Idon’t know how long it’s been since I felt so clean. So fresh.
A bit of pampering never hurts. I seem to forget that. Now I feel like a well-tended babe, washed by its loving mother. Every nook and cranny of my body has been wiped and scrubbed, then wiped again. My braid is tight, scented with rosemary water. I would rival the daughters of kings, with their servants and stone castles.
Ari will notice. Even he can’t be so blind.
Peeking out of my door, there is no one in sight. No judging eyes. No whispering lips. The perfect moment. I step out, clutching my leather gourd filled with mint and honey-flavored water. The lightest rain drizzles down. I barely feel it—just my robe sticking to my body.
I walk proudly, no sneaking. My business is… official. Yes, I am performing my duty as a Volva, checking if my patient’swound has healed properly. Of course. I simply didn’t have the time before the sun had set and hearths had been lit.
I snicker at my own thoughts. Ylvin would approve—surprising a man at his house after dark. I learned from the best. My heart is warmed as I arrive at Ari’s door.
I knock gently, trying for a seductive sound, whatever that means.
“Enter,” I hear through the door.
Stepping into his house, I hold myself straight, aiming for elegant. He turns from his lit hearth. A smile invades his face. His eyes stay locked to mine.
“Kilda,” he says.
“Ari,” I reply.
“You look beautiful.”
Ari steps forward, looking me up and down.
“Oh my, you’re drenched,” he says. “Please, please dry off by the fire.”
I had barely noticed the rain, too caught up in my thoughts and shady manners. Glancing down my body, I notice—with horror—my robe has bonded with my skin, transparent. My nipples show through the fabric, and my belly button beyond. I can’t imagine how it looks below.
I burst into laughter. Ari is surprised.
“Freya’s tits,” I howl. “You can see mine! I’m sorry…”
He laughs with me.
“Not the worst thing I’ve experienced.” He takes my hand, pulling me to the fire. “Come sit.”
He leads me to a chair padded with deer furs. It’s deep and comfortable. It smells like Ari—strong, masculine. My body relaxes as I sink in, stifling a giggle after my poorly executed entrance. Of all times to forget adjusting my dress.
The lightness of the moment shatters—a flash of reflection. The weight of the secret I am keeping from him. Njord’s innocence. I shake my head to regain control of my mind.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
“Haven’t had the time. But I brought us drinks.”
“Wonderful.” He places my gourd on the table. “But you must eat.”
He places a long-handled frying pan over the fire, then scoops a large dollop of fat from a jar with his fingers. He slaps it into the pan. It starts to sizzle as Ari tosses in a few cloves of unpeeled garlic.
“Unpeeled?” I ask, intently watching the man work.
“Oh yes. Adds the flavor, but keeps them whole to eat with the meat.”
“I thought you only ate at the longhouse?”
“Mostly, I said.”
True. He did say mostly. The skald lays a stub of fresh parsley in the simmering fat, followed by a pinch of dried thyme. This man never ceases to impress me. He cooks like the gods will eat it—even if it’s just me.
