He shook his head, and she gripped his biceps. Hard.
“There’s still more to learn about that night. I couldn’t continue after, well, you know how you found me.”
Crying in her sleep.
“When I put myself in a dream, I always envision a door and then I walk right through it in my mind. There’s only ever been your door in my mind.
A possessive satisfaction settled into his chest.
“But last night there were two doors. My past and, next to it, yours.” Osborn stiffened.
“They have to be side by side for a reason. I think it’s because when I go through your door to be with you…nothing frightens me.”
“It should. I should frighten you.” What he wanted to do to her body, what he wanted from her, that should all frighten her.
“But it doesn’t.” She ran her fingers along his jaw. “You would never hurt me. I’ve known that for a while.”
He didn’t know it. In fact, she could almost count on him hurting her. It was inevitable. His past. His decisions. Those would hurt her. When his brothers were ready, he’d leave this cottage and seek those who killed his family. His plans were not those of a man who would make life easy for a woman. He gripped her fingers to still her touch.
“Remember how we are together in my dreams?” she asked, refusing to let him push her hand away. “How perfect?”
He could make love to her in that fantasy world she created as they slept. His cock hardened at the thought. Yes. He could caress every part of her body. Brand her with his touch. Drive into her as his body demanded. And he could hold her.
Yet no matter how amazing their coupling would be in the dream, Osborn knew he would wonder and crave the real thing until he was mad.
“Those dreams were lies,” he told her, his teeth clenched.
“Aren’t you even curious?”
Hell, yes, he was curious. Curious if she’d meet his gaze when he joined his body with hers. Ached to learn the feel of her softness as she welcomed him into her. Dying to know—
“Lies,” he said again. Just to stay sane.
Her hand dropped and her expression turned sad. “If it makes you feel any better, sometimes those lies I shared with you were the only thing I really looked forward to.” Breena turned on her heel and walked away from him
The blood pounded in his head. Those dreams were the only thing that brought anything even approaching happiness into his life. Until he found her sleeping in his bed.
All she wanted was to dream with him. Be with him in a dream. How could he refuse?
He reached for her shoulder, his fingers curving into her skin. “I’ll do it.”
BERNT HAD GIVEN UP HIS bed for Breena. He and Osborn would begin building a new frame for him the next day. It was a tight fit in the storeroom, but after some shifting and one banged-in corner, the bed finally sat in the storeroom for Breena’s use.
She kissed both their cheeks. “Thank you so much,” she told them, her voice as happy as if Osborn had bestowed on her the rarest of jewels. Somewhere out in one of the realms there was a man who would be giving Breena gifts with gems and gowns and all the things women liked.
But she was his for now.
Breena quickly dressed the bed in warm blankets and pelts. They wouldn’t be sleeping before the fire, and she’d need more coverings to keep warm. There also wasn’t nearly the kind of room for the two of them on Bernt’s old bed. Breena lifted the blankets and crawled to the edge of the bed, which was pushed up against the wall.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked.
Her lips turned up in a grin. “Not a lot of space for you,” she said, eyeing the broadness of his shoulders and the length of his legs. When she looked at him like he was the strongest, most powerful man in the world who could best anything, he wanted to be exactly that for her.
“I like it when you stretch against my back,” she told him.
And cupped her breast. And fit his cock against her curves. He liked it, too. A lot. And it was starting to show. The bed creaked under his weight as he settled in beside her. Osborn wanted to bury his face in her hair. Lose the nightclothes that separated her skin from his. He settled for draping his arm over the rounded curve of her hip.
He closed his eyes. Forced his muscles to relax. Imagined smelling rotten food to chase away the erotic scent of her. Anything so that he could doze.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered to him after a few moments of silence.
“Nor can I.”
“Talk to me. Tell me a story.”
She wiggled against him, and he quietly groaned. Every one of her soft curves cupped his body. Osborn concentrated on her request, but could come up with nothing. “I don’t know the kind of stories you do. No fairies. No wolves hiding in the woods with their eye on a girl in a red cloak.”
“Then tell me something real. From when you were a little boy,” she suggested.
Osborn tried not to think of those times. Warriors didn’t feel sad. They pushed those emotions to the side. Obliterated them. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“What about a grand party? Tell me about one of those times when you wore fancy clothes and musicians played.”
He breathed in the scent of her hair again, and tried to remember. His people preferred a simpler way of life. Little politics, few dignitaries and lords. They were all just Ursan. They prepared for battles, for when their allies called. Few dared to go to war directly with the Ursans. At night they built large fires. Their entire village would talk and sing along with the drums. A smile played about his lips. He’d forgotten about those nights when the elders pointed to the skies and taught how to use the stars for navigation. He’d forgotten about the songs. Osborn should carve a drum and teach his brothers some of the old Ursan songs. Maybe one day his brothers would marry and teach those songs to their daughters and sons, and hope flooded his chest.
For the first time, guilt and pain didn’t rush right behind the memories.
“No banquets,” he told her, “just families around the campfire.”
“Not even marriage feasts? At home we took every opportunity to host a celebration. My father told us the work in the fields and in the trades could be rough and sometimes bleak. It was our responsibility to provide as much joy and brightness as we could to our people.”
“He sounds very wise.”
Breena nodded. “He was,” she said, her voice quiet and low.
“We didn’t celebrate marriages openly,” he told her, trying to pull her away from thoughts of her dead father…until she forced herself to dream of him tonight.
“You didn’t?” Shock and a trace of scandal laced her voice, and Osborn couldn’t help smiling again.
“When a man wished for a woman, he’d ask her to seal her life with his. On a full moon, they’d go, just the two of them, into the woods that surrounded our village. There, with only the stars to see, they’d share the vows they’d written for each other.”
“That sounds beautiful. And meaningful.”
The yearning in her voice made his gut ache. “That’s not the kind of marriage you would have?” he asked, needing to remind himself she was for someone else.
“No,” she said on a heavy sigh. “My marriage will be of alliance. It will be an honor to serve my people that way.”
“And just how many times have you been told that?”
Breena’s muscles relaxed against him. “A lot,” she confessed. “In fact, my father was to do the choosing the weekend of the attack.”
“Do you think that had something to do with it? An angry suitor?”
“More like a disappointed negotiator. I’ve never even met any of the potential husbands. Less for them to object to that way.”
“And what could they possibly have to complain about with you?” He was incredulous at the thought. Breena was perfect. Perfect for hi—
She only laughed. “I seem to remember you complaining a lot about me. The danger I brought. The added expense.”