Magnus and Sven nodded in understanding and agreement, for lust was one thing, but violating one's honor was a completely other matter.
Rurik climbed from the water and picked up his clothes, making his way back to the camp without another word. He'd explained all he needed to explain and more than he wanted to, but admitting his reactions seemed to lessen them. Taking a deep breath of the cooling night air, Rurik felt in control and ready to face the challenges of the rest of the journey north.
Then he spied the sisters' habits strewn over the bushes where he'd thrown them and was stopped in his tracks.
She was sleeping without garments on this night. The cold water had brought a rosy glow to her skin, one he noticed on her face when he helped her from the water. Such a glow would cover not only her face but extend down onto her neck and her breasts and even her …
Sweet Freya's Tits!
As he pushed his way back through the trees to the camp, he fought the powerful urge that filled him and nearly made him change direction toward where she slept. In spite of his best efforts, he knew that the only thing that kept his feet on the path to the place where he'd left his supplies was the sound of Sven and Magnus following not far behind.
This night, when she had affected him so strongly, he would accept their presence and their knowledge of his weakness as the way to fight this attraction. Surely, in the light of day, he would have more strength.
Rurik tugged his breeches and tunic back on his damp skin and wrapped a blanket over his shoulders. Finding a tree with a broad trunk, he sat next to it, laid out his sword and two daggers within reach and then leaned back to rest. With a nod, he acknowledged the first two men serving as guards this night. They positioned themselves away from the remnants of the fire so they could see the whole camp. When Sven and Magnus gained their makeshift pallets, quiet descended and soon the air was filled with the sounds of night.
Fair fortune was with them, for the weather held for several more days, allowing the party to cover miles and make their way steadily north. The winds were cooler and there was no repeat of the incident that sent the nuns tripping, or jumping, in the river. Whether that was a good thing or no', Rurik debated, for he did not see that lighthearted side of Margriet over the next few days. The sickness plagued her each day, though she seemed to rally as they moved on.
Fight it though he did, he could not resist the urge to watch her as they traveled. He was simply more circumspect about it so that others did not notice. Or he tried to be.
In many ways, she reminded him of Connor's wife, Jocelyn.
Capable.
Smart.
Kind.
And they both possessed an earthy kind of sensuality that drew men, although neither would admit to it or to their beauty.
Jocelyn swore she was plain of face, but if she ever saw the way her face glowed when she looked at Connor, she would realize how wrong she was. Margriet's habit hid most of her beauty, but having glimpsed it briefly, Rurik remembered the raven hair, framing the heart-shaped face with its flawless skin, entrancing eyes and lips meant to …
Ah, he did but repeat his error again, focusing on the facets of Margriet that drew him like a bee to nectar. He turned back to see how the women fared and allowed only a momentary inspection before the solution struck him.
When he met Jocelyn for the first time, he was infatuated with her. Of course, he'd not known that she was the laird's new wife when he'd snuck up behind her at the river's edge and attempted something more. But once the boundaries of their relationship were set, he and Jocelyn became friends, a good thing considering what happened to her those next weeks in Lairig Dubh as she and Connor struggled their way to happiness.
So, if befriending Jocelyn had helped him rid himself of the lustful feelings he had for her, mayhap it would work with Margriet? There were so many more reasons for trying it now, her vows, her father … his father. Possibly this would be a way around his body's reactions?
Rurik looked up at the sky, gauging the height of the sun and their journey so far this day. Leathen already rode ahead looking for an appropriate place to stop for the night. Tonight he would put his plan in action.
Chapter Seven
The Earl's Hall
Kirkvaw
Thorfinn strode from the latest audience with his father and sought out his own chambers. The anger built inside until he was ready to destroy something … or someone. Slamming the doors behind him, he ordered the servants out and then did as he felt-the nearest table his target.
But, even knocking it over and spilling everything on it all over the floor did not relieve his frustration, so the lantern was next and then the pitcher of ale and the cups with it. Bashing them against the wall, spilling ale from one end of the chamber to the other simply increased his rage. He screamed out his anger.
The servant who entered the rooms then must have realized his mistake for he tried to leave. Thorfinn stepped in front of him and grabbed him by the tunic. Throwing him to the floor, he kicked him and ordered him to clean the mess. The damn fool deserved far more punishment, for he should know not to look at him in disrespect.
He, Thorfinn, was the legitimate son of Erengisl Sunesson and he should be inheriting everything. He should stand in his father's stead. He should be second to his father, representing him here or wherever needed. Instead, the bastard son had been called back to steal part of his inheritance and to steal the standing he should have as the only son, the only son that mattered.
Thorfinn tugged his cloak from his shoulders and tossed it on the floor. When the impudent servant stared at him once more, it took only a few swiftly delivered blows before the man learned his place-on the floor, at Thorfinn's feet. Only the knock at the door spared him further attention. Pushing the servant aside, Thorfinn walked to the door and opened it himself. His man asked leave to enter.
"You are long overdue," Finn said, taking a deep breath. The rage was spent now-using his fists always relieved it-and he wanted to hear the news in private. "Get rid of him and get me wine."
As Sigurd summoned servants to fulfill his wishes, Thorfinn went over to the window and watched the ships in the busy harbor. His chambers overlooked the water and he could see merchant vessels and smaller sailing skiffs dot the surface of the waters. When the noises behind him subsided, he turned and held out his hand for the cup he'd ordered. Sigurd did not disappoint him in that, and Thorfinn hoped he would not in the task given him, either. For his own sake as well as Thorfinn's plans.
The table was righted and the papers and books replaced on its surface. The disciplined servant was gone as well, but the blood on the floor and the ale on the wall would need to be scrubbed later. Thorfinn sat in a chair and waited on Sigurd's report. A little punishment to one and all of his underlings behaved better, or so it seemed to him when Sigurd launched into a succinct and thorough account.
The bastard Rurik was on his way to Kirkvaw after several delays in receiving his father's call. Thorfinn smiled at the thought of those delays and how angry his father was over them. The bastard did indeed escort Gunnar's daughter back now and the slut was forlorn over "Finn's" sudden departure.
The best part, the part that made his heart pound in anticipation of the success of his plans, was that there were many signs that his debauching of her was successful. Sigurd's man had spoken directly to a woman at the convent who had, with a bit of strong-armed convincing, revealed the slut's condition.
Nothing would neutralize Gunnar more than the dishonor of his daughter. So many arrangements would be undone over it, so much respect lost by it, that Thorfinn knew it had been the right thing to do. And, although Gunnar would know he was behind it all, there was nothing the Erengisl's first counselor could do to expose him or his hand in it all.
And Gunnar deserved all the humiliation he got, for it was his persuasion that convinced his father to call the bastard home. It was Gunnar who suggested that Rurik was a good man to leave in charge and who could rule in his father's name. It was Gunnar who stole his birthright and his father's esteem from him and Gunnar would be made to pay.
Thorfinn clenched the cup so tightly in his hand that it left an imprint on his palm. He tried to calm the shaking as he drank deeply of the wine. His thoughts were filled with images of the lovely, but stupid Margriet.