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into its warmth, and Marc and Mother looked up sharply as we barged in.
    “Aaron,” Mother said. “You’re home.”
    “Lost track of time. I’m fine, but my friend here had a run-in with a bandit.”
    Marc took one look at the captain and calmly retrieved our medicine kit. Mother cleared her sewing stool of fabric and set it before the fire. “Take a seat, sir.”
    I led Bjorn to the stool and faced him, nimble fingers working the buttons on his coat.
    “I can do it,” he said, wincing as he lifted his arm.
    I shook my head. “Don’t.”
    My hands slid over his shoulders and drew the coat down his arms. It hit the stool and pooled at his feet. Bjorn’s gaze fell heavy on me. Watching.
    “You were brave out there. You wield your sword with skill.”
    I closed my eyes briefly on the image of my father teaching me how to attack and parry in the front yard. Round and round the rose bushes we’d practiced . . . “Thank you.”
    “I’m sorry you had to witness what happened to Gus.”
    I shivered as I worked the buttons of Bjorn’s vest, thumb skidding over the soft black shirt underneath, yielding to his firm stomach. My fingers snagged on the last button. “He—he could have killed you. He attacked from behind . . . I’m sorry for his fate, but”—I swallowed—“I’m glad it wasn’t you.”
    Bjorn’s chest puffed out and he stopped my hand at the last button of his vest just above his belt; his gaze glistened with the reflection of the fire and his look burned deeply.
    Heat flared in my cheeks. It was too hot by the fire. That and . . . and the rum, yes, the rum . . . it made my head spin.
    “Here, let me,” Marc said, gently pushing me aside. He removed Bjorn’s shirt in simple strokes as he introduced himself. Mother picked up Bjorn’s bloodied clothing and retreated to the laundry.
    Tingling from nape to knees, I paced the length of the fire, glancing at Marc as he finished cleaning the wound and stitching it. Water dribbled down the corded muscles of Bjorn’s back.
    “You know what you’re doing,” Bjorn said to Marc.
    “You could say I get a lot of practice.”
    They both looked at me. “I bet you do,” Bjorn murmured.
    I swallowed and strode across the room to the cool glare of night through the windows.
    “Aaron?” Marc asked. “Are you okay?”
    “Fire’s too hot,” I muttered and perched on the sill, resting my head against the glass.
    Marc said something to Bjorn that I didn’t make out, and the captain laughed. A laugh that held surprising lightness.
    Reflected in the window, Marc sat on the armchair across from Bjorn. They conversed with ease and humor. Mother came in to deliver a warm pot of tea, and then excused herself for the evening, leaving Bjorn with an invitation to bunk down for the night.
    “If you don’t mind that Aaron and I share a room, you may take my bed.”
    “ Your bed?” I whirled away from the window, stalking back to the heat of the hearth.
    “Yes,” my brother said, gesturing toward the rug. “I’ll sleep here, by the fire.”
    “But—” I stopped and Bjorn clasped his gaze on me in a way that demanded I continue. “But I am better suited for sleeping on a hard floor.”
    Bjorn pushed to his feet with a wince and gifted Marc a warm, hearty smile. “I should be grateful to take you up on your offer.”
    “Let me just gather a few blankets.” Marc set off for our bedchamber, leaving the two of us alone.
    Dark eyes met mine, and a shiver rolled right to my middle. “Guess that leaves you and me bunking together.”
    “Won’t your crew be amiss without you?”
    That damn twitch at his lips. “They’ll be just fine.”
    * * *
    Sleep was impossible. Under my breath, I swore, shifting onto my side.
    “I unnerve you,” Bjorn said, draped at the edge of Marc’s bed.
    “Unnerve me?” I laughed. “Hardly.”
    Even in the dark, Bjorn’s stare touched me. Rolled toward the wall, to the shadow of a tree, I glared at its naked swaying