Page 66 of Edge of the Wild

“No, you’re fine,” he said, panting, grimacing. “It was – jarring. But it wasn’t you.” He ghosted a hand over his wound.

And Tessa ghosted a hand to her throat, where her pulse fluttered madly. Because she had seen lords in every dashing kind of pose, in gold-chased armor, with plumes in their helms, smiling and victorious and bowing to admirers – but nothing had ever affected her like the sight of Rune’s loose, tangled hair, and his well-worn dressing gown, and his bare feet, strangely vulnerable on the plush, crimson rug.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, with a firm mental shake. Now was not the time for…admiring.

He probed at his midsection again, and managed a smile through his grimace, cheeks coloring. “Only my pride. Two weeks ago I was bringing down deer with one shot. And now I’m…” He gestured to himself. “Defeated by a walk across the room.”

Tessa sat down on the low table before him. “It’s only natural. You’ve been ill.”

“I’ve been lying on my back like a useless knob.”

“Recovering,” she stressed, shaking her head. “And I don’t believe Olaf said it was good for you to be up and moving around yet.”

He made a face – childish but endearing. “Gods, I’m so tired of being in bed. I’ve never lied down this much in my life.”

“I’m sorry.” She herself hadn’t been ill and abed since childhood; she couldn’t imagine what a young, fit, vital, mischievous young man must be feeling, cooped up and tucked in, fretted over. “I went down to the library first thing this morning,” she said. “I brought you some books. You can read, or I can read to you, if you like.” She gestured toward the table where she’d left them.

He snorted. “I don’t like reading when I’mwell.” Then his gaze softened. “I’m sorry. It was very kind of you. I suppose I should…” He sighed. “Take this opportunity to become a more learned prince. Gods. Birger would love that.”

She couldn’t suppress a giggle.

“Ooh.” He brightened. “I should do that. By the time he comes home,I’llbe teachinghimabout the history of Aeretoll.”

“A lofty goal,” she said, mildly, and grinned when he scrunched up his nose.

He let his head flop back along the sofa back, gaze skyward, and blew a stray piece of hair out of his mouth. “Uncle and Leif will be at Redcliff by now. They’ll stay for two nights.”

“Redcliff. Isn’t that Lord Askr’s home?”

“Yes.” He tipped his chin so he could meet her gaze, his own sparking. “The walls therebleed.”

“What?”

His grin reappeared, easy this time. “That’s what it looks like, anyway.” He launched into an eager explanation of the red clay soil around Lord Askr’s keep, and the way it had mixed with the mortar and melted down the castle’s façade in a semblance of blood.

He talked then of the keep’s interior, of its homage to warriors old and new, the readiness of weapons on nearly every wall, and the martial nature of each tapestry and painting. She could see it in her mind’s eye: this fearsome place that was nevertheless warm inside; could smell the pork roasting, and the sour notes of the ale flowing freely. She realized she was grinning hugely by the time he told her about his ill-thought-out attempt to skate on the lake last year, with Leif, and Haldin Askrson, and some of the other young lords.

“I thought Edda would go straight through! Leif said, ‘That bit’s thin, don’t go over it,’ and he immediately skated right over it, and there was thiscrack.” He laughed, and then winced, hissed, and clutched at his middle again. All the humor and happiness that had accompanied his story bled out of him in an instant, leaving him pale and unsteady. He ducked his head a moment, hair falling forward in a dark curtain, concealing his face.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I can’t even laugh. I should be with my brother; I should be watching his back, and helping him support Uncle, and I can’t evenlaugh.”

She ached with wanting to touch him. It was becoming a near-constant impulse, the way she felt drawn to lay a hand on him, to stroke his hair, to soothe him the same way she would Oliver. Ingrained Southern propriety held her back, every time: it wasn’t proper for un unwed young lady to touch an unmarried young man; even less proper if that unwed young man was the younger brother of her intended.

But her heart broke for him.

She glanced toward Revna’s room, convinced that their laughter would have roused the lady of the house, but the hall stood empty. Hilda wasn’t here – Tessa had wakened and begun her day before the maid arrived. It was only the two of them, and Rune was hurting – in more ways than one. She took a breath and said, “Rune, would you like me to braid your hair?”

His hair, long and half-snarled from sleep, had been shivering and dancing as he breathed. It stilled, and then fluttered as he let out a deep exhale. He tipped his head up, fractionally, so that he looked at her from beneath long, dark lashes, startlingly pretty set against his sharp, masculine features. He looked…almost guarded…and that left her nervous.

“You…would want to do that?”

She knew that certain braid styles, and certain beads held particular meaning for Northerners, but she had the feeling, suddenly, that she hadn’t realized justhow muchmeaning.

It was too late to rescind the offer; shewouldn’trescind it. If he refused her, so be it. But she hitched herself up straighter, met his gaze unflinchingly, and said, “Yes. I would.” When his eyes widened, she added, “I thought it might be in your face; it’s normally braided back out of your eyes.”And your eyes are so lovely to look at, she managednotto say.

“Oh.” He swallowed, and reached to run a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face. Color flooded his cheeks, and his gaze darted away. “That would – that would be good.” Another swallow, throat bobbing. “I’d like that.”

He gathered himself as if to stand.

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