forming. “What do you mean—take it back? Hawthorne House isn’t a fortress you can invade and simply conquer.”
“But it is.” He continued leading the boy down to the edge of the shore, and she followed, hurrying to keep up.
“You’re just one man. There’s nothing you can do,” she pointed out.
Arik ignored her protests. She might doubt him, but there were mercenaries who would follow his bidding, no matter what sort of world this was.
He let go of the boy’s hand and bent down to the salt water. It was freezing, numbing his skin as he washed. Arik showed the child how to wash the mud from his hands and forearms, but Harry didn’t at all look eager to get clean.
“At dawn, we will ride out. The boy should stay here with the old woman, and you will show me the place that rightfully belongs to you,” he told her.
Already she was shaking her head. “Mr. Thorgrim, no.”
He didn’t understand the title Mister that she kept calling him. “My name is Arik. And believe that I will not fail you in this.”
She stared at him in disbelief, and he countered it by pressing her weakness. “Do you want your son to spend the remainder of the winter in a place like this?” He rested his hands upon the boy’s shoulders. “Or would you rather see him warm and dry with enough food to eat?”
“It’s not a good idea. Marcus could—”
“Does he live there, at Hawthorne House?”
“No, but he’s taken possession of the property. The servants won’t allow me anywhere near the grounds.”
“We’ll ride out in the morning and make our plans.”
Juliana grew silent at that, looking doubtful. Arik knelt beside the boy and took Harry’s hands in his. The boy yelped when he helped him dip his hands into the water, washing them.
“Yes, it is cold,” he agreed, rinsing his own arms again from elbow to wrist. The boy put on a brave face and washed his hands a second time, shivering hard. Arik reached out to take Harry’s hand but was startled when the boy hugged him. The impulsive gesture was unexpected, and it bothered him that this child had never known a father. He wasn’t at all a person the boy should grow attached to. He was as good as dead, his spirit transported across time.
When this task was done, Arik didn’t want the boy to feel abandoned. Better that he should keep his distance. Though it bothered him, he extricated the boy from his embrace and kept a stoic face as they returned to the house.
Juliana was beginning to understand exactly how Eve had felt when the serpent tempted her with the apple.
Arik stood near the fire with his back to the room. She’d given him a basin of warmed water and a towel to dry himself. He’d soaked the cloth in the water, and though she was helping Grelod bathe Harry, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him. Stripped of his tunic, the broad-shouldered man had the most muscular form she’d ever seen.
Water rolled in heavy droplets down his bare skin, and as he reached back to wash, her mind drifted to the night they’d spent together. It was no wonder she’d believed he was a dream, for she’d never imagined any man could look like this. His face wasn’t at all like the other men she’d known—charming and handsome. No, his held the scars of battle, his dark hair rough and wild. He seemed to sense that she was staring, and he turned toward her. His dark brown eyes held wickedness, and he let her look her fill.
Goodness, he really did seem like a Viking, foolish thought that it was.
The ridged muscles across his chest held a dusting of hair, while his abdomen was lean and firm. Her skin tightened against her gown, and Juliana hardly heard a word her maid was saying.
“Mama,” Harry interrupted. “Isn’t the house warmer? Did I do well, helping Mr. Thorgrim fix the cracks?”
“You did, son.” She forced her attention back to the boy, who was shivering while Grelod dressed him in his nightclothes.
“Come and eat, both of
“But it is.” He continued leading the boy down to the edge of the shore, and she followed, hurrying to keep up.
“You’re just one man. There’s nothing you can do,” she pointed out.
Arik ignored her protests. She might doubt him, but there were mercenaries who would follow his bidding, no matter what sort of world this was.
He let go of the boy’s hand and bent down to the salt water. It was freezing, numbing his skin as he washed. Arik showed the child how to wash the mud from his hands and forearms, but Harry didn’t at all look eager to get clean.
“At dawn, we will ride out. The boy should stay here with the old woman, and you will show me the place that rightfully belongs to you,” he told her.
Already she was shaking her head. “Mr. Thorgrim, no.”
He didn’t understand the title Mister that she kept calling him. “My name is Arik. And believe that I will not fail you in this.”
She stared at him in disbelief, and he countered it by pressing her weakness. “Do you want your son to spend the remainder of the winter in a place like this?” He rested his hands upon the boy’s shoulders. “Or would you rather see him warm and dry with enough food to eat?”
“It’s not a good idea. Marcus could—”
“Does he live there, at Hawthorne House?”
“No, but he’s taken possession of the property. The servants won’t allow me anywhere near the grounds.”
“We’ll ride out in the morning and make our plans.”
Juliana grew silent at that, looking doubtful. Arik knelt beside the boy and took Harry’s hands in his. The boy yelped when he helped him dip his hands into the water, washing them.
“Yes, it is cold,” he agreed, rinsing his own arms again from elbow to wrist. The boy put on a brave face and washed his hands a second time, shivering hard. Arik reached out to take Harry’s hand but was startled when the boy hugged him. The impulsive gesture was unexpected, and it bothered him that this child had never known a father. He wasn’t at all a person the boy should grow attached to. He was as good as dead, his spirit transported across time.
When this task was done, Arik didn’t want the boy to feel abandoned. Better that he should keep his distance. Though it bothered him, he extricated the boy from his embrace and kept a stoic face as they returned to the house.
Juliana was beginning to understand exactly how Eve had felt when the serpent tempted her with the apple.
Arik stood near the fire with his back to the room. She’d given him a basin of warmed water and a towel to dry himself. He’d soaked the cloth in the water, and though she was helping Grelod bathe Harry, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him. Stripped of his tunic, the broad-shouldered man had the most muscular form she’d ever seen.
Water rolled in heavy droplets down his bare skin, and as he reached back to wash, her mind drifted to the night they’d spent together. It was no wonder she’d believed he was a dream, for she’d never imagined any man could look like this. His face wasn’t at all like the other men she’d known—charming and handsome. No, his held the scars of battle, his dark hair rough and wild. He seemed to sense that she was staring, and he turned toward her. His dark brown eyes held wickedness, and he let her look her fill.
Goodness, he really did seem like a Viking, foolish thought that it was.
The ridged muscles across his chest held a dusting of hair, while his abdomen was lean and firm. Her skin tightened against her gown, and Juliana hardly heard a word her maid was saying.
“Mama,” Harry interrupted. “Isn’t the house warmer? Did I do well, helping Mr. Thorgrim fix the cracks?”
“You did, son.” She forced her attention back to the boy, who was shivering while Grelod dressed him in his nightclothes.
“Come and eat, both of
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