Chapter 18

Gisla woke to the sensation of being cold and alone. He was gone and she missed him. She wished he was still here. Gisla had been on her own in one way or another since her mother died. And from there she had to learn from a tender age to trust no one but herself, other people would only ever try and hurt you. Even her own father had betrayed her by handing her over in marriage. Confirming the worst of her fears. She was truly alone.

And then everything changed. She was no longer on her own. She had a someone. For so long she did not realize how heavy the burden of being her only friend and protector was until she had someone to share it with. When he was with her things were good, and she had to find him so that they would stay that way.

She slipped the ring from around her upper arm, and out from under her dress sleeve. When she finally laid eyes on it she could say in all honesty that she had never seen the like of it. The arch of the bracelet was hundreds of woven silver strands, all twisting together to make a curved rope. Binding off each side of the rope were two ornately carved wolf heads, that were positioned face to face so that they were always snarling at each other across the small gap that was between them.

This was not a Frankish design, in fact she had never seen anything like it. Gisla was familiar with fine jewelry from far and wide, and could not think of a design like this. There was no jade, so it was not of oriental origin. And wolves did not seem like the kind of design the merchants of the East would use. From what she understood they did not like dogs, she doubted they would like wolves. Wolves did not belong to the warm, sandy places the traders came from. Wolves belonged to cool and rugged places, like the wild parts of Frankia or lands further North.

"North," her mind repeated.

She dropped the ring as if it had suddenly caught fire.

Could it be? If the ring was from the North there was only one man who could have given it to her. Only one man who could have been in bed with her. A wave of emotion rushed through her. It almost seemed too strange to be true.

The sound of her door unlatching tore her from her thoughts, and she hurriedly shoved the ring back around her wrist and concealed it under her sleeve.

She looked up to find the man she had just been thinking of mere moments ago. What was he doing here?

She felt emotionally stilted as she looked at him. From the moment she first saw him he had stirred powerful emotions of fear and hatred. And now she found herself feeling almost nothing, as she tried to work out the great riddle of the man who stood before her.

When their eyes met he gave her his too large grin that she had often described as stupid, but was now realizing held its charms. She averted her eyes and pulled the covers up around her, as she realized she was still in her night clothes.

He seemed to notice her discomfort and let out a gentle laugh as if he knew something she did not. Her heart dropped like a wounded bird, as she realized what this secret might be. For a brief moment she thought she saw his eyes narrow, as if he had somehow read her mind. The look on his face was gone almost as soon as she realized it was there and she wondered if she had only imagined it.

He placed a tray of food onto the bed and climbed in without any hesitation. Gisla inched away to the far corner of the bed. She did not want him here until she understood who he was better.

If he was offended by her actions he made no sign of it, and began to go about preparing the food. He took the loaf and carved off a thick slice, and then slathered it with butter and honey.

Gisla was about to accuse him of gluttony when he passed the slice to her. She took it from him and was sure that he passed it to her in such a way that their hands had to meet more than was necessary.

The bread was so warm that the thick mixture of butter and honey had melted into every inch of the slice. And she could not help but give a small smile as the rich flavors filled her mouth with the first bite. It was on her second bite that she realized how intently he was watching her, and how pleased he seemed with himself as he looked on.

Gisla knew that this behavior should annoy her, but somehow she understood that he was only trying to be kind. After she was done with the bread he passed her one delicacy after another: poached pheasant eggs, salted meats, savory cheeses, and sweet summer fruits.

Gisla did not think she had ever indulged herself this much before in her entire life. And as she looked down at the remaining food she realized that he had not eaten any of it. She reached for the tray and picked up a plumb and offered it to him. He looked at her with slight confusion for a moment, and then moved his hand underneath Gisla's, so that his hand cradled her hand. Gisla thought this was a poor way to take the fruit from her and hastily dumped the fruit into his palm to keep their hands from touching further.

He let out an amused laugh at her actions, and Gisla thought for a moment that she recognized that laugh. As he ate Gisla began to think. In so many ways it could make sense that he was the nightly visitor. But then again there were still things that confused her. When did he learn to speak Frankish so effortlessly if it was him? And why would he simply not tell her?

And the visitor was clever, and had a mouth full of riddles and poetry. Watching the man in front of her lick the juice of the fruit off his fingers she found it difficult to think of him as anything more than a simpleton. And yet for all his faults he was kind.

He had not forced himself on her at the start of the marriage, he had been concerned when she was taken ill, he had stayed with her in the garden yesterday. And even now he was showing her kindness by bringing her food, so that she would not have to dine with her father.

Rollo began to move the dishes back onto the tray, and Gisla realized that he would be gone soon. She didn't want him to leave without knowing how grateful she was for what he had done for her. As he began to climb out of bed she realized that she might already be too late.

She leaned forward and gently clasped his wrist before he could leave. He looked back at her in surprise. And Gisla struggled to find the words to say.

"Thank you," she finally whispered to him.

She watched as a gentle smile dawned on his face. He leaned down and gently kissed her cheek, and in what felt like the next moment was almost out the door and gone. Leaving Gisla with her hand pressed against the spot he had kissed and full of a new kind of excitement.

"Could it be," she wondered to herself. Could he be the man who came to her at night? Perhaps she should guess, it would be as good as any other guess she could make.

Her mind then turned to all the times that her visitor had laughed at her. He always seemed so self assured that he was better than her. The idea of guessing wrong mortified her. She could already hear his taunting words if she wrongly accused him of being the heathen. The idea of playing the part of the fool enraged her.

She would not be guessing anyone's identity tonight. She would not need to; she would find a way to definitively prove who he was without harming her pride. It was time to show her visitor how clever she truly was.

Author's Note: A special thanks to Erwal for the amazing cover art. As always reviews are greatly appreciated.