DIVINE [HVITSERK RAGNARSSON]

23: YORK

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CHAPTER TWENTY THREE — 'YORK'

Jorvik. That's what the Danes called it. The Saxons called it York. The City of York. And now Hvitserk Ragnarsson ruled over it — along with his brothers, of course. They'd taken it almost a week ago now and rumour had it that Aethelwulf was stewing, somewhere in exile with his wife and sons. The brother's scouts had informed them that Bishop Heahmund had made contact with him.

Hvitserk would let her kill him. Asta. After what he let that torturer do to her. She was up now, walking around and smiling and laughing. Hvitserk could still see the pain in her eyes, as she moved her wounds still screamed and the face of that torturer still haunted her sleep.

"Stop looking at her." Ivar's voice pulled Hvitserk's eyes away from the cobbled lane that he stared down. Asta was along the street, her auburn hair braided over her shoulder and a deep red dress brushing the ground beneath her.
"What?" Hvitserk mumbled before taking another sip of his ale and looking back towards Asta from the corner of his eye.
"You are always looking at her." Ivar said as he too looked at the girl. "She is beautiful, of course."
Hvitserk said nothing as they looked at her.
"Beautiful little Asta and poor little Hvitserk who can't tell her he loves her." Ivar mocked his brother.
"Shut up, Ivar."
"You should be grateful, brother, that a girl looks in your direction. I do not have that gift."

Hvitserk ignored his brother's snide comment and ripped off a chunk of the bread that he held in his hand.
"Ubbe wants to return to Kattegat." Ivar changed the subject when he realised his brother was not willing to discuss his love.
"I agree with him. We should not stay here."
Ivar scoffed and threw his hands in the air. "Really, brother? There is glory for us here! We can take England for ourselves."
"Ubbe suggested claiming the land that King Ecbert granted us, we could—"
"We are not farmers, Hvitserk!" Ivar suddenly exploded. "We are warriors! If Ubbe returns to Kattegat, you would do well to remain with me. This is the Great Heathen Army, and they will want to remain here. With me as their leader."
Hvitserk sighed and stood up as he watched Asta walking away down the street, "I have to go."

He wandered down the narrow street behind her as Asta approached the old Earl's villa that they had claimed. The brothers had been sleeping in rooms there, as had Asta and her brothers. Arvid and Erik had come to be advisors of sorts to the Ragnarssons and Hvitserk had grown to like them.

"Asta!" He called to her as she reached the heavy doors of the villa and pushed them open.
"Hvitserk," she smiled warmly as she turned to lay her eyes upon him. "Arvid tells me that Aethelwulf is planning an attack. I am due some training." She spoke as she breezed through the villa.
"Are you mad? You are better, but you shouldn't fight yet. You should let yourself fully heal." Hvitserk scoffed, shocked that she had even suggested she was okay to fight.
Asta rolled her eyes, "perhaps it is a shame that you care so much, Hvitserk Ragnarsson."
She stopped walking and turned to face him, moving herself closer to him. He lowered his head slightly and she pressed her forehead to his own, taking in a deep breath of comfort. Since they'd arrived in York, all they'd shared were a few moments similar to that of the closeness they experienced now. Neither one of them explained, using words, how they'd grown to feel for the other, instead conveying it through silent motions and looks and hoping that was good enough.
"Can we talk?" He whispered, Asta's eyes watching his smooth lips move as his face hovered closely in front of her own. She nodded, taking his hand and walking towards his room in the villa.