Chapter 16: Chapter 16

KENDRA

As we reached our destination, the sun was bidding the day goodbye. We stood before a grand wooden gate, beyond which lay a village of huts, farmland, and barns housing various livestock. Despite the late hour, the place was alive with Vikings, their laughter and merriment echoing through the air. Fjorn’s grip on my hand remained firm, as if he feared I might vanish if he let go.

Fjorn was unlike anyone I’d ever met. He stood tall, his powerful figure demanding respect, but his heart was tender and completely mine. I hadn’t known him for long, but I felt a sense of belonging with him, a connection I’d never experienced before. His laughter, his smiles—they stirred a longing within me, a craving for more of him.

As we strolled through the village, the other Vikings gradually dispersed, returning to their families. At the end of our walk, a large hut came into view. It was Fjorn’s, set apart from the rest, with vast fields stretching out behind it. As we approached, Fjorn scooped me up and carried me inside, my laughter echoing off the walls as I rested my head on his shoulder.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, still chuckling as he set me down.

He shrugged, a playful smile on his face. “How about a hot bath and some food?” he suggested, moving toward the fireplace. As he started a fire to warm the hut, I took the opportunity to look around.

His home was much larger than my hut back in my village, filled with a large wooden table, numerous chairs, clothes and furs strewn about, and axes haphazardly scattered. A wooden ladder led to a loft, and the table was covered with papers and books.

“Is everything okay?” Fjorn asked, wrapping his arms around me from behind and planting a kiss on my head.

“This place is a mess,” I replied, turning to hug him.

He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I’ve put the iron cauldron on the fire. I’ll go get some water for your bath and heat some meat from the súrr,” he said, heading out the door.

I decided to tidy up a bit while he was gone. I folded the furs and stacked them on a chair and picked up the axes, placing them next to the door on a wooden chest. As I moved to the table, I noticed the papers were maps of Saxon villages and towns.

I frowned. The only aspect of Fjorn that I wished was different was this. I was just arranging them into a neat pile when the door opened.

Fjorn paused in the doorway. “What?” I asked.

“I could get used to seeing you in my house,” he said, walking over to the fireplace and setting down a large bucket.

After we ate and waited for the bathwater to heat, we chatted about life in the village and their recent venture into crop cultivation. Fjorn moved a wooden bath to the center of the room, poured in the hot water, and added some cool water, testing it to ensure it was just right before inviting me to get in.

He approached me slowly, his hand trailing down my side as he locked eyes with me. He gently gathered my dress in his hands, pulling it over my head. I instinctively covered myself, but he took my hand and led me to the bath. The water was warm, reaching up to my collarbone.

Fjorn fetched a leather bag and a chair, settling behind me. He took out soap and a wooden cup, pouring warm water over my head and washing my hair while humming a tune. I felt at peace, closing my eyes and letting his deep hums fill my mind. After washing my hair, he combed through it, untangling the knots and adding a few braids before planting a kiss on my head.

He undressed and slid into the tub behind me. I leaned back against his chest. “Fjorn, can I ask you something?” I asked, tilting my head to look at him. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“You can ask me anything,” he replied.

“Is it always going to be like this, or are you just trying to get me to stay, and once I’m here, you’ll change?”

His eyes snapped open, anger flashing in them. He gritted his teeth and looked down at me. I flinched as he moved his arm, covering my face with my hands. But nothing happened. Peeking through my fingers, I saw his hand reaching for my face, the anger replaced with sadness.

“I would never hit you,” he said, standing up and stepping out of the tub. He grabbed his pants and a fur, storming out of the house and slamming the door behind him. I sank deeper into the tub, letting the water rise up to my neck. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

I knew he was kind and sweet, and he’d done so much for me, but he’d also kidnapped me, torn me away from my home. He was a Viking. The papers on his table told me as much, and everything I learned while growing up told me not to trust him, to try to escape. My head was telling me one thing, and my body was telling me another.