Chapter 8 #2
"Lady Matilda." He stopped three feet from her. She watched the way his breath misted. His eyes did that slow, devastating sweep of her face. "Ye're up early."
"I heard the drillin'," she said.
"From yer chamber."
"Aye."
"So ye came out."
"I wanted air."
He looked around the yard. At the scuffed ground, the racked practice blades, the dozen men now making their way toward the water barrel with the grateful energy of people released from something difficult. He looked back at her.
"Aye," he said. "There's a great deal of air in trainin' yards."
"Ye're very smug fer someone whose men kept losin' focus."
"Me men," he said, "were focused. On a different thing."
"That isnae the same as bein' focused on their drillin'."
"Nay." The corners of his mouth moved. "It isnae.
" He stepped a fraction closer, the heat from his body blooming in the cold space between them.
"Two of them are going to be on extra rotations tonight because they couldnae keep their eyes off me wife.
Ye are a difficult thing tae ignore, Matilda. Even fer seasoned men."
The word wife hit her like a much too tender touch. She stared at him before she found some composure.
"Come inside before I lose the rest of the mornin tae yer 'air'."
"I'm nae finished with me air."
"Matilda."
"I've barely been out here."
"Ye've been out here long enough to cost me two good soldiers an easy evenin'." He was already turning toward the keep. "Come inside before I lose the rest of the mornin'."
She looked at his back. At the set of his shoulders, the absolute composure of a man who had already decided the conversation was moving inside and was simply waiting for her to catch up.
"That," she said, falling into step beside him because her knee was cold and the hall would have a fire, "is possibly the strangest reason anyone has ever given me to come indoors."
"Is it workin'?"
"Aye."
"Then it isnae strange. It's effective."
She said nothing. She walked beside him into the keep and told herself the sound she made walking into the keep was not a laugh. She was nearly certain of it.
The Great Hall was quiet, the long tables empty, the fire well built against the morning cold.
He poured ale from the jug on the sideboard and held a cup out without asking and she took it without being asked and they stood near the fire and she wrapped both hands around the cup and let the warmth of it do something useful.
"Ye watched the whole session," he said.
"I watched part of it."
"Ye came downstairs," he said, "which means ye watched from the window first and decided that wasnae close enough."
She said nothing. That was, more or less exactly, what had happened.
"What did ye think?" he said.
She looked at the fire. "Ye're different out there than the version I've been gettin'."
"Which version have ye been gettin'?"
"The one that sings in forests and tells Sigrid to keep the candles lit." She looked up at him. "That one daesnae run a keep."
"Nay," he said. "But it's the same person. The man who protects his own is the same man who leads them. There is nay division, Matilda."
She held his gaze. "I ken," she said quietly. "That's what I'm still workin' out."
Something changed in his countenance at that, something he quickly managed, and she looked back at her cup before she could read it too clearly.
She thought about his words, seeing the way the warrior and the man were woven together. "I saw ye with that boy. The one who couldnae find his footing. Ye were... patient."
"Losin' patience daesnaе make him better. It makes me feel better. And anger is a wasted breath," he looked at her steadily. "He will stay alive because I stayed patient. That is the only metric that matters."
"Someone told me that recently."
"Wise person."
"Terrible singer."
He was quiet for exactly two seconds. The corner of his mouth moved and she looked at the fire.
"The singing was a strategic decision," he said.
"It was a catastrophe," she said.
"Also that."
"There's somethin' ye should ken," his tone had turned serious.
She looked up.
"The other lairds," he said. "They arrive today. This afternoon."
She set her cup down carefully on the sideboard. "All of them."
"Erik and Claricia. Magnus and Ada. Ragnar and Isolda." A pause. "Harald and Enya willnae make it. Enya's too far along."
"Almost all of them then," she said again. "Today. At this castle."
"Aye."
"That I've been in since yesterday evenin'."
"Aye."
"And dinnae ken the layout of yet beyond the kitchen and me own chamber."
"Ye ken the Great Hall now as well," he offered.
She looked at him. "That is an extremely unhelpful addition."
"The wives are good lasses," he said, with the simple directness he gave things that were simply true. "Claricia will have ye feelin' like ye've kent her fer years inside of ten minutes. She talks a great deal but she means every word of it."
A pause. "Ada is quiet. Dinnae mistake it fer distance, it isnae. She sees everythin' and she decides slowly, but once she decides she means it."
Another pause. "Isolda is still findin' her feet but she's warm underneath the guardin' of it."
Matilda was quiet for a moment. "They've all done this," she said. "What I'm daein' now."
"Aye. Every one of them."
"And they're… they stayed. All of them."
"Aye," he said. "They stayed. Why? Are ye planning on leaving?"
She didn’t answer and looked at the fire for a long moment, then at the flames, and then she looked back at him.
"And the men. What dae I dae with four Viking lairds at me supper table?"
"Eat yer supper," he said. "They're mine. They'll treat ye well because I'll expect it and they ken what that means."
"Ye keep sayin' that."
"Because it keeps bein' true."
She studied him for a moment.
This man she'd known for less than a day, standing in his own hall in the early morning with complete equanimity, saying things that were simply true without dressing them up or softening them or watching her face to see how she received them.
"Fine," she said.
"Fine?"
"Aye, fine." She straightened. "But if there are any other lairds, kings, envoys, or significant events I should ken about before this afternoon, I'd appreciate the information before noon."
"I'll dae me best, and I will start by telling ye the royal envoys are meant tae arrive today or tomorrow as well," he said and she saw that expression at the corner of his mouth she'd begun watching for.
"That," she said, "is a very non-committal answer."
"Aye," he said. "It is."
She left him there with his ale and his composure and walked back toward the stairs and told herself very firmly that the warmth in her chest was the fire.
But the lairds were coming that afternoon and she had a great deal to do, so she went to find out what the day was going to ask of her.