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“It’s a good thing we decided there is no tomorrow. Because if there was a tomorrow, I’d ask you what does that mean—”
He gently put a finger over her mouth. “There is no tomorrow. No ghosts. No betrothed. No dead wives. And no questions. There’s you and there’s me. And now you will be mine.”
As he kissed her, he knew that no matter how much he tried to lose himself in her, the sky above them would soon brighten, the new day would begin, and he’d lose her forever. But for this moment, she was his, and if he could, he would make it last an eternity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
January 31, 878 AD
Andor’s hand wrapped around Cathy’s warmed her skin. He didn’t let her hand go all the way through the town as they walked to the witch. They hadn’t said more than a few words to each other since last night, which had been the most sensual night of Cathy’s life. They’d spent it in gentle lovemaking, saying everything they wanted to say with their bodies.
And now, Cathy wanted every step she took to last forever, pushing off the moment she knew was coming. The time when she’d need to go. She savored the feel of Andor’s skin against hers, the warmth of his body next to hers. The very air she breathed seemed to be filled with wonder. Cathy floated beside him, her body both heavy and light after the sleepless night.
How could she leave him?
How could she have betrayed Brad like she had?
Both questions spun in her head, fought in her heart, tearing her apart, spoiling her last moments with Andor.
She couldn’t live with herself if she abandoned Brad.
But she also didn’t know how to live in a world where Andor did not exist.
They entered the house, which was a regular thatched building. Inside, chickens and geese occupied a stall built with wattled fences. At the hearth sat four children of different ages, the older girls peeling parsnips. A woman in her mid-thirties was spinning wool and singing a song.
In a smithy, quiet smithy
A silent smith goes tonk, tonk, tonk
In a smithy, ashen smithy
Völundr forges death—
She looked up at Cathy and Andor and stopped spinning. “Jarl Andor! Happy and healthy. You two are a curious couple.”
Her hair was dark, her eyes a warm brown. She was a pleasant-looking woman, small and friendly. Cathy had expected to meet an older woman, like the Norn, or the universal image of a witch with gray hair falling in tangles. But her eyes didn’t pierce Cathy or make her feel as though she was in the presence of someone with supernatural powers, like the Norn. On the contrary, she looked inviting and open.
“Happy and healthy,” Andor said and bowed a little. “Ljota, meet Cathy.”
Ljota studied Cathy carefully, and warmth spread through her.
“You came from afar,” Ljota said.
She stood up and put the spindle—which was wooden and had no carvings on it, to Cathy’s disappointment—on the chair.
“Yes, you could say that. I’m from the future.”
Ljota crossed her arms and grinned as though Cathy had just told her the best gossip she had heard in years. “From the future? That is far. How did you travel through time?”
Cathy told Ljota what happened with the Norn, omitting the situation with Brad. She did not even want to mention his name in Andor’s presence.
“And now I—”
Andor’s hand around her fingers twitched, and he let go of her as though her skin burned him.
“And now I must go back,” Cathy finished, rubbing the palm he had released. “Andor said you can help. Can you?”
Ljota laughed. “Dear, there are no golden spindles here.” She shrugged. “I am no Norn. I am a wife and a mother. I see things, sometimes. I am a good healer. I can talk to the gods and ask them for things—small things, like a good summer, or to protect my husband when he goes raiding. So they all think I’m some sort of a witch. I do not know how you can travel back in time.”
