Before Nanna could protest, Gunnar placed the bowl in her lap. “For you.”
Then he turned his attention upon me and pulled his other hand out from behind his back to reveal a dish identical to the first.
I couldn’t contain a second gasp or the delight that rushed through me. Riki and Rena mimicked my gasp, peering at Gunnar with an adoration that would have made me laugh if I hadn’t been so stunned.
He wasted no time in crossing to the bed and delivering the second bowl to me. “And this is for you.”
For me? Surely not. The mound of fluffy cream topped with what appeared to be a sugary plum sauce was the kind of food served to nobility and royalty, not a poor bondservant like me. “How? Where? I can’t—”
“Torvald and I had no appetite for the dessert.” Gunnar looked from Nanna to me, his happiness contagious. “I wanted you both to have them.”
He fumbled in his doublet pocket before pulling out two spoons.
“This is very generous of you, Gunnar-boy.” Nanna accepted the spoon but hesitated to put it in.
When Gunnar distributed the spoon to me, I had no such hesitations. I delved in and scooped up a mound into my mouth. As the delicacy flowed over my tongue, I closed my eyes and released a half-sigh, half-groan of pleasure.
I savored the soft texture, the tartness of the sauce, and the sweetness of the custard. When the bite melted and was gone, I opened my eyes to find Gunnar watching me with such stark wanting that my stomach did a strange and unexpected flip.
I slowly removed the spoon from my mouth and dipped it into the custard with more reservation this time. All the while, Gunnar watched my lips, causing my insides to somersault several more times.
“We’ve been waiting for a story, Uncle Gunnar.” Riki kicked off her covers and started to scoot over, dragging Rena to make room for Gunnar next to them.
Gunnar finally tore his attention from me and glanced at the little girls as if he’d forgotten they were in the room. “Story?”
“Yes, for bedtime.” Riki patted the spot beside her.
“Methinks we have all the entertainment we need watching Mikaela eat her custard.”
Spoon in my mouth, I sucked every morsel from the second bite and held back another groan. I was making a spectacle of myself, but I didn’t care. I’d never had such a treat before, and I wanted to relish every second of it.
Nanna cleared her throat loudly. She glanced between Gunnar and me, lines grooved into her forehead.
The look seemed to act like a prod to Gunnar’s backside, and he stepped up to the bed. “I promised a story, and a story I shall deliver.”
I stood, fighting the desire to crawl in next to my charges and let Gunnar tell me a tale too.
“Is that a good idea, Gunnar-boy?” Nanna had yet to take a bite of her custard.
I was nearly face to face with Gunnar.
His gaze affixed upon the spoon trapped between my lips. “I promise I won’t stay long. My story is short.” A smoldering in his eyes made my breath snag. What was this happening between us? Was he thinking about my lips? About kissing me? Surely not.
“Let’s make it very short.” Nanna’s voice was thin with worry.
It was becoming clearer by the second that Nanna didn’t want Gunnar in the room. Was that why she’d waited here with me? So she could chase him away as quickly as possible?
My spine stiffened with the need to show her that we had nothing to fear from Gunnar, that he was a blessing to us. But I respected Nanna too much to defy her in any way.
I ducked my head and skirted around Gunnar.
“The story is for you, too, Mikaela.” His tone was tinged with teasing, as though he sensed my inner conflict and knew I was putting distance between us. “It’s about a daring knight who came upon a beautiful huldra in the forest.”
Was he insinuating that he was the knight and I the woodland fairy? I didn’t dare turn around and subject myself to any more of his charm and read an ulterior meaning in his expression. My heart was already beating too fast. If I looked at him again with his winsome smile and beckoning eyes, the pace of my heartbeat would surely send me into a faint.
“I already know how that story ends.” I managed to walk calmly away.
The ropes holding up the mattress squeaked as Gunnar flopped onto the bed beside the girls. He grunted playfully, and they giggled, enjoying every second of his attention. If only their own father loved them and wanted to be with them. But Bernhard had never visited the girls in the nursery, not once in their short lives. Sofia came occasionally, but even then, she didn’t stay long and was usually distracted.
“Eat, Nanna,” I admonished as I lowered myself to the bench across from her and took another bite of my custard.
She stared down at her dish, untouched.
Gunnar had started his story, his voice as animated as I’d remembered. I chanced a glance toward the bed to the sight of his nieces curled against him, one under each arm. His broad shoulders were relaxed, his head back against the headboard, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, as comfortable as if he’d been telling stories to little girls his whole life.
My insides twisted with a strange need I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before, but that had been there regardless—the need to have my own babies. I wanted them to have a father just like Gunnar who didn’t shy away from showing them attention, who cherished the women in his life.
Would Frans be that kind of father?
The question popped into my thoughts unbidden. Yes, Frans would be a good husband and father. Of that I had no doubt. But I could never picture him crawling into bed with our children, snuggling with them, and telling them stories.
Not that Frans needed to do that. . . .
I focused on my custard, savoring another bite. Frans was as different from Gunnar as pottage was from custard. While pottage might be bland at times, it was sturdy and filling and a hearty meal. Custard might be sweet, but it wouldn’t provide sustenance for a lifetime, was instead a special treat, here today and gone tomorrow.
All the more reason why I needed to keep my attention upon Frans and work on loving him, so that I could speak the words to him honestly and gain the bride price money by the time Gunnar was ready to leave Romsdal.
Nanna finally slipped her spoon into the custard and lifted a small bite into her mouth. Was she worried someone would catch us eating food that wasn’t ours? As she ate it and swallowed, I offered what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. Gunnar will keep us safe.”
She nodded but didn’t smile in return. “I hope you’re right, Mikaela-girl. I hope you’re right.”
I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect night, sitting next to the warmth of the fire, eating custard, and listening to Gunnar spin a tale about an enchanting huldra, a daring and brave woman who helped the knight escape from a troll who’d locked him away as his prisoner.
As the tale came to an end, Gunnar tickled and teased the girls, and I wasn’t able to stop smiling as I watched them together. Their girly voices mingled with Gunnar’s deep one. Their delicate faces were wreathed with delight below his tender one, their light blond heads contrasting with his dark hair. The sight left me nearly breathless with more of the strange need.
When Nanna squeezed my arm and asked me to go to the kitchen to retrieve a cup of warm mead to ease the aching in her chest, I left reluctantly. And even though I hurried, by the time I returned, Gunnar was gone, along with all traces of the custard.