"Dare you call me a fool?" He clamped his mouth shut on the word. "The fool who bade me come to Norsex—"
"Yes?" she demanded.
His next words, though spoken softly, cut like a blade. "Why, Isabel, if you must know, 'twas the king himself."
With a sharp laugh she challenged his claim. "My brother despises outsiders, especially Northmen, and would never have invited you, let alone an army of raiders, into the kingdom."
His blue eyes darkened. Smoldered. "'Tis not your brother of whom I speak."
Not her brother?
Isabel's mouth snapped shut with a click. Her father.
At this, the Dane grinned darkly and turned on his heel. As he crossed to the door, he hooked the heel of his boot against the edge of the water bucket and tipped it onto its side. Liquid spread like molten amber across the floor to dampen the tips of her once-scarlet slippers. From the table he lifted the linen Vekell had brought into the room and tossed it in a high arc. The bundle landed in her lap.
"Cleanse and bind your wound. No doubt the ditch surrounding this burh swarms with the vilest pestilence."
Isabel looked down at the sodden shreds of her clothing and sniffed. Heavens, she did smell foul. But he had kissed her still.
Shadows hid his eyes. She saw only his lips as they moved. "The salve you spread upon my back... use it if you have it still."
"Wait!" Isabel commanded, unease sharpening her tone. "My son. When will he be returned to me?"
Kol's long fingers clasped the edge of the door. Beyond him she saw the shoulder of a warrior who apparently had been posted to guard her door, but Kol moved to shield her from any outward view. "Until you wish to divulge Ranulf's whereabouts, you and I have no further cause to speak. Until that time, you may consider the boy... well, you may consider him to be mine."
As the door closed, the blood drained from Isabel's face.
Invited. He had been invited, damn her to Hell.
Angrily, Kol stripped to his braies and stood before the fire, allowing its heat to cauterize the rush of blood and emotion still raging, unchecked, through his body.
In the distance, waves crashed against Calldarington's shoreline. Even now, the wooden floor seemed to move beneath his feet, in cadence with the ocean.
Slowly his breathing
Pivoting, he stormed past, toward a wooden chest, and threw open its lid. With stony intent, he peered inside. Almost at once, impatience shattered his features. From inside he grabbed an armful of clothing, and hurled the misshapen bundle at her. "Black Hell! Put something on."
She sat up, but made no move to touch the garments. She did not understand. If lust had ruled his actions a moment ago, why did he turn his eyes from her now? She smothered the little voice that had attempted to squeak out a claim of his innocence.
His blue eyes flashed. "Did it ever occur to you that two winters ago this—" He jabbed his finger at the center of his jerkin. "This animal, this barbarian as you call me, came to Calldarington as a guest? Because he was invited?"
"Invited," she scoffed. "Do you truly expect me to believe that?"
His eyes descended to where her hand covered her breast. Darkness hollowed the place beneath his cheekbones, and for a moment she believed what she saw was not lust, but yearning.
A wall, built deep inside her heart, threatened to give way. Impossible. A flush bloomed upward from her breasts, to heat her neck and face.
He stood, his legs braced wide. "Of course you would not believe." He swirled a hand in the air. "Barely a word spoken between us but already you know, verily, I speak only lies and treachery."
She forced an expression of scorn. "What sort of fool would have invited a Norse mercenary here, when there was no need?"
"What sort of fool?" the Dane repeated in a low voice.
"Yes, fool." Her chin jutted out in defiance.
"Dare you call me a fool?" He clamped his mouth shut on the word. "The fool who bade me come to Norsex—"
"Yes?" she demanded.
His next words, though spoken softly, cut like a blade. "Why, Isabel, if you must know, 'twas the king himself."
With a sharp laugh she challenged his claim. "My brother despises outsiders, especially Northmen, and would never have invited you, let alone an army of raiders, into the kingdom."
His blue eyes darkened. Smoldered. "'Tis not your brother of whom I speak."
Not her brother?
Isabel's mouth snapped shut with a click. Her father.
At this, the Dane grinned darkly and turned on his heel. As he crossed to the door, he hooked the heel of his boot against the edge of the water bucket and tipped it onto its side. Liquid spread like molten amber across the floor to dampen the tips of her once-scarlet slippers. From the table he lifted the linen Vekell had brought into the room and tossed it in a high arc. The bundle landed in her lap.
"Cleanse and bind your wound. No doubt the ditch surrounding this burh swarms with the vilest pestilence."
Isabel looked down at the sodden shreds of her clothing and sniffed. Heavens, she did smell foul. But he had kissed her still.
Shadows hid his eyes. She saw only his lips as they moved. "The salve you spread upon my back... use it if you have it still."
"Wait!" Isabel commanded, unease sharpening her tone. "My son. When will he be returned to me?"
Kol's long fingers clasped the edge of the door. Beyond him she saw the shoulder of a warrior who apparently had been posted to guard her door, but Kol moved to shield her from any outward view. "Until you wish to divulge Ranulf's whereabouts, you and I have no further cause to speak. Until that time, you may consider the boy... well, you may consider him to be mine."
As the door closed, the blood drained from Isabel's face.
Invited. He had been invited, damn her to Hell.
Angrily, Kol stripped to his braies and stood before the fire, allowing its heat to cauterize the rush of blood and emotion still raging, unchecked, through his body.
In the distance, waves crashed against Calldarington's shoreline. Even now, the wooden floor seemed to move beneath his feet, in cadence with the ocean.
Slowly his breathing
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