Page 5

CHAPTER 5

Later that day

She was trying not to stare.

However, it was near impossible, with J?rgen looking as he did—bare chested, his torso glistening with sweat as he rowed them across the chop of the waves.

Rounding the headland had put them in the lea of the wind, obliging them to drop the sail. J?rgen had taken up the oars, insisting she keep her eyes upon the coastline to alert him.

Steadily, he pulled, sinews bunching and relaxing beneath smooth, ink-patterned skin. As he leaned back, her gaze fell to his abdomen, hard-ridged and tight.

His braies sat low on his hips, revealing the defined V-shape that led to his…

“Are we close?” J?rgen’s voice interrupted her reverie.

“Yes, not far now.” She turned away, fixing upon the stacks rising from the sea.

Not that she needed to pay much attention to their progress. She knew full well where they were headed. Another hundred or so strokes on the oars, and they’d be in view of the place.

Angrily, she chided herself. Was she so under his spell that she couldn’t drag herself away? So hungry for more of what he’d given her that she couldn’t behold his body without thinking of him pinning her beneath him? Couldn’t wrench from imagining herself naked and those rough hands gripping the oars taking hold of her? His touch was possessive and thorough.

Since yester-evening, she’d thought of little else than how it had been to have him inside her, connected so intimately. The pain of it was forgotten, replaced only by yearning.

Instinctively, her inner muscles clenched, as if in remembrance of what they’d clasped and what they desired to receive again. She squirmed upon the bench.

Much good it does me!

Now I’ve known such intimacy, ‘twill be even more desolate when I’m alone again. He’ll soon enough be in another’s bed and will think of me no more.

That thought hardened her a little. She was letting her feelings run away, leaving her soft and vulnerable when she should know better.

She realized, suddenly, that J?rgen had stilled the oars, letting them rest upon the cups, so the boat bobbed upon the water. His profile was turned to the shore, scanning the rocks, his jaw squared in concentration. He pushed his palms through his hair, smoothing it from his forehead.

Astrid made herself look away. Uncorking her water pouch, she took the tepid liquid into her mouth.

“This seems familiar. Something about the crags. What say you, Astrid?”

‘Tis uncanny. Is this truly what he’s seen in his dreams? He knows the very contours of the cliffs?

“Only a little farther.” The stretch of shingle was almost in sight. Another twenty strokes and he’d see it for himself.

How much to tell him? She was uncertain.

Early on, she’d explained the island’s predicament—their men ailing and those who survived having left. She’d told J?rgen of the purpose for which he was with her, while making the bargain—for him to respect her taking things at her own pace.

He’d been honest, too, making no attempt to conceal his desire to leave, along with his crewmen. ‘Twas only natural that they were eager to return home. It would happen eventually.

She’d been to inspect their ship. The hull needed work; oars were required, preferably a mast and sails. J?rgen hadn’t asked for her help, but she sensed he was working to affect repairs.

She’d avoided raising the subject. ‘Twas better for her not to know. In any case, the wrecked boat remained on its side upon the beach. They wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

No doubt, there were things he was keeping back, but the same was true of herself. She hadn’t told anyone—not even Bothild—what her father had confided about their ritual. She’d sworn to keep the secret.

Only since learning of J?rgen’s dreams had she begun to wonder if that was wise.

“You often sail this way to fish?” He reached for his own flask, taking a long draught.

“My father didn’t favor this stretch. Never good for fishing, he said. I’ve come this way a few times, but the catch has been disappointing.” Astrid looked out across the water. “It’s ever harder all around the island. I’ve been pushing farther out, although that’s difficult, too. The boat isn’t made for stronger waves.”

J?rgen nodded. “You work hard. I respect that, but it must be lonely… out here without company?”

Astrid kept her gaze averted.

‘Twas true. She was often heartsore. Not so much for company in general, but for her father. Always they’d fished together. Some days, she thought she was growing better at being alone. Others, she could hardly bear to look at the boat.

Fishing was everything. All she knew. All she was good at. If she couldn’t sail, she’d stop being who she was. She kept to her routines, sharing her catch. People had to be fed.

“I’m not complaining. It’s peaceful. Early morning and dusk, the sky is so beautiful, it hurts to look at it.” Her voice trailed away. What was she doing, rambling like this? He wasn’t interested in any of it.

J?rgen leaned forward. His foot nudged hers.

He was looking at her, and his eyes were soft. Was he going to touch her face? To kiss her? She hadn’t let him do that—not on the lips. If she did, she really would be lost.

However, there was no kiss.

Instead, he took up the oars, picking up the rhythm that drove them onward.

“Tell me again what you know of this place.”

“Nothing!” She made herself remain calm. “Only that it was… somewhere the men came, sometimes…”

J?rgen looked in the direction of the cliffs again. She saw the moment when he spotted it—a patch mottled grey and white, sloping down to the water’s edge and farther up an opening splitting the sheer vertical.

A flash of something passed over his features—a tremble of trepidation—his jaw tightening.

Resolutely, he angled the oars, sweeping with his left arm to guide the boat inward toward the landing place.

Despite the sun’s warmth, a chill moved beneath her skin.

It wouldn’t matter what she said.

There would be no stopping him.