Tðrmr turned his head, fixing Ragnar with what could only be described as a judgmental look.
“Dinnae start,” Ragnar muttered.
The horse snorted.
He scrubbed a hand over his face just as Freyr appeared from the direction of the armory. He took one look at Ragnar’s expression and grinned. “How’d yer lesson go?”
“Fine.”
“Ye look flustered.”
“I’m nae?—”
“Yer ears are on fire.”
“She’s a quick learner.” He diverted.
“Aye, I’m sure she is.” Freyr stepped closer. “And I’m also sure that’s the only reason ye’re standin’ here lookin’ like someone just walloped ye over the head with a mallet.”
“Dinnae ye have duties tae attend tae?”
“Hundreds. But none as entertainin’ as watchin’ ye try tae pretend like ye’re nae completely besotted.”
“I’m nae—” he started, but Freyr was already walking away, laughing, leaving Ragnar alone with his traitorous thoughts and desire humming through his body.
Hours later, just after he’d finally managed to fall asleep, a bloodcurdling scream tore woke Ragnar. His body reactedbefore his mind could catch up—hand reaching for his sword, bare feet hitting the cold stone floor. The corridor stretched dark before him, but the sound came again.
Isolda!
He ran, feet clapping against the stone floor, knuckles with against the hilt of his broadsword, his heart threatening to jump out of his throat.
The guards outside her chamber had their weapons drawn, their eyes wide.
“Stay here.” Ragnar ordered. “Let nay one pass.”
Her door flew open when he hit it with his shoulder, and for one heart-stopping moment he saw nothing but shadows and dying firelight.
Then his eyes adjusted and he saw Isolda’s silhouette. She sat upright in bed, tangled in the blankets and she was shaking so violently that he could almost feel the tremors across the room. Her eyes were open but unseeing, and the sound coming from her throat sounded almost inhuman—primal and terrified.
“Isolda,” he was at her side in three strides, setting his sword down and reaching for her shoulders. “Lass… wake up.”
She lashed and struck blindly and he caught her wrists, his touch gentle but firm. “Stille,shhh. ‘Twas just a dream, ye’re safe here with me.”
Her eyes slowly focused, recognition dawning before shifting to horror.
“Ragnar? I… I’m sorry… I didnae mean tae wake ye…”
He could now see the tear tracks down her face, and the way her eyes kept darting toward the shadows, like she was expecting something to emerge out of thin air.
“Ye’ve naethin’ tae apologize fer, lass.” He walked to the nightstand, pouring water into a cup with steady hands despite adrenaline still coursing through him. When he offered her the cup, her hands shook so much that the water sloshed. He steadied it with his palm beneath hers and guided it to her lips. She drank greedily, and he waited patiently until she’d had her fill.
“What were ye dreamin’ about?” he asked gently after she’d finished.
“The attack,” the words burst from her. “I was on the road, but in me dream, ye… ye didnae come in time… they… took me, and I…” her voice broke. “I ken how it sounds. I ken it didn’t really happen… but it felt so real.”
“’Tisnae foolish, lass.” He kept his voice soft even as rage churned in his gut toward the man that inspired such fear. “Ye were attacked. Almost died. Yer mind’s just… tryin’ tae make sense of it all.”
She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m fine. Truly. Ye should get some sleep.”