Page 32 of Shared By the Vikings

“Will he mind?” She spoke with her mouth full of delicious sweet juice.

“Not if you replace them.”

She shrugged and carried on eating.

“Otherwise you might find yourself over his knee for a spanking.” He paused. “And he might not be as gentle as I was.”

“You weren’t gentle.” She frowned.

“I gave you what you deserved, you learned your lesson.”

That didn’t require a response. “He wouldn’t spank me for eating his strawberries.”

“You want to find out?”

She set the leaf, which still held a small mound of fruit, aside. Another spanking didn’t appeal so she wouldn’t risk it. “What have you got there?”

He held up two tattered leather sock shapes.

“Boots, for you.”

“Boots?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Admittedly they are a bit worn. I found them at the shoreline. But I’ve cleaned them, and they’ve dried over the fire. With lace around them you’ll be able to make them fit well enough.” He nodded at her toe; a small dot of blood sat on the end, surrounded by sand. “And you need foot protection, seeing as you lost all your clothes when you fell overboard.”

She folded her arms. “How did that happen?”

“It was the will of the gods, to show us who you really were.”

“Mmm.” She took the boots he offered forward.

“You may have deceived us, Ingrid, but you’re here now and we will look after you.”

“I don’t need looking after.”

“I beg to differ.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself. If it hadn’t been for Erik she would have drowned out there in the ocean. He’d saved her; she’d definitely needed him then.

Sitting, she hooked her right leg over her left knee and brushed the sand from her foot, swiped away the drop of blood. She pulled the boot on, then using the leather laces Erik had given her set about crisscrossing the lace over the soft boots to make them fit her foot and calf.

When she’d finished she scrutinized them. A shade darker than her brown leather pants, they would offer her feet protection.

“Thank you, Jarl Erik.”

He glanced up from the strip of wood he was whittling.

“They’re good,” she added.

His gaze dipped down her body to her feet, then he nodded and returned his attention to the knife and wood in his hands.

She stood, set her hands on her hips, and looked down the beach.

The tide was on the way out; soon the headland would be exposed. Gunnvar was near the water’s edge holding a shield and a sword. He was training, his torso tensing and flexing as he heaved the huge pieces of metal around.

A sudden longing to feel the weight of a sword in her hand gripped Ingrid.

Without a word, she left Erik and stomped down the beach in her new boots, feeling glad to be dressed.

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