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‘What do you think of Norsemen?’
‘That they are muscle and—’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘And I have seen firsthand your intelligence.’
‘You would do well to remember that.’ He nodded towards her feet. ‘And it is for anyone. I have seen young men in tears over less. And I think you do yourself a disservice. You have a stronger will than most other women I’ve met.’
‘You met someone with a stronger will?’
His body went rigid, and the stone planes in his face returned. ‘A long time ago.’
‘I had no choice. You would have tethered me to that horse and made me run simply for the pleasure of it. I’ve heard the stories.’
‘I would have slung you over the back with your hands tied behind your back to prevent you stealing my horse.’ His brows drew together. ‘Humiliating a woman ultimately humiliates the man more. My father taught me that.’
Cwenneth breathed a little easier. Thrand Ammundson was no nightmare of a warrior. ‘I stand corrected.’
‘Courage impresses my men. You never know when you will need allies. You impressed them today. Now let’s see about these blisters.’
He ran a finger along the base of her foot. For such a large man, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Warmth spread up her leg, making her feel alive and cared for. She wanted him to keep stroking, keep kneading the ball of her foot. A sharp pain went through her.
She jerked her foot back. ‘That hurt.’
‘The blisters can be healed. Give me the jar.’ He held out his hand. ‘I will show you how and tomorrow you do it yourself. Morning and night until your feet toughen. Tomorrow we go quicker.’ He took the jar from her unresisting fingers and knelt down before her.
A pulse of warmth radiated from his touch. He touched first one blister, then another, spreading the soothing ointment on. Cwenneth leant back on the green moss and gave herself up to the blissful relief of the pain vanishing.
A small sigh of pleasure escaped from her throat. Immediately, he stopped and dropped the jar beside her.
She glanced up at him. His eyes had darkened to midnight-blue.
‘Why do you stop?’ Her voice came out far huskier than she intended.
‘Finish it. You have the idea.’
‘Thank you for this,’ she said, reaching for the jar. A liquid heat had risen between her legs. He hadn’t even kissed her or touched her intimately, and she had behaved like...like a woman of the street rather than the lady she was. He was her enemy, not her friend. Her cheeks burnt with shame. Ever since Aefirth had died, she had been encased in ice. She had been so sure she’d never feel anything like that again and now this. With this man who should be the last person on the planet she was attracted to, her enemy but also her saviour.
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