The Defiant

"I'm not good enough for Bjørn," Sigrid confessed into the darkness, her voice barely above a whisper. Thora lay beside her, silent for a moment, before turning her head. The weight of the words hung heavily between them.

"Where is this nonsense coming from?" Thora asked, startled.

"Kristin is right," Sigrid murmured, the admission gnawing at her.

"Kristin said that?" Thora sat up abruptly, her voice sharp with indignation. "That old hag! Who does she think she is?"

"But she is right," Sigrid insisted. "I'm not a proper housewife."

"And what of it?" Thora replied, her tone fierce. "You're the one who should've inherited Gudbrand's land, not Sigurd. You work harder than all of them combined."

I'm restless," Sigrid admitted, her voice cracking. "And impulsive. I can't control myself." She drew a trembling breath. "I near... I near seduced Ragnar." The final words fell from her lips, heavy with guilt.

Thora laughed softly, the sound both innocent and teasing. "And who wouldn't? If they had the chance? Gudrun and her friends talked about him endlessly. They'd swoon at the very thought."

Sigrid fell silent for a moment, her thoughts swirling. Then she spoke again. "When Bjørn left, and it seemed like he had no interest in me anymore, I sought comfort in Ragnar. I realize now... I liked having both of them want me."

"Two handsome lads vying for you? Do you think you're the only one who'd enjoy that?" Thora teased.

"But I also used Bjørn to make Ragnar jealous," Sigrid confessed, her tone laced with shame.

"I have heard of worse done by others," she said in a gentle voice.

"I don't know if I can handle this anymore," Sigrid said, her voice breaking with despair.

Forget that woman," Thora said, her voice steadfast. "Show her who truly commands here. Let her see that Sigrid Gudbrandsdatter does not yield without a fight.

In the darkness, Sigrid felt a small, rebellious smile tug at her lips. Before long, she began to laugh-a quiet, defiant sound that seemed to ripple through the stillness. She felt a new sense of hope stirring within her.

●●●

Bjørn was still weak and needed much help. It was Kristin who cared for him, tending his wounds and spending hours at his bedside. Sigrid did her best to be of aid, but it was clear how Kristin watched over Bjørn like a hawk, making sure Sigrid stayed at a distance.

One morning, she rose earlier still and sneaked into Bjørn's room. She laid down beside his injured and fragile form. He looked up in confusion when she came.

"Let me help you with the bandages today," she whispered softly in his ear.

"But are you sure you want to?" He asked, as if she might find it disgusting.

"That gives me a good excuse to touch you," she said boldly.

He winced, surprised by her boldness. She had never spoken to him like that before.

"And just so you understand," he said firmly, though a smile played on his lips. "We won't be doing anything more than innocent things until I can make an honorable woman of you."

"Relax," she teased. "I'm only talking about cleaning wounds here."

"Fine," he said with a sly glance. "But be careful," he added, almost pleading.

"Agreed," she replied with a sly smile." Yet she had every intention of making it difficult for him.

Bjørn lay on his back, his body stiff and restless. She gently pulled the woolen blanket down, but as she did, her fingers brushed against his skin-innocently, yet with a teasing touch.

He moaned softly. "This is not how my mother does it," he said, showing his teeth in a half-smile.

"Good," she said with a grin. "I must check if it has spread."

The bandage had started to show stains of old blood and inflamed fluid. Sigrid stood beside him, a bucket of lukewarm water in one hand and a bowl of freshly boiled herbs in the other.

Her movements were slow and careful, as though he were a delicate flower. He let out a faint whimper-not from discomfort, but from the tenderness of her touch.

She carefully loosened the bandage around his abdomen. The old wound had begun to close, but the edges were red and tender.

Dipping a clean cloth into the water, she wiped away the dried blood and dirt with deliberate, gentle strokes. Bjørn grimaced, groaning softly, but he didn't stop her.

Next, she soaked the herbs-yarrow, sage, and thyme-in the warm water, letting the liquid trickle over the wound. Her fingertips brushed the edges of the injury, checking for signs of deeper infection or pus.

She moved to his back, where the stitches had started to heal. A few loose threads needed removing, and she cleaned the area thoroughly.

Leaning forward, she pressed soft, lingering kisses to the uninjured skin. Tender, deliberate, and intimate.

Bjørn groaned again. "And this is good for what, exactly?" He asked, his voice ragged and breathless.

"It soothes the pain," she said slyly. "Don't question my healing skills."

"You're going to be the death of me," he chuckled softly, then added in a whisper, "but in a very good way."

After cleansing the wounds, she applied a salve made from animal fat and plantain leaves, one she had crafted herself. Her fingers worked with practiced care, spreading the mixture evenly over the raw skin.

Finally, she wrapped both wounds with fresh bandages-strips of boiled linen that she tied gently but securely enough to keep everything in place.

Bjørn sat up carefully when she was done, and whispered, "You have no idea what I would do to you if you were mine and I were well." His gaze was so intense and full of presence that she almost stumbled.

Just then, Kristin entered, and her presence brought Sigrid an unexpected sense of relief, for she didn't know where else to turn.

Kristin's look, standing there, was unmistakable-a mix of surprise and furious anger. It only made Sigrid feel better.

"I thought you might need some rest," Sigrid quickly said. "I've just changed the bandages!"

"Are you out of your mind?" Kristin snapped. "It's my job to do it! If it's done wrong, it could have fatal consequences."

"Relax, mother," Bjørn tried to calm her. "Sigrid can do it."

Sigrid stood up, meeting Kristin's gaze. "Erik taught me. I would never do anything to put your son in danger," she said, her voice calm and measured.

"What's gotten into you, mother?" Bjørn said angrily.

"Nothing," Kristin stammered, trying to apologize. "It's my job..."

"No," Bjørn cut in. "From now on, Sigrid will do it. You're tired and need rest."

Sigrid couldn't help but feel a smile tug at the corner of her lips. Not only had Kristin revealed her true face to Bjørn, but she had done so without realizing it.

Sigrid left them with a triumphant smile, feeling as though she had won this round.

Bjørn's insistence that Sigrid take over responsibility for the wound care gave them more time to grow closer. It only deepened their desire for one another.

The spiteful glares from Kristin became increasingly like victories for Sigrid, fueling the fire within her. One day, Kristin disappeared entirely from the farm, and Sigrid could finally breathe again.

Gone was the constant worry of Kristin checking on them, her frequent visits, always watching-for at least a while.
Perhaps their constant jesting, teasing, and innocent touches were hard for her to watch.

As evening approached, Sigrid snuck into Bjørn's room and laid beside him, the weight of the day lifting as she settled close to him.

"You know I'm getting better because you're here," he whispered. "I have something to look forward to. And the thought of holding you... it makes me want to heal." He held her gaze, his eyes burning with sincerity.

It was too much for her to resist. She leaned toward him, their lips meeting in a tentative kiss. A shiver ran down her spine, warmth spreading through her entire body. The kiss was soft, damp, and she pulled back gently, not wanting to push him too far.

But she had ignited a flame in Bjørn, and he answered with a more fervent kiss.

She had to be careful not to hurt him. Her fingers slipped through his dark curls, savoring the moment. She could feel his reluctance to let her go, his lips pressing deeper, harder, and then his tongue found hers, searching, tasting. She pressed closer to him, drawn into his warmth.

He suddenly winced in pain.

"Forgive me!" She cried out. "Did I hurt you?"

"Yes," he replied with a soft laugh, "but not in the way you think."

"Then let me make it up to you," she whispered.

"She took hold of his hands and gently guided them upward, allowing them to explore and feel. She could sense his eagerness growing with every touch."

He groaned, his arms tightening around her. She could feel his desperation, his need, as though he never wanted to let her go.

"No," she suddenly heard him cry out, his voice filled with shame.
"We must stop, before I do something I will regret." He pulled himself away from her, though reluctance was clear in his every movement.

He curled up as much as his injuries would allow.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. "This is wrong"

She looked down at him, her expression softening.

"It's all right, Bjørn," she reassured him gently.

At that very moment, a commotion erupted in the main room. Her heart sank, and she instinctively thought it must be Kristin, back again.

Sigrid quickly sat up, pulling the blanket over Bjørn to shield him, and positioned herself so she would be in the way.

The door flew open with a bang.

Behind her stood the most enchanting woman she had ever seen, with long, golden hair braided flawlessly down her back. Her face seemed as if it had been carved from marble, and her smile was one that was impossible not to be charmed by.

"Bjørn," Kristin said, her voice dripping with false warmth, "look who's here!"

Bjørn's face lit up as soon as he saw her. "Kari!" He exclaimed, his voice full of joy.

Sigrid felt her stomach twist painfully. Kristin turned her gaze on Sigrid, and the look in her eyes was triumphant-a mirror of the smug expressions Sigrid herself had worn.

The battle was far from over. It had only just begun.

●●●