4. Chapter 4
Arlo
“You’re quite sure this wooden tub is fit for sailing?” The waves rock us side to side as we row away from shore and, hopefully, not to an icy grave at the bottom of the sea. My fingers ache from how hard I’m gripping the mast.
Gunnar’s full lips lift in a smirk, revealing a hint of fang. “She should be. If your feet get wet, that’s just a little hole in the side of the ship.”
Okay, that’s it. This was the worst idea ever!
“A hole?” I shriek. “You took me sailing in a boat that has a hole—oh, piss off, of course you didn’t!”
Gunnar howls with laughter until the bastard’s almost weeping. I wonder if he’d survive if I pushed him overboard… Around us, the other men rowing the longship cackle. “If you’re to be my pretend mate, you’ve got to find your sea legs. I won’t take a mate who does not love the sea as much as I do.”
“Humans are creatures of the land, not the sea. It’s how we evolved!” Not that he’d have any idea what evolution is. “Though your evolution seems to have stopped in the Stone Age.”
Gunnar closes his eyes, face softening as the wind whips back his dark mane of hair. “Smell that air! I would gladly spend the rest of my days at sea.”
“Did you build this ship yourself?” I’m no sailor, but I’m not oblivious to the beauty of Gunnar’s longship. The sails are a vibrant red and white, billowing in the salty wind. The dragon-headed prow would surely terrify any poor sods unfortunate enough to be raided and pillaged.
“Aye. My brothers and I built her together over the course of three winters. I call her Gersemi, for she is the treasure of the sea.” A smile full of pride spreads over Gunnar’s face. It’s such an unexpected sight that it leaves me feeling weak-kneed. I’ve never seen him smile before.
“Wow. That’s incredible.” I can understand why he’s so attached to his ship, especially if it took so long to build.
Reaching into a basket, Gunnar hands me a bottle of what I assume is mead. He uncorks his and takes a long swig. He belches so loudly it makes me jump. “You wished to talk?” he asks.
“I did. We ought to get to know each other if we’re going to convince my family that we’re in love.”
Gunnar nods, leaning back against the rail of the ship. “Good luck convincing my family. They’ll sniff it out unless we’re careful.”
“Do you mind lying to them?”
“Only cravens lie but they have worried after me for long enough. Let them believe I’ve found happiness.” Shame darkens Gunnar’s voice.
“Sure, but it isn’t them we need to convince. My nan won’t let me make that potion unless she knows I won’t get savaged by you. She has to trust you.”
Gunnar waves a hand. “I know, I know!” His teeth are still quite sharp, a sign of the beast within pushing through.
Can I truly trust him? I was wrong before, and it almost cost me my life. I’d rather not walk away from this with any more scars on my body, thanks.
“So, why don’t we get to know each other a bit?” I prompt when he goes on drinking his mead.
“Aye…” His gaze falls to the floor. It seems his boots are more interesting than I am.
“Ask me something.”
“Why did you pretend to court my brother?”
Of course, he had to start with that one.
“The same reason I asked you. To convince my family ulfhednar could be trusted.”
Gunnar hums, the bottle close to his lips, not at all giving me dirty thoughts. “So you never felt anything for him?”
“Not at all! I mean, he’s a lovely guy, but no.” Besides, himbos have never been my type. Big broody men, on the other hand…
No, no. Bad Arlo! This is fake.
“Ask me something else.”
“Let me think on it!” Huffing, he rubs the back of his neck. After several long seconds, he sighs, shoulders slumping with the motion. “Apologies. I have not done this in a long time.”
“What, spoken to another human being?”
He growls low in his throat, cheeks reddening. “This. Courting. I don’t remember how.”
My chest tightens. “Oh. When’s the last time you courted anyone?”
Gunnar shrugs, refusing to look at me. “The last person I was with was my chosen mate. That was… years ago.”
I don’t know what to say. Goddess, I’d assumed Gunnar had never taken a mate before and that was why he risked going berserk. But that’s not it at all. He was mated, and though I don’t know what became of Gunnar’s mate, the fact that he’s never moved on tells me he must have loved them deeply.
Oh damn. That’s loyal of him. I take a swig of mead to hopefully drown the warm, fluttery feeling in my chest. “You truly haven’t been with anyone else since?”
Gunnar tenses. “No. It’s not for lack of interest. I made a vow. So spare me your judgment and your pity.”
“That’s not it!” I take hold of his arm. “I’m not judging you, not at all. Actually, I think your mate was lucky to have someone as faithful as you.”
Some of the tension leaves Gunnar’s shoulders, and he clears his throat. “I… I see. Apologies. Men have made offers over the years. I’ve rejected them all and when I explained why, their reactions were either to pity me or they tried to pressure me into saying yes.”
I scoff. “What arseholes.”
Wait. Am I one of those arseholes?
“Gunnar, I don’t want you to feel as if you’re breaking your promise to your mate. If this arrangement of ours is too much for you, then we can always call it off.”
Gunnar shakes his head. “It’s not. So long as you understand this is a temporary arrangement and not to expect anything more from it.”
Fine by me. Sure, I’ve dreamed about meeting my fated mate, the one destined for me, but I can reject the bond just as Gunnar did. It will hurt, and I’ll never find someone who speaks to my heart the way he does. Surely I’ll move on, though. Right?
“Understood,” I say, lifting my mead.
He clinks our bottles together and drinks.
“Now, we need to have a story to tell my family. They’re going to ask all sorts of questions. They’ll want to hear all about our engagement. Which one of us proposed?”
“A proposal?”
Oh, right. Marriages are usually arranged in this timeline, more of a business transaction than anything else. “It’s where one person asks the other to marry them, usually in some romantic setting.”
“Oh. Well, it happened on this very ship, then. What’s more romantic than the sea?”
“Literally anything,” I mutter. “Okay. And which one of us proposed?”
Gunnar shrugs. “You did. You know more about these proposals than I do.”
I give him a once-over. “I can think of worse things than getting on my knee for you…”
Gunnar chokes on his mead.
This may be more fun than I thought.