When the last of his men finally filed out of the yard, he lingered for a moment, standing alone in the silence. He allowed himselfthirty seconds to feel the full weight of the wound, the ache in his muscles, before he locked it all away again.
He walked toward the seaward wall.
The sound was restless, churning under the grey sky. The wind carried the sharp edge of a coming storm, and Ivar stood there, staring at the whitecaps. His thoughts were still running the calculation he’d been trapped in all afternoon, the court, Henry’s notes, Callum’s schemes. The pressure was building, and Ivar could feel it in his bones.
Then he heard her boots on the stone behind him.
“Supper’s bein’ held,” she said, her voice breaking the silence like the wind. “Sigrid’s been holding it fer twenty minutes.”
“I’m nae hungry.”
“That wasnae what I said.”
She was standing next to him now, her presence quiet but grounding. He didn’t look at her, but he could feel the way the world shifted when she came close. She wasn’t asking for anything. Just standing there, letting him breathe.
“What is it?” she asked, looking out at the churning water, her voice softer now.
He turned his gaze back to the sound, watching the waves crash, and let his thoughts settle.
“The Crown is looking fer weakness,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Henry’s notes will tell the Crown exactly what he saw. A gathering that ended in fire and a laird who killed a man two days after taking a blade in the side. That’s nae a story that helps us.”
“We have the evidence,” she said quietly. “The documents Torvald collected about Callum.”
“Aye. We dae. But we cannae afford anything else happening tae distract them.”
“We will be careful, we will dae everythin’ in our power tae avoid that from happenin’, but right now ye must also take care of yerself a bit.” She reached out her hand to him. “Come and eat.”
He followed her inside. The meal was quiet, comfortable in its simplicity. Just the two of them, sharing a moment of peace amidst all the chaos. The weight of the day, the pressure, the planning, the inevitable battles ahead, faded just enough for him to feel it, that rare flicker of calm.
Later, he found Torvald in the passage, waiting with a cup in his hand, the usual quiet understanding in his gaze.
“The letters,” Ivar said, his voice tired.
Torvald didn’t hesitate. “Aye. I’ve been through them again.” He handed the cup to Ivar, who took it without thinking. “Callum’s seal, Callum’s payments, the timing. It all lines up. We need an occasion. A public moment, and the right witnesses.”
“I ken.” Ivar drank from the cup and handed it back. “I’m working on the occasion.”
Torvald gave a small nod. They went over the details, documents, witnesses, the order of events.
But then, after a moment, he spoke. “I told her about Raud.”
Torvald went still, the kind of stillness that spoke more than words ever could. He looked at Ivar, his expression unreadable.
“What did she say?” Torvald asked.
Ivar thought about it, about the library, about Matilda’s hand on his jaw, the quiet truth of her in that moment.
“She kissed me,” Ivar said.
Torvald’s gaze shifted, then he slowly took a drink from his cup, his lips curling into the faintest smile.
“Ye ken,” he said, “I’ve fought beside ye fer eleven years. Seen ye take on worse odds than any man with sense would accept. But I’ve never seen ye look the way ye’ve looked these past weeks.”
Ivar said nothing.
Torvald finished his drink, then leaned against the wall. “There’s naething better,” he said simply, “than being in love with yer wife.”
Ivar let the words settle. He didn’t respond, he didn’t need to.