Bjorn noticed Thorunn's absence from the hall the second night after he'd seen the bruise on her cheekbone. He felt he'd given her enough time and was impatient to be sure she was doing all right. Ubbe had only just convinced him to sit and have dinner before going to Hilde's hut to look in on her, when Thorunn did appear, somewhat diffidently, in the entrance.
She was wearing neither her old rags nor the simple dress he'd given her, but the well-made clothes of someone who could afford them—leggings and quilted tunic with a long blouse, the type of thing common to the warrior women. Something they could fight in unhampered, as well as the men. She looked—well, except for the apprehensive expression on her face, and the lack of weapons—ready for battle.
Hvitserk whistled. "Well, that's something different for you."
"She looks good," Ubbe approved, giving Bjorn a companionable shoulder slap. "Good for setting her up."
"I didn't," Bjorn muttered, confused. He stood up and approached Thorunn, taking her elbow. "Why are you...dressed like this?"
They were the subject of various sets of eyes around the room, servants among them.
She mimicked his quiet undertone. "Should I not be dressed like this?"
"I don't understand what —"
"Will you not invite me to sit?"
He stared at her.
Ubbe joined them. "Thorunn! Very nice." His hand gestured at her from top to bottom, admiringly. "Come and eat with us."
"Thank you, Ubbe." Thorunn gently slid from Bjorn's hand on her elbow and followed his brother back to the table. For a moment he stood alone, wondering what by all the gods was happening. Then he gave a short laugh to hide his dismay and returned to his original seat. Thorunn had sat down on Ubbe's other side. Hvitserk and Sigurd leaned around their brother to stare at her, but neither had anything snide to say. Ivar, at the end of the table, looked from Bjorn to Thorunn and smiled.
Bjorn ran a hand across the back of his neck and widened his eyes at the table. Margrethe brought everyone drinks, her mouth sullen even when Hvitserk tried to pull her into his lap. Ragnar and Lagertha—Bjorn saw his mother nod her head at Thorunn, which puzzled him immensely—entered the hall and were partaking of food with their friends at the higher table. Conversations ensued.
"The pork is delicious," Thorunn announced. Ubbe helpfully passed her more. Bjorn spared his brother a small glower. Ubbe's expression read what's your problem?
Thorunn turned her head to him and said, brightly, "I'm sorry I did not come to practice today. I was busy requisitioning this clothing. It will be so much better to work in than a dress."
Bjorn raised his drink to that.
"Want to tell me something," he said then, leaning close enough that his breath stirred the hair by her ear. She angled her neck in what seemed an obliging fashion. She'd also washed—she smelled delicious. For a moment, he forgot what he'd wanted to know. Oh yes. "Mind telling me why my mother acknowledged you just then?"
"I was also pleasantly surprised," Thorunn murmured, "but she and I did have a conversation by the beach yesterday."
He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd turned into Freyja herself. "You did."
Thorunn pulled her head back to look at him directly. "Yes, Bjorn. Your mother—Lagertha—is lovely."
"Thank you," he said, taking a very long drink, "I'm aware how nice she is—I just didn't expect that the two of you would have been—conversing. By the beach."
"Well, we did. And it was a very good conversation, and I must tell you about it, but perhaps not just this minute, with everyone here." Thorunn smiled at him. He was once again caught off guard by the particular brilliance of her smile, like she had just discovered a hoard of gold. He was not at all sure what to make of it. Out of nowhere she had a confidence. She was sitting straighter. He didn't know if he could wait until her convenience to have this private discussion. It might need to happen...soon.
Everyone else seemed to be having a good time. How was Ubbe making Thorunn laugh so much? What a fool. What fools his brothers all were. Bjorn drank savagely and signaled for more. His head began slowly to feel less burdened, the more alcohol his stomach held. Someone was talking, but he declined to listen. The answers were in the bottom of the murky tankard.
"Bjorn." Thorunn had poked him in the leg. Perhaps she had been doing so for a while.
"Hm."
"You are drinking quite fast, and...quite a lot. Are you...all right?"
"Mm."
Her eyebrows climbed uncertainly. He had an urge to run his thumb over her lips, quickly quelled it. Not in public.
"Perhaps you should get some air. It's very warm in here."
"It's very warm air," he agreed solemnly.
Ubbe—at least he thought it was Ubbe from this angle—kicked him under the table. Bjorn mouthed a few well-articulated bad words at him.
Some very clever someone, at some very clever point, had substituted barley tea for the alcohol in his mug. He spat, disgusted. Time for that air. He rose, ever conscious of his height but all the more so when slightly inebriated—everything seemed to shrink to diminutive sizes around him. Ubbe stood too, reaching for him. He waved the help away. Thorunn said, "I will go out with you—" but he told her, not unkindly, to stay where she was, and she sank back down on the bench.
Once outside, he walked with rather misplaced confidence to a nearby tree, where he relieved himself of some of the liquid building up in his body, and then stood, gazing at the moon in its particular brilliance. He wondered if the moon, from where it looked down at all below, was as confused as he was.
For what seemed like a long time he stood there, and he thought that everybody had forgotten about him. He wondered crossly why no one cared to check.
But the doors did swing open eventually and Thorunn came out, ghostly white in the moonlight, and good thing it was her because he really didn't want to see anyone else. And he hoped she was planning on making sense of everything, because nothing did.
"How do you feel?" she asked, approaching him, stopping just short.
He leaned in, aiming for a kiss, but she neatly avoided, and he got somewhere on the side of her head instead.
"Fine," he said, not sure if that was an acceptance of the missed kiss, or an expression of how he was feeling, or a lie.
"I think you are tired. Let's go in."
"You're coming with me?"
"Of course, I will see you to bed. Take my hand."
Obligingly, he let her lead him, stumbling only once or twice.
In fact, there was a back entrance to the main hall that accessed the sleeping quarters of the family, too, and it was through here that Thorunn brought him, though it wasn't well-lit and he almost fell over a stack of barrels along the way.
Then she was helping him to the bed, easing boots off his feet, sliding the pillow under his head. He wanted to argue, or participate—something, but the ceiling was spinning fantastically by now, so he lay still. Until she made a move to slide off the bed, then he caught her arm. "Will you stay here tonight?"
"Of course," Thorunn soothed, and Bjorn closed his eyes, relaxing back into the furs, but when he woke some hours later to the guttering candles, she was no longer there, causing him to wonder if the entire night had been a dream, and none of this was real whatsoever.
Come the morning, he was rudely awakened by a pounding at the door that almost immediately mirrored the pounding in his temples. He shot out of bed regardless, warrior conditioning that could not be overridden by lack of sleep or ill-feeling, and flung the door open.
It was just Ubbe, with a grin that indicated Kattegat was in no danger of being under attack nor could there be any deeply pressing reason for him to have woken him. Bjorn sagged a little against the doorframe.
"Just came to see if you survived the night, brother." Ubbe tried to give him a commiserating slap, purposely timing it slow enough that Bjorn could wince and avoid it at the last moment. "You drank more than usual."
"I'm..." he winced again, as the throbbing in his head had increased proportionately to the quick movements of a moment ago. "Fine. I was sleeping it off."
Ubbe made a show of looking beyond him into the room. "You alone?"
Bjorn put an arm against the opposite frame. "Mind your business, little brother."
He usually reserved such an epithet for his littlest brothers, but Ubbe refused to be offended. "Want to go fishing?"
"No."
"Come on. We haven't done anything since you got back. Let's go for a hunt."
"I'd be as like to shoot you with the arrow as anything we might see."
Ubbe held up hands. "Never mind then. I'll go alone."
"What's wrong with Hvitserk?"
"Nothing," Ubbe said, interpreting the question literally.
"Two of you still arguing over that skirt?"
"Her name's Margrethe," Ubbe answered, irritation on his face, "and you're no better with yours."
"Mine's—Thorunn is different anyway."
"You're right about that," Ubbe said significantly.
Bjorn pressed fingers to his head, blinked, and sighed. "Which means?"
"She's different now. She's a free woman now."
"What?"
"I'm guessing you didn't talk last night?"
Bjorn tried to think what last night had been like. A lot of it was a blur of soaked colors and images, like an already half-forgotten dream. Wait. Thorunn was no longer a bondservant? He remembered her new clothing, her bearing. Lagertha's nod. Her presence at the table. It made sense. Well, no, he was confused as he'd ever been, but it made sense now. What had she said? She had said something about it. I must tell you, but perhaps not just this minute, with everyone here.
He wished she'd chosen that minute, with everyone there or not.
"Hope it's not too late for you," Ubbe said, waggling a finger in his chest before turning and leaving.
Well, there was no way he could go back to bed now. Swearing, Bjorn went to splash water across his face in some semblance of washing it—it did not measurably improve the headache—and put on clothing that didn't smell like beer. Stalking out of his room, he almost bowled his mother over.
"Good morning, my busy son." Lagertha looked him up and down with mild amusement, straightening herself by gripping his forearms.
"Morning," he muttered. "Excuse me, Mother..."
"And where are you off to?"
"I have to see someone."
"You do not look at all in the right mood to see anyone unless by 'see' you mean 'take their head off'," Lagertha advised gently.
Bjorn inhaled through his nose and looked up at the heavy pine beams above them.
"Bjorn." Lagertha reached up and took his face in her hands, guiding it back down so he had to look at her. "If you don't think you can be calm, perhaps now is not the best time."
"I can be calm," he muttered again. "I'm perfectly calm."
"Your heart is stormy as Odin's on battle's eve. You are a man, but you do not know everything, still."
"I know I do not know everything. Right now, I feel like I know nothing." He knew the bitterness had slipped out in his tone. "I did not know about the conversation you had with her."
Lagertha nodded. "I understand. You think I should have asked you first? Did you think I needed your permission to give Thorunn her freedom?"
He shook his head, infinitesimally.
Her own tone sharpened. "I did not speak with you first for a good reason, Bjorn. And that is, if Thorunn believed you to have any hand in granting her freedom she never would have been able to truly enjoy it. It would always be tied to you and whatever relationship you may have with her."
"How did you know we...?"
"My child," Lagertha said, obliquely. "Go on, then. If you must see her. Remember to be respectful."
He opened his mouth to protest at that, but she patted him on the jaw—really a light slap—and walked away, leaving him standing in the hallway not much less confused than before.
Thorunn enjoyed a blissfully labor-free morning to herself, roaming the hills and filling her stomach with summer berries plucked fresh from the bushes at midday, before making sure that she was at their typical rendezvous for training by the afternoon. She wasn't at all sure that Bjorn would come after the night's events, but she meant to continue practicing with him as long as he would indulge her. Which he might not want to, any longer. She would have to accept that, if such were the case. The thought made her somber and it wasn't until she finally saw him approach that her mood brightened again.
"I couldn't find you anywhere," he said, stopping close, but sounding matter-of-fact rather than abrasive. She eyed him, taking in everything about his posture, his attitude.
"I slept late and then went for a long walk in the woods," Thorunn answered. "It was strange but so wonderful to have no demands."
He nodded, but then burst out, "Why didn't you say something last night?"
"I wanted to, but not so publicly."
"Ubbe knew about it before I did," he muttered, sounding rather like a hurt child, which was a little endearing, but also, she reminded, not her responsibility.
"He asked me what had happened, after I took you to your room."
"And told me you were going to stay."
"I did, for a while," Thorunn sighed, "but then I returned to the hall. And—my own room."
"You have your own room."
"Yes. Under the same roof as the rest of you. Quite near the back, not near the others. I'm very grateful to Lagertha for allowing me to stay if I chose. I think I will continue to work in some capacity, not for Hilde, but for her. To show my gratitude."
Bjorn looked somewhat overwhelmed by this small speech, which was as much as she had ever said to him in one or two breaths.
"Are you not happy?" Thorunn prodded, wanting something more from him. Wanting for him to apologize, perhaps, for seeming more put out by the whole chain of events than anything else.
"Of course I'm—it's good you're away from Hilde, if nothing else. I'm certain you have never been treated that way while working for us."
That was not an apology.
Thorunn ran her thumb along the edge of her new knife, testing its sharpness. "I'm sure I haven't," she said, blandly.
"Well, we're both here. Do you want to—fight?"
"I would love to fight," she said, sedately.
"Good knife."
"Thank you."
They stared at each other, Bjorn awkwardly, Thorunn serenely.
"So. You want to learn how to use that?" he asked, clearing his throat.
"I believe I might already know how to use it," she said, maintaining the demure tone because it was keeping him unsettled and she liked that. There had been a palpable balance of shift in power since their last interaction and Thorunn meant to enjoy whatever it brought about.
"Well," he said, straightening a little, "you don't want to be reduced to the knife, but if you are, there's some points to go for."
She extended the knife towards his belly, just touching the fabric with its tip.
He inclined his head in agreement. "That will work."
"Where else?" Thorunn said, stepping closer into the knife so that she was inches from him.
He breathed out and put two fingers along her neck, finding the pulse.
"All right," she said, and moved the knife up to find his.
They stared at each other eye-to-eye. Bjorn's gaze was intensely blue. He emanated warmth.
"Here," he said, slowly sliding his fingers down to where her arm met her chest. She had to fight the urge not to squirm as it tickled. "But," he cautioned, "there's ribs to go between."
"Mm."
"And then you can try—" His hand fell lower, daring her to pull away, finding a spot high on the top of her thigh and sliding purposefully inwards. Thorunn lowered her own knife-holding hand and mimicked the gesture. His smile seemed a little uncomfortable. "Yes. Easy."
"Thank you for the lesson," she said sweetly.
"You're—welcome." He grimaced. She withdrew the knife and sheathed it back in her belt.
"You didn't bring anything else?" Bjorn looked around for her axe. He'd brought his, but he always brought his. She knew that warriors didn't go as far as the well for water without being armed. She looked forward to accustoming herself to that now, too.
Thorunn put out her hands, empty.
He looked at her with considerable misgiving. "We tried that already."
"And you tripped me. I remember."
"Because I didn't know how else to stop you. Not because I wanted to hurt you. I still don't want to hurt you."
She pretended she didn't hear the intensity, the way his voice lowered as if someone were watching them.
"You didn't," she said. "You wouldn't even try to strike at me."
Bjorn looked away. Rubbed the back of his hand against his face. Then stepped in, took her arm and within a few brief seconds had flipped her flat to the ground, much like before except this time he climbed on top of her and sat on her stomach, exerting just enough pressure that she couldn't get up. Thorunn kicked ineffectively, not wanting to use her hands just yet. She glared up at him. To be fair he wasn't looking smug, just resigned. But that was almost more annoying. It took no effort on his part whatsoever. She tried to shift her hips sideways but they would go nowhere.
She slapped him.
"Huh," he breathed out, blinking and looking back at her, taking a few even breaths. It had been a good hard slap. But his mouth only tightened.
"Let me up."
"So we can do this again?"
"Will you let me up?"
"We can do this all day."
She did try to punch him then, using her fingers the way he'd told her before, but it wasn't fast enough. He grabbed her hand and squeezed just enough to make her squeak with the pressure.
Thorunn sighed out. "So what do I do now?"
He leaned in, pinning both of her hands to the ground by the wrist. "You never let it get to this. Never. Because this is rape. And then death. Or maybe the other way round."
"You're not scaring me," she said, with some sullenness.
"I'm not trying to. I'm trying to teach you. Use your bow. Your sword, your shield, axe, that knife. Never let it go past that."
"We haven't practiced bow yet," she said, lifting her chin as much as she could from a prone position.
"We will," Bjorn said grimly. Then his face softened a little, and so did the pressure on her wrists. "And you will never be like this, on your back."
"I don't mind if it's you," she whispered.
His nostrils flared. He didn't know what that meant. The truth was, neither did she exactly. Then he leaned down and put his lips to her cheek, just the lightest of brushes. Thorunn thrilled to it. She felt the tension in her chest and stomach soften, warm. His hands on her wrists were loosening, becoming something else, not warden-like. His weight had shifted too so he wasn't sitting on her, more kneeling above her. She could have pushed him away now, had she wanted.
But she didn't really want to, necessarily. She did want him to know that she hadn't done this before, but not to have to say it. Probably because it would be surprising to him.
Bjorn said her name, very cautiously, like a question. Thorunn put her hands around his neck and drew his head down for a more proper kiss. So warm and pleasant. They spent some time doing that. Kissing.
Then his hands began to roam a little and she whacked them away out of reflex.
"Sorry," he groaned. "I thought you—"
"I'm not used to it," she said.
"What?" He sat up.
So did she.
"I'm not—" she shrugged. Now that she was not a slave, even if it had only been for a day, it seemed like something she shouldn't have to admit out loud for all to know.
But it was only Bjorn after all, so she said a little flatly, as he continued to stare at her, "I haven't had sex before."
"Oh," he said after what seemed like a long pause. "I thought..."
"You thought that because I was just a houseservant I let anyone who wanted have sex with me?"
"N-no, I mean I thought that you probably didn't have a choice I'm sorry." He ran the last few words together so quickly as to be almost unintelligible.
"Well perhaps I am luckier than most," Thorunn heard the tartness in her voice, "that I was able to make that choice for myself."
The amorous mood had faded. He looked down, picking at twigs on the ground. She braided hair idly, confused about her feelings. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the wind in the grasses.
"Want to go back to town?" Bjorn asked quietly.
Thorunn nodded. Actually, she was very tired. The lack of work had been invigorating, but it was also tiring in its own way, to try to think of all the things one would do, if there was but time. The idea of going back to her cozy little room, closing the door, and falling asleep on the small but perfectly adequate bed for a few hours was suddenly very welcome.
He got to his feet first and reached for her hand to pull her up.
"Lagertha told me I could train in town with the others now," Thorunn said, recalling that his mother had told her so in passing earlier that day.
"You should," he said, nodding. "Fighting in a group is important too."
"And I might ask Ubbe to work with me again," she said, watching his face carefully for any negative reaction. She saw his jaw muscles work, but he accepted the statement tacitly, if not verbally.
They walked back in relative silence, both with nothing to say, both with too much to say that couldn't, just then, be voiced.
In the evening, Thorunn soon discovered that working while she was not bonded to anyone made her a source of both envy and scorn, depending on how the others felt about it. If she had been unpopular before, most of the other servants now avoided her completely, warily ceasing conversations or chatter as soon as she got within earshot. It didn't bother her exactly, but it was a new thing to get used to—she found herself often turning and looking to see which guest or family member had joined them before realizing it was herself, a free woman, now. She didn't know if this would ever change or, realistically, if it could at all. Lagertha's personal maidservant had attended her briefly, given her some slightly-too-short but pretty and functional dresses, and showed her some hairstyles which were common to the freewomen and by unspoken agreement not usually appropriated by slaves. This was helpful to Thorunn because as much as she felt unchanged internally, she at least looked the part and that was a way of bolstering her confidence as she moved about the kitchen and hall now.
Thus far, Margrethe had stayed out of her way but the former certainly was aware that Thorunn's prospects had materially changed. Moreover, everyone seemed to know it was Lagertha, not Bjorn himself, who had effected that change. While Bjorn was respected as the eldest son of the two monarchs, there was an undeniable extra prestige associated with Lagertha's blessing, so Thorunn didn't blame anyone for feeling wary of her, or wondering what influence she might have now.
It did make her uncomfortable, however. And when Margrethe shot her a honey-sweet smile from across the room that night, Thorunn knew she would have to tread carefully if she was not to become the other girl's enemy—if Margrethe didn't consider her such already. Certainly she viewed her as a rival, which Thorunn considered ridiculous since they weren't associated with the same men. Well...
It occurred to her that Margrethe might have thought the days Ubbe had spent with her had not been conducted in friendly competition.
Which was also ridiculous, but was it perhaps why Margrethe now seemed to be aligning herself mostly with Hvitserk?
Thorunn couldn't keep up with all of it and didn't really want to. She just wanted to help where she could, enjoy her newly-won leisure time, work hard at training and be able to fight for a place on the boats in the spring when the raiders left again.
Because, she told herself, if hard work was all it took to earn herself a spot, she would be ready.
Some seven or eight days went by with Bjorn making no progress towards the task of getting closer to Thorunn, either physically or emotionally (truth be told, he would have settled for some of either, and certainly some of the first). Most of the time he found himself conflicted between two truths: one, that he was genuinely glad she had her freedom to be herself and to be safe from any abuse, and second, that he did not exactly know how to navigate the new dynamic that that created. Also, he was a practical person and did not like wasting time. If she did not want to be with him, he could have accepted that—he wasn't desperate for female company, and it wasn't his nature to be overly possessive (protective, yes). But while she seemed to like being with him, whether training or merely conversing or even in that brief interlude where he'd rather thought they might end up consummating their relationship, it was confusing now that she did not seek him out.
He'd come to watch a few times when Thorunn trained with the others, even participating, though he typically only trained with a close group of young warriors around his age. She was pleasant if noncommittal in his presence. So he tried to reciprocate with the same energy. This was fine, since both of them were behaving well, but it didn't lead them anywhere together.
Bjorn knew Lagertha would have some wise things to say on the matter if he brought it to her, but he was too proud. As for his father, Ragnar had made enough mistakes relationally with females that Bjorn doubted he'd give particularly good advice.
Perhaps the gods were playing with him, because just when he was considering whether or not he trusted Ubbe to discuss it with, his brother brought up the subject himself when they were leaning against a stone fence watching some of the others, including Thorunn, working with bow and arrow.
"She doesn't have a strong enough shot yet," Ubbe said, appraising fairly. "But she's determined. She'll get there."
"Hm." Bjorn flicked bits of moss growing along the top of the wall, elbow height to them both.
"How's that going?" Ubbe asked, not referring either to Thorunn's archery skills or the moss-flicking.
Bjorn sighed and turned halfway, leaning back on an elbow. "It's not, really." Might as well be honest. His brother usually knew when he was prevaricating, anyway.
"Why not? You both like each other."
"I thought we did, but—it's different now."
"Maybe you need to give her more time to get used to her life," Ubbe pointed out, reasonably enough. "And it's not different. Look at her watching you to see if you noticed her shot just there. See?"
"Maybe she's watching you to see if you noticed," Bjorn answered, but he looked over, anyway. Thorunn brushed a stray braid out of her face and glanced away, shyly, accepting a compliment from someone with a smile.
"You could've given her a couple of claps or something."
"She's not a dog," Bjorn said, purposely echoing his brother's own comment from the time they'd been drinking and had to rein in Hvitserk.
Ubbe grinned, remembering it too. "Well, smile, then. Or wave. Something. You're not very good at this."
"Good at what?"
"Pretending you care."
"I do care."
"Then do something, man! Talk to her."
"Right now? She's practicing."
Ubbe shrugged dramatically. "Doesn't matter to me. Wait until next week then if that's how you want to do things, wait a month until you kiss her, don't have sex with her until next year—" He blocked a swing because Bjorn had been goaded enough; one could only take so much from a baby brother.
"Why wait at all, we can just do it right there in the field right now in front of everybody," Bjorn muttered.
"That's more like it," Ubbe approved.
He put two hands on the wall and vaulted over, ignoring his brother's muted cheer (as if he thought that was what he was actually about to do). Some of the others, taking turns at archery at the various targets in the distance, parted as he came to Thorunn. She turned, seeing him. "Bjorn," she said, casually, but looking a little flustered by his stride. He hoped.
"Want to go to the lake?" he demanded, somewhat more peremptorily than intended.
"I—well, we—" She looked around at the others, most of whom were looking at them. "We haven't—"
"Do you want to, or not?"
Perhaps she heard the urgency because she blinked, slowly, and then said, "Yes. All right."
Bjorn didn't care that everyone was watching. He reached for her hand, palm up, and when she slowly put hers into it, strode off the field with her following alongside. They did not exchange further words until they were alone by the waving grasses at the lakeshore. She looked at him expectantly. He blew out a breath.
"I don't like to talk. Not about—" Words failed him so he gestured at her and then himself.
"We don't have to talk," Thorunn said ingenuously.
"I haven't seen you in two days." At least, he thought. More than passing in the hallway.
She gave a delicate shrug. "I have been...a little busy, but...what do you want to say?"
Wordless, he stepped in close and kissed her, holding her face in his hands. Her mouth was responsive, her body inclined towards his. She swayed and murmured something against his lips that seemed encouraging.
Gods, he wished they were back in his room right now. He didn't want to have sex on the pebbles on the beach or in the long grass with twigs and bugs. Well, he did, but not if it was her first encounter. That would not be the good kind of memorable.
At least, her response was promising.
"I thought you wanted to swim," she argued weakly, pulling away after a few long moments, which was actually good timing because they both needed to breathe.
He reached to pull her back again. "I didn't say that."
"Well, I want to. I'm dirty."
"I don't care," he said, kissing her neck now.
But she kicked him gently in the shins and when he released her, groaning in disagreement, she backed up and untied her tunic at the neck, pulling it over her head.
"Come here—"
"Not yet." She stripped off her bottoms and then ran shrieking towards the water while he chased her, ripping his own clothes off and flinging them to the stones along the way. They crashed into the shallows together, half fighting, half embracing.
"Mmm." Thorunn settled back in his arms.
"Need help washing?" he said, letting his hands roam.
She kissed him, and they were lost to their environment for some long moments, making slow circles in the water (her legs wrapped around his waist and he doubted the wisdom of having decided this wasn't the best place to consummate a relationship). Soon he was going to have to push her away, but not just yet.
"All right," he said eventually, pushing her away. "I want to know something."
Thorunn flipped wet hair over her shoulders. He stared at the sky for a few minutes in an attempt to focus and regain a thought process after all that physical intensity. "If you aren't going to be around me during the day, I want you in my room at nights."
She blinked at him. "Why wouldn't I be around you in the day?"
"Because you haven't been! Like I said it's been two days since I've seen you. So you decide how you want to do this, but I want half your time."
She smiled a little.
"At least," he clarified.
"I will give you my nights, Bjorn son of Ragnar. And some of my days too. But—" she poked him in the chest "—you will not forget I am a free woman."
"I will not forget that," Bjorn agreed.
"And you will not tell me who I can and can't associate with." She cocked an eyebrow in challenge.
That was a little harder to swallow, but he supposed he'd manage. "I will not. Is there more?"
"One more," she said, "which I will not tell you now. Those are my terms."
He pretended to consider. As if he had a choice. As if he wasn't lost already. He put out his arm for her to clasp. She did, serious-faced. "Swear," she added.
"On my ring," he agreed.
They gazed at each other solemnly until a passing crow screeched overhead and broke the moment.