Chapter 11

Vevina did not know what to make of her wife. She was gone when she woke and had not made herself known until hours later, and now, for the past several hours, she sat and drank with the other warriors. She showed no sign of interest in her at all, and Vevina feared gossip was already spreading. A couple of servant girls had whispered and giggled when she passed by. 

Her concern was more for what her father would hear, think, and do to her if he felt she wasn't attending to her wifely duties. But how did she deal with a woman who intimidated her? She kept reminding herself to be patient, but with the day waning on and her wife ignoring her, she wondered if patience would work. 

What else was there for her to do?

With no answer to her disturbing question, Vevina, not the least bit hungry, left the hall where all were gathering for the evening meal. She wished it wasn't raining for she would have walked the moor, breathed in the crisp autumn air, and felt at peace. Instead, she wandered up the stairs, but rather than go to her bedchamber, retreated to the small sewing room one floor down, knowing it would be empty at this hour and give her medicum of the peace she found on the moor.

Scooping up an embroidery piece, a blouse, from the basket she had worked on the past week, Vevina settled in the chair before the hearth. In minutes, with her mind concentrated on her stitching, she found the peace she sought.

"Vevina! Vevina!"

She jumped, her embroidery falling to the floor. She thought she had heard her stepfather's angry voice frantically summoning her. Thinking it must have been a dream, she wondered how long she'd dozed. 

"Vevina! Vevina!"

She shivered down the bone. It hadn't been a dream, her stepfather was indeed searching for her. She heard his quick footsteps grow heavy on the stairs. In no time she would descend on her, and more than likely with a heavy hand. 

She hastily searched the room, and with his heavy footfalls, fast approaching hurried to the door and braced herself against the wall so that when the door opened, she'd be safely tucked behind it, hopefully.

In minutes, the wooden door swung open, her father gave a quick glance around, and then left, slamming the door behind him. Vevina didn't dare take a deep breath until she heard his footsteps fade down the stairs. Why did he search for her? Was it later than she thought? Had Astrid been looking for her? She returned her embroidery to the basket and quietly left the room, and just as quietly climbed the stairs, then crept along the hall to her bedchamber and closed the door ever so gently after she entered. 

"Sneaking in at such a late hour? Whatever has my wife been up to?"

Vevina gasped and stumbled back against the door, her hand pressed firm to her chest as if that might still her wildly beating heart. Her wife had scared the wits out of her. 

"Forgive me, my lady," she said, offering a hasty apology. "I was not hungry and sought solace in the sewing room, only to have fallen asleep."

"You could not find solace in our bedchamber?"

Vevina didn't answer, she stood staring at her. Astrid's face was bloody and bruised, and she went straight to her side. "What happened?"

"A disagreement with a warrior worth fighting."

She didn't hesitate, she reached out and gently probed the bruised and bleeding areas, Astrid's cheek, eye, and lip. "I'll tend them." Taking her hand, she led Astrid to sit on the edge of the bed, then gathered water, cloth, and salve to mend her warrior wife.

"I'm fine," Astrid protested weakly.

"Nonsense, you need care," she insisted. "Please remove your shirt so I may soak the blood from it before the stain sets."

She expected her to ignore the request, but surprisingly, Astrid did as she suggested and slipped off her shirt. While she had seen her fully naked before she couldn't say why her half-nakedness now disturbed her. Astrid still had on a thin undergarment, but perhaps it was the beautiful lean muscles so fine, she almost made Vevina stare.

Vevina placed a ceramic basin of warm water on the small bench she had moved near the bed and dropped clothes and the salve on the bed beside Astrid. 

She wet and rinsed a cloth and began cleaning her wounds with tender strokes. 

As she'd suspected after first examining them, they were not bad, and she let Astrid know. "Mere surface abrasions. You'll suffer no scars."

"It makes no difference. What's one more scar to the many I've already suffered?"

Vevina dabbed gently at her bloody lip and wish to offer her sympathy but somehow knew she would not take kindly to it. She worked diligently on her and noticed how her hard, angry glint turned soft with time and touch. 

Astrid reminded her of a wounded animal who at first refuses help until the one who helps has proven trustworthy. Did she need to prove trustful to her? But then, wasn't Vevina looking for the same from her? Didn't she hope that instead of fearing Astrid, she could count on her to protect and care for her?

She lingered, applying soothing salve over the wounds, enjoying the feel of her warm skin, and the strength of her defined bones, and the scent of her haunted Vevina, sweeping around her, permeating deep inside her. She had thought she would smell of nothing but ale, but that odor merely tinged the nostrils while a more potent scent emerged. The ascent of a woman. She couldn't quite define it, but then how could she, since it belonged strictly to Astrid Sinclare and no other? Earth and fire came to mind and suited her well, and while she wished she could remain lingering in her pleasing scent, she knew it wasn't a wise idea and backed away from Astrid.

"Finished," she announced and reached for the cloths and the jar of salve on the bed beside her. Astrid grabbed her hand in hers. She nearly gasped but contained herself though not for long since the heat of her flesh rushed up along her arm and raced through her entire body, setting her toes to tingle and the spot between her legs to dampen with a strange ache.

"Thank you." 

Vevina was struck by the sincerity in her eyes and voice, but it didn't last. Astrid sprung off the bed and moved aside as if discarding her, as if she meant nothing, and strode out of the room.