Delays

"Very well," Erik said, his eyes gleaming with joy. The corners of his mouth twitched into a rare smile, one that illuminated the rugged lines of his face. "Bjørn is gravely wounded, and you must set sail before sunrise tomorrow."

"I understand," Sigrid replied, her gaze faltered. Her hands instinctively tightened around the edge of her cloak.

"My brother is finalizing the preparations," Erik continued, his expression shadowed with urgency. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes drifting toward Thora and Leif, who lingered a few paces behind. "And Thora-will she accompany you?"

Sigrid turned to meet Thora's gaze. Without a moment's hesitation, Thora stepped forward, chin held high. "I will," she said, her voice steady and unyielding.

"Balder!" Sigrid cried out.

The hound sprang into her arms like a bolt of lightning, his drool coating her while his tail whipped about wildly.

"He has not been himself without you," Erik said with a weary sigh. "He has searched for you every moment since you departed."

Tears pricked at Sigrid's eyes. They had never been apart for so long.

"Do you think I may take him with me?" She asked, her gaze filled with hope as she looked to Erik.

"I see no reason why not," Erik replied thoughtfully. "It is not a long journey to Inderøy."

Once the matter was settled, Thora and Sigrid retired to their chambers, but not before visiting the stables to see Fenris.

Sigrid sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, the flickering light of the hearth casting dancing shadows upon the walls. She drew a deep breath as Balder lay contentedly on his back, his belly exposed to her gentle caresses.

"Must I tell Ragnar?" Sigrid whispered, her voice barely rising above the crackling of the fire.

"Yes," Thora replied, leaving no room for debate.

"I could leave without a word," Sigrid mused, a sly smile curling on her lips. "Let Erik explain. Ragnar will understand-eventually."

Thora shook her head firmly. "Delays solve nothing, Sigrid. If Ragnar truly values you, he will wait and understand. But you must speak to him."

"You're right, as always," Sigrid sighed, leaning back against the rough-hewn wall. Yet, doubt churned in her mind. She knew Ragnar's temper all too well.

As the sun dipped low, bathing the settlement in hues of gold and crimson, Sigrid sought Ragnar.

She found him by the docks, laughing with the crew as they inspected the longship. It was a rare sight-his face alight with unguarded joy, the lines of worry momentarily erased. Her courage faltered.

How could she break his happiness with news of her departure? Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she started to move toward him.

By the time she reached him, the crew had begun to disperse, their laughter fading into the cool evening air.

"The supper is ready," she said quietly, her voice almost shy as she turned toward the house where the meal awaited.

Ragnar looked at her then, his piercing blue eyes softening as they met hers. He stepped closer, concern creeping into his expression.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, though the simple motion felt like a weight pressing against her chest. Her throat tightened, as if words were trapped behind an invisible barrier.

She decided to wait. She wanted to see his joyful, untroubled face for a little longer.

Inside the hall, the warmth of the fire and the aroma of roasted meats filled the air. The crew feasted heartily, their laughter and stories echoing against the timbered walls.

Sigrid sat across from Ragnar, avoiding his gaze and focusing instead on her bowl of soup. She felt his eyes upon her, questioning, probing, but he said nothing.

As the meal came to a close, Erik's brother-in-law, Erling, entered the hall. A man of considerable stature, his silvered beard flowed gracefully around his unlined face. He was greeted warmly by all, exchanging hearty words with Ragnar and Leif, his voice clearly carrying a tone of respect and familiarity.

A sense of unease began to bubble within her, tightening her chest. Could she escape the uncomfortable situation that was about to unfold?

Erik approached with Erling in tow, guiding him toward Sigrid. "This is Sigrid," Erik said with pride. "She has agreed to join you."

Sigrid managed a polite nod, though her heart sank. There was no escaping Ragnar's notice now. Across the room, his gaze turned sharp, like a hawk spotting its prey. She braced herself for the storm.

She tried to avoid eye contact, but his gaze scrutinized her relentlessly.

Until she couldn't anymore, and for a brief moment, she met Ragnar's eyes. His piercing gaze was fixed solely upon them now, sharp and unyielding, like a blade drawn in silent warning

Ragnar made no effort to conceal his displeasure. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched tightly. Had Erik turned then, he would have met the smoldering intensity of his son's coal-black eyes-a storm barely contained.

Sigrid fervently wished she had spoken to him herself when they were alone. And she longed to be far away from this uncomfortable, tense situation.

The rest of the evening was a blur of preparations for the journey. Sigrid's mind raced as she moved through the motions, speaking only when necessary. Ragnar left abruptly, his departure stinging like a slap. She wanted to call after him, but held her tongue.

When darkness fell, Sigrid slipped out to find Ragnar. He had not returned to his chamber.

"Do not stay away too long," Thora teased from her bed, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "We must rise early tomorrow, you know."

"I promise," Sigrid replied, pausing by the door. "I must speak with him before we depart."

The cold air bit at her cheeks, and the night was eerily quiet.

She heard something near the winter-abandoned cottages, the ones the workers used in summer and autumn. The snow crunched faintly under her boots, and the frost-laden air stung her face. Moonlight glinted off the icy rooftops, casting cold, silvery shadows across the ground.

Cautiously, she made her way down the slope, her breath visible in the chill night air. Her heart raced with every step, the quiet broken only by the distant creak of frozen wood or the soft rustle of snow falling from laden branches.

"Ragnar? Is that you?" She called out, her voice barely more than a whisper, trembling in the frosty stillness.

No answer came. But then-a sound. The faintest creak, as if something-or someone-had shifted. Her pulse quickened as unease crept over her, but she pressed on, her footsteps careful on the ice-slick path.

Suddenly, swift and sharp as a cutting wind, she felt something seize her from behind. The grip was cold and unyielding, pulling her into the shadows before she could even cry out.

She was dragged into one of the cottages. It was small and cramped, and the details were scarcely visible in the darkness. The faint moonlight filtered through cracks in the walls, casting only the faintest glow.

"Ragnar?" She called softly.

He did not answer, but instead met her lips in a fierce, lingering kiss. His touch was urgent, pressing her against the cold wall, his body a stark contrast to the chill of the room. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the rush of breath and the pulse of their hearts.

After a moment, she managed to pull away, her breath quick and shallow. Her heart raced as she stepped back, the cold air of the room rushing to meet her flushed skin.

He looked up, his eyes shadowed with hurt and anger. "You cannot leave."

"I must," she replied, stepping closer. "Bjørn lies near death. I owe him this."

"And what of me?" He asked, his tone bitter. "After all we've been through?"

"It is not for you to decide," she said firmly, though her voice trembled. "I have given my word, and I will not break it."

"Then I'll go with you," he declared, his tone resolute.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "This is my journey to make."

"You would leave me behind?" His eyes darkened with wounded pride.

"When I return, we shall continue where we left off," she promised. "But I will regret it if I stay."

For a moment, his gaze softened, and she dared to hope he would accept her decision.

But then, without warning, he stepped forward and kissed her fiercely again, his lips demanding hers. She surrendered to the moment as they tumbled onto the unmade bed. He pressed his body against hers, pinning her hands down into the hard mattress.

Though she sensed something was happening, the intensity of the kiss and the heat of the moment clouded her understanding.

"Ragnar!" She exclaimed, her voice strained as she tugged at her bound hands.

"You are going nowhere," he said, his voice calm but unyielding.

"You cannot keep me here," she spat, her temper flaring.

He lay beside her. "Rest now. The knots will hold."

"I will never forgive you if you do not let me go," she threatened.

"You will forgive me," he said with certainty. "I would rather take that chance than let you go to him."

She understood then that he had made his decision, and her anger boiled inside her.

Sigrid glared at him, her fury burning bright. But as time passed, her mind worked tirelessly.

Cautiously, she began working her hand free, her fingers trembling with a mix of frustration and fear.

It was a skill she had mastered through countless times when Sigurd had bound her in dark woods, behind fences, and in eerie cellars-she knew how to untie knots, even in the dark.

Her heart pounded louder with each passing second.

With quiet determination, she freed herself just as the first light of dawn pierced the night. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

She turned to glance at Ragnar, lying there so contentedly, his breath deep and carefree as he slept. Then, without a sound, she slipped silently out the door.

"Where have you been?" Thora asked, sitting on the bed as Sigrid entered the room.

"There's no time to explain," Sigrid replied as she hurriedly changed her clothes.

Balder whined, pushing his way between her feet.

"Calm down," she said, reaching down to stroke him. "Of course, you're coming with me."

He wagged his tail contentedly, as if he understood.

Together, they boarded the waiting ship, just in time, its sails unfurling to catch the morning breeze. As the vessel sliced through the icy waters, Sigrid's heart ached with uncertainty.

She gently stroked Balder's soft fur, the motion calming her. She had once believed in a future with Ragnar, but now, as the horizon stretched endlessly before her, doubt clouded her heart.

And the thought crossed her mind as they sat, rocking back and forth with the swelling waves. Was Ragnar truly better than her brothers and father? Or was he yet another who sought to control her?

And then there was Bjørn. She felt it as he drew near-how she had missed him terribly.

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