Ease The Dawn

Chapter 13

The smell of meat and warm bread awoke Aethelswith's taste buds. Placing down a tray loaded with steaming bowls of thick soup and a plate of pan loaf, Brana quickly set up their meal, before retreating out the tent door, never lingering when Ivar was there.

"Rabbit stew," Aethelswith said, breathing in the aroma. "My favourite."

"I know," Ivar replied.

"How do you know?"

"The thrall told me"

"Which one?"

"I do not know their names, the one that cooks. The one who isn't Brana."

"You do not know their names? How long have they served you?" Aethelswith furrowed her brow.

"Not certain," he said with a shrug.

"Oh."

They ate in silence, the warm bread and richness of the gravy welcome in her tummy after a cup of the wine Ivar had brought back from God knows where. Clearing the empty bowls, Aethelswith refilled their cups; Ivar sticking to mead as the wine was stronger and he liked to keep his senses sharp.

Pulling the tafl board over, he lifted his brow asking her a silent question. Nodding she returned to her stool thinking she would need to nurse this next cup or any cunning against him would be lost.

Watching him set up the board, she noticed that his grey tunic was unlaced at the neck, gaping deeply each time he leaned forward to move a piece. Tanned, smooth skin slid taught over the defined muscle of his broad chest and shoulders. The movement pulling and distorting the dark lines of the ink symbols etched under his skin. She wondered if she ran her fingers over those tattoos, would she feel the lines like a brand or a scar. Never seeing his torso bare, the markings teased her eyes. She wanted to see them in their entirety.

"My lord?"

"I have told you to call me Ivar when we are alone."

"I cannot, God is still here." The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile.

"Good, he can comfort you when you lose."

"My lord?"

"Aethelswith," he crooned back sarcastically.

"Where do you bathe?"

"Why do you want to know?" Tilting forward, he narrowed his eyes, looking cheeky.

"I like to be informed," she chortled softly.

"In another tent." He looked up from the game again. "Would you prefer that I bathe here? In front of you, hmm?"

Rolling her eyes, she took his pawn, sliding her own into its square. They fell back into the rhythm of the game. Her move. His move. She could detect the instant Ivar realized his strategy, his forehead would smooth and his lips would pout as if he held insight into life's greatest queries.

He really was disarming when he was not focussed on triumph, she thought. Enchanting when he genuinely smiled, at night, like they were then; when his severe and formidable exterior could be removed along with the braces on his legs. When his unbearable pain could be soothed by her companionship. Night after night, sharing the intimate space, sharing meals, sharing knowledge of their religions, memories of their childhoods, siblings and the loss of their parents.

"You are staring."

Aethelswith snapped back into her body at his tone.

"Am I?" she breathed. "I am sorry."

"What are you looking at?" Ivar's tone grew serious.

"My apologies."

Pink spread up her neck and into the apples of her cheeks; she cleared her throat twice feeling the effects of both the wine and his scrutiny.

He waited...

"I have just...never...seen... someone like you before," she stuttered. A nightmare! This was a nightmare. Stop talking, she screamed in her head. Stop!

"Someone like me? Like what?" he growled, his jaw clenching. The feeling of foolishness flushed through him; of course, she would see him like everyone else. Why had he behaved so differently with her, like himself, he wondered feeling stupid, his hand tightening around his cup.

"I am unsure of the word to use."

"Crippled?" he sneered.

"Beautiful," she blurted.

Silence. Oh no, she thought. Lord please, pluck me from this stool and deliver me to my death.

More silence.....Ivar looked winded, stunned, his eyes round and face innocent like a boy. He fluttered his long lashes as if someone had just blown a candle out in his face. His eyes were locked on hers which looked equally shocked. The tops of her ears started to burn and panic began to creep its way in. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips to help draw out her next words. Ivar's gaze dropped down to her mouth. Oh no, she thought as he looked back up, but quickly glanced back down to her mouth.

"I apologize, my Lord. I, I must retire. I am rather fatigued." Rising from the stool, her feet fumbled to move around the wooden base, the hem of her green robe feeling much longer all of a sudden.

Like lightening, Ivar reached across the table and grabbed her wrist, her eyes snapping up to meet his. His face was soft, searching hers, with a flicker of something else in his stare. Is that what desire looks like, she wondered? Or fear? Am I even breathing right now, she asked herself, seeing that her hard, harshly battled Viking looked vulnerable. Not the bitter, heartless man the cruel world bound him to be. There you are, she thought, I see you.

"Ivar," his name slipped from her lips, not realizing she had said it until it was already out floating between them. His eyes widened and his fingers tightened on her wrist. She winced under his strength and he whipped his hand back as if he had touched a hot pot.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice sounding strange.

"No. Please excuse me. I... please excuse me."

Quickly, she moved to her bed, tucking under the furs and drawing them up to her chin. She must look like a trapped animal, she thought, focussing on her breath, not wanting to make more of a spectacle. Closing her eyes, she listened for his movements, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sitting stiff behind the wooden table, his gaze burned into the small mound of furs on the far side of the dim tent.

With a soft thud, she heard him drop to the ground and drag himself to the foot of her bed. Her body froze and her breath hitched, not in fear but in the realization that she had altered the delicate veil between them. Jabbed a stick through the beautiful web of their denial. Had she become, in his eyes, the foolish girl that she obviously was? Is that how he saw her?

Letting out a low huff, he moved onward through the door of the warm tent and out, alone, into the darkness.