She swerved toward the door and nearly had hold of the knob when he moved in front of it.
Aven tried to weave around him again, but he blocked the way. “You want to know what’s really rotten?” He stepped so near that she shoved against his chest. He caught her hand again. “Havin’ everybody act like it’s the end of the world every time I have a birthday. Can’t hardly conjure up a smile ’cause, dang it, Haakon was born.”
Tears stinging her eyes, Aven tugged free.
“And if I hadn’t been, Ma would still be here. Ida’s always tryin’ to rally everybody and poor Cora gets a puppy one year, and I know what she’s about and what they’re all about and I’m sick of it.”
“Open that door.”
“What makes it worse is that you don’t see me.”
“I do see you! But you can’t treat people this way just because you’re unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy.” He stepped forward, forcing her to take a step back.
The same way she’d taught Thor to lead, but this wasn’t Thor and she wasn’t safe.
Haakon didn’t stop until she was in the corner. She shoved against him but was no match for how solid he was. “Move aside, Haakon. Right now.”
“I’m not unhappy,” he said again. He lowered his head, voice terribly soft and so near that she felt its rumble. “ ’Cause there you came. Just walkin’ up to the farm. And you’re so perfect . . . and so dad-blasted soft.” He kissed her shoulder, and she cringed away. Yet there was no place for her to go. His hand gently gripped the side of her neck—thumb grazing her jaw. His eyes on hers were earnest.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he moved to kiss her.
She jerked back. “Haakon—”
He only followed. Holding the back of her head, he pressed his mouth to hers. Squirming, she tried to break away. He pulled himself nearer, and his hold tightened. A torment came from within him. An anguish. Whatever brokenness he’d been carrying, now both of theirs to bear.
Aven shoved his chest as hard as she could. It pressed him free enough for her to gasp a breath. “Haakon, stop!” His attempt to draw closer only wedged her into the corner. She shrank away, but he followed, bringing them to the floor. He knelt there—pinning her into place as he did. A wet heat slammed her eyes.
“Get off of me!” Jerking her knee into his leg did nothing, so she screamed. She cried out for Thor. Then again, hoping her voice might reach through the stand of trees. She hit Haakon again, but he caught her wrist.
“Aven. He can’t hear you.”
She tried to twist free but his hold was solid. Haakon’s other fingertips grazed the side of her neck. “And I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do. I promise. But if you just took a minute to see . . .” He gripped her waist and kissed her again.
Aven pressed her forearm into his chest, but all the force she bore didn’t nudge him, and worse than the clutch of fear was an emptiness of loss. Because her friend was gone. In his place was a being stronger than her and nothing more.
Her heart and lungs fought like the crash of the sea and the beating of the hull into waves. Was she drowning? Had she finally fallen from the ship? Or perhaps the slam of thunder and the clap of sails in the wind was nothing more than Haakon’s charged breathing as he tugged his suspenders down. And here she was sinking farther. Losing all hope amid the waters where a thousand souls had been lost to this sea that only God could reach.
She tried to gasp a breath, but Haakon was there instead, so she drew what she could into her lungs—the taste of his skin and her breaking heart. If he meant to entice her, then he knew nothing of a woman’s heart or where her own resided. If he meant to have whatever he wished . . .
“The Lord is my shepherd,” she whispered when he pulled back to adjust his weight. She spoke the words for her own soul to take courage, but they seemed to touch Haakon because his fingers, which were easing the edge of her blouse from her skirt, stilled entirely.
The next words ached from her parched throat. “He leadeth me beside still waters.”
Haakon looked at her earnestly.
If she could do nothing else in this moment, she would trust in truth. The cost of his wrongdoing, perhaps insignificant to him in this moment, was a surety to stand on even when she could not. This moment wasn’t her against Haakon. It was Haakon versus a God who was mightier than this man knew. “You may sit in His house and sing His praises, but He will know who you are if you do this,” Aven whispered. “And you should be terribly afraid of that.”
Haakon pushed a lock of hair from her face. Head falling the tiniest bit lower, he looked at her, his mouth so near, she was certain he would lower it to hers again, but a different kind of intensity settled in his expression. He leaned back, and she peered up into the eyes she’d adored since the day she’d come here.
“And from this moment, Haakon, you will be nothing to me.”
He searched her face. “Aven.” He swallowed hard, then looked down at her, his gaze taking in the way he had advanced on her.
Feeling the intensity gentle within him, Aven tugged her hand free. She shoved at his chest. “Get off of me!” She tried to yank her blouse down over her corset but it was wedged between them.
He shifted himself farther back, allowing her to move. He grunted when her knee met his thigh.
The door rattled. Then a knock sounded, followed by Al’s voice. “Miss Aven?”
Haakon clamped a hand over her mouth.
Al’s voice muffled through the door. “Heard you callin’ for Thor. You in trouble?”
She cried for help, but it stifled against Haakon’s skin. Aven bit his finger. He jerked away, and she screamed. Haakon crammed his hand over her mouth again. The door rattled harder but wouldn’t open. Locked, then. When it silenced, Al hollered through that he’d be right back.
Haakon shoved his fingers into his hair, holding them there. “You don’t know what you just did.”
With the door only feet away, she lunged for it. He grabbed her around the waist, tugging her into him. His heart pounded against her back. Still kneeling, she tried to pull forward, but he held her that way until she finally stilled.
Help was coming.
“You have to listen to me, Aven. Please.” He shifted around her, blocking the way. He slid one of his suspenders up, desperation in his wide eyes.
Sorrow rose with such a rush that she had to will herself not to cry. She wanted to strike him, but instead used what little strength remained to try and rise. Her feet felt like weights as she pulled her knees forward so that she might stand. Aven gripped the edge of the windowsill.
He yanked up his other suspender so fast that the clasp snapped from his pants. “Please listen to me. I wasn’t going to—”
Voices rushed near. Al. Jorgan.
And Thor—so fiercely the door was rammed.
Haakon cursed as his fingers fumbled to clasp the leather strap against his waist. He glanced around as if for a way out of this when a force slammed the door again.
The pounding rocked so hard the house trembled. Then again . . . and again . . .
Suddenly the door shattered open. And Haakon was gone from her. Nothing left but his shout as Thor slammed him into the far wall.
Jorgan hollered Thor back, but it was for the sound of Haakon’s pain that Aven covered her ears. Too stunned to even cry, she simply tried to breathe. Tried to breathe and not shirk away from Al’s steadying hand to her arm. Not hear the slam of fists or see that it was Thor whom Jorgan and Peter struggled to hold down as they shouted for Haakon to run.
Haakon finally did. That she knew. Because in a pounding of floorboards, he was gone.
THIRTY-TWO