Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The King's men left after the noon meal, their horses' hooves clattering sharply against the stone courtyard as the heavy wooden gates creaked closed behind them.
Ivar stood in the yard, watching them go, his mind still caught on the letters, the threats, the lies.
Henry’s satchel was full of everything he’d written since the fire.
Every observation, every half-truth, every rumor fed to the Crown.
He could feel the cold weight of it all, like a stone in his gut.
The threat wasn’t at his walls anymore. It was riding south toward the Crown, like a storm gathering speed. He turned away from the gate, already feeling the shift inside him.
“Form up,” he said, his voice low but carrying across the yard.
His men moved into place without hesitation, but the air felt heavy, as if they too could sense the change.
They had heard his command before, and each one knew the difference.
This wasn’t a training session. This wasn’t a drill.
His tone was sharp, stripped of any pretense, like a blade being drawn across stone.
He was looking for every flaw.
Not the small, normal mistakes men made when they were tired or distracted. The real ones. The ones that had crept in slowly, unnoticed until now.
The guard position Leif had been holding too low for months, the footwork that had seemed good enough in practice but crumbled under pressure. The clustered second line, too close, too careless, that anyone with half a mind would have cut down in a real fight.
Ivar didn’t let up.
He moved between them, his gaze hard, his voice a steady grind. He wasn’t shouting, for anger was weakness.
His voice was calm, too calm, as he corrected them, dismantling their faults one by one. He pushed them harder, until the sweat mixed with the cold and the light began to fade.
He was relentless.
But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.
Matilda.
She came down the outer steps with a wooden bucket in one hand, a stack of cups balanced on top.
She moved with a careful grace, completely at ease despite the harshness of the training.
She set the bucket down at the edge of the yard, filled a cup, and walked toward the nearest man, her steps silent on the stone.
He took the cup, his face unreadable. He drank, surprised but grateful. She moved on, giving water to one man, then the next, passing through the line without hesitation. Her presence, calm and unbothered, cut through the tension like a knife.
Ivar’s men, sweaty and tired, stepped aside without a word.
They didn’t look at her as anything more than another part of the routine, but Ivar noticed the subtle shift.
The way they straightened, the way they softened, as if her quiet care was somehow more grounding than anything else they’d faced that day.
One of the younger lads had a cut on his forearm, blood still oozing from a sparring mistake.
Matilda stopped in front of him, said something Ivar couldn’t hear, and pulled a folded piece of linen from her sleeve.
She pressed it to the wound with gentle authority, the boy obeying her instantly. He didn’t think twice about it.
Ivar didn’t move.
He stood still in the middle of the yard, watching her with a strange mixture of admiration and something deeper.
She didn’t glance at him. She didn’t seek his approval.
She just moved through his men like she had been doing it all her life.
Tending to wounds, offering water, treating them like human beings instead of soldiers.
Torvald appeared at his side but said nothing. Einar did the same on his other side. They stood there, silent, the three of them watching her, the air between them thick with understanding.
Matilda finished her rounds and headed back up the steps, disappearing into the building without a word.
Ivar glanced at his men. They were watching him now, waiting. They had just seen something change in the yard. And they were waiting to see if he would acknowledge it.
He didn’t.
"Again," he said, his voice flat.
They went again.
The light faded. The shadows grew longer. Ivar’s body ached, but he pushed through, ignoring the pain in his side. It was familiar, comforting even. The pain that told him he was still here, still standing.
When the last of his men finally filed out of the yard, he lingered for a moment, standing alone in the silence. He allowed himself thirty seconds to feel the full weight of the wound, the ache in his muscles, before he locked it all away again.
He walked toward the seaward wall.
The sound was restless, churning under the grey sky.
The wind carried the sharp edge of a coming storm, and Ivar stood there, staring at the whitecaps.
His thoughts were still running the calculation he’d been trapped in all afternoon, the court, Henry’s notes, Callum’s schemes.
The pressure was building, and Ivar could feel it in his bones.
Then he heard her boots on the stone behind him.
“Supper’s bein’ held,” she said, her voice breaking the silence like the wind. “Sigrid’s been holding it fer twenty minutes.”
“I’m nae hungry.”
“That wasnae what I said.”
She was standing next to him now, her presence quiet but grounding. He didn’t look at her, but he could feel the way the world shifted when she came close. She wasn’t asking for anything. Just standing there, letting him breathe.
“What is it?” she asked, looking out at the churning water, her voice softer now.
He turned his gaze back to the sound, watching the waves crash, and let his thoughts settle.
“The Crown is looking fer weakness,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Henry’s notes will tell the Crown exactly what he saw. A gathering that ended in fire and a laird who killed a man two days after taking a blade in the side. That’s nae a story that helps us.”
“We have the evidence,” she said quietly. “The documents Torvald collected about Callum.”
“Aye. We dae. But we cannae afford anything else happening tae distract them.”
“We will be careful, we will dae everythin’ in our power tae avoid that from happenin’, but right now ye must also take care of yerself a bit.” She reached out her hand to him. “Come and eat.”
He followed her inside. The meal was quiet, comfortable in its simplicity. Just the two of them, sharing a moment of peace amidst all the chaos. The weight of the day, the pressure, the planning, the inevitable battles ahead, faded just enough for him to feel it, that rare flicker of calm.
Later, he found Torvald in the passage, waiting with a cup in his hand, the usual quiet understanding in his gaze.
“The letters,” Ivar said, his voice tired.
Torvald didn’t hesitate. “Aye. I’ve been through them again.” He handed the cup to Ivar, who took it without thinking. “Callum’s seal, Callum’s payments, the timing. It all lines up. We need an occasion. A public moment, and the right witnesses.”
“I ken.” Ivar drank from the cup and handed it back. “I’m working on the occasion.”
Torvald gave a small nod. They went over the details, documents, witnesses, the order of events.
But then, after a moment, he spoke. “I told her about Raud.”
Torvald went still, the kind of stillness that spoke more than words ever could. He looked at Ivar, his expression unreadable.
“What did she say?” Torvald asked.
Ivar thought about it, about the library, about Matilda’s hand on his jaw, the quiet truth of her in that moment.
“She kissed me,” Ivar said.
Torvald’s gaze shifted, then he slowly took a drink from his cup, his lips curling into the faintest smile.
“Ye ken,” he said, “I’ve fought beside ye fer eleven years. Seen ye take on worse odds than any man with sense would accept. But I’ve never seen ye look the way ye’ve looked these past weeks.”
Ivar said nothing.
Torvald finished his drink, then leaned against the wall. “There’s naething better,” he said simply, “than being in love with yer wife.”
Ivar let the words settle. He didn’t respond, he didn’t need to.
“Aye,” Ivar said quietly, his voice soft, “true.”
Torvald gave him a knowing look.
“Get some sleep. We’ve got work tae dae tomorrow. And ye’re still favoring yer right side, even when ye think nay one’s watching.”
Ivar nodded, then watched as Torvald disappeared down the passage. He stood there for a moment longer, the weight of it all settling in. Then he went upstairs.
Matilda was already in bed, a book in her hands, her hair loose on the pillow. She didn’t say anything when he entered, just watched him quietly as he went about his routine.
When he climbed into bed beside her, she put her book down and lay back, still saying nothing.
He listened to the wind off the sound, enjoyed the warmth of the room surrounding them, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t run the calculations.
He let them go.
And he slept.