A duality.
Like them.
The meaning wasn’t lost on her, and it shattered the last piece of uncertainty she clung to like a lifeline.
Brielle shifted the kitten into Elara’s arms. Elara nuzzled the cat’s soft belly, giggling as it pawed at her head.
“Leif gave me one not long after we wed. Runa. Remember, Úlfr?”
Looking up from his woodwork, Leif grimaced, and Elara failed to stifle a laugh.
“How could I forget? That beast hated me. She’d wait in the rafters for me to return, only to pounce on me. I’ve killed warriors with less bloodlust than that cat had.”
The kitten licked Elara’s thumb, the feeling like sandpaper against her skin. It was strange that something so sweet existed here. That one harassed a mighty Konungr, and the other was cradled in her Jarl’s arms earlier.
Purrs vibrated her hand as Elara ran it along the kitten’s spine.
Perhaps Njáll could be the blade wrapped in fur, and she could be the rose lined with thorns.
Twenty-Three
Njáll
Residual steam billowed up from the basin, blurring the flames from the hearth. Njáll sat on the edge of his furs, trews loose around his waist, face in his hands as water dripped from his still damp hair.
The subtletap, tap, tapof the water hitting the dirt floor punctuated his thoughts. An exasperated sound rumbled in his chest as he ran a hand through the wet strands, pushing them off his face with a grunt.
Patience had never been a virtue sung by the skalds. They sang of fury, of speed, of the final bite of a blade.
Nothing in his training ever prepared him for this. For the agonizing crawl of time spent waiting for a woman to decide he was worth the trouble.
Njáll had always been the hunter, never wanting for anything.
Until now.
Now, he felt like a lamb cornered by a wolf, hoping for mercy.
And his beautiful, fiery girl was the wolf.
Teeth dug into his lower lip as he slapped his hands on his thighs. Blood slid over his tongue, and he wiped it away.
He’d left the kitten with his mother that morning, arriving at the longhouse hoping to catch even a glimpse of his little flame.
Anything.
Odin help him.
Part of him felt like a fool wandering through the clan, carrying a mewling bundle of fur. But he was a desperate man. Little room remained for pride.
His mother greeted him, a knowing smile making her eyes crinkle. Those soft hands patted his arms before cupping his face.
“She is well, Njáll. Do not worry. She is eating. Sleeping. Thinking.”
“Thinking of what?” he demanded, the words harsher than he intended. “Many apologies, Mamma,” he uttered, feeling like a small child under her glare.
She waved him away. “That is not for me to share. She will tell you when she is ready. For now, she is safe in our home, until she is ready to rejoin you in yours.”
His mother took the kitten from his arms, reassuring him as only she could that all would be well.
