Chapter 20 #2
“Isolda?” Ragnar’s voice came from far away, muffled. “What daes it say?”
His hands settled on her shoulders, warm and steady—shattering the careful control she’d maintained with little more than stubbornness.
A wailing sob tore free from her before she could stop it, ragged and raw. Tears spilled down her cheeks—the kind that shook her entire body and made her nose run.
“He daesnae… I asked him tae visit…” her voice rose higher. “I just wanted him tae… I wanted tae matter… just fer once.”
Ragnar pulled her against his chest without a word, one large hand cradling the back of her head while the other wrapped around her waist, holding her while she shattered, while she faced years of being overlooked and dismissed and forgotten, while it all came crashing down at once.
“Lass, what did yer faither—”
“He’s nae me faither anymore!” The words tore out between sobs, her hands fisting in his shirt. “I dinnae ken why I was fool enough tae expect anythin’ different.” She lifted her eyes, staring at him. “Dae ye ken what ‘tis like? Tae ken that if ye disappeared tomorrow, nay one would truly miss ye?”
He didn’t offer any platitudes or comfort—just listened, one hand moving in slow circles against her back.
“If I were drownin’ in the loch, he’d step right over me on his way tae somethin’ more important, but I still… hoped!” her voice broke completely. “After everythin’, I was daft enough tae think that maybe this time—maybe if I was far enough away he’d realize…”
She couldn’t finish, her voice giving way entirely, dissolving into ragged sobs that shook her whole body. Ragnar said nothing, just gathered her closer as her knees gave in, shifting down with her until she was half in his lap, curled against his chest like a child seeking shelter from a storm.
Finally, after the tears had subsided into shaking breaths, he spoke.
“Isolda. Look at me.”
She glanced up.
“Ragnar—”
“Yer faither’s a damned fool.” The words were quiet and certain.
He pulled back just enough to cup her face, his thumbs wiping away the tear tracks on her cheeks, his eyes fierce. She tried to shake her head, but his hands held her in place.
“A blind fool who couldnae see what was right in front of him.” His jaw tightened. “And that’s on him, Isolda. That’s his failure. D’ye hear me?”
Fresh tear tumbled from her eyes.
“Any man who treats his kin like that daesnae deserve tae be called faither.”
“I ken but—”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath ghosting the strands of hair around her face.
“I dinnae ken how tae…” she trailed off, searching for words that wouldn’t come.
Ragnar’s expression softened, and he drew her back against his chest again, settling her head over his heart. “Ye dinnae have tae ken anythin’. Just let it out, lass.”
Isolda closed her eyes, pressing herself flat against him. His heart thumped steadily beneath her ear. She focused on it, letting the rhythm ground her, counting each steady beat until her own breathing began matching its pace.
“I cannae fix what yer family did tae ye.” His voice rumbled through his chest. “I cannae undae it. But ye’re mine now.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head briefly. “And I promise I’ll never let go. D’ye understand?”
The words settled over her like a vow, binding them more closely than any vow spoken in the chapel.
“Aye.” She whispered against his chest.
“Good.” His arms tightened, sheltering her. “I’ve got ye.”
They stayed like that while her breathing gradually steadied, while the tears dried on her cheeks.
Slowly, she became aware of how they were arranged—she was sprawled half-across his chest with her leg hooked over his thigh, using him as a pillow while his arms locked around her.
“Ragnar?”
His hand moved, fingers threading through her tangled hair with unexpected tenderness. “Aye?”
“I’m sorry.” She said quietly, her voice hoarse.
“What fer?”
“Fer… fallin’ apart like that. Fer cryin’ all over ye and—”
“Dinnae apologize fer lettin’ me see ye.”
“I got snot on yer shirt.”
“Aye, well.” His mouth curved—she could hear it in his voice. “I’ve been covered in worse things.”
“Still.” She traced an idle pattern on his chest, feeling grateful and spent all at once, her fingers following the line of a seam. “I shouldnae have—”
He shifted slightly, letting her settle more firmly against him. She tilted her head back, meeting those impossibly blue eyes.
“I dinnae mind,” he said simply, softly, his voice carrying a note she’d never heard before. “Nae a bit. In fact,” he paused, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nae at all. Nae if it means I get tae stand beside ye, share me life wi’ ye.”
Her throat tightened with fresh tears.
“I dinnae ken what tae say tae that.”
“Ye dinnae have tae say anythin’.” His thumb caught a tear before it could fall. “All ye have tae dae is stay.”
“Aye,” she whispered, pressing her palm flat over his heart, feeling the beat beneath her fingers. “I’ll stay.”
“Fer now,” he said quietly, “that’s enough.”
Outside their chamber, the wind howled against the castle walls as winter tightened its grip on Uist.
Despite being wrapped in his arms, Isolda didn’t know whether she could trust him not to vanish. But she let herself be held, let herself feel warm, and let herself feel chosen.
Then, the window exploded inward.
Isolda screamed, instinct driving her against Ragnar’s chest as something massive and black hurtled through the glass in a shower of glittering fragments. Wings beat frantically, filling the chamber with harsh cries and the smell of feathers and ice.
“Odin’s blood,” Ragnar breathed.
It was a raven—huge and midnight dark, careening off the far wall before finding the broken window again and disappearing into the grey morning with one final shriek that raised every hair on her arms.
They stood frozen, hearts pounding in unison, glass scattered across the floor like scattered diamonds. The wind howled through the broken pane, carrying the sharp bite of the sea and something else—something that made the air taste like copper and ash.
Then they heard it. Shouting—distant but growing louder, more urgent. Men’s voices raised in alarm, in warning.
Ragnar’s hands tightened on her for one heartbeat, protective and possessive—then he released her and spun toward the door, already moving. “Stay here.”
“What’s happenin’—”
“Stay here.” He grabbed his sword from where it leaned against the wall, the blade singing as it left the scabbard. “Bolt the door behind me and dinnae open it fer anyone but me or Freyr. D’ye understand?”
The command in his voice, the raw authority—left no room for argument.
“Aye.”
He paused in the doorway, looking back at her with something fierce and desperate burning in his eyes. “This isnae finished, little wolf.”
“I’m countin’ on it.”
Then he was gone, his boots echoing down the corridor at a dead run.
Isolda moved to the broken window on trembling legs, her hands gripping the cold stone sill as she peered out into the courtyard below.
Men were running, pointing, shouting orders she couldn’t quite make out over the roar of wind through the broken glass. Ragnar burst into view, sword in hand, barking commands that sent warriors scattering in different directions.
And in the distance, rising from the village like a dark promise against the grey sky—smoke.