Stealing the Valkyrie

Farewell

Two weeks crawled by at a snail's pace and all the while, Rollo stayed true to his word. There were no kisses or touches, not even accidental ones. Just space and time to think. Too much time really.

In the mornings they shared breakfast politely by the fire. Conversation never sinking below the surface, as if they'd returned to a point in time where they hardly knew each other at all. In the evenings, he'd return home after supper, and they would settle down for the night on opposite sides of the bed, with a long stretch of mattress laying between them.

At first, her skin ached for his touch. But what could she say? What could she do to ease the tension which smothered them? Had she not promised herself freedom? Did she not want, more than anything, to return home?

Today they would set sail and she found herself idling by the docks, where a hundred men were preparing to depart in what would be the greatest voyage they had ever seen. There was so much to look at yet her focus found interest in only one man. His hair tied upon his head, his shoulders broad and strong as he heaved sacks of supplies onto the boat.

It would have been far easier if Rollo had been cruel to her these past two weeks. Or if he'd been gone from their house entirely. But his daily presence only drip-fed the infatuation which had clawed its way under her skin. Her blushes were even deeper now she knew the touch of his hands, her body more receptive now it knew the feel of his lips.

He didn't have to say or do anything in particular to catch her attention because she noticed everything. The way his hand held his cup, the way he sighed as fell asleep. She knew there wasn't a place more comfortable than his arms or a feeling more pleasurable than...

Stop, she told herself, banishing her train of thought before it began to unravel. Yet it was already too late. Heat curled low in her body, temptation provoking her into careless action as she took one step forward, followed by another and another.

God help her it would be so easy to walk right up to him. She could even imagine the smile which would crease into his cheeks if she did. He wouldn't deny her, he would give her whatever she wanted and that made it all the more difficult to stop. Near impossible some nights when she wandered into that long expanse of mattress, hoping he would lose himself there too.

"You must be excited to return home."

Ragnar's voice came as an unwelcome surprise and she avoided his gaze, her cheeks flush with impure thoughts. Excited wasn't exactly the word she would use. Afraid was closer to the truth but she wasn't prepared to reveal that to Ragnar when she could hardly reveal it to herself.

"I wish it was under different circumstances," she said, turning and heading, for the final time, back towards home.

Ragnar followed. "You do not wish to return home as Rollo's wife?"

Wife. A role she had been born to play. Yet nobody had prepared her for this. She was supposed to marry a Christian man. Supposed to be agreeable and subservient, the quiet strength at her husbands back but never his equal. Wives were not supposed to leave their husbands, they were meant to endure. Her thumb pressed to the ring sitting on her finger, "I didn't say that."

"Yet it's what you think, is it not?"

Her pace quickened in an effort to shake him but Ragnar was not a man who could easily be ignored.

"Tell me, Edithe, why has my brother spent every day working and drinking in town rather than in the company of his very-" he blocked her from walking further, his eyes bright blue eyes studying her reaction, "captivating bride."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I did," he answered quickly and her stomach knotted, "but don't worry, he didn't reveal your little secrets."