"Would you like wine or cider?" She moved to a table before the fireplace. On either side stood a large chair, padded and covered in rabbit skins. "Have a seat, my lord. I can only assume you have questions and thoughts on our earlier conversation."

She didn't sit. Instead she began to pace. At least she wasn't mangling a cloth between her fingers. During his ride he’d realized how anxious she must be about her future. What little he knew of her made him think she equated marriage to him with a death sentence, or at least a lifetime of imprisonment. She'd saved him from the sea, tended his wounds, and watched over him. Yet the idea of his touch seemed to repulse her.

"Why me?" he asked. "And don't bother to lie. I've seen the way the men in your village idolize you, so why pick me? Even my own crew adores you."

"I don't relate well to men on a personal level," she said bluntly.

He gave her a bitter laugh. "I've seen you with Eddie; you relate well enough to him."

"As a sister would, my lord. I couldn't let him touch me..."

"Yet you seem to relate to me."

"Again, on the same level, as a person, not as a man."

He stood and walked to the table, buying time by refilling his cup. He'd bet his precious ship that she did relate to him as a man and that was what scared her.

"Why do men frighten you, Dara? Why do you hold back? You're a healer. You understand men’s needs."

"Don't be crude, Sigurd. Of course I understand. And if I'd found a man I could love I would have taken a mate long ago."

"So again, I ask, what are you afraid of?"

"Nothing, I'm not afraid of anything." She pushed her shoulders back, and her chin jutted higher. Sigurd put his cup on the table and advanced forward. With each step he took toward her, she took one back, but she was forced to stop when the table barred her progression. He stopped a step away and tilted her chin with his fingers so he could survey her face.

"You're petrified of me right now."

Dara wasn’t a complete fool. No, he didn’t love her but might the idea of one day being king be enough to keep him here? And if he stayed would he always wonder what else might have been? Would he grow to hate her in the years of monotony on land?

When Nandin had been sighted, she’d known their situation was coming to a boil. What she hadn’t counted on was the frustration and humiliation she’d feel if he turned her down. Just the fleeting idea of another in his bed made her jealous, an emotion she was unfamiliar with and loath to experience.

When Sigurd left her and the land of Bohdan, a small piece of her would go with him, leaving her always unwhole. It was not a promising outlook for her future. She didn’t allow herself to contemplate the idea of Nandin touching her or ruling her people.

She swallowed hard. "No” she whispered, but she trembled beneath his hands.

"If we married, I'd expect my wife to service me. Especially since your father told me that taking a mistress is out of the question."

She wondered if she had the makings of a wife and lover buried within her. After all, she was beyond age and still a maiden. Perhaps she trembled out of anticipation and not fear? Did she want his touch?

"I'll do whatever is necessary to service you, my lord."

"Necessary? Dara, what about pleasure, yours and mine?"

"I'll do whatever you want behind closed doors, as long as you don't take a mistress." Anything but another woman, she decided. She'd do anything he wanted as long as she could keep him for herself.

"Anything?" His tone was a husky dare. "I touch you now and you quake. What will you do when it comes time to touch me?"

"I've touched you..." she said bravely.