“Me sympathies,” Ragnar said.
“I’ve developed a new appreciation fer silence,” Magnus admitted, his hazel eyes exhausted.
Ada elbowed him. “Stop yer complainin’, ye love her.”
“I dae. Desperately. But I also miss sleep!”
The third ship brought Ivar alone—a fact that spoke volumes about the Raven’s solitary nature. He moved like a predator picking his way through shallow water, black eyes taking in everything and revealing nothing.
“Well now…” his greeting held dark amusement. “Quite the tangle ye’ve made fer yerself, Stag. I’m almost impressed.”
“Ivar.” Ragnar gripped his forearm. “Safe journey?”
“Aye.” His grin was all teeth. “So, where’s this mysterious lass whose got ye alláhyggja?”
“I’m nae nervous.”
Ivar’s expression shifted into genuine interest. “Och, this should be entertainin’.”
“Come. We’ve prepared chambers fer all of ye.”
“Harald isnae comin’?” Erik’s question was casual, but his eyes remained sharp.
“Couldnae travel. Enya’s too far along wi’ child.”
Erik nodded once and fell into step beside Ragnar as they approached the horses and began the climb back to the keep.
The courtyard thrummed with activity when they arrived—servants moving with purpose, warriors checking weapons, smoke rolling from the kitchen’s chimney, where venison had been roasting since dawn.
And the royal envoys stood near the eastern wall, watching it all.
“So.” Erik’s voice cut through the courtyard noise. “Are ye goin’ tae tell us what exactly’s goin’ on?”
Ragnar turned to find all three jarls watching him—Erik with that cold calculation he never quite shed, Magnus with his careful assessment, Ivar with open curiosity sharp as a blade.
“Douglas Graham’s men ambushed us on the road tae Uist.” The words came flat. Final. “Tried tae take her before I could.”
Magnus’s jaw tightened. “How many?”
“Eight. All dead now.”
“He’ll try again,” Ivar said, that smile playing at his mouth—the one that said he already knew how it would end. “Question is when.”
“Aye.” Ragnar met their eyes in turn. “When he comes, I need him tae see exactly what he’s facin’. The Pact isnae five separate alliances anymore.”
“Poetic.” Ivar’s grin showed teeth. “Also likely tae get us all killed.”
“We stand with ye,” Erik said, glowering at Ivar. “Always.”
The great hall blazed with firelight and noise by the time evening fell. Long tables had been arranged in Norse style, but it was softened with subtle Highland touches—heather scattered across the wood, banners from both cultures hanging side by side, all while torches burned brightly from their scones.
The other jarls had already gathered at the high table—Erik and Claricia at one end, young Thor miraculously asleep in his mother’s arms. Magnus and Ada occupied the other, Astrid blissfully quiet against Ada’s chest. Ivar sprawled in the middle, looking thoroughly entertained by something while Freyr stood near the wall with the other warriors, and Liv hovered near Ada, ready to assist with the baby if needed.
Only two seats remained empty.
Ragnar took his place, hyperaware of the vacant spot next to him.
“So,” Ivar said, swirling his ale in the cup. “How long before someone drags her down here? I’m half-starved.”