Chapter 19 #2
More villagers approached as the unloading continued—tentative, curious, less openly hostile now. A few even smiled. By the time the last barrel was rolled away and the trader was preparing to depart, Claricia felt like she’d run a gauntlet and somehow emerged mostly unscathed on the other side.
The trader departed with the tide, and Bjorn approached with visible relief. “Me jarl, me lady—would ye honor us by takin’ the midday meal? ‘Tis the least we can offer after yer help today.”
Claricia glanced at Erik, saw him weighing the offer against whatever concerns still gnawed at him.
“We’d be honored,” she said before he could refuse.
Erik’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “A short while, then.”
The meal was laid out in Bjorn’s home—the largest cottage in the village, though still modest by castle standards. The room smelled of peat smoke and fish stew, and the table was laid with the kind of food that spoke of people giving everything they had to honor their laird.
Fresh bread, still warm. Roasted fish with herbs Claricia didn’t recognize. Root vegetables in a rich broth. Honey cakes that must have cost dearly. Cheese aged to perfection.
Too much food. Far too much for a village this size to spare.
Claricia watched as Bjorn and his wife piled Erik’s plate high, their faces glowing with pride and devotion. Watched as other villagers gathered—too many for the small room, but no one willing to miss the rare honor of their jarl dining with them.
Erik accepted with grace, but Claricia saw the tension in his shoulders. Saw the way his eyes kept tracking to the thin faces of children peering from doorways. Saw him notice—as she had—that the adults took tiny portions while loading his plate like he was heading into battle.
They’re starvin’ themselves tae feed him.
“Erik.” She used his given name without thinking, and the room went quiet. “Would ye pass the bread?”
His eyes met hers, and she saw understanding flicker. “Aye.”
She took the smallest piece, then turned to a small girl hovering near her mother’s skirts. “This is far too much fer just me, wee lamb. Would ye help me eat it?”
The child’s eyes went wide as moons. She looked to her mother, who nodded hesitantly, then crept forward to accept the bread with reverent hands.
“And this fish.” Claricia divided her portion. “Who wants tae share?”
Slowly, carefully, she worked through the meal—sharing every bite with the children who gathered like hungry sparrows. Erik watched for a moment, then followed suit.
The tension eased. Adults began eating in earnest, though still sparingly. Erik quietly pushed more food toward families with the most children, and Claricia noticed he ate almost nothing—just enough to be polite.
She broke the honey cake in half and offered him a piece. “Then we share. That way neither of us lies about bein’ full.”
The corner of his mouth lifted—not quite a smile but close enough. “Fair terms, wife.”
They split the cake between them, and somehow the simple act of sharing food felt more intimate than anything that could have happened in their bed chamber.
As they prepared to leave, Bjorn clasped Erik’s forearm with obvious emotion. “Thank ye, me jarl. Fer comin’. Fer bringin’ yer lady. We’re happy tae have her by yer side.”
They were mounting up when an old woman pushed through the crowd—ancient, bent with age, her eyes clouded with cataracts but somehow still sharp.
“Jarl.” She called out in Norse. “A moment.”
Erik dismounted immediately, moving to her side with surprising gentleness. She grabbed his hand and said something too rapid for Claricia to follow, but the gesture toward her was unmistakable.
Erik’s expression shifted—surprise, then something softer. He responded in Norse, and the old woman cackled like a pleased hen.
“What did she say?” Claricia asked as Erik swung back into his saddle.
“That she can see the bairns runnin’ around our feet already. Said we’ll have a full hall before winter ends.”
Heat flooded Claricia’s face like wildfire. “She said… but we havenae even—”
“I told her we’re workin’ on it.” The absolute devil dancing in his eyes made her want to throttle him. “Assured her I’m a very dedicated husband.”
“Ye’re livin’ in a fantasy!”
“Fantasy.” He tasted the word like wine. “It seemed very real this mornin’ when ye were curled around me so tight I couldnae tell where ye ended and I began.”
“I wasnae—”
“Ready tae ride?” Aksel’s voice carried no teasing, just pragmatic observation. “Or should we make camp here while ye two sort this wee domestic dispute?”
Erik laughed—a real laugh that transformed his whole face—and urged his horse forward. “Move out before me wife decides tae kick me somewhere unfortunate again.”
“That was an accident!”
“Me bruised pride disagrees.”
The ride back to the castle felt shorter somehow. Lighter. The guards were more relaxed, and even Aksel seemed pleased with how the day had gone.
“Ye handled yerself well today,” Erik said quietly as the castle walls came into view.
“Thank ye.” The words barely made it past her throat.
They rode the last stretch in companionable silence, hands linked between their horses like a bridge neither of them was quite ready to cross but both were willing to build anyway.
Claricia watched the way sunlight caught in his pale hair, turning it almost silver.
This is dangerous, this is exactly what I swore I wouldnae dae.
But as Erik’s thumb brushed across her knuckles in the smallest of caresses, she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.
Because dangerous or not, this—whatever this thing growing between them was called—felt inevitable as the tide. And maybe, just maybe, she was tired of fighting it.
Maybe it was time to let the waves carry her where they would.
And hope she didn’t drown in the process.