“Happy?” Claricia supplied. “Aye. But it took time. And both of us deciding that what we’d been given could become somethin’ worth keepin’.”
“Some days I still want tae strangle him,” Ada teased, making Magnus choke on his ale. “But mostly, I just want tae keep him all tae meself.”
“How comfortin’.” Magnus managed. “Me wife threatens at murder and calls it love.”
“Well, look at it this way, if ye survive me, ye can survive anythin’.”
More laughter came, and the meal continued. They shared honey cakes, preserved fruits and soft cheese while Isolda was drawn into conversation with the wives.
“So… ye were goin’ tae be a nun,” Claricia was saying. “That’s a big leap.”
“Aye,” Isolda replied coolly. “But at least a nun gets tae pray in peace?—”
A sudden commotion near the lower tables drew everyone’s attention—a bench scraping violently against stone, the sharp clatter of a cup hitting the floor. One of the warriors—Tormund—lurched to his feet, swaying.
“Brought aHighlanderintae our hall,” he slurred, loud enough to carry. “While Douglas sharpens his blades at our doorstep… while our braithers bleed!” His bloodshot eyes found Isolda. “And we’re supposed tae smile and bow like she’s some prize worth havin’?”
Freyr’s hand went to his sword. “Tormund. Mind yerself.”
“Nay.” The warrior’s fists clenched. “Someone needs tae say it?—”
Isolda stood.
The movement was so unexpected that Ragnar’s hand shot out instinctively, catching her wrist. She met his eyes—steady, unflinching—and he released her. He watched her walk towardthe commotion, watched her look at Tormund like she was studying something broken that might still be mended.
“Ye’re right,” she said quietly.
The hall went deathly still.
“I’m nae a prize. I’m nae even a willin’ participant.” Her voice carried without shouting. “I’m just a lass who tried tae escape her fate and failed. So aye, warrior—I understand yer anger. Because I share it.”
Tormund’s mouth worked soundlessly.
“But here’s what I ken.” Isolda’s chin lifted slightly. “Yer jarl didnae choose this either. None of us did. Douglas Graham and men like him—they’rethe ones who turned us all intae pawns.” She paused. “So ye can hate me if it makes ye feel better. Or ye can save that hate fer the bastards who actually deserve it.”
Silence pressed against the stone walls.
Then, Ragnar stood.
He walked to Tormund with the patience of a man who knew his prey couldn’t escape, and when he reached the warrior, his hand closed around the back of his neck—grip iron hard, fingers digging into pressure points that made the man go rigid.
“Me betrothed just defended ye,” Ragnar said quietly, the words somehow carrying in the absolute silence. “Stood up and claimed ye havereasonfer yer disrespect.”
His fingers tightened and Tormund made a strangled sound.
“Now, ye’ll apologize tae her—properly. Then ye’re goin’ tae sober up and remember that tae dishonor her is tae dishonor yer jarl.” He released Tormund with a slight shove. “Lady Isolda didnae choose this.” His voice rang clearer now. “Neither did I, but she’s mine now, which makes her part of this clan. And we protect our own. Always.”
The hall remained silent as Ragnar returned to his seat.
Slowly, Tormund sank onto his bench. His voice came rough. “Aye. Aye, me jarl.” He dragged a hand across his face. “Fergive me, me lady.”
Isolda nodded once and returned to her seat as if nothing unusual had happened. But Ragnar saw the slight tremor in her hands before she hid them in her lap, saw the tension in her jaw that betrayed how much that small act of courage had cost her.
By all the gods and spirits who haunt these shores...
Ragnar’s chest constricted like someone had wrapped iron bands around his ribs. His pulse hammered at his throat, his wrists, the base of his skull. He wanted to reach for her hand—feel her skin against his, warm and alive. Wanted to pull herclose and tell her she was the bravest thing he’d ever seen. Wanted things he had no right to want. “Well,” Ivar said into the silence, “that was entertainin’. Daes anyone else want tae question the lady’s presence, or can we finish our dessert now?”
The women took their leave shortly after—Isolda heading to her chambers, Ada with Astrid fussing against her shoulder, Claricia following with Thor starting to fuss, Liv trailing behind to help settle them. The hall felt emptier without them, the air heavier.
