The door thudded behind her and she swivelled. Alrek thrust out her mantle. Ilisa shook her head to herself. Even in Pictish clothes his effect on her didn’t diminish. How she had hoped having his chest covered would allow her to quash her heated thoughts. But the linen stretched across the width of his chest and followed every line of his muscles. Her husband had been smaller than Alrek so it shouldn’t have surprised her but to see that body covered, yet tantalisingly displayed made her heart flip. Ilisa itched to touch the golden skin at the neckline of his shirt and press small kisses to it. Her tongue practically burned at the idea of tasting his flesh.
He thrust her mantle at her again. “You will get cold.”
She started, shaking herself from her thoughts and snatched the cloak from him. “My thanks.” Glancing at the ominous clouds in the distance, Ilisa motioned toward the river that could be seen snaking through the hills. “I must fetch water before the weather turns. Then I shall prepare you some food.”
“I shall help. Where are your buckets?”
“Uh, there.” She pointed to the side of the cottage where a weaved wooden shelter housed the farm tools and buckets.
“And you store the wood there?”
“Aye.”
“Alrek, you need not—”
He gave her a pointed look, blue eyes blazing into hers. “I do not know what the men in your past were like—whether they were honourable or not—but I would not leave you to do all the work alone.”
Ilisa’s face grew warm. Her brother and husband had been hardworking men but it had been so long since she’d spent time with a man. She’d forgotten how to share the burden of trying to survive. She worked every day for long hours until her bones were aching and cold. What other choice did she have? But it never occurred to her when she fished Alrek out of the sea that this Viking would aid her with her chores.
Together they moved the wood under the shelter and fetched a bucket each. The river that snaked between the hills only took a few minutes to reach but Ilisa was grateful she’d only have to make a couple of trips instead of many with Alrek’s help. The animals needed their water and she still required a wash. Not to mention she hoped to prepare a warm meal this night. Though Alrek had shown no signs of illness since she rescued him, it seemed odd he had not succumbed to a fever of any sort. But then her people often thought of the Vikings as men of the sea. Perhaps he could better survive the cold temperature of the water.
“That will be enough,” she said on their fourth trip.
Alrek lifted his gaze to the clouds looming over them. They had yet to break, a blessing in Ilisa’s mind.
“Thor is angry.”
“Your god?”
“Aye.”
They stopped at the tub she kept at the side of the house. “We have seen many storms recently but I will not complain should we see rain. It will fill this” —she motioned to the wooden tub— “to the brim and then I shall not need to fetch water for several days.”
Alrek shook his head. “You should not be grateful that Thor is angry. He is not a god to be trifled with.”
“Aye, Alrek” —she glanced at him sideways— “but he would not be angry with me. I am not one of his people.”
His lips lifted in amusement. “Well that I can believe. Who could stay angry with you, little Pict.”
She shook her head at his words. Did he understand how close to extinction her people were? How the Vikings had broken them? Her culture was being eroded away by the Scots. Already the ancient language of her people had given way to Gaelic and few followed the old Pagan ways. The constant attacks from the Vikings and Scots had brought them to the brink. With enemies on all sides, how were they to survive?
“Come, I must take some water to the sheep.”
“I can do that,” Alrek offered.
“Nay, we shall do it together.” It would not do to become too dependent on the man.
They headed up to the flock in silence and filled the troughs as the sky darkened. Ilisa trembled and peered at the clouds, so grey she could almost believe a god commanded them. Shadows increased and the wind whirled. She lifted the hood of her mantle and snatched up the bucket as the first drops fell.
Alrek took the bucket from her, stacked it on top of his and enclosed her hand in his. The rain began to fall with enthusiasm, fat heavy drops threatening to soak them to the skin. Underfoot the ground grew slick and though the warmth of Alrek’s palm disconcerted her, he stopped her from slipping several times.
Muddy and wet, they dropped the buckets and stumbled into the cottage. She grimaced when she spied the drips of water seeping through the roof and puddling on the floor. With a sigh, she put a couple of bowls under the worst of them and turned to face Alrek. His shirt now practically see through, she saw every line of his muscle. He chuckled as he swiped away the water from his face.