Page 15 of Loving the Blacksmith
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head, appalled. “I should have given you pleasure, not the other way around.” That would have been a better way to distract her, and almost as satisfying.
But Agnes only smiled. “If we are talking about what we should or shouldn’t have done, then I should probably not tell you this, but it did please me to do it. I have always been curious about the male body and the way it worked. And it is more fascinating that I could have imagined. You are a thing of wonder. Every part of you is.”
He groaned. Did she have any idea what it would do to a man to hear that confession? He could still feel the aftermath of his release racing through his veins and she was praising his virility.
“Agnes. You’re just too bloody perfect. I’m afraid I might consider bringing in a colony of bats to nest in the forge, if this is what you do when you need distracting from them.” She bit her lower lip, not as amused by the jest as he had hoped. Of course she wasn’t! What was the matter with him? She’d just told him she was scared of the beasts and here he was, threatening her with them. “Forgive me. I don’t know why I said that.”
But he knew exactly why. Because she had turned his body inside out, scrambled his brain and flipped his heart in his chest with a few strokes of her hand. There would be a before and after today, he could already feel it.
“It’s all right. Only, my brothers did exactly that in our house when I was small, brought in a colony of bats. They locked me in with them. That is why I’m scared of them. It’s silly, I know, as the bats didn’t actually hurt me and were probably even more anxious to escape than I was, but I can’t seem to help it.”
Well, now he felt like the lowest of the low. As if that was not enough, he noticed the way she was surreptitiously trying to wipe her fingers on her skirt. Her perfect little fingers, which he had stained with his seed. Could he feel any worse?
“Please. Let me wash your hand. I came all over you.”
She blushed a furious color at the unnecessary reminder. Really, did he have to be so blunt? Cursing himself for a fool, he pulled his braies back on and led Agnes to the mouth of the cave.
There was a rock just outside with a depression in it, which the storm had filled to the brim with rain. He plunged her hand into the cool water and started to brush each of her fingers in turn. His chest constricted. Had he ever handled anything more perfect than her soft, white hand? More beautiful? More fragile? The wrist was so slight, the nails so small, he barely dared touch her for fear of breaking her or damaging her.
“Forgive me, my hands are rough and I am not used to handling anything as delicate as your hands. I usually deal with hard metal.”
For the first time in his life he regretted being a blacksmith. He felt like Skrýmir, the giant of his parents’ stories, might do in front of humans. Hadn’t Agnes already remarked on his bulk, if not exactly on his behavior? Wild, she’d called him. Well, he felt wild, compared to her.
She gave a small smile that breathed life back into his veins. She didn’t seem mad at him at least. “I think you are underestimating yourself. I can hardly feel your touch. But I could have washed my hand myself. You didn’t have to do that.”
Of course he did. After soiling her with his release, cleaning her was the least he could do. He groaned. What was wrong with him? He should have pushed her hand away before coming. But he could not have loosened the blessed grip around his cock if his life had depended on it. Thankfully, she had not seemed to take offense or recoiled in horror. She didn’t even seem to mind having been used thus. It did little to lessen the guilt he felt, though.
“Please. Of course I did need to wash you. It’s the least I can do.”
Once she was clean, he wiped her fingers dry with the only part of himself that wasn’t soaked, his undershirt. Agnes smiled her thanks then looked at the horizon and remarked, her voice expressionless. “The storm has passed, the rain has stopped.”
Magnus stared at the sky. Indeed it had. He had not even noticed. “Yes.”
But something else had just started.
CHAPTER SIX
The noises in the Norsemen village were different from the ones in her old village, and it always took Agnes a moment to remember where she was upon waking up. Then she recognized her new environment by the rhythmicwooshingof the windmill, the neighing of the horses, the guttural sounds of the Norse language. It was as different from the noises of her native place as if she had actually gone to a distant land.
But this morning it was different again. All she could hear were shouts and crackling sounds, the origin of which she could not identify. What was going on? And how had the unusual activity not woken her up before?
Because she’d been exhausted, that was why.
It had taken her a long time to fall asleep the night before. Time and time again she had relived the moment when she had made Magnus explode in pleasure. It had been one of the most satisfying experiences in her life but now she was wondering. Would he not think her unforgivably brazen? Worse, would he now hope to use her in other ways? It would make sense for him to think that there was little harm in bedding a woman whohad been so willing to offer him release when he’d not asked for anything. Would he turn into a lecher and pounce on her?
No, the man sleeping with his body curled up so protectively around her would never take advantage of her. He had promised he would not, and feminine instinct told her he would hold on to his promise. What had happened in the cave changed nothing.
Or at least, she hoped it did not. But the reality might not be so simple.
A spine-chilling scream had her shooting to her feet. Whatwasgoing on this morning?
Agnes hastily put her dress on and walked out of the door, where she immediately understood the reason for the commotion. One of the huts over on the other side of the village was on fire. Dear God, what had happened? Were they under attack? Should she take a weapon? Thankfully, being a blacksmith, Magnus had plenty of instruments lying around. She grabbed a fearsome pair of pliers and headed straight out.
As she drew nearer to the crowd assembled by the mill, the roof of the hut gave out, and the whole thing collapsed on itself in a shower of sparks. Shock caused Agnes to skid to a halt. Dear God, had there been someone inside? As if in answer to her question, two men exited the cloud of smoke, holding a third one between them. Wolf and Sigurd, carrying Björn, whose clothes appeared singed. All three were coughing and stumbling but they were alive. She could only hope no one else was left to retrieve.
“What happened?” she asked a woman who was watching the events unfold with wide eyes.
“Dunne’s hut caught fire earlier that morning. We don’t know how it happened, as Dunne herself was not in. Thankfully, the men were able to contain the fire and it did not spread anywhere. And now that Björn is out, there will be no casualties either.”
