Why had I taken it so far?
Oh, it was easy enough to tell myself that we’d done what we needed to do, but that had only been the impetus. The escalation had been all desire, my desire, for while Bjorn’s body had reacted, that was only because he was a man and men had little control over such things. He was loyal to his father, and I’d shamed that loyalty. Embarrassed myself and him, and each time he reached out to steady me, mortification filled my core.
Yet for all my self-admonitions, it felt like a string stretched between us, my awareness of his proximity never faltering, and I could swear that even if my eyes were closed I might reach out to him with unerring precision. My eyes went to him of their own accord, only force of will driving them back to the ground, and my ears perked up every time I heard his voice.
You’re a stupid, lovesick fool, I snarled at myself. Lives are at stake, yet you lust over muscles and a pretty face. Act like a grown woman, not a girl who’s never had a man between her legs.
It’s more than that, my heart pleaded in protest. It’s more than just lust.
Which was what terrified me the most. Lust, I could satisfy myself. But the emotions burning in my chest? Those were not something that could be sated by deft fingers in a dark room. And certainly not by me.
It was with relief that the village at the base of the mountain appeared in the dawn light, and alongside it multiple camps with picket lines full of horses, all flying different banners. One of which was Snorri’s. Those on guard duty must have recognized us, for I’d not trodden another dozen feet before Ragnar approached. “My lord,” he said, “we were not expecting you so soon.”
“Halsar may be at risk of a raid.” Snorri’s voice was clipped. “Break camp and ready the horses. We must make haste.”
Bodil and her maidens split off to their camp, while our party trudged toward our own. As we drew closer, a familiar figure stepped out of a tent, her dress and cloak marked with travel stains and her face with exhaustion. “I am pleased to see you well, my lord,” Steinunn said, then to Ylva, “You as well, my lady.” Bjorn she pointedly ignored, but to me she said, “I would have your story, Freya Born-in-Fire.” Her voice was cool, expression stony, something in her gaze causing discomfort to twist my stomach.
“She’s tired,” Bjorn snapped. “While you’ve been at ease in camp, Freya has barely slept in days.”
“On the contrary,” the skald snapped back, “I arrived at the camp not an hour past, because that idiot man with the horses left before—” She broke off as Bodil approached, inclining her head. “Jarl Bodil.”
The big woman gave her a considering look, then said, “It has been long months since you’ve graced Brekkur with your presence, Steinunn. I look forward to a performance.”
“I will tell the tale of how Freya defeated the draug to reach the summit of the Hammar.”
“How do you know that is what happened?” Bjorn asked. “Perhaps the tunnels were empty and we merely climbed to the top.”
The look the skald gave him was withering, but before the conversation could devolve further, I said, “It was a great battle, and I will tell you all of it, as I promised.”
“Since you’ve made clear you do not wish to tell me anything, Bjorn,” Steinunn said, “perhaps you might retrieve our horses.”
Bjorn’s eyes narrowed, but Bodil said, “I will stay with Freya, Firehand. This is a story I greatly wish to hear.”
“It’s fine,” I said to him, “I will make no mention of Bjorn Shitshimself.”
Bodil coughed on the mouthful of water she’d just drunk, but Bjorn only smirked. “It is to my good fortune that the skalds’ magic can only reveal the truth.”
I smirked back, trying to ignore the flips my stomach was doing. “If I believe it, is it not the truth?”
“My reputation already cowers, Born-in-Fire,” he answered. “I shall flee lest it take more abuse.”
Turning on his heel, he strode toward the picket line, and I tore my eyes from his form to find Bodil watching me, and my cheeks warmed. “He did not actually,” I swiftly said. “It’s just a—”
“Perhaps start from the beginning,” the jarl said, then jabbed Steinunn, who was glaring at the ground. “Pay attention, girl, you don’t want to get anything wrong on this one.”
* * *
—
I spoke until I was so hoarse my throat hurt, telling the story of our journey through the draug-infested tunnels. Of our battles and how my magic protected me so that I might wield Bjorn’s axe, and how the gods had intervened in the final moments, when all seemed lost, to drag the remaining creatures down to Helheim. It was fortunate that the moments I did not wish to share were the quiet moments, and no one seemed to notice their omission. Bjorn stubbornly refused to be involved in the telling, riding instead at the rear of the column.