The Viking's Secret Heir - Chapter six

Was she mad?

She must be, to steal from the Jarl’s son, and force him to work for her. But Magnus had seemed oddly accommodating about it. Almost delighted, which was absurd.

He spent most of the day in bed, only leaving it occasionally to relieve himself in the woods. She ignored her chores and instead stayed with Magnus, tending his wound and feeding him healing broths, porridge, and stews.

They didn’t speak to each other much at first. She could feel his piercing eyes on her, and was afraid she had embarrassed herself by asking for help. To ease the awkwardness, she began barking a list of tasks at him, more for something to fill the silence with than for any other reason. As there was plenty to mention, it passed the time.

It wasn’t until their evening meal that she finally ran out of chores to list.

‘Are you going to eat me?’ Magnus asked mildly, as she urged him to take another piece of flatbread.

‘What?’

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm—just like his kisses. ‘Are you fattening me up for the slaughter?’

She shoved the piece into her own mouth, eating around it as she spoke. ‘I do not have food to waste, and I expected you to eat more.’ Gathering up their bowls and spoons, she turned away to begin the task of cleaning them.

‘I am sure my usual appetite will return tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I already feel much better. Perhaps I can even begin working on your list. What was it again? A crib, a pen, a rocking chair, a roof that does not leak, and to cut plenty of firewood to see you through the winter…did I miss anything?’ He scratched the prickly growth of his beard thoughtfully, before adding, ‘You could also do with some goats, for milk and cheese. But you will have to wait for them. I am not Thor—I cannot magic them up from old bones like he can… Is there anything else you need?’

‘You need to heal first,’ she said, focusing her attention on cleaning up, and not on the bare-chested man who sat upright in her bed.

Every time she looked at him, she was reminded of that night, of wrapping her limbs around his strong body and holding on tight as he rode her into heavenly bliss. A moment of madness, after years of lonely boredom.

Now she was paying for that reckless mistake. She rubbed her stomach in silent apology for her bitter thoughts. It is not your fault, little one.

When she looked up, she noticed Magnus was staring at her with a strange sort of longing. She bristled against her weak thoughts, and snapped. ‘I should get you a tunic to wear.’

‘I doubt any of Heimdall’s will fit.’

‘There might be something,’ she replied, but even as she got out Heimdall’s largest tunic from his chest, she knew it would be too small. She offered it anyway, because it was the only decent thing she had to offer.

‘I will only rip it,’ said Magnus, pushing it back to her. ‘Save the cloth for your babe.’

Kendra stared down at the linen in her hands, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Yes…You are right…I will need it.’ She dropped down into the chair beside the bed, feeling as if someone had forced her down by her shoulders.

Magnus twisted in the bed towards her. ‘What is wrong?’ He reached across and clasped her hands. ‘Don’t cry, Kendra. Tell me what is wrong?’

To her horror, she realised she was crying. She watched the fat tears falling onto their joined hands with disbelief. ‘I didn’t realise…’ she whispered, tugging them away.

‘Realise what?’ he urged, lifting her chin gently with his thumb and finger.

‘How much I have to do. I don’t think I realised until I started to list it,’ she gasped, dragging in a breath which turned into a sudden, heartfelt sob. ‘Heimdall said he would help me prepare. I never liked him…but, in a strange way…I miss him.’

Sympathy filled his expression, and he cupped her face. ‘Don’t worry. We will get you ready, and all will be well. What we cannot make, I will buy. On my honour, I swear it.’

Their eyes met, and she leaned closer, as if pulled by an invisible thread. ‘But…it’s not your responsibility.’

To her surprise, he smiled. ‘I want to. Now, come to bed.’