A foreign witch, one their own Völva had foretold.
How did he explain to the Konungr that this Seiðkona had bewitched him? How Njáll enjoyed being susceptible to her wiles entirely too much. It spurred a passion within him he had never felt before unless there was a blade in his hand.
Njáll rolled his shoulders, his body stiff after sleeping at an awkward angle all night.
Granted, he’d suffer a thousand aching muscles if it meant he got to hold his little flame while she slept in his arms each night.
A snarl rose in his throat. He could feel the glare of her eyes on him.
What bothered him more was the arrogant smirk of his kin beside her.
Apparently, there was no love lost between them. Bjorn was still intent on needling him by making his little flame’s lashes flutter prettily.
The scarlet mane of her hair flashed in his periphery, and his nerves flared, attuned to her presence. A caged beast raged within him, demanding he tuck her protectively into his side and claim her for the whole clan to see.
Straight-backed and graceful, she stood at the prow, looking like a queen. The breeze blew her lush hair behind her like a goddess riding into battle.
What he wouldn’t give to be speared by her blade.
If he were to be under her spell, he would enjoy it.
Her seiðr may have called to him, but the rest of her remained indifferent. All the crumbled walls from the night before came back stronger.
And it was his fault.
At least she believed it was his fault.
And he didn’t know how to get her to believe otherwise.
An uneasy emotion squeezed his chest until it ached at the memory of the pain on her face. When she spoke of her brother, barely grown, falling in battle as he tried to defend his sister and family from an onslaught.
One he knew of.
One led by rogue clansmen.
Njáll had been well into his training when it happened, still considered a boy by his mother, yet a warrior by his father. A group of warriors thirsted for blood, denied the Konungr, stole ships and attacked an English village across the sea.
The unauthorized raid cost his little flame her brother.
No clan had ever traveled to her shoreline before then.
Until now.
He longed to reassure her, but when her ire turned to him, blaming him for the terrible things his clansmen did… The last of his control snapped, reminding him of the vile creatures who tormented his sister.
Why should he not blame her for their actions if she planned to do the same to him?
He hated himself the moment the words left his lips. The terror twisting in her eyes made his gut churn.
Everything spiraled out of his tightly leashed control when she asked him why he had spared her.
It should have been easy to tell some foreign girl his clan needed her. How her abilities had been foretold, and he had come to collect her.
Unfortunately, it had not been easy. This girl’s magic slithered into every vein and pore, making him feel things he never expected.
Njáll begged Freyja to tell him he was wrong, how the girl was not his.
She didn’t.
