My Lord Viking by Jo Ann Ferguson

his eyes from that tantalizing sight to meet her gaze when she said, “Your enemies will have no need to put an end to you if you do them a favor and kill yourself by trying to do too much too soon.   Yesterday, you were senseless, except for an apparent brain fever that drove you mad, and you...”
          “I could not have destroyed that bench when I am bandaged like this.”   He frowned at his arm.   “I could not raise an ax from the floor.”
          “And you shall not be able to for a long time when you risk your recovery by trying to walk across the room as if nothing had happened to you.”
          “Do not treat me like a witless child.”
          “Only a witless child would act so and risk recovery simply for pride’s sake.”   She turned away when her servant rushed back up the stairs and to her side, an expression of anxiety and disbelief on her face.  
          Nils muttered a curse under his breath.   Loki must be enjoying Linnea’s arrogance when she treated him like a witless babe.
          “It is fine, Olive,” Linnea said.   “I am fine.”
          “But he—”
          Linnea glanced back at him, her face blank of any emotion.   “He is excitable.   Once he realizes where he is and that he is safe from his attacker, he will calm down.”
          “Attackers,” Nils interjected quietly.   “Kortsson was the last.”
          “More than one?” the woman named Olive asked.   Her face became as gray as his must be beneath his bruises.   “What if they come to the house, my lady?   What if—?”
          Firing him a furious scowl, Linnea steered her maid back to a chair next to the window by the stairs.   “Sit here and watch for Jack to return with Mr. Bjornsson’s soup.”
          “I would rather look out the window and see if anyone is approaching.”
          “I doubt they will come up the road.”  
          Nils was surprised when a laugh tickled the back of his throat.   Linnea Sutherland had the clear eyes of a warrior, seeing the truth that others might choose to ignore in the midst of their panic.   Keeping the laugh from escaping, he wore no expression as Linnea walked back to him.   He struggled to focus his eyes on her face and not on the gentle sway of her hips.  
          “You should sit,” she said, her tone still taut.
          “How can I sit when I am filled with questions about what has happened to me?”
          “You should sit, so you can recover from what happened to you.”   She motioned toward an iron bench by an open window.
          When had that been brought here?   Linnea and her servants were determined that no other bench would be shattered to kindling.
          Nils hopped on his good leg to it.   When he glanced at her, she was not smiling.   Was she sympathetic or hiding another emotion?   He did not ask as he eased himself back onto the bench.  
          When she poured something into a goblet and brought it to him, he was pleased to sip the fragrant wine.   He never had sampled anything so dulcet.   Letting his shoulders ease back against the wall behind him, he watched as Linnea sat on a stool in front of him.   She might be sitting below him, but there was nothing subservient in her pose.  
          “Thank you.”   He chuckled.   “I assume that is another phrase you did not guess I knew in my language or yours.”
          A lovely color brightened her cheeks.   “That was rude of me to say.”
          “When did the truth become considered rude?”
          “You are a guest here at Sutherland Park , and it was inappropriate for me to say.”
          Swirling the wine in the bright blue glass, Nils regarded her closely as he lowered his voice.   “I also recall you saying that Ethelred is no longer king of England .”
          “Not for almost a thousand years.”   She stiffened, and he knew she was