‘I know. It was one of the first things you said to me.’
‘You remember that?’ He felt absurdly pleased by the fact. ‘I didn’t think you were listening to me that day.’
‘I was. You said you hated drizzle and clouds that hang in the air for days.’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
She shrugged. ‘The rain feeds the forest. Without the grey days, the bright ones wouldn’t be so beautiful.’
‘I’d still rather have one big storm than a week of grey.’
‘Big storms cause damage. Trees are blown down and animals are frightened. You need more patience, Norseman.’ She gave him a chiding look and then clambered on to the pile of furs, pulling her knees to her chest and then tilting her head at the sound of a low rumble of thunder in the distance. ‘But perhaps you’ll get your wish.’
‘Mmm?’ Danr lifted his gaze quickly from where her tunic had ridden up to her calves. ‘What wish?’
‘It sounds as if there’s a storm coming.’
‘Ah.’ He averted his face to stare intently into the fire. It hadn’t exactly been what he’d been wishing for at that moment, but as long as she didn’t guess what had really been on his mind—or, more specifically, which part of her body... He gritted his teeth, re-ordering his thoughts before glancing back over his shoulder. ‘I thought you’d be asleep by now. You said you were tired.’
‘I am.’ She looked pensive. ‘But I was thinking.’
‘About my stupidity again?’ He quirked an eyebrow, but her expression remained serious.
‘About everything you told me. You might have rushed in too quickly by confronting your stepmother, but it was understandable. You thought you’d found the person responsible for destroying your family. Most people would probably have acted the same way. Maybe reckless is a better word.’
‘It sounds better.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Thank you.’
She nodded her head and patted the space next to her on the furs. ‘You can sleep here when you’re dry.’
‘You mean beside you?’ He felt as if all the air in the room had just been sucked up through the chimney.
‘Yes. You can’t sleep on the bench and it’s not good to sleep so close to the fire.’
‘I can sleep on the floor.’
She gave him a questioning look and then shrugged as if she didn’t care either way, wriggling down beneath her furs. ‘Do as you please. Only, if you do decide to sleep here don’t wake me.’
* * *
Sissa opened her eyes, brought back to consciousness by the tumult of wind and rain outside. The rumble of thunder had apparently been just the beginning of a storm. The rain was coming down in torrents now, lashing the sides of the roundhouse, finding its way down the chimney and making the hearth sizzle. She’d found it hard enough getting to sleep at all, firstly because she’d been worried about him freezing to death outside and then, after she’d invited him in, because her mind had still kept on whirling with everything he’d told her. She’d stared at the turf wall beside her head for a long time, thinking. His story had been difficult to listen to, so close to her own that she’d felt her stomach churn and a cold sweat break out on her brow several times. At one point she’d almost begged him to stop, feeling as if she were about to be sick.
Fortunately, she hadn’t, mumbling a few brief words of sympathy instead before shifting his attention on to the subject of his stepmother. It had been easier to think about who might have been responsible for the massacre than the events themselves. She didn’t blame Danr for suspecting Hilda, but she couldn’t help but feel there were holes in his theory. There were other holes in what he’d told her, too, about where he’d been when the massacre had happened, for example, but it was obvious he hadn’t wanted to tell her, which meant that, wherever he had been, he felt guilty about it.
She rolled on to her other side and almost bumped into him. She’d assumed that he’d chosen to sleep on the floor since she hadn’t felt him get into bed before she’d finally drifted off to sleep, which made his presence beside her something of a surprise now, albeit not an unpleasant one. He was lying on his back, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm of long, drawn-out breaths. She wasn’t sure why she’d invited him into her bed when she might have simply have offered him a fur for the floor, but it had seemed a reasonable idea at the time. Sharing a warm bed on a cold, stormy night was only practical, just as it had been when she’d been nursing him, although she had to admit that her feelings towards him had changed significantly in the few days since. She still had no intention of letting him stay any longer than was necessary, but now that she knew his story, he seemed more real somehow, less of a warrior and more of a man. It made it impossible to see him as just a warm body, either. Ever since that moment when their fingers had tangled, she’d found herself becoming more and more curious about him, not to mention more and more tempted to touch him again. It was strange how the idea of touching someone, of being touched as well, didn’t alarm her in the way it had even a day ago. Now she was aware of a strange yearning sensation, wondering what it would be like to feel his skin against hers. The warmth radiating from his body tempted her to move closer and find out, to reach out and stroke her fingers across his chest, just to see how it felt...
She resisted the impulse, rolling away from him to stare at the ceiling instead.
‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘Oh!’ The sound of his voice in her ear made her start guiltily. Had he known she’d just been staring at him? ‘No. I was thinking again.’
‘So was I.’ He smiled as she twisted her face back towards him. ‘About how glad I am you took pity on me tonight. I would have been washed away by now otherwise.’
‘Probably.’
He folded his good arm behind his head, his expression turning serious. ‘If you’re still thinking about what I told you earlier, then I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘No.’ She swallowed, intensely aware of the curve of his bicep beside her. ‘I wasn’t thinking of that...’ Her voice trailed away as heat flared in her chest. How could she tell him what she’d really just been thinking? He’d said that he couldn’t mate and she didn’t even know if she wanted to, but on the other hand, why not talk to him about it? He was the one who liked talking so much. What was the worst that could happen? He could walk out and leave? She’d already told him to do that. Repeatedly.