CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“How long have ye been awake?”
Ragnar thought she was still sleeping. He had been lying there for the better part of an hour trying not to focus on how her body had curved against his in the night, her buttocks pressed against his hip, leaving him aching with want.
He looked over to their still-intwined fingers and somehow, it felt far more intimate than any kiss.
“A while.” He turned his head on the pillow.
She studied him with those sharp eyes. Sleep had loosened her braid, ink-black strands spilling across the linen. “Did I wake ye?”
“Nay.” She shifted, and the movement made him acutely aware of each place their bodies touched and the warmth of her bleeding through the thin fabric between them. “I just openedme eye and saw ye were starin’ at the ceilin’ like it might give ye answers.”
“Was hopin’ it would tell me how tae survive breakfast,” he reluctantly released her hand and sat up, putting necessary distance between them before he did something foolish. “Ye ken Ivar’s goin’ tae be insufferable.”
“Och…” she sat up too, rubbing her eyes with her hands before smoothing her rumpled gown with shaky hands. “Dae ye think they…” she trailed off, her cheeks flushing, “believed it?”
“Well, ye did scream me name loud enough tae wake the gods in Valhalla, little wolf.” He couldn’t quite suppress his smile. “So, aye, I’d wager they believed it.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “Ye were the one who told me tae be convincin’!”
“And ye were.” He reached for his boots, aware of her glare burning into his back. “Too convincin’, truth be told.”
A pillow flew thought the air, aimed at his head and he caught it mid-air without looking, then tossed it back onto the bed.
“Feel better?”
“Nay.” Her mouth twitched. “But we should go before I throw somethin’ heavier at yer thick skull.”
The Great Hall buzzed with morning activity when they entered—warriors breaking their fast at the lower tables while servants moved between them with pitchers and platters.
At the high table, Erik and Claricia sat beside Magnus and Ada, with Ivar lounging at the far end like a cat who had cornered a particularly entertaining mouse while Freyr stood near the hearth, speaking with one of the guards. His eyes tracked their entrance and he moved to take a seat.
“Och!” Ivar’s voice carried across the hall. “The newlyweds grace us wi’ their presence at last!” he stood up, greeting them with a bow. “I was beginnin’ tae wonder if ye’d decided tae stay abed all day.”
Ragnar guided Isolda toward their seats with his hand at the small of her back—firm, but gentle as she moved stiffly beside him, her chin lifted high despite the obvious mortification radiating from her tiny frame.
“I’m surprised tae see ye awake this early Ivar,” Ragnar said, his tone teasing as he pulled the seat out for Isolda. “Usually takes three men and a bucket of cold water tae rouse ye before noon.”
Erik snorted into his cup while Magnus’s mouth twitched.
Ivar leaned back into his chair as Ragnar took his seat, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Och, I slept remarkably well… considerin’ how surprisinglythinthe walls are here at Uist. I could have sworn there was a wailin’ ghost in the castle’s depths!”
Isolda went very still beside him, heat radiating from her cheeks like a forge.
“The tide should hold fer another few hours,” Erik said, his tone pointed. “We’ll make good time back tae Skye if the gods will it.”
Claricia cleared her throat delicately, “Och, I wish we could’ve seen the village before?—”
“I’m certain they heard it too.” Ivar’s eyes danced with unholy glee. “In fact, I’d wager that they’re already composin’ ballads?—”
“Ye’ve more guts than brains this mornin’, Ivar.” Magnus said quietly.
Ivar opened his mouth again—then yelped as Ada’s boot connected with his shin underneath the table. “What was that fer?”
“Some things dinnae need commentary.” Ada said sweetly.
“Enough.” Ragnar’s voice cut through the conversation, quiet, but absolute as he reached for the breadbasket and broke off a piece, the motion controlled despite the anger simmering beneath his skin.
