CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“She’s nae tae set foot beyond the inner walls. And I want full escort, at all times.”
Ragnar’s voice carried through the solar with the flat, inarguable weight of a man who had spent the last hour listening to every possible version of the wordbutand was finished with all of them.
Isolda sat very still in the carved chair beside the hearth, her hands folded in her lap, the thin line of the arrow graze on her temple hidden beneath her hair. Liv had cleaned it the night before—barely more than a scratch.
The council exchanged glances across the table. The arrow lay between them, its shaft splintered where Ragnar’s men had ripped it from the beam. Douglas’s mark was carved into the wood just above the fletching.
“The shooter was positioned in the tree line northwest of the village,” Freyr said, his arms crossed, his tone careful. “Gone before we could track him. Whoever it was kent the patrol routes.”
“Then change ‘em.” Ragnar didn’t look up from the map spread before him. “Double the southern watch. I want eyes on every approach within bowshot of the keep.”
The Council filed out one by one, murmuring amongst themselves.
The door closed with a solid thud and silence settled between them, thick as the stone walls.
Ragnar stood with both hands braced on the table, his head bowed, the tension in his shoulders visible even through his tunic. The map beneath his palms showed Uist in careful detail—coastlines, patrol routes, watchtowers—but his eyes weren’t on the map at all.
“Ye’ve barely said a word since yesterday,” Isolda said.
He didn’t move. “I’ve said plenty.”
“Tae yer Council, aye. Nae tae me.”
His fingers curled against the parchment. “What would ye have me say?”
She stood, crossing her arms. “That lockin’ me inside these walls like a caged animal isnae the answer.”
“An arrow nearly took yer life in the middle of dinner, Isolda.” He turned to face her, and the rawness in his blue eyes stole the argument from her tongue. “It embedded itself in a beam three inches from yer skull.”
“Iken.I was there.”
“Dinnae ask me tae be reasonable about this.” His voice dropped.
She wanted to push back, to argue, but the look on his face stripped bare and desperate—stopped her.
“So what am I meant tae dae?” she asked, quieter now. “Sit in our chambers and stare at the walls until ye’ve solved everythin’?”
The tension in his jaw loosened, just barely, and one corner of his mouth twitched. “There are many things ye could occupy yer time wi’, little wolf.” His voice went low, rough at the edges. “I could think of a few.”
Isolda’s pulse kicked. “Such as?”
Ragnar crossed the space between them with two deliberate strides, and before she could form another clever retort, his hand found the curve of her waist and his mouth dropped toher neck. The press of his lips just beneath her ear sent heat spiraling down her spine so fast she had to brace a hand against his chest.
“This, fer one,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm and unhurried.
His teeth grazed the sensitive spot along the side of her throat, and Isolda’s eyes fluttered shut. The scrape of his stubble was maddening and when his tongue traced the hollow below her ear, her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic.
“Ragnar...”
“Hmm?” His mouth moved lower, finding the spot where her pulse hammered wildly against her skin. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss there, lingering until her breath caught audibly.
“We cannae—” she forced her mind to function through the haze of his mouth doing devastating things to her neck. “We cannae just stay in our bedchamber all the time.”
“Why nae?” The question hummed against her collarbone.
“Because I’ll lose me mind. I need something taedae.”
