To ease the spark of irritation Bjorn knew he was stirring, he handed a horn of ale to Njáll. The smooth horn glided under his fingertips as the sweet tang of the brew slid down his throat.
Part of him wanted to ignore Bjorn’s questions and drink until he passed out. But truthfully, he needed to speak with someone before he lost his mind.
“Her brother was killed in a raid. I believe the one wrongly embarked on when we were still in training. She blames me. Us. For his death. Also, I may have suggested she bewitched me. I don’t blame her, but… I apologized, and yet, she is still unhappy with me.”
Bjorn coughed, smacking his chest as he choked on a swig of ale. “You apologized? Gods above. You are more gone than I thought. Our Jarl, shackled by a tiny creature with flaming hair.”
“Freyja mocks me, Bjorn,” Njáll mumbled, slumped with his ale clutched between his massive hands. “That wicked woman has me under her spell. Some magic I cannot shake. It is the only reason I can explain why I care who she is or what she thinks.”
Snorting, Bjorn’s throat bobbed. The table beside him rattled as he placed his empty cup on the wood, facing Njáll fully.
“Magic,” he mused, scratching his beard. “Is that what you call it when women turn men into fools, Jarl? Our mothers’ would call it love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Njáll spat.
Love was a fairy tale. One his mother and Astra adored. Even his father believed in it. Njáll never believed in love. He believed in alliances, in companionship, in sex, not love.
Bjorn raised his hands, dipping his chin.
Njáll couldn’t explain it to him. Not when the Konungr had sworn him to secrecy. He could tell no one about the girl’s true nature. About how the Völva foretold her or her ties to Freyja.
How Freyja’s magic cursed him.
Not love. Not some ancient bond crafted by the gods.
Freyja’s magic, wielded through a flame-haired siren who scarcely knew what she did to him.
It made it worse. How she didn’t know the power she commanded.
“There are many kinds of magic, Jarl. Some kinds harden a man’s cock when a beautiful woman looks at him.” Njáll rolled his eyes, but Bjorn continued. “Some turn even the most lethal of warriors intopurring kittens.”
Njáll waved him off, grunting. He drained the last of his ale, tugging a fur over his shoulders. His body ached. He longed for a hot bath, one to soothe his body and clear his mind. Though it seemed no such relief was in sight for him. Not until he found a way to be welcomed back into his own dwelling.
If he used the common bathing house, gossip would spread like a bush fire. People would mumble as to why their Jarl did not bathe in the solitude of his own home.
“How do I fix this?” Njáll asked, yanking the leather strip from his braids and letting his hair fall free around his shoulders.
“Did you explain to her what happened?”
“I could not find the words. They felt empty. She’s lost her brother, her mother, and now I’ve taken her from her father. I’m the demon she accuses me of being, I fear no amount of pretty words can heal the wound.”
Something sobered in his kin’s expression. His brows pinched and then his mouth furrowed. After a long pause, a knowing smile curved Bjorn’s lips.
“You want back in your own furs? You want her flame aimed at you in passion, not anger?” Bjorn shrugged, adjusting the bearskin along his back. “Give her time. Tell her the truth. And Jarl, I believe you must grovel.”
Ten
Elara
Shortly after sunrise, Elara slipped outside, hoping not too many people milled around.
Dark circles marred the thin skin under her eyes after spending much of the night tossing and turning under furs smelling of Njáll.
A thread rolled between her fingers as she toyed with it. The new linen dress arrived with piles of far too much meat and fresh water. A young, doe-eyed girl delivered them before leaving with a tinkling giggle.
After soaking in the steaming tub until her fingers wrinkled, Elara plaited her hair and crawled into the mountain of plush furs.
It wasn’t long before the whispers came. The voices fed on her grief, calling to her. To regret and guilt gnawing at her, leaving her exposed in a place where she was entirely alone.
