Freyr appeared at Ragnar’s shoulder, speaking low enough that only he could hear. “The men are waitin’ fer orders. We headin’ tae the keep?”
Ragnar’s jaw tightened. The castle was a solid twenty-minute climb up the cliff path on horseback, and Isolda’s wet clothes would freeze solid in the wind before they made it halfway.
His gaze swept over the assembled warriors, then landed on a cluster of village men who’d come to watch their jarl’s return. Some watched with open curiosity, others barely concealed as they took in the sight of the Highland bride who’d soon be their lady.
Something cold and sharp twisted in Ragnar’s chest.
Nay. They’ll nae see her like this.
The thought was unwelcome, primal and possessive in a way that caught him off-guard. He had no right to such feelings, not when she still looked at him as though he were a captor, rather than a husband. But the instinct was there regardless, fierce and undeniable.
Before he could second-guess himself, Ragnar reached up and unclasped the heavy fur cloak from his shoulders. It was slightly damp, but drier than Isolda’s sodden dress, and large enough to wrap around her twice over.
“Here.” He held it out to her. “Take this.”
Isolda blinked at the offered cloak, then up at him, confusion swimming in her eyes. “I dinnae think?—”
“Those garments willnae fit properly, and I’ll nae have anyone see ye in such a state.” He kept his voice level, reasonable. “Me cloak will keep ye warm enough until we reach the keep.”
To his surprise, she reached out and took the cloak with both hands. When she tried to swing it around her shoulders, she stumbled slightly under the unexpected weight.
Ragnar’s hands moved before his mind caught up, reaching out to steady the fabric, to help settle it properly across her back. His fingertips brushed the bare skin at the nape of her neck—just for an instant, barely a touch at all—and felt her go absolutely still.
He froze as well.
The moment stretched between them, awareness crackling like lightning before a storm. She was so close that he could smell the lingering scent of honeysuckle in her hair, could see the faint dusting of freckles scattered across her cheekbones that he’d never noticed before.
Her lips parted slightly and Ragnar forced his hands to drop, willing himself to turn away. But not before he caught the way she drew a shaky breath and the way her fingers clutched at the cloak’s edges as though it were armor.
“Better?”
“Aye.” The word was barely a whisper. “Thank ye.”
The cloak engulfed her small frame, the hem pooling on the ground at her feet, the shoulders hanging far past where they should be. She looked simultaneously ridiculous and oddly endearing, like a child dressed in her father’s clothes.
The corner of his mouth quirked before he could stop it.
Isolda caught the expression, and her chin lifted in defiance. “I’m sure I look quite amusin’.”
“It suits ye well enough. We should go,” he said gesturing toward the cliff path.
Isolda nodded, gathering the voluminous cloak in both hands to keep from tripping. She took two steps, then paused, glancing around as though searching for something.
“Where’s me horse?”
Ragnar met her gaze. “Ye dinnae get one. Ye’ll ride with me.”
“That’s nae necessary. I’ll?—”
“‘Tis a twenty-minute climb on horseback. How far d’ye reckon ye’ll get with that ankle of yers, little wolf?” Ragnar kept his tone practical. “Ye ride with me.” He stepped closer, gentling his voice slightly, aware of the watching eyes around them. “Please.”
She stood there, looking simultaneously defiant and exhausted, and Ragnar could see the moment she realized she had no real choice.
“Fine,” she said tightly. “But only because I’m too tired right now tae argue with ye properly.”
Ragnar signaled to the stable hand, who brought his stallion forward—a massive grey destrier named Tðrmr, bred for both speed and steadiness. The beat tossed his head as Ragnar approached, clearly happy to be reunited with his master.
He swung into the saddle in one fluid motion, then turned to look down at Isolda. She stood a few paces back, eyeing the horse with open wariness.