“Florie cares for Stewart as much as he does for her,” I went on. “’Tis clear in their gazes if you but watch.”
“I have,” he admitted. “Hoping I wasnae mistaken.”
“I cannot imagine you are.” I perked an eyebrow at him in question. “And I suspect she would like Stewart to have these sweets, so if you are not opposed, I will save them for him. They are rightfully his and might make him feel closer to her once he reads that letter and undoubtedly receives good news.”
“Nay, not opposed in the least.” He handed me his and smiled, making my breath catch. It felt like each new smile he gave me brought even more warmth to my heart.
“’Tis a good thought,” he went on. “A kind and loving thought.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if he were undecided how he wanted to phrase things.
“To that end,” he continued, sipping his whisky. “Might we talk for a bit, lass? Get to know one another better? I’ve gathered much about you and your nature from how you interacted today with people and from what you said and sang to the wounded Norse, but I would like to know more. You, in ways you dinnae share with others. Facets of your life, if you will.”
“I would like that,” I replied softly, sipping my whisky as well. “Very much.”
And so, we did for a time, speaking of more minor, everyday life before we met, whether in Scotland or Norway. Our passions. Likes. Dislikes. Stories of battles and valor. Of life and loss, before eventually speaking of things that needed to be shared when he finally told me about his mother’s death.
Lachlann had told me his version, but Declan’s was understandably more personal, given he had found her wounded and dying first. It was clear he had loved his mother every bit as much as I had mine, and speaking of them bonded us.
“I felt no hatred toward the Norse I grew up around until that moment,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Until seeing my mother broken and dying.” Justifiable anger flaring in his eyes, he shook his head. “She was a good ma and the kindest woman, never harming anyone.” His gaze settled on the fire, and a vein ticked in his temple. “Had I arrived a few scant minutes sooner, mayhap…”
“Mayhap you would have ended up dead too, given you were so new with a blade,” I said gently when he trailed off.“’Tis not guilt you should carry any more than I for my own mother when I couldn’t protect her from dying at the hands of a rival tribe. By the blade of one of my own countrymen, no less.” Having long battled my demons and understanding that things needed to go as they should, I shook my head. “As you know, terrible things happen all the time. Sometimes we are meant to have control over them. Other times, not. ‘Tis all part of this great tapestry that ensures fate unfolds as it should.”
“And I am your fate,” he said softly, the anger fading from his gaze when he looked at me again. “Just as you said, aye?”
“Just as I said,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft, too.
His tender gaze lingered on me for a long moment. “I am so sorry for the loss of your mother, Astrid.” He shook his head. “Her death sounds no kinder than the demise of my own.”
“It was not,” I confessed. “My sisters and I also carried a tremendous sense of guilt over not being there to defend her. Help her…” Shaking my head, I swallowed hard. “She was a great warrior, but there were too many of them.”
Though I knew he dared not risk our touching again out in the open, his compassionate gaze made me feel as though he held me close, lending me comfort, just as I knew my gaze did the same for him.
Then he asked me a question I wasn't sure I was ready to answer.
A conversation I was not sure I would ever be ready to have.
Chapter Fourteen
-DECLAN-
I could not remember the last time I had such a good day from start to finish. From making love to Astrid into the wee hours of the morning to this very moment, as we sat alone before the fire outside the cottages we had been given for the night.
She had been truly impressive today, rallying for Scotland’s cause, her words having already touched many before we even arrived. King Alexander was most pleased with her, as he should be, and our journey ahead looked hopeful.
Now, we were finally taking time to talk and get to know each other, and I was surprised by how much we had in common despite the sea that had separated us. Although it was not easy to speak of my mother again, there was comfort in sharing with her. Finally letting a woman in like that. Had one told me it would be a Norsewoman mere months ago, I never would have believed them, but here we were.
“And what of your father, Bjorn?” I wondered, more curious now, if not a little frustrated, he had sent her so far from home alone, and I spoke to that. “Whilst, aye, you can certainly hold your own in battle, I cannae imagine him sending you this far for a mere marriage alignment.”
When her gaze grew troubled and lingered on the fire, I knew she was not ready to speak of this.
“’Tis all right, lass,” I said softly. “We dinnae need to talk about this if—”
“No, we do,” she said firmly, yet gently, as if trying to convince herself. “You should understand me as I should you.” Taking a few sips from her skin of whisky, she seemed to debate where to start. “Both my parents loved me and my sisters fiercely when we were young, proudly raising us to be the shield-maidens we are today. At least Father loved us until he lost Mother, and then the white bear mauled him.”
Pausing a moment, she shook her head and sighed. “After that, he became a different man entirely, demanding we lay down the blades and shields he and Mother had given us years before. He would not have us fighting anymore. Our sole purpose from then on would lie in making good marriage alliances and breeding strong sons.” She looked my way, her gaze hard to read and her tongue honest indeed. “To his way of thinking, a union with a well-established Scottish chieftain would give the Helvigs a good foothold here.”
“Ah,” I murmured, understanding. “Yet another way to invade our shores.”
