“Didst know that the princess and I were betrothed at one time, Ivar? We are ... um, reconciling.” He made the word reconciling sound lewd.
Ivar’s eyes shot to her. With her scant clothing and her bruised lips that he would no doubt attribute to kissing, his indignation faltered. “This is the first I have heard of this. Tell me true, princess, do you want the knave gone, or not?”
She hesitated for only a second. “He will be leaving in a moment. Will you not, my big cow cake?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
Sidroc chuckled and told Ivar, “Leave us for a few moments, and I will be gone ... for tonight. We have a few matters to discuss.” The implication was that they would get a quick swiving in yet.
The obnoxious dolt!
Now that the need for silence was gone, she turned on him. “Get up out of my bed. At once.”
He rose, but just sat on the side of the bed, staring down at her.
She raised the bed linen up to her shoulders.
He laughed derisively before turning more serious. “You said earlier that you had something to say to me.”
Hah! The time for that particular talk had passed. Still, there were some things that must be said. “I apologize for causing your injury. Not for the hitting, mind you. That you deserved. But I ne’er intended to do you such injury.” She waited, expecting—nay, hoping—that he would accept her apology.
He did not.
“I did try to make reparations,” she said.
He just arched his brows at her.
“We tried to find you. I mean, my father and Rafn sent longships hither and yon in an attempt to discover your whereabouts, but you disappeared.” Again she waited for his acceptance of her words.
He said nothing. At first. Then he pointed out, “I lay abed, dying as far as you knew, and you went on a ‘pleasure journey.’ Do you wonder why I am so angry?”
“I can explain.”
“Familiar words. Dost recall how many times I asked you to let me explain my rush to wed?”
She could feel her face heat. He was right. She had refused to listen to his excuses. “I know now why you acted thus ... your daughter.”
He bristled. “How do you know about her?”
“Finn told us. Do not blame—”
He put up a halting hand. “I do not want my daughter’s name to come from your tempting lips. Ever! She is dead and gone, and whilst you may not have wielded the weapon of her demise, you are partially responsible by keeping me from rescuing her in time.”
“Wh-what?” she sputtered. Holy Thor! The man thought Runa was dead. Now I really do need to tell him of her whereabouts. “Sidroc, I have something important to tell you.”
“There is naught of importance you could impart to me in my present mood. Now, continue with this lackbrained apology of yours.”
She was the one who bristled now, even as her mind reeled with the news that he thought his daughter dead. “There was no excuse for the cold-blooded way in which you went after me.”
He shrugged.
“Can I say one more thing about your dau— you know who?”
“Nay.”
Despite his refusal, she blundered on, “What if others took matters into their hands whilst you were in a death-sleep?”
He stood abruptly and glared down at her. Nigh shaking with fury, he spat out, “You dare ... you dare to blame me for Signe’s death? You dare to imply that others did what I could not? I could kill you for that alone.”
“That’s not what I meant. I was merely—”