Page 38 of The Warrior and the Monk

Kirk chuckled, though he looked pleased. "Well, I wouldn’t go that far," he said with a grin.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Wilder continued shelling peas, his mind occasionally wandering back to Anders in the forest. He wondered how the hunt was going, whether the men had found the bear, whether Anders was okay. Kirk worked on the tunic, pausing only to mutter curses about Harald andNorman or to pet Avery, who had taken an instant liking to Kirk and his soft, absent-minded murmurs.

And yet, despite the work and the distraction, Wilder’s thoughts kept returning to Anders, and the bear, and the fear that gnawed at him. He knew, with a quiet certainty, that it would be some time before he could focus on anything else—not until Anders returned, safe and sound.

???

It was three long days before Anders and Osgood returned. The silence had felt endless for Wilder, each day stretching on as he worked the fields, tended to the garden, and tried—unsuccessfully—to ignore the gnawing anxiety that lingered in his chest. He had kept himself busy, but the moment his hands and knees were covered in the rich earth of the garden, pulling weeds from the rows of vegetables, his thoughts always turned back to the forest, where Anders and Osgood had gone to hunt the bear. He could feel the weight of the waiting in his bones.

Then, on the third day, as Wilder dug his hands into the damp soil, his heart leaped at the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked up, wiping the sweat from his brow, and saw two large, weary figures emerging from the edge of the forest. They were leading a horse and cart, the cart creaking with weight, as they made their way slowly along the path to the longhouse. There was no bear in sight, no hide draped over the cart. But the fact that they had returned was enough to bring a rush of relief. Anders and Osgood would not have come back unless the job had been done. That was not the way of either man. They were known for their grit, for their determination to finish what they started, no matter the cost.

Wilder’s heart pounded in his chest, and before he even realized what he was doing, he scrambled to his feet and dashed toward the house. He had to find Kirk.

"Kirk!" he called out, his voice trembling with excitement. His feet barely touched the ground as he ran. "Kirk, they're back! Anders and Osgood are back! Kirk?"

He spotted his friend in the yard, feeding the hens and collecting eggs. The sight of him caused Wilder to stop, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he waved frantically. "Kirk!" he repeated. "They're back! Anders and Osgood are back!"

Kirk looked up from his basket of eggs, his brow furrowed with mild annoyance. With an exaggerated sigh, he set the basket down and raised his hands in mock surrender. "What? Should I stop my chores just for him?" Kirk shot Wilder a sly grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If he's not missing any limbs, then he can come to me." With that, he turned, giving Wilder a playful roll of his eyes, and began to walk away, trailing after the hens who had already lost interest.

Wilder, too excited to be dissuaded, shook his head in disbelief. "You’ll see him soon enough, Kirk! I’m certain he’s well!" He turned on his heel and bolted toward the longhouse, feeling the rush of adrenaline fill him as he pushed open the door and hurried inside.

The house felt cold and empty. He hurried to stoke the fire and set a basin of water to heat. There was work to be done—preparations to make. As he worked, his mind wandered back to the forest and the hunt, but he forced himself to focus. He set the table with bread and the leftover stew from earlier in the morning, added a bottle of mead from the shelf, and swept the floor as quickly as he could. He fluffed the pillows, rearranged the furs on their bed, and, by the time he was finished, he heard the faint sound of footsteps outside.

When he stepped out into the yard, there they were—Anders and Osgood, standing awkwardly near the cart. They were covered in the grime of the forest, their clothes caked with mud and sweat, but there was something in the way Anders’s eyes glinted as he looked toward Wilder that made his heart swell.

Anders turned to Osgood, his voice tired but warm. "Thank you," he said, his rumble of words full of quiet gratitude.

Osgood shrugged, giving a wry grin. "If you had let me finish it, it would have been quicker," he teased, but there was affection in his tone.

Wilder practically flew to his husband’s side. "Anders!" he cried, his voice breaking with emotion as he reached out to pull him into a tight embrace.

Anders hugged him back, though it was a bit clumsy, both of them too weary to move with the fluid grace they usually shared. His beard was unkempt, his face rough and tired, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but he was smiling, a soft smile that filled Wilder’s chest with warmth.Are you well, Wilder?Anders signed, his face filled with concern.

Wilder pulled back slightly, looking him over with a quick glance. "Of course I am! It’s you I’m worried about! Were you successful? Is it done?" His voice caught on the last words, filled with anticipation.

Anders’s eyes softened, and he nodded.

Wilder let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. "Then—the bear?"

Before Anders could answer, Osgood stepped forward with a loud laugh. "Put out of its misery, though not without a fight. Most of it has gone to the townspeople—meat, bones, claws, teeth, you name it. The hide’s gone, too." Osgood’s eyes gleamed as he glanced at Anders. "And the earl had Harald and Norman pay the families of the injured. As for the hide," Osgoodchuckled, "Anders, being the generous man he is, made the two of them a gift of it. After all, they wouldn’t know what to do with such a fine fur on their own."

Wilder tried to imagine the look on Harald’s face when Anders presented him with the bear’s hide, the hide he had failed to acquire for himself. He could picture it clearly—his disdain and frustration. It made him smile. He turned to Anders, rubbing his chest with the heel of his palm. "Oh, I know how generous my husband can be."

Anders, trying and failing not to look smug, rumbled a laugh deep in his throat, like a contented kitten.

"Speaking of husbands—" Osgood interrupted, his voice rising above their quiet laughter. He waved toward Kirk, who had remained standing in the distance, his arms crossed as he watched the reunion with a bemused expression. "Kirk," Osgood called.

Kirk hesitated for a moment, then shot them both a sharp look. But before Wilder could respond, Kirk marched over with an exaggerated swagger, his boots hitting the dirt with each step. And then, without a word, he flung himself into Osgood’s arms, wrapping them around his neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Done are you, you great fool?" Kirk asked, his voice tinged with both relief and affection. "Let me see you—are you still whole?"

Osgood grinned and wiggled his fingers. "I haven't lost the parts to please you, if that's what you're worried about."

Kirk gave him a playful shove, but it lacked the usual bite. "You’ve lost your wits if you think I’ll lay with you again, after all the stress you've put me through," he said, though the fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

"I spent days in that forest thinking only of you," Osgood said with a grin, brushing a few strands of hair out of Kirk’s face. "Didn't you think about me, even a little?"

"I thought of how peaceful my life was for once," Kirk replied with a scoff, though his face softened as he kissed Osgood’s cheek. "You haven’t shaved."

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