Chapter Fifty

The Swim

Thorvald walked the length of the dock. The planks bent under his weight. He owed the gods his thanks. Not now, though. Later.

He stood at the edge of the sea. Over the horizon, dawn broke, fiery red growing in the sky with every exhalation Thorvald released.

He stripped away his garments. The linen stuck where the blood had tried, and he winced when he pulled the material away from the slash on his shoulder. He stunk from battle and was covered in other men’s blood. Neither was pleasing under normal circumstances. To see her again under these layers of filth was out of the question. Naked, he untied his hair and shook out the long locks.

Leaving all his things in a heap, he dove into the frigid water, straight into a brutal shock of cold. His hands stung, having been bloodied first in combat, then when pounding down the jarl’s door. His man parts shrunk and pulled up tight against his body. The pounding at the back of his skull began to abate.

Even on the longest, hottest days of high summer, this water was too cold for any man to linger in too long.

He glided through the water. Kick, stroke, glide. Kick, stroke, glide.

Somewhere out there, far, far away, Sigurd was feasting in Ran’s great hall. May it be that Thorvald’s story would be carried over wind and wave and someday reach his cousin’s ear. He’d let go of the secrets keeping him in bondage. He’d overthrown the jarl. Sigurd would be proud.

Thorvald broke the surface and inhaled a deep breath, then began to swim back to shore.

A lone figure waited for his return. When he could reach the bottom, he planted his feet and walked the rest of the way. He wrung the salty sea out of his hair. “We had an agreement. I await your decision.”

Water dripped from his body.

“So we did.” She remained calm as winter’s first dusting of snow. “I believe you promised me a ship.”

…

Alodie tried to ignore his nudity. All the rest of the people across the entire surface of the world could be as bare as could be and she would be immune. With him, everything was different. Thorvald roused her interest. He was put together…well, perfectly. The cuts and scars and bruises did nothing to detract from the breathtaking view. God had beauty in mind when he’d sculpted this man.

She wouldn’t be distracted. No matter how much she wanted to roam her gaze over him, lingering on the bulges of his arms, and that peculiar masculine line cut above each hip. And…and…that part of him that had been inside of her. If he turned, she could have a better view of his backside, too.

She swallowed, wishing as desperately he would turn around as would not.

This was a trial, nothing more. She’d pass. She wouldn’t give in to her earthy instincts. There were words to be said and say them she would.

She stood with her feet firmly planted upon the shore, ready to fight. He’d promised her a ship and a ship she would have.

Thorvald stayed silent.

So silent, the fight in her began to abate. “Aren’t you going to try to convince me to stay?”

“Do you want me to?”

Until today, she’d believed going home was impossible. Now it wasn’t and he wasn’t going to go back on his word. There was nothing to keep her here. She didn’t want anything to keep her here, either. She didn’t. Home was what mattered. The place of her birth. The place she hoped to someday, in the distant, distant future, have her bones laid to rest.

Somewhere along the line, she’d lost track of the days. But, if they left today and met no hardships, she might be home to partake in the celebration of the princess’s marriage. The chance was small, but not nonexistent.

“Not in the slightest.” She raised her chin. “There is nothing for me here.”

He gave a resigned nod. “Exactly what I thought you’d say.”