than bride-hunting?’
‘Eylir has been telling his usual far-fetched tales.’ The planes on his face hardened to chiselled stone. ‘I have lands to tame. What good is having a bride if she shivers without a proper house to keep her? What good children if they starve because you failed to have enough stores because you lack the proper buildings? Once I know for certain they can survive, I will find my bride.’
‘And the King’s decree that owners of gifted lands must be married?’
‘There is a great deal of water between me and the King’s shining new hall, the one which shimmers like gold on a summer evening and many other unmarried jaarls who are closer.’
Her heart felt a little easier. It wasn’t her, it was the entire concept of marriage he objected to. Maybe in time... She rejected the thought before it started. She was not going to start weaving wishes again. If she had looked like Trana with spun gold for hair, pouting lips and a bosom for a man to bury his face in, they would be married. Instead she knew what she looked like—all teeth and no figure with her one beauty, her long hair, burnt away in the fire, along with her dowry.
‘Returning to Viken is not an option. Let me—’
‘I choose my own bride, not Eylir. I will travel to the north to find her, like I vowed on my mother’s grave.’ His blue-eyed gaze raked her form. ‘The sort of bride I have in mind will be entirely different from what you keep offering.’
The words cut far deeper than they should. She should be used to it after Hamthur’s barbs, but that small part of her which hoped her late husband had been wrong had never been entirely extinguished. Somewhere in this world there had to be a man who would appreciate what she brought to a marriage and treat her with respect. Right now, she’d settle for safety for Svana and that meant finding somewhere far from Vargr’s influence.
‘Thank you for the clarity,’ she said in a tight voice.
All the amusement fled from his face. ‘Pardon for any offence. I merely meant my bride will not have to travel on her own. Those men would have killed you or your sister if you’d travelled with them further.’
‘I see.’ Ragn inclined her head and allowed the untruth.
He ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it stand upright. ‘I’m more used to the company of warriors than ladies. It is something I must work on before I travel north to woo.’
‘Ladies do expect a certain amount of honey-coated words when they are wooed.’
He gave a rich laugh which warmed her to her toes. ‘You possess a tart tongue and are unafraid to mince words. Perhaps you should learn honey-coating as well.’
‘Curbing my tongue has always been a problem. Allow me to try again.’ She made a curtsy. ‘I’m pleased you have taken pity on me and my sister and have allowed us to stay. I will trust your assessment of the captain who brought me. No good would have come of our returning to the north.’
‘Your family would not welcome your return.’
She examined the dirty rushes. His words were far too close to the truth. She need to seize control of the conversation and steer it away from tricky subjects like why her family would not assist her. ‘Perhaps one day I will thank you for choosing not to marry me. I know I certainly have no wish for an unwilling husband. However, I believe in looking forward, not harping on past mistakes.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ His laugh rang out. ‘My temper is far too short. I’ve a certain disregard for the niceties of polite conversation and little care for life’s luxuries. Past women have detailed my defects.’
‘Then we should be friends as we’ve both avoided something that was destined to make us unhappy.’
He examined her from hooded eyes. ‘Can men and women ever be friends?’
‘I like to think they can be.’ Ragn hoped she was telling the truth. Her parents had had a deep friendship until her mother’s death. She’d listened to her father’s despairing sobs after every feast until his death. ‘I consider you one for giving me and my sister a place to stay instead of forcing us back on that ship. You saved our lives.’
He bowed his head. ‘I’ll take you to Ile in the morning. The commander, Sigurd Sigmundson, is a friend. He can find you passage on a ship northwards when the ships begin to move in the spring.’
Ragn firmed her mouth. She had heard of Ile. Vargr had had something to do with it a few years before, but she believed the commander of the fort had changed. ‘The captain and his crew feared Svana’s eyes. I sacrificed a gold necklace to calm the sea. If such a thing happened on the return journey, I doubt I could prevent it.’
‘Fools.’ Gunnar shook his head. ‘As if how a passenger looks matters more than the skill of the navigator or the pilot. They should remember Odin only has one eye, but still manages to navigate his ship. Your sister has two good eyes, even if one turns inward.’
A dog’s howl made him stop and cock his head to one side.
‘Is there something amiss?’ Ragn asked as Svana froze at the sound. In another breath Svana would throw herself on the ground and reveal precisely why the sailors feared her.
‘I shut my dogs in the barn when I spied the ship. They dislike strangers.’
‘Do they come into the hall?’ she asked, trying to calculate how she had to prepare Svana.
‘You and your sister remain here out of the cold and damp. Wait here until I return.’
Ragn grasped Svana’s hand. ‘All will be well, sweetling. We are safe.’
Svana gave the barest hint of a nod. ‘Safe is good.’
Ragn watched Gunnar stride away into the murky gloom. She had until morning to convince him to change his mind and allow them to stay.
When the final embers of the meagre fire vanished, a steady and insistent cold crept around Ragn. Despite Gunnar’s request for her to wait, she knew she had to act. Her breath made great plumes in the air and keeping her hands busy made it easier for her to think.
In the silence, Svana sniffled and rubbed her eyes. ‘Are we truly going to have to leave here tomorrow? Will the dogs come in to eat me up?’
‘I protected you once from dogs, I can do so again.’
‘Is it my eyes the man fears? Is that why he wanted to send us away? The witch woman said my eyes would only bring sorrow.’
Ragn’s heart clenched. Typical Svana thinking, blaming herself when Ragn knew the truth—it was her he didn’t want. ‘The witch woman was Vargr’s creature, even though she pretended otherwise. How many times do I have to tell you that?’
‘Ragn, my stomach hurts. Will we starve?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Ragn hunkered down so her face was about level with Svana’s. ‘Trust me—I will see us safe.’
Svana’s eyes widened. ‘How are you going to do that?’
‘First, I am going to make us a hot meal. A solid one. Hard to
