Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Love.
Could he truly be falling in love with Ingrid?
The question was, though, would his foolish wish prevent her from falling in love with him?
CHAPTER 9
Raff hadn’t expected conversation to flow so easily between them along the road to market, but they had barely left their village when Ingrid asked him if he enjoyed market days.
“Aye, they were favorite times of mine. Meeting friends, sharing food and drink,” he said recalling those days fondly.
“Meeting a lass or two?” she asked teasingly.
“There was some who fancied me,” he said with a playful wink and a smile that faded. “But the last market day wasn’t a good time to look and get myself a wife.”
“Why not?”
“Battle loomed and I didn’t think it was fair to wed when she could be made a widow so soon.”
She tilted her head, and a soft smile touched her lips. “You mean you didn’t find love.”
Curiosity furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“If you loved a woman and she loved you, nothing would have stopped you from marrying her, not battle, nor the possibility of death. It would be the opposite. You both would want to share every moment you could with each other. Make what memories you could and possibly conceive a child, so she would be left with part of you.”
He never thought of it that way and he was quick to ask, “You would do that?”
“Aye,” she said with a nod. “I would not want to send the man I love off to battle without being his wife, without making those memories to cherish, or having his child to love. Wouldn’t you want that?”
Aye, with you.
His thought almost slipped past his lips, and he was quick to say, “Aye, if it was with the right woman.”
“Who would be the right woman?”
You.
He was falling in love with her and falling hard, and it frightened the bloody hell out of him. He shot the question back at her. “Do you have the right man in mind… to love?”
Her eyes got dreamy. “I think about it sometimes.” She chuckled. “Then I realize that maybe I’m expecting too much of a husband.”
“What do you expect?”
She shared her thoughts easily. “Naturally, he would have to love me with his whole heart and maybe his soul too.” She chuckled again. “He would treat me well, never raise his voice to me in anger or his hand, and he would love me for who I am and not someone he tried to make me into. And he would not expect me to wait on him hand and foot, though I would see to his care out of love, not demand. And we would have many children born of our love and there would be laughter and smiles, some tears and sorrow because you cannot avoid them completely, but we would all share them together.”
“I think many men and women would cherish such a union.”
“Aye, but unfortunately, husbands and wives don’t work together to make sure they have it. They let petty, minor things interfere or they make outlandish demands on each other and the love they once shared so strongly slowly begins to die.”
“You have done a lot of thinking about love or is it what you’ve observed?” he asked, having learned for himself that she listened with the same ease as she spoke.
“A bit of both. Watching and listening are excellent scholars.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“So, who would be the right woman for you?” she asked once more.
His answer came easily. “One who loves me despite all my faults.”
She laughed softly. “And what are your faults?”
He laughed with her. “The list is too long and the day too pleasant to discuss them.”
The conversation remained easy but not personal and only grew quiet when Raff guided the cart into the bustling village square, the wooden wheels bumping over uneven stones. Vendors were already shouting prices and boasting the quality of their wares—fresh eels, polished trinkets, oatcakes still steaming in cloth-covered baskets. The air smelled of a mixture of delicious scents and woodsmoke, and somewhere nearby a child shrieked with laughter while chasing a dog with a bit of string.
Raff glanced at Ingrid, seated beside him, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She had turned silent upon entering the village.
“Are you all right?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “You have gone quiet.”
“I’m watching how the other sellers display their goods,” she murmured. “I want our plaids to draw attention.”
“They will,” Raff assured her. “You weave the softest and warmest wool cloth I have ever touched. People will not be able to resist the items.”
She smiled, pleased by his compliment.
They found an open spot at the edge of the square near a potter with a chipped tooth and a goat that looked better fed than its master. Raff hopped down and hurried to help Ingrid off the cart so she could grab a table that had yet to be scooped up by another merchant. Then he got busy unfastening the bundles.