A/N: I'm getting on a plane to head to my hometown today, so I thought I'd post this early instead of making everyone wait a further week.

On another note, I've decided the average chapter length for this story will be 1000-2000 words, though this chapter here is just a smidge under.

CHAPTER 3

The familiar sting of the woodcutter's swing

To the tree.

"Wash me."

He watched calmly as the girl rolled the long sleeves of her brown dress up past her elbows, tucked a few stray orange hairs behind her ears, and soaked a washcloth in the hot water. He allowed her to lift each of his arms in turn and scrub them gently. Ivar was tempted to hold his arms to his sides and watch her struggle to move them, simply for the sake of amusement, but he did no such thing. Instead, he let her manipulate his body as she needed.

The girl flicked her hands, relieving them of excess water, and stood.

"Sit up straight." She said as she hiked her dress above her knees.

Ivar bit back the snarky remark on his tongue about her exposing herself like a whore.

"Did you just give me an order?" He asked incredulously.

The girl merely scoffed. "I need to scrub your shoulders and back. But if you do not wish for me to continue bathing you, Prince, I can always leave."

"No." Ivar snapped quickly. He used the sides of the tub to pull himself upwards, his back straight as a board.

He was unsure exactly why he was so adamant on her not leaving. Perhaps it was her boldness: her fearlessness in the presence of Ivar the Boneless, the most unpredictable and cruel of Ragnar's sons. Perhaps it was her indifference to his crippled legs, for she avoided looking at them not out of disgust, but simply because to her they were simply just legs.

Whatever it was, Ivar would never admit that he enjoyed her company.

The girl raised a questioning brow at his obeying her command, and then stepped into the bath. She sat behind him on the rim of the wooden tub, her legs parted brazenly for her knees to accommodate his broad shoulders.

She flicked him on the ear with her finger. "Stop ogling my thighs." She scolded without any real malice in her tone.

Ivar turned his head back to the front, glad she was behind him and therefore unable to see the shade of pink flushing his cheeks at being caught staring at the inside of her fleshy legs.

He felt the washcloth on him, moving in circular motions across his shoulder and back. Dragging himself around all day proved monumentally straining on his upper body, and Ivar closed his eyes at the unwinding of his tight muscles as her firm presses massaged their way over him. The girl wrung out the washcloth over his back and shoulders. Water cascaded over him, rinsing off any remaining dirt.

Ivar became curious. "You are exceedingly well-practised at this entire routine for someone who works under a fisherman."

He could hear her intake of breath.

"How observant of you." She mused light-heartedly before sighing. "I was a slave before I came to Kattegat. My master at the time had many wealthy travellers stay in his home, and I was his hospitality gift to them. My job was to feed them and bath them… among other things."

"And how is it that you made it to Kattegat a free woman?" Ivar had turned his head and shoulders to be able to see her face, genuinely interested in her story.

The girl did not look up from soaking and wringing out the washcloth as she spoke. "Another of my jobs was to train the other slave girls to please men. Once I had accomplished that, I was of no use since he now had many other girls to do my job for me. My master grew bored of me one day and simply freed me. Where else would I go from there other than the successful trading township of Kattegat, home of the absentee king, Ragnar Lothbrok?"

Ivar admired the girl's resolve. She was definitely a survivor.

"What is your name?"

"Kari." The girl locked eyes with him. "I have no family name."

Kari seemed to hold his gaze a moment longer than necessary before she blinked herself out of whatever deep thought she was having.

"I've talked enough." She said, smacking his upper arms gently with the wet rag. "Now, stop fidgeting and let me wash your chest."

Ivar grinned at her, turning back to face the water that extended before him. The bath tub was long enough for him to be able to lay his legs out straight and his feet would still be a few inches short of the other end. Floki had made it especially for him once it became clear that bathing with his unresponsive legs tucked to his chest was too difficult.

Kari stood, holding the skirt of her dress out of the water's reach, and stepped out of the tub. Uncaring of her wet legs, she sat on the wooden stool and leaned over the tub's rim to be able to reach his chest.

She was resting the weight of her entire upper body on the wood of the tub, which pressed up into her side. To Ivar, it looked tremendously uncomfortable.

As Kari leaned further over the rim, Ivar's arms shot out like vipers and snatched her around the shoulders. He pulled her into the water before she could do anything to stop it.