Page 45 of Heart of the Wolf
“Tell me.”
“Firebird,” he said, half chuckling, half sighing, knowing she wouldn’t stop until he answered her. “Two sisters of my mother. One lives a quiet life with her family, nestled in the woods. She is kind. One day, I’ll show you off to her.”
“And the other,” she needled.
“Is loud.”
“Loud how?”
“Loud like Styrr. Jealous of my mother. Of me. Of Astrid.”
“Why?”
“Cause her husband is slow and weak. Envious of my mother’s marriage to a future Konungr.”
“How long before she comes?”
“Nothing to fret,” he soothed, stroking the jut of her hip. “Family is always the loudest without acting. And if they did, her husband would likely trip on the way here, impaling himself on his spear by accident.”
Unease still prickled at her fingertips, but his reassurance made warmth pool in her belly. She indicated the bed once more, half expecting him to push her, surprised when Leif relented, sitting on the bed without saying another word. Brielle disappeared into an area nearthe washbasin, filling a bowl with clean water from a pail. Leif grunted in the distance while she gathered bandages, cloth, and a salve.
Huffing with the effort, she yanked a chest closer to the bed, setting her supplies down, aware of him tracking her every movement. Brielle kneeled beside him on the bed, careful not to touch any of the wounds as she assessed them.
The one on his abdomen near his ribs was the worst. She dipped the cloth into the bowl of water, gingerly cleaning the dirty blood from the cut on his torso and forearm, resting her forehead against his.
A line of muscles on his stomach clenched at the next brush of her damp cloth, and she pulled back, murmuring a quiet apology.A palm caressed the column of her spine, sparks dancing in his wake.
“Never sorry,” he soothed, watching with rapt attention as she cared for him.
Tired lips brushed over her temple, his touches so at odds with the harshness of his body. Brielle worked in relative silence, relaxing once she wrapped the salve-covered cuts.
“Does this still sting?” she asked, her delicate fingers dusting over the spot by his ribs.
“No,” he said, his tone questioning. “You are quiet. What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, her too-high voice giving her away. Ignoring him, she tended to the more minor marks on his back. She felt his eyes boring into her. “Truly. It’s just that this life is very different from the one I left. Not that I regret it,” she added when his brow arched.
“Not that different,” he huffed with a grunt as he shifted, favoring his uninjured side. “Norse or English makes no difference. All men vie for power. At least here, they attack your front instead of your back. If someone wishes to rule the clans, we duel. Then it is done.” Leif cupped her chin. “The English work in the shadows. They use gold and secrets to slaughter anyone who stands in their way. Too weak-willed to fight.”
Brielle didn’t doubt his words, having seen how the men of her village acted. Yet, it made her question Leif and his methods.
“Then why did you only spare my village from attack in exchange for supplies? Why not just take what you wanted?”
Leif ran his thumb over her mouth, still holding her jaw. “What?” He angled his body into hers. “Our people are capable. We did not need the meager supplies your village offered. I have zero interest in controlling it.”
Our.It was a gentle reminder that this place was as much hers as his now, regardless of whether they were wed.
“Then why?”
“Because of the one thing all Englishmen want. Power. Greed. The head of that village approached my father when I was still a jarl and bartered with us. Asked us to wipe out a town that threatened his own chances at getting closer to his king,” Leif snorted, and flicked his hand. “Weakling couldn’t do it himself. Instead, he asked us to do it in exchange for providing goods every winter. Left his people with so little just for a taste of power, he is no leader,” Leif spat, hissing and clutching his bandaged ribs.
Anxiety swirled in her stomach, and acid rose higher until it splashed in her mouth. Brielle wrung the cloth in her hands, the one stained with Leif’s blood. Part of her didn’t want to believe it. She dabbed unconsciously at the cuts, a far-off stare settling in her gaze.
“So, I nearly starved because my father wanted to be closer to the crown?”Was everything her father told her a lie?“I was in the woods that day, desperately gathering supplies, alone, all to meet our quota. All because I was told we would be slaughtered if we didn’t. All because my father lied to me.”
Tears fell unbidden down her face. Not from sadness, but from anger. All the horrible things he had told her about the Norse. Yet, he was the one starving his people for a chance at power.
His own daughter.
