Valknut

CHAPTER|37 The Odd Apple

Kieran woke the following morning, in relatively happy spirits. He lay flat on his back, arms crossed under his head, staring at the roof. His mind reconstructed the events from the night before. Over and over again he saw her face. The way the fire had reflected in her eyes had been one of the first things about her that had entranced him. Bright blue irises inside which the gold and yellow flecks had danced so intimately. As the fire in the hearth had flickered, the gold and yellow specks came closer and then separated only to come closer again. Like lovers in an embrace. 

He quickly jumped out of bed, eager to see her today. To see what secrets those eyes would share with him. Would he see his reflection in them? Would she see him as favorably as he saw her? He couldn’t wait to find out. He hopped over to the basin, washed himself thoroughly. Then he began the tedious job of smothering his hair into submission. The damned thing wouldn’t sit the way he wanted it to. He ran wet fingers through them hoping the dampness would tame his hair some more.

No matter what he tried, a certain section at the back of his head stood up stubbornly. Bed hair, he grimaced. How perfect. Well perhaps he wouldn’t turn around in her presence and she’ll never see it. With a sigh he peered at his chin. He ran his fingers over the tiny stubble wondering whether to shave or not. What would she prefer? Given that she grew up in the midst of men with facial hair down to their shoulders, perhaps being clean shaven wouldn’t impress her. But then neither would this silly excuse for a beard. 

No matter how much he sought to settle his appearance to impress Kára, everything was working against him. He sighed in resignation and chose a simple tunic and breeks. No point fussing about clothes if he was going to look like he crawled out of bed anyway. At least he wouldn’t look pretentious enough to have slept in his finery. 

He exited his chambers and dragged his feet in the general direction of the stairs. The overcast day gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps it would pour and everyone would look as terrible as he did. The thought did cheer him up a little. But only briefly. His ears caught onto unfamiliar sounds. Grunting, groaning, and cursing. Someone was not having fun today. Curious, he peered out the tiny slits in the wall. Below, he saw the training grounds had gathered quite the crowd. He chuckled when he saw Aggi flat on his stomach,

Catriona sitting astride. She had both his arms drawn behind him and tightly grasped within her own. For each time he refused to concede to her, she would pull back gently, enough to make him curse some more in pain. The scene so familiar to him. He was reminded of the first time he had met Catriona and how she had him bound in the same position… all for the want of a decent introduction. 

Now that he had been distracted from thoughts of Kára, he hurried down the stairs. A sense of purpose guiding him. How could he give up being part of this fun! He bet Bjorn would be next in line, silly enough to think Catriona was no match for his big barbarian self. As he neared the training center, he could see Bjorn silently watching Catriona, studying her moves. A mischievous glint in his eyes. Perhaps the fool thought he had an advantage  ... or two here. Catriona hadn’t studied his moves. And he knew hers. Plus this would be her second battle today. She would be tired. 

If he assumed her to be predictable, Bjorn had already lost. Kieran grinned shamelessly and made his way to where his friends sat. He bet on Catriona wining the match and he bet heavily. He grabbed a mug of ale, sat on a chair and put his feet up. This was going to be a fun morning. Nothing was quite as entertaining as watching grown men cry. 

Aggi finally gave up. He dusted himself and walked, head bowed, to the group. An embarrassed blush covering his face. It would take a while before his ego was mended from this incident. The satisfied smirk stayed on Kieran’s face as he greeted Aggi. Aggi just glared before grabbing his own mug of ale and downing it in one go.