Page 103 of Edge of the Wild

Bjorn was waiting for her when she returned to the solar. He’d taken one of the plush, tall-backed chairs by the hearth, and held a wine cup in one hand. He used it to gesture to the chair opposite him, and the table beside it, where a second cup waited for her.

Revna paused a moment, exhausted suddenly. Even if she was happy for Rune, tonight’s revelation – one that, to be fair, she’d seen coming from the first – wasn’t the sort of headache any of them needed to deal with now. This was her first time dealing with any sort of real, practical romance counseling with either of her sons, and it left her feeling drained in a way she hadn’t expected. She’d been a hellcat at Rune’s age; she was reaping what she’d sown, she supposed – but she didn’t have to like it.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she was going to bed. To ring for Astrid and leave him sitting there alone with his wine. He spent many an evening here, in the royal apartments, but that was always with Erik, talking over business or remembering old, boyhood times. It was never just the two of them, without even Birger as a safe intermediary.

But…

He’d always had the ridiculous habit of wearing tunics and jerkins without sleeves, like a wild clansman. Once he shrugged out of his cloak, his arms were nothing but thick bundles of muscle, tattoos, and the leather vambraces he always wore. How he didn’t freeze, she’d never know, but, then, the Úlfheðnar never did. She’d always assumed, as captain of the guard, that he wanted to look frightening – which he did – and that he wanted to offer contrast to Erik’s velvet finery – which he also did. The king could be magnanimous – and the king’s man could put you in a hole in the ground when that magnanimity ran thin. They had always been an impressive duo in that way.

She could also acknowledge that she was, after all, a woman; a Northern-raised woman, who’d developed a very particular taste in men. Torstan had been built like Erik, but no one in Aeres was as big as Bjorn. Sometimes, alone in the dark of night, restless, she tried to picture Tor…and his memory slipped through her fingers, blurred by time, so much time…and then Bjorn would appear in her mind, familiar, trusted, loved, even, as all their closest friends were loved – and very much alive. And very –large.

She didn’t know if she’d ever stop struggling with that guilt.

But it wasn’t guilt – nor sight of his bare arms, burnished by firelight – that led her to take the offered chair, and pick up the poured wine. It was the light in his eyes, shining out from an otherwise placid, unconcerned expression: he expected her to refuse. She hadn’t refused yet, but he already looked crestfallen, and unsurprised.

So when she sat, and crossed her legs, took her cup in both hands, she had the pleasure of watching that resigned light spark into surprise.

He schooled it away, quickly. Put on a mild expression and said, “Not to say I told you so…”

“In this instance, I will give you one free chance to say it and gloat about it. But.” She lifted a single finger off her cup. “Only this once.”

He cracked a rare grin, gold canine flashing in the firelight. “How about if I don’t take the opportunity this time, and save it for later.”

“Not a chance. Now or never.”

A beat too late, she understood why her response earned a slight lifting of brows, and a glint in his gaze. Her face heated. But he said, “All right, then. What did the lad have to say for himself?”

“That he loves her. Of course, this wasafterhe tried to take total blame for what happened. He actually attempted to convince me that he’d all but forced her into his lap.”

Bjorn’s smile fell away. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he most definitely did.”

He whistled, softly, and took a long swig of wine.

That sounded like a brilliant idea, so Revna followed suit.

Bjorn said, “Bloody chivalrous fool.” He tipped his head. “No offense meant.”

“He is a bloody chivalrous fool.” She sighed. “And a sweet boy. I know he feels guilty about all of this – doubtless Tessa does, too. I should go and talk with her.” Though the idea heaped another layer of exhaustion across her shoulders. “I told him that they need to wait until Leif returns before they make any sort of declaration or take any further action” – he snorted at that turn of phrase – “and that they should be seen together less than they have been around the palace. Not to give you even more credit for being right: but Estrid will have this gossip in every matron’s ear within a matter of weeks.”

“I could throw her in a cell for a while, if you like.”

She chuckled. “On what grounds?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Being a spoiled little shit, for one.”

“The idea does have merit.” She sighed and took another sip of wine. “We’ll just have to impress upon the children the need to keep a low profile and hope things settle back down.” When she flicked a glance to him, she found a small, private sort of smile gracing his lips. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“You said ‘we’,” he said, that glint back in his eye – dangerously so.

She resisted the impulse to suck in a sharp breath. Sipped wine instead to give herself time.

Time enough, unfortunately, for him to say, “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

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