Page 16 of Her Viking Saviour
“I thought you might enjoy a repast as we walk and talk.”
She took the offering with thanks and inhaled the delicious smell of the still warm bread before she tore off a hunk with her teeth.
She caught the gleam of Torben’s white grin.
“Your appetite gives me joy, Wynflaed. I can truly say this is not an emotion I normally feel watching people eat.”
“It must be my ladylike graces,” she said dryly and flourished the bread and cheese in the air.
“I have much to learn about you.”
“And I you, Torben. Where are we going first?”
Wynflaed’s senses were overwhelmed. Torben had showed her so much of Klavik–and introduced her to so many people–she would need days for it to settle into her memory. They hadseen food stores, craftsmen, seamstresses, fishermen, hunters, and livestock caretakers. There were farms and crops in each direction. The settlement was organised and ran smoothly. Everyone did their work with a smile–she was impressed. This could be a hard life, but Torben’s people did not make it seem a miserable burden. She recalled those of equal standing back home, and in comparison the people here looked more content. He was a good man who lent a hand or kind word to all he passed, and she felt something she had never felt for another person, pride. This towering Viking who could cleave a person in two with his axe was also a sweet, kind man and she felt herself softening.
“Why do you look at me so gently, Wynflaed?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“I just find it hard to believe that you are real at times. You are so like my captors in looks and the way you live.” She swept her arm across the settlement. “But you and your people greeted me with warmth and made me feel safe.”
Her confusion only deepened after she said the words out loud. Something visceral pulled her to this man. Something that went beyond gratitude or lust. She could see him every day and be content in his presence. Or even prickly, since he did not seem to mind that side of her. His gaze was thoughtful as he absorbed her words and considered a response.
“It is true that any man of the North–whether here or Jutland–who calls himself a Viking is known to many as a heartless heathen. I am a well-travelled, well-learned man. There are some of my kind, but there are many like Guthred. What I have learned is at our core we are all the same. We all bleed red. We all eat off the land. We all hurt, we all love–and we are all human. To place a lesser value on a person because of where they come from or their rank is not humane. And that is what I expect of my people if they wish to be in Klavik. And you,too, Wynflaed, when you are ready to stop seeing us as Vikings but instead as your people.”
His words washed over her, powerful like a crashing wave, but she felt warm inside like a roaring hearth. A shiver travelled up and down her spine and she nodded. She tried to think of words to parry his but she found herself speechless and stepped closer to grab his hand.
“I will. I feel no ill will toward you.”
A mischievous smile spread across his face.
“And what of when I saw you last? You were as frosty as a winter morning.”
She laughed and squeezed his hand, satisfied with the fluid movement from their heartfelt talk to light-hearted banter. Wynflaed was about to respond in kind when she saw Gunhilda headed towards them.
“What has caused that sour look?” Torben asked gently, as he rubbed his thumb over their still entwined hands. She had not led a pampered life, but her skin was creamy and soft, and he seemed to enjoy it.
His head snapped up when she spoke.
“It appears your woman has come to seek out your attention.”
Chapter Sixteen
Torben was not proud to admit that he revelled in Wynflaed’s blatant jealousy. Her tone was frostier than the snowcapped mountains. The connection he felt with her was not one-sided and he wanted everyone and everything else to fade away so he could explore it further.
But alas, Gunhilda is making her way to me with a determined look on her face. He turned to follow Wynflaed’s gaze. She pulled her hand away and he felt the loss of her touch keenly. His hands flailed in the air, and he quickly moved them to his hips as he gave Gunhilda a nod.
“How do you fare today, Gunhilda? How are the goats?”
“All is well, Torben, and the goats keep me well amused with their endless singing.”
Wynflaed and Gunhilda stared at one another. They both had wide, stiff smiles that did not quite reach their eyes.
“Please accept my apologies, I have yet to make introductions. Gunhilda, let me introduce Wynflaed of Northumbria.”
Gunhilda nodded her head in greeting, her smile unmoving. He cleared his throat at the growing tension and turned to Wynflaed.
“And this is Gunhilda. She, ah, she tends the goats.”
“I gathered as much, Torben, when you asked how the goats were. I am pleased to meet you, Gunhilda.”
