His hand moved, a slight, deliberate pressure against the back of her head.
"I was afraid of men," she said, her voice dropping. "After. Fer a long time. Any man who stood too close or reached without warning, me body would…" She stopped. Started again. "It ranits calculations. I thought it would always be like that. I'd made a kind of peace with it."
She lifted her head and looked at him.
He was already looking down at her, his face a mask of iron stillness, his eyes dark with a heat.
"And now?" he said. His voice was low, lacking its usual rasp.
She held his gaze. "Ye ken the answer tae that."
"Aye," he said. "But I want tae hear ye say it."
The audacity of him. Warmth climbed up her neck, and she looked at his mouth instead of his eyes. That was a mistake. His lips were close, too close.
"It daesnae run the calculations," she said. "When it's ye."
Something shifted in his face.
"Good," he said.
He tipped her chin up with two fingers and kissed her.
It was slow. It wasn't the formal performance of their wedding day. It was deliberate and warm. His thumb rested on her jaw,holding her there. Matilda felt her hands tighten on his tunic, her fingers knotting in the wool.
She didn't pull away.
She kissed him back. She started carefully, then stopped being careful. Underneath the caution was a well of want and a specific, staggering relief. She leaned into him because it felt right, and because the suddenness of the feeling frightened her.
He felt the shift. She knew he did. His hand at her jaw tightened a fraction. His breath hitched against her mouth. For one unsteady moment, his restraint nearly snapped.
He held.
He pulled back, his eyes dark and dilated. Matilda stared at him. She had no idea what was written on her face and she didn't care to hide it.
He looked at her mouth, then flicked his gaze away. His jaw worked once.
"Better?" he said, his voice rough.
A tiny smile touched the corner of her mouth. "Aye," she said. "Better."
"Good." He stepped back, releasing her jaw. His voice was still unsteady. "Come then."
She smoothed the front of her dress, her hands trembling slightly, and followed him out.
The chamber was warm, bathed in amber light. Every candle was lit.
Matilda emerged from behind the screen in her nightgown and crossed to the bed. She watched him move through his nightly ritual, checking the heavy shutters, banking the fire for the long night. She was acutely aware of him. She tracked his shadow across the stone floor.
He turned toward the chair.
"Ivar."
He stopped. He stood with his back to her, his shoulders square and rigid. He didn't turn around. She watched the tension in his spine, the stillness of a man who had heard a call he was already expecting.
"The chair," she said. "Ye dinnae have tae."
A long, heavy pause followed.