CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“If ye pull at it any harder, I’ll nae have any hair left tae braid!”
Isolda sat rigidly on the edge of her bed, morning light cutting through the chamber’s narrow window—sharp and unforgiving.
“Stop yer squirmin’ then!” Claricia pulled again, gentler this time. “Ye want tae look presentable, nae like ye’ve been dragged backward through a hedge.”
“Daes it really matter? I’m bein’ dragged tae the altar nonetheless.”
Across the chamber, Ada shifted baby Astrid to her other shoulder. The infant made soft mewling sounds, tiny fists curling against her mother’s collarbone. “When I wed Magnus, I’d convinced meself that I’d faint before reachin’ the chapel.”
“Did ye?”
“Nay.” Ada’s laugh came bright despite the memory.
“There.” Claricia stepped back, surveying her work with satisfaction. “All done. Ye look bonnie as any bride could hope tae be.”
Isolda caught her reflection in the polished bronze mirror—dark strands woven with white flowers, face too pale, eyes too wide. A stranger wearing her skin.
“Right then.” Claricia moved toward the forest-green gown hanging on a wooden frame near the hearth. “Let’s get ye dressed before the men start wonderin’ if ye’ve fled.”
Dinnae think I havenae considered it six times already.
The silk whispered as it settled over Isolda’s head, cool against her heated skin. Ada set a sleeping Astrid in a basket lined with soft wool and moved to help with the laces. Each pull tightened the bodice until drawing breath required deliberate effort.
“Can I...” The words tumbled out before Isolda could stop them. “Can I ask ye somethin’?”
“Anythin’, wee dove.” Claricia’s voice gentled.
“Taenight...” Isolda’s throat constricted. “I dinnae ken what happens. Nae really.”
Ada moved to sit beside her on the bed, taking Isolda’s hand. “What is it ye want tae ken, lass?”
“I...” Heat crawled up Isolda’s neck. “The proof the King’s men want. I’ve heard whispers, but I dinnae understand... what actually happens.”
Claricia pulled up a stool, settling in front of Isolda so they were eye-level. “Och, lass… ‘tis nae as terrifyin’ as yer mind is makin’ it.” She glanced at Ada, some silent conversation passing between them, before continuing. “When a man and woman join as husband and wife, he... he enters ye. Between yer legs. ‘Tis how the act is done.”
“It can hurt the first time, fer just a few seconds,” Ada added softly, squeezing Isolda’s hand. “There’s somethin’ inside ye that tears, and ye bleed. That’s why they demand the sheets.”
“Thesheets?” Isolda’s voice came out strangled.
“Aye.” Claricia’s mouth flattened. “Bloody barbaric, if ye ask me. Those peacocks will want tae see bloodied linens tae prove the marriage was consummated.”
Isolda’s fingers twisted in the silk pooling around her. “And it always hurts?”
Ada’s cheeks flushed. “Nae, but often. And if he’s gentle, it is nae that bad. And after that, if he takes his time... it can be...” She trailed off, clearly struggling for words.
“Verypleasurable,” Claricia finished with characteristic bluntness. “These men—fer all their steel and bluster—they ken how tae be tender when it matters. And if they dinnae, ye make them learn. Vikings are stubborn, but they are trainable.”
Despite everything, a startled laugh escaped Isolda’s throat.
“But Ragnar...” Isolda swallowed hard. “He’s huge! How could he possibly?—”
“He’ll be careful with ye.” Ada’s voice held absolute certainty. “The first time I was terrified of Magnus too. Thought he’d break me in half. But he was so gentle...” Her eyes went distant, soft. “So patient.”
“And Erik damn near treated me like spun glass,” Claricia added, rolling her eyes. “Vikings might be warriors, but in the bedchamber? They’re surprisingly... considerate.”
“Aye, savages on the battlefield, lambs in the bedroom,” Ada amended with a knowing smile.