She moved to the window, putting more distance between them, and wrapped her arms around herself. “Once again, it daesnae matter one bit what I want, or what I need. Naebody treats me like aperson.Everyone just sees me as somethin’ tae be used.”
Ragnar felt something in his chest twist painfully at the defeated slump of her shoulders. “Ye’re nae that tae me.”
She turned her head slightly, not quite looking at him. “Nay? Then what am I?”
Someone who looks at me like I might be worth trustin’, and I dinnae ken what tae dae with that.
“Me…the person I’m meant tae wed. Whether either of us wants it or nae.”
“How wonderfully reassurin’ of ye,” she quipped, but some of the sharpness had left her voice.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional pop of logs in the fireplace and the distant cry of gulls beyond the window. Ragnar noticed Isolda shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room and the dressing gown.
“Are ye cold? I could send fer some more?—”
“I’m fine.” But even as she said it, she pulled the dressing gown tighter, and Ragnar saw the lie for what it was.
“Sit down,” he said gently. He softened his voice deliberately, the way he might when approaching a skittish horse. “Please. Just… sit, will ye?”
She hesitated, then moved to the chair nearest to the fire and sank into it, clearly exhausted. Ragnar remained standing, giving her the space she clearly needed.
“Did ye tell the King’s men I’d be delighted about the change?” she asked quietly.
“Nay.” He paused. “They wanted tae talk tae ye themselves. I refused.”
She turned to look at him fully, surprise written across her features. “Ye did?”
Ragnar nodded.
“Thank ye. Fer that, at least.”
“Ye dinnae need tae thank me fer showin’ ye basic decency, lass.” The words came out harsher than he intended, and he softened his voice. “I ken ye’re feelin’ hopeless and trapped,” hesaid quietly. “But yer life is still yers. The circumstances may be forced, buthowye live it—that’s still yer choice. I’ll never take that away from ye.”
She studied him for a moment, and Ragner found himself wondering what she saw.
Finally, she spoke. “I want tae write tae me faither.”
The request caught him off guard. “Yer faither?”
“Aye. He’ll have heard by now that I was attacked. I ken he daesnae care fer me, but he still deserves tae ken that I’m alive and…” she hesitated. “And that I’m all right.”
“Are ye?” the question slipped out before he could stop it.
Her smile was small and sad. “Nay. But he daesnae need tae ken that.”
Something in Ragnar’s chest ached at the quiet honestly of it. “Write yer letter,” he said. “I’ll have it sent with a trusted messenger. Ye can say whatever ye need tae say—I’ll nae read it nor censor it.”
She blinked at him. “Truly?”
“Aye. Though it’ll need tae be sealed and witnessed fer the fing’s records.” At her questioning look, he explained. “‘Tis standard practice fer the Pact marriages.”
“Meanin’ someone will read it.”
“Likely. But nae me, if that’s what ye’re worried about.”
She nodded slowly. “I’ll write it after… after I’ve finished dressin’ properly.”
It as a dismissal, politely delivered, but unmistakable. Ragnar should have left immediately, should have taken the excuse and fled.
