Page 21 of Loving the Blacksmith
Björn opened one eye. The ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “Well, then, my friend, go tell her.”
That very afternoon,under the pretense of showing her how he threw stones, Magnus took Agnes to the clearing in the forest. As she had asked a few times if he could show her how he hunted birds, she didn’t think anything of the request and followed him without comment.
It was time to address what was simmering between them. Because there was something, it was undeniable, a connection such as he’d never felt with anyone before. And unless he was mistaken, Agnes felt it, too. As he’d told Björn, he was thirty summers, a man grown, it was high time his life acquired a purpose.
Their conversation had opened his eyes. The man had almost died saving the daughter of the woman he loved and would do so again if need be. When Wolf and Sigurd had carried his limp form to the bed, coughing, and spluttering, Dunne was all he had talked about. His voice hoarse from having spent too long inhaling smoke, his eyes weeping, his body burned and covered in soot, he’d repeated her name over and over again, asking them if she was all right, even though he was the injured one.
Magnus was suddenly seized by the certainty that Agnes’ name would be the first and only word on his lips if he ever escaped death like Björn had just done. He would not worry about himself, but about never seeing her again. And because of that, he knew he had to ask the question that had been burning his lips ever since he’d left Björn’s hut. The question he’d not thought to ask any woman ever again.
Well, he had to, because his life, already largely meaningless, would not be worth living until he’d had an answer. Sven was convinced the two of them were involved? It was time to make it happen.
“What type of stones do you use?” Agnes asked, her voice as calm as usual. “Big ones, I imagine?”
His chest constricted. Perhaps he was wrong, and she didn’t feel any tension between them. If he didn’t know better, he might think she had forgotten what had happened yesterday. She appeared unperturbed. Looking around as if in search of a suitable pebble, she bent down and picked one the size of an egg. A good choice, he had to admit, but his mind was not on thetask at hand. He was too busy watching her and building up the courage to speak his mind to worry about the best projectile to fell birds.
“One like this?”
With a smile she deposited the stone into his open palm. Before he could think, he dropped it on the ground and took her hand instead.
“Agnes. I have a question to ask. I hope it will not take you by surprise, after what we did yesterday.”
After they’d kissed, he meant. Had she felt what he had felt when their lips had worshipped each other’s? Had she seen the inevitability of it? He could only hope so.
Gathering all his courage, he fell to his knees.
“What are you doing?”
She sounded, and looked flustered. A good sign? He didn’t give himself time to think about it, for fear of seeing his strength desert him.
“Will you marry me?”
Silence descended into the clearing. The wind stilled, the leaves in the trees stopped rustling. Even the birds seemed to suspend their chirping for a moment. Her hand still clasped in his, Agnes was immobile as a statue. There was no need to wait for her answer to know she was about to refuse. She had paled so much one would have thought he’d just asked if he could hack her to pieces, like a real Norse invader.
“I see. You won’t,” he said flatly, getting back to his feet. There was no point in waiting for an answer that would be negative. There was a limit to what a man was prepared to endure. Why oh why had he thought this would go better than it had gone with Edith? Would he ever learn? People did not want him, women would not commit to him. They allowed him to bed them, but nothing more. They wanted pleasure, protection and material advantages, but not a lifetime by his side.
“I’m sorry, Magnus, but I-I can’t marry you.”
Though that was not quite what he had expected her to say, it didn’t make it any better. It was still a refusal. “Why not?”
Her eyes filled with tears and, for a moment, he thought she would throw herself into his arms. His body tensed in preparation for the impact. It never came.
“I’m sorry.”
With those words, she turned and fled, just like she had the day before. Only this time, he had not ordered her to go, she had decided all on her own that she could not stay a moment longer with him.
He did pick up the egg-shaped stone then, and threw it as far as he could, letting out a grunt of anger as he let it fly. Another stone was flung, then another, and another. Far from helping, each target he hit increased his frustration. Aye, he could throw stones and hit his mark every time, but what good did that do? The skill was useless,hewas useless, and Agnes did not want him.
A dead branch on the nearest tree came crashing down when he aimed a fist-sized stone at it. Of course she did not want him, why would she, no one ever did. A piece of rock split in half when he hit it with a pointy pebble. She cared nothing for him, just like everyone else. An empty bird’s nest was knocked off its perch when he threw a heavy stone at it.
His last projectile embedded itself into a young sapling’s bark, inflicting a wound not dissimilar to the one Agnes had just inflicted on his heart. Yes, on his heart, not his pride, which was far, far worse.
He fell to his knees.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It did not surprise Magnus to see that Agnes’ meagre possessions had been removed by the time he got back home that night. After refusing his offer of marriage, she would have felt uncomfortable sleeping in his hut. In his bed.
In his arms.
