They had to be both mother and father to their children. Our folklore speaks of many a mythical heroine who bested the men.’
‘The men must not have liked that,’ said Rosamund, encouraged by hearing of such brave women.
‘The men transformed some women into monsters when they told their tales round their fires in the great halls. I remember hearing of the Valkyries, or Odin’s Maids as they are also named.’ His eyes darkened as he remembered Ingrid referring to herself as one such maid—that was when she was not boasting of being a descendent of Lady Ingeborg Knutsdotter.
Rosamund smiled. ‘I would hear more of them. I know of Odin. My brother used to tell me tales of the old gods when I was a child. Of Thor and his hammer and how he—’ She stopped abruptly and looked confused. ‘I had forgotten about that until you reminded me. How strange.’
‘The mind has a habit of throwing up the unexpected,’ he said softly. ‘Do not let it disturb you. It has happened to me often since I received that blow on the head that rendered me unconscious. Do you remember aught else about your brother?’
‘I was told that he had drowned.’ She hesitated. ‘For years I had dreams in which I saw him being carried away, but my stepmother said I was hallucinating and quite mad. There have been times when I wished that I had died like my mother and brother.’
Alex frowned. ‘You should never wish death upon yourself. Life is for living, however painful it might be.’
She flushed. ‘I know such thoughts are sinful, but my life was difficult after their deaths. I have long believed Lady Monica hated me because of my mother.’
Alex reflected on the selfishness of parents and the vulnerability of children. Had Sir James been aware of Lady Monica’s treatment of his daughter? He remembered her mention of stepbrothers.
‘What about Lady Monica’s sons?’ he asked.
Suddenly Rosamund realised that she had been talking too much and wondered if the question was meant to trick her. She knew so little about this foreigner, not even his name. ‘I have said enough,’ she murmured, wondering what it was about this man that had so loosened her tongue—or perhaps it was the wine that had done that?
Alex would have liked to have continued the conversation, but decided that tomorrow would be soon enough to resume their conversation. So he ate his supper; when she had finished eating, he removed the tray. He returned to discover that she had fallen asleep curled up in her cloak, and seeing her so vulnerable, his instincts were to protect her. Then he told himself he must not allow his feelings to soften too much towards her. He already knew her to be a liar. Yet he found himself picking up the blanket folded at the foot of her pallet and covering her with it. Then he placed his saddlebags between them, settled himself on his own pallet and almost immediately fell asleep.
Rosamund woke, feeling snug and comfortable until she realised that she was using the Swedish man’s saddlebags as a pillow. There was also a weight on her chest and a heaviness on her hip. She started up in fright and attempted to move her sleeping companion’s hand without waking him.
Alex was having a nightmare and surfaced from fathoms deep, believing himself under attack. His hand curled on a slender hose-clad thigh and he struggled to free his other one that was being held. He dragged his hand free and the next moment had drawn his dagger and was astride his assailant with the blade against his throat.
Rosamund squealed and dug her fingernails into the back of his hand. ‘I beg you don’t kill me! I have no weapon!’
Alex paused, blinked and stared down into the panicstricken face. Now he was aware of the curve of a very feminine hip against his thigh and felt a stirring in his loins. He watched the soft lips part and the tip of her tongue dart nervously along her upper lip and felt an overwhelming urge to plunder her mouth with lips and tongue. A long moment passed and he could feel the pulse in her neck racing against his fingers. The blueviolet eyes appeared larger than usual as they entreated him not to hurt her. He loosened his grip and backed away. Deeply disturbed by the feelings she had roused in him, he moved away from her over to the window.
A stupefied Rosamund could scarcely believe that from being convinced he might kill her, several heartthudding moments later, she was persuaded that he had been about to kiss her. What madness was that? Surely if she had betrayed herself and he knew her to be a woman, then he would have turned away in disgust? She told herself that it might yet happen.
Warily, she gazed at his back and then her scrutiny lowered to his tapering waist and then even lower. She stared at the length of his long, muscular legs in the tightly fitting hose as he stood there, unmoving for several moments. Then he shook his head, yawned and stretched. Transfixed, she watched the hem of his shirt ride up over his thighs to reveal the swell of his buttocks beneath the hose. Blushing fiercely, she turned her back on him.
When face to face with him once more, it was to see that he had donned doublet and boots. ‘We’ve slept too long,’ he said, averting his eyes from her flushed face. ‘Get yourself up, Master Wood.’
Rosamund wasted no time in doing so. ‘Does the late hour and such haste mean that we do not have time to break our fast?’ she asked gruffly.
‘We’ll eat in the saddle,’ he replied. ‘I’ll speak to the innkeeper about food and then fetch the horse.’
She nodded, wondering what it would have felt like to be kissed by him. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself for thinking such thoughts. He believed her to be a youth and she was wicked to even consider it. Besides, the only kisses she had experienced were those forced upon her by Edward and he had crushed her teeth against her inner lip so that it bled. Kissing was no fun and she still knew so little about this Swede.
Rosamund locked the door so she could tend to a desperate need in the chamber pot before hurrying downstairs, thinking how much easier attending certain bodily needs were for men. She was on her way to the stables when she saw her travelling companion coming towards her. He was leading his horse and carrying what appeared to be a pillion seat in the other hand. ‘I have purchased this from the innkeeper,’ he said. ‘I will fix it on to my horse and it will be more comfortable for you. We will stop to eat after we have a good few miles behind us.’
Her brow puckered, and reluctantly she said, ‘We will not make much speed sharing the same horse. You’ll reach London the swifter without me. Why do you not go on ahead without me?’
Alex was annoyed by her suggestion and thought he knew what had caused it. ‘No,’ he said tersely. ‘You scarcely managed to cope with that woman last night. What if you were set upon by thieves? I reckon we will still arrive in the city in time for the business I have to tend to there. Besides, I deem you could be of use to me when we reach London.’
She was surprised. ‘In what way can I be of use to you?’
‘I will tell you when I know you better.’
‘You know more about me than I do you,’ she retorted. ‘Do you not think it is time I have a name by which to call you?’
Alex studied her features. ‘Why?’
‘You address me as Master Wood as is polite, but you are Master No Name and that does not seem right to me.’
He hesitated. ‘My name is Master Nilsson and my home is in Gotland, Sweden.’
Rosamund smiled. ‘I recognise the name of the place. My father imported furs, amber-and-silver goods from your northern climes, although he complained about having trouble with Scottish pirates, as well as the Hanseatic League due to the latter’s monopoly of trade in the Baltic.’
‘Aye. I have experienced trouble with pirates myself,’ he said drily.
‘You have?’ She would like to know more.
He looked thoughtful as he busied himself attaching the pillion seat to his horse. Then he seized her by the waist, causing her to squeal as he lifted her up on to the pillion seat.
She clung to the wooden arms.