"On that knee."
He said nothing for exactly three seconds. She counted them.
Then, "Torvald."
She closed her eyes.
He really could not leave a thing alone.
"Keep movin'," he called ahead. "We'll catch up with ye."
"I didnae say ye need tae stop," she said, twisting slightly to glare back at him and immediately regretting the motion.
"Ye didnae have tae
He was already slowing the horse, already swinging down with that easy, irritating competence men like him seemed to possess in all things.
Before she could newly object, his hands were at her waist.
Firm. Warm. Certain.
He lifted her down as though she weighed nothing at all and set her on the ground with infuriating care, his hands gone the instant her boots touched earth.
She stood there for one foolish moment, heat lingering where his palms had been.
His men kept riding.
Not one of them looked back.
The nearest found something of vast importance in the trees. Another appeared wholly consumed by the condition of his horse's left ear. A third stared straight down the path with pretended blindness.
Cowards. Every last one.
"The trees are thick enough there," Ivar said, nodding to the left.
He did not point. Of course he did not. Apparently, he intended to preserve her dignity whether she liked it or not.
"I ken where trees are," she said, gatherin’ the shreds of that dignity around her.
His mouth moved, not quite a smile. "Aye. Off ye go then."
She gave him a look sharp enough to draw blood, then turned and took three steps into the dark.
Then she stopped.
The brush whispered softly in the night. Cold air touched her face. Behind her, he had not moved.
Very slowly, she turned her head. "Ye're still there."
"Aye."
Her fingers curled into her skirts. "Go further."
"Nay."
She turned all the way around this time.
He stood with his arms crossed, weight resting back on one heel, eyes on the path ahead. Not looking at her. Not looking away either. Just standing there like some broad, impossible wall the world had decided to put in her path.