Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
"There's nay reason tae go back hungry," Magnus said, a hint of something almost playful crossing his features. "Me maither used tae make this porridge—taught me the recipe when I was barely tall enough to reach the pot. Sweet oats with honey and dried berries. Takes nay time at all."
Ada's face brightened. "With cinnamon?"
Magnus blinked. "Aye. How did ye—"
"Me nurse made it the same way. Well, almost. She added cream at the end. Made it rich." Ada's smile turned mischievous. "Sounds like ye need me recipe tae improve yers."
"Improve mine?" Magnus felt his own lips quirking upward despite himself. "Lass, me mother's porridge could make a grown man weep with joy."
"Then let's see if it's as good as ye claim."
The coals still glowed faintly in the massive hearth, enough to work by if they added a log or two.
Magnus moved to the pantry while Ada found a pot, their movements surprisingly synchronized. He returned with oats, honey, a small sack of dried berries his cook kept for special occasions.
"Ye need tae toast the oats first," Magnus said, pouring them into the pot. "Just until they smell nutty. Most people skip this step."
"That's the secret?" Ada moved beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. "Me nurse always said the secret was in the stirring. Ye have tae stir it the same direction the whole time, never reverse, or it'll nae set right."
"That's superstition."
"Is it?" Ada's eyes danced with challenge. "Or are ye just afraid yer maither's recipe isnae as perfect as ye think?"
Magnus found himself grinning. "Fine. We'll dae it yer way. But if this turns out badly, I'm blamin' ye."
"If this turns out badly, ye're daein' it wrong."
They worked together in the quiet kitchen, their voices low and warm. Magnus heated water while Ada measured honey. When the oats began to toast, filling the air with that rich, nutty scent, Ada leaned in to smell them and her hair fell forward over her shoulder.
Golden strands catching the firelight. Close enough to touch.
Magnus's hand stilled on the wooden spoon.
"They're ready," Ada said softly, seeming not to notice his sudden stillness. "Add the water now, before they burn."
He did, the water hissing as it hit the hot oats.
Steam rose between them. Ada moved closer to stir, and Magnus found himself very aware of how small the space around the pot had become.
How her arm brushed his when she reached for the honey.
How her hair smelled faintly of herbs and something floral he couldn't name.
"Same direction," Ada reminded him, her hand closing over his on the spoon handle. Guiding his movements. "Like this. Slow circles."
Magnus's throat went dry. "Aye. I ken."
But he didn't move his hand away from hers. Neither did she.
They stirred together, their fingers overlapping on the worn wood, their bodies close in the firelight. The porridge began to thicken, bubbles breaking the surface with soft pops.
"Now the berries," Magnus said, his voice rougher than he'd intended.
Ada reached for them with her free hand, scattering the dried fruit into the pot. A few missed, bouncing off the rim. She laughed—bright and unguarded—and the sound did something strange to Magnus's chest.
"Yer aim is terrible," he said.
"Yer pot is too small."
"Me pot is perfectly sized. Ye just cannae throw."
"I'm a healer, nae a warrior." Ada added more berries, deliberately, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. "There. Better?"
"Aye. Much better."
The porridge was nearly done, thick and fragrant. Ada grabbed the small pitcher of cream she'd found and poured it in while Magnus stirred. The mixture turned pale and rich, exactly the way he remembered from childhood.
"Now we wait fer it to cool a bit," Ada said, finally releasing the spoon. She licked a drop of honey from her thumb absently, and Magnus had to look away before his thoughts wandered somewhere dangerous.
They portioned the porridge into two bowls, carried them to the worktable near the hearth. Sat across from each other in the warm glow of the fire, their knees almost touching beneath the scarred wood.
Magnus took a bite. The porridge was perfect—sweet and creamy and exactly right. He looked up to find Ada watching him, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
"Well?" she asked.
"It's good."
"Just good?"
"All right. It's perfect. Yer nurse's cream was the missin' piece." Magnus took another bite. "Dinnae let it go to yer head."
"Too late." Ada grinned, her eyes bright with victory. "I told ye me recipe would improve yers."
"Ye did nay such thing. Ye said—" Magnus stopped, shook his head. "Fine. Ye win this one."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Ada said, "Yer maither taught ye tae cook?"
"Aye. Before she died. I was—" Magnus paused, the memory catching him off guard. "I was eight, maybe nine. She said a man who couldnae feed himself was nae truly free. That dependin' on others fer every meal made ye weak."
"She sounds wise."
"She was. Strong too. Had tae be, married tae a Viking jarl." Magnus stared down at his bowl. "She died givin' birth tae me braither. He died three days later. After that, me faither—he was never the same."
Ada's hand moved across the table, her fingers brushing his. Just barely. Just enough.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Magnus turned his hand over, caught her fingers in his. "It was a long time ago."
"Grief daesnae care about time."
"Nay. I suppose it daesnae." Magnus looked up at her. "Yer nurse—the one who taught ye the porridge recipe. What happened tae her?"
"She left when I was twelve. Me faither sent her away after she tried tae stop him from—" Ada stopped. Her jaw tightened. "From bein' cruel tae me. He didnae like anyone questionin' his authority. Even someone who'd served our house fer twenty years."
"Did ye ever see her again?"
"Nay. I dinnae even ken where she went." Ada's voice was soft. "But I think about her sometimes. Wonder if she's still alive. If she ever thinks of me."
"She daes," Magnus said with certainty. "How could she nae?"
Ada's eyes glistened slightly. She blinked, looked away, stirred her porridge though it didn't need stirring. "This is good. The recipe. We should—we should make it again sometime."
"Aye. We should."
They finished eating slowly, neither wanting the moment to end. The fire crackled. The keep settled around them, silent and peaceful. And for the first time since Ada had arrived, Magnus felt something he hadn't expected to feel again.
Content.
Ada scraped the last of her porridge from the bowl, licked her spoon clean with an unselfconscious ease that made Magnus smile despite himself.
"What?" she asked, catching his expression.
"Naethin'. Just—ye eat like a soldier after a long march."
"I was hungry." Ada set down her bowl. "And it was good. Dinnae pretend ye werenae enjoyin' it just as much."
"I never said I wasnae."
Their eyes met across the table. Held. The moment stretched between them, warm and charged with something neither of them named.
Ada's hair had fallen forward again, a golden curtain half-hiding her face. Without thinking, Magnus reached across and tucked it gently behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek for just a breath longer than necessary.
"Magnus," Ada whispered.
He should have pulled back. Should have put distance between them again. But after their conversation earlier—after admitting his fears and hearing her promise to be patient—something had shifted. Some wall he'd been maintaining had cracked, and he found he didn't want to rebuild it.
Not tonight.
"Aye?" His voice came out rough.
Ada's cheeks flushed pink, visible even in the dim firelight. "I just—thank ye. Fer talkin' tae me. Fer nae shuttin' me out completely."
"I told ye I'd try."
"I ken. And ye are." She smiled, soft and genuine. "It means more than ye realize."
Magnus's thumb traced along her jaw, barely a whisper of touch. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm beneath his calloused fingers. "Ada, I need ye tae understand somethin'."
"What?"
"What I said before, I meant it. I'm nae good at this. At lettin' people close. At trustin'." He stopped, struggled to find the right words. "But with ye, I want tae try. I want tae believe that maybe—"
A sharp knock at the kitchen door shattered the moment.
Magnus jerked back, his hand falling away from Ada's face. They both turned toward the sound, the spell between them broken as cleanly as snapped glass.
"Magnus?" Torvald's voice came through the heavy wood, tight with urgency. "Are ye in there?"
Magnus stood, his jaw clenching. Of course. Of course, this moment would be interrupted. "Aye. Come in."
The door swung open and Torvald stepped through, his expression grim. His gaze flicked between Magnus and Ada sitting at the worktable, took in the bowls of porridge and the intimate closeness, but he had the good sense not to comment.
"We have a problem," Torvald said. "Emergency council meetin'. Just the core members. There's a scout back with news that cannae wait until mornin'."
Magnus felt his chest tighten. "What kind of news?"
"The kind ye'll want tae hear in private." Torvald's eyes cut meaningfully toward Ada.
Magnus turned to Ada. She'd gone pale, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She knew, just as he did, that scouts returning in the dead of night with urgent news was never good.
"I'll come with ye," Ada said, starting to stand.
"Nay." Magnus placed a hand on her shoulder, gentle but firm. "I need ye tae go back tae our chamber. Lock the door. Dinnae open it fer anyone but me or Torvald."
"Magnus, if somethin's wrong—"
"Which is exactly why I need ye somewhere safe." He cupped her face in both hands, holding her gaze. "Please, Ada. Let me handle this. I'll come tell ye everythin' as soon as the meetin's over."
She searched his face, worry clear in her eyes. But finally, she nodded. "All right.