throat. And for the umpteenth time, he wished he could have made the old farm safe for Brita, Asa and his mother.
Ragn put an arm around her sister. ‘My sister needs a place to sleep. She is exhausted.’
‘There is a small chamber you two can use. I made up a bed in case Eylir visited. It will suffice for the night.’ He clenched his jaw. The woman might infuriate him, but she had regard for her sister. None of his business. They were leaving in the morning but he would find them somewhere safe, just somewhere away from his farm. ‘I know how women value their privacy. It is unfinished and probably not up to the standard you are used to, but it will serve for now.’
‘You have little idea what we are used to. A pig sty would be a luxury after that ship.’
Swift anger at the implied criticism went through him and he took refuge in it. ‘I believe my hall extends to more comfort than a pig sty.’
Her cheeks went pink. ‘I didn’t mean...’ she said. ‘My tongue sometimes runs away. I merely didn’t want you to go to any more trouble. You’ve been too kind already.’
Kind was the last word he expected her to use. Remorse tugged at him. He held up his hand. ‘My friend sent you on a fool’s errand. Nothing more. Nothing less. But abandoning women to the wilds... I was raised better.’
‘There are not many who would have taken us in. I am pleased that we won’t have to go back on the boat.’ She bit her bottom lip, turning it the colour of summer berries. ‘I worry that Svana would not have survived the return journey.’
‘I have the chores to finish. This farm doesn’t run on its own. The dogs always assist me. I would suggest you and your sister are in bed before I return to avoid misunderstandings.’
The corners of her mouth curved upwards. ‘You mean your nisser fails to live up to expectation? What a surprise!’
His smile answered hers. ‘Nissers only assist those who are prepared to put the hard work in. If you had trouble in the past, perhaps you failed to work hard enough.’
‘My problems stem from something other than hard work.’
‘Would you care to tell me about them?’ The words tumbled out before he stopped them.
‘My problems, not yours.’ She quickly busied herself, collecting up the bowls.
Rather than answering, he made a clicking noise at the back of his throat and the dogs followed him out of the hall. One night, then his life returned to its predictable pace. He liked the solitude. He ignored the little voice which called him a liar.
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