Part of her hoped he’d be waiting for her when she returned, but when she opened the door, all she found was disappointment.
The fire in the hearth roared, the dry logs cracking as the scent of cedar wafted through the smoke hole.
Fresh meat and water waited for her on a bench.
As she moved closer, a tiny polished stone, nestled in a heap of linen, gleamed in the firelight’s glow.
The perfectly smooth river stone glided between her fingers.
Markings were etched into the stone’s surface. The pads of her fingers caught on the grooves as she traced the lines, trying to decipher its meaning.
While she’d been gone, Njáll had provided for her, leaving food and clothes and a gift.
A single rune, whose purpose eluded her.
It wasn’t a demand. He didn’t force his presence on her, simply caring for her in the only way he knew how while respecting her request for time.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes, the wet drops sliding down her cheeks and staining the dusty floor. She pressed the cool stone against her lips, swallowing the faint taste of bile coating her tongue.
When her tears dried, she brushed their remnants away with the sleeve of her linen dress. Slowly, she lowered the stone into her pocket, finding its weight comforting as she tapped the spot.
She picked at the meat, annoyed it didn’t make her feel any better. Each bite she forced down turned to ash in her mouth.
A pile of dresses and shifts, cloaks and jewels lay across the furs. Garments she refused to sift through. They had been gifts from the Jarl, ones she didn’t deserve. One she couldn’t accept.
They were far finer than anything she’d ever owned.
The day moved slowly as she stared into the fire, hoping the flames would speak to her. They didn’t, staying frustratingly silent.
As the sun began to set, the door creaked.
Elara spun, a bearskin wrapped around her shoulders. Blood rushed in her ears. She instinctively searched for a weapon. Color flooded her cheeks when her gaze landed on the broad figure filling the doorway.
Njáll’s hulking form stood still, the colorful sunset casting him in a shadowy glow. It made him look like a demon bathed in the flames of hell. It made an infuriating heat build low in her abdomen.
A faint smile stretched across her tired lips as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
She decided not to fight the faint flutter in her chest at his arrival. It felt good.
Unlike the adorned, commanding Jarl he had been on the ship, in here, Njáll appeared simpler.
Dressed in only a tunic and woolen trews.
But no less gorgeous.
“Njáll,” she said, her voice quiet. She reached into the pocket of her dress, removing the stone. “I found your gift.”
His jaw tightened a fraction, a flicker of emotion blinking back into his eyes.
“What does it mean?”
The tip of his tongue darted out, and he closed the space between them. She tipped her head back, her neck aching from the angle. Njáll’s chest shuddered with a rasp before he lowered beside her.
Her eyes widened, following his movements as his knees hit the dirt floor.
Two scarred hands bracketed her face, nearly engulfing her in his massive palms. His gaze locked with hers. The corner of his mouth twitched while he brushed his thumbs over the dusting of freckles on her cheeks.
“It is rune. One of forgiveness and new beginnings. Let us start over, little flame.” His hand slid to her nape, gently holding her. “I don’t understand what spell you have over me, but it makes me weak. Weak for you.”
