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“No, Magnus,” she said, firmly, and attempted to lift a single, challenging brow the way that Revna would have in this situation. “I promise I have it well in-hand.” She was pretty sure her brows didn’t move independently, however, and that Magnus wouldn’t have looked nearly so dejected had Revna been the one to refuse him.
He looked crestfallen.
Chuckling, Rune said, “Mag, leave it. You’re going to pull something trying to act like a Southern gentleman.”
“And you’re not a very good actor to begin with,” Lars put in, unsmiling, and sent Rune off a fresh burst of laughter.
Cheeks flushed dark, Magnus ducked his head, swore under his breath, and returned to his perch on the log, shoving at Rune for good measure, who was now laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes.
Estrid, already pinning up clothes on the line, said, “I noticed you didn’t offer to help me withmylaundry.” Lips pursed in a wry smile as she regarded the men.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” Magnus said, cheeks still dark with embarrassment, “but I knew that I might lose a hand if I offered to help you.”
That got a snort out of Lars, and Rune howled.
“Whereas Her Grace is – well, she’s – I mean, Southern ladies–”
“Don’t do their own laundry, aye,” Estrid said. “Nor carry things. Nor wipe their own bums, I’d imagine.”
Rune choked and Lars slapped him helpfully on the back.
“But Tessa,” Estrid continued, as Tessa, her own cheeks now warm, joined her and began – less deftly – to pin up her sopping clothes, “isn’t a Southern lady. Not anymore. She’s a Northern princess, and she’s far from helpless.” She sent Tessa a brief, bolstering look, and though it eased some of her initial worry that the people of the North still thought her a delicate flower, it didn’t make her any more capable.
She still had a long way to go to prove herself.
Estrid leaned in close, while Rune was attempting to wrestle his laughter back into submission, and whispered, “Men are fools. Never forget that.”
Tessa snorted. “Even Leif?”
She’d meant it in a teasing way, but Estrid’s face shuttered, lips compressing, jaw tensing. “Especially him,” she muttered. “Running off with that traitorous murder. He’s the biggest fool of all.” She pinned the last of her skirts in place, and stepped back, hands propped on her hips, giving a short nod of satisfaction. Tessa could read the anger in her, though. Anger at Leif? At Ragnar for turning him? Or at herself, for caring about it at all?
Tessa spared a glance toward the men, who’d regained their composure, mostly – Lars had never lost his, and Rune was sipping from his cup, cheeks pink and eyes watery, but laughter subsided for now. Magnus had pulled a flask from beneath his cloak and was filling his cup with a viscous clear liquid: the strong spirit called mistress, no doubt; he wouldn’t be doing much guarding tonight if he had all that he’d poured.
She stepped in closer, and kept her voice low. “Estrid. Do you…”
Estrid’s gaze snapped over, flashing a clear warning.Leave it, that look said.
But Tessawasa Northern princess now, and growing into the role all the time. Northern princesses didn’t leave things.
Tessa lowered her voice another fraction. “I know you at one point hoped that he would court you–”
“Oh, please.” Her expression spoke of disgust, but her cheeks were stained as pink as Magnus’s.
“And he might still–”
“Tessa,” Estrid said, firmly, and turned to her. Her brows were notched together, mouth an angry slash, cheeks hectic red. The face of a woman trying to battle her finer feelings into submission, one made almost comically sinister by the addition of her bejeweled eyepatch. She looked every inch the swaggering lady pirate of a children’s story, and it was an effort to keep from smiling. “I did fancy Leif, when I was younger.”
Tessa didn’t point out that “when I was younger” was a mere few months prior, when Estrid had given Tessa snide looks across the great hall.
“But whoever orwhatever he is now…” She shook her head, and for a moment, Tessa caught the glimmer of fear in her gaze, though perhaps it was only a trick of the firelight. “No.” She sounded sure. “I don’t want him any longer. That moment has passed.”
Tessa nodded, relieved. A part of her had feared that Estrid’s reason for coming on the march was to try and meet up with Leif, and, now that Tessa was married to Rune, try to turn his head once more. Tessa had feared for her friend’s heart: whatever his motives now, Tessa doubted romance was anywhere on Leif’s mind right now.
Estrid wiped her damp hands on her cloak and then rubbed them together with an air of brisk efficiency. “Now, then. Didn’t His Royal Deadness want to see you for another lesson?”
It was Tessa’s turn to make a face. “Ugh. Yes.”
Estrid turned from their tent – Tessa waved and called to Rune in explanation before following – and said, “I thought you liked all that magical nonsense.”
