Chapter 10 #2
A faint smile stretched across her tired lips as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
She decided not to fight the faint flutter in her chest at his arrival. It felt good.
Unlike the adorned, commanding Jarl he had been on the ship, in here, Njáll appeared simpler.
Dressed in only a tunic and woolen trews.
But no less gorgeous.
“Njáll,” she said, her voice quiet. She reached into the pocket of her dress, removing the stone. “I found your gift.”
His jaw tightened a fraction, a flicker of emotion blinking back into his eyes.
“What does it mean?”
The tip of his tongue darted out, and he closed the space between them. She tipped her head back, her neck aching from the angle. Njáll’s chest shuddered with a rasp before he lowered beside her.
Her eyes widened, following his movements as his knees hit the dirt floor.
Two scarred hands bracketed her face, nearly engulfing her in his massive palms. His gaze locked with hers. The corner of his mouth twitched while he brushed his thumbs over the dusting of freckles on her cheeks.
“It is rune. One of forgiveness and new beginnings. Let us start over, little flame.” His hand slid to her nape, gently holding her. “I don’t understand what spell you have over me, but it makes me weak. Weak for you.”
Her chin fell to her chest, deciding not to argue with him. For all she knew, it was some kind of magic, the thrum in her fingertips pulsing as if in agreement. A knuckle dusted under her chin, tilting her head back.
Njáll sucked in a slow breath, his expression exposed before her.
“While it doesn’t change what happened, the men who attacked your village when your brother died. They were rogue warriors, defying the Konungr’s orders. Senseless seeking blood. They were punished for their actions. Some executed. Others banished.”
Her fingers knotted in her lap, and she tugged on each one. Edmund had been her best friend. She wished he were here. He’d know what to do. He always knew what to do.
One side of her mouth lifted.
A fox had stolen a piece of sweet cake from her in the woods. In her anger, she’d wanted to catch the creature for dinner. Edmund held her and told her it was probably hungry too. That life is messy, and sometimes things go wrong, but we have to move past it.
Maybe she could move past this.
The grip on her chin tightened, Njáll coaxing her attention back to him—his eyes soft and welcoming.
“Our Konungr does not send raiding parties without purpose. My men and I came for three things. To secure strategic routes in the event of war, supplies to craft weapons and armor, and to find the hidden power the Volva spoke of.”
“Me,” Elara whispered.
Njáll nodded, cupping her chin. “Yes, little flame. You.” His next words fell from him with such conviction; it stole her breath. “I’m sure your brother feasts in Valhalla. Odin would have been honored by his bravery.”
Linen rubbed under her fingers as they splayed over her chest. A smile tugged at her lips. Her brother was at peace in Valhalla. Her mother was much the same in Fólkvangr.
Fólkvangr. Freyja.
The memory of what she’d seen in the village rushed back, and her gaze snapped to his.
“Njáll, I… I have to tell you something.”
“Anything,” he said, the answer a rush as his entire body straightened.
“I saw a tapestry of Freyja at the longhouse.” He smiled, but waited for her to continue.
“The woman who granted me Alruna was Freyja. She appeared to me not long after my mother passed. Spoke of Fólkvangr of replacing sorrow with love. How I was a beacon for the draugar. I had thought it all had been a dream, but when Alruna remained… I didn’t know what to make of it. ”
“Come, little flame,” he said, rising to his feet and lifting her effortlessly against his body.
She squeaked, and a rumbling chuckle shook his chest.
The sound was unnerving. She didn’t think he knew how to laugh.
Beneath her fingertips, his heart hummed a steady staccato easing the racing of her own. Carefully, he positioned them in the furs, tucking her into him and gently caressing his fingers through her hair, drawing a soft moan from her.
The noise made his pupils dilate and his grip tighten.
“I wondered if you had seen her, but had not understood it. I do not know either.” His hand drifted to her nape. “But I promise you, we will figure it out together. You are not the first to be blessed by the gods. There are others who may know more than we do. Do you hear them now? The draugar?”
“No,” she whispered, feeling as though an immense weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “Is it that then? A blessing? Not a curse? To be a witch?”
“One I know has been blessed by Odin. He describes it as a blessing and a burden.”
“Can I talk to this person? To this Volva?”
“Eventually,” Njáll mused, twirling a curl around his finger absentmindedly.
“Njáll?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry for my anger. You did not deserve it.”
His eyes relaxed as he pulled her more firmly into his chest, resting his lips on her temple. The gesture warmed the edges of her grief. She thought of her mother, and how she always said only the strongest admit their mistakes.
And for the first time since her passing, Elara smiled at the memory of her instead of crying.