A wailing sob tore free from her before she could stop it, ragged and raw. Tears spilled down her cheeks—the kind that shook her entire body and made her nose run.
“He daesnae… I asked him tae visit…” her voice rose higher. “I just wanted him tae… I wanted tae matter… just fer once.”
Ragnar pulled her against his chest without a word, one large hand cradling the back of her head while the other wrapped around her waist, holding her while she shattered, while she faced years of being overlooked and dismissed and forgotten, while it all came crashing down at once.
“Lass, what did yer faither?—”
“He’snaeme faither anymore!” The words tore out between sobs, her hands fisting in his shirt. “I dinnae ken why I was fool enough tae expect anythin’ different.” She lifted her eyes, staring at him. “Dae ye ken what ‘tis like? Tae ken that if ye disappeared tomorrow, nay one would truly miss ye?”
He didn’t offer any platitudes or comfort—just listened, one hand moving in slow circles against her back.
“If I were drownin’ in the loch, he’d step right over me on his way tae somethin’ more important, but I still… hoped!” her voice broke completely. “After everythin’, I was daft enough tae think that maybe this time—maybe if I was far enough away he’d realize…”
She couldn’t finish, her voice giving way entirely, dissolving into ragged sobs that shook her whole body. Ragnar said nothing, just gathered her closer as her knees gave in, shifting down with her until she was half in his lap, curled against his chest like a child seeking shelter from a storm.
Finally, after the tears had subsided into shaking breaths, he spoke.
“Isolda. Look at me.”
She glanced up.
“Ragnar—”
“Yer faither’s a damned fool.” The words were quiet and certain.
He pulled back just enough to cup her face, his thumbs wiping away the tear tracks on her cheeks, his eyes fierce. She tried to shake her head, but his hands held her in place.
“A blind fool who couldnae see what was right in front of him.” His jaw tightened. “And that’s onhim,Isolda. That’s his failure. D’ye hear me?”
Fresh tear tumbled from her eyes.
“Any man who treats his kin like that daesnae deserve tae be called faither.”
“I ken but?—”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath ghosting the strands of hair around her face.
“I dinnae ken how tae…” she trailed off, searching for words that wouldn’t come.
Ragnar’s expression softened, and he drew her back against his chest again, settling her head over his heart. “Ye dinnae have tae ken anythin’. Just let it out, lass.”
Isolda closed her eyes, pressing herself flat against him. His heart thumped steadily beneath her ear. She focused on it, letting the rhythm ground her, counting each steady beat until her own breathing began matching its pace.
“I cannae fix what yer family did tae ye.” His voice rumbled through his chest. “I cannae undae it. But ye’re mine now.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head briefly. “And I promise I’ll never let go. D’ye understand?”
The words settled over her like a vow, binding them more closely than any vow spoken in the chapel.
“Aye.” She whispered against his chest.
“Good.” His arms tightened, sheltering her. “I’ve got ye.”
They stayed like that while her breathing gradually steadied, while the tears dried on her cheeks.
Slowly, she became aware of how they were arranged—she was sprawled half-across his chest with her leg hooked over his thigh, using him as a pillow while his arms locked around her.
“Ragnar?”
His hand moved, fingers threading through her tangled hair with unexpected tenderness. “Aye?”
