Finding Sigrid

Ragnar woke up in a cold sweat—naked beneath the blanket. His lips curled into a satisfied smile. He hadn't slept this well in a long while.

He stretched his arms out. His body still craved more.

His hands met only the cool fabric of the blanket. With a confused sigh. He lifted his head. Where was she?

"Sigrid?"

The room was empty.

He sat up and wandered toward the window.

Morning light spilled in, painting the wall in soft hues. Everything was quiet. Far too early, he thought.

"I must have been more exhausted than I realized," he said to himself before furrowing his brows and stepping into the hallway.

A scraping sound came from her room. His body tensed.

He stumbled back as a beast darted past him, pressing a hand to his chest in relief that it had been nothing worse. As he stepped into the room, he admired how orderly everything was.

His gaze wandered, as if searching for answers. He shouted her name, but she didn't reply. His eyes fell on the bedspread, laid over the mattress.

He picked it up, lifting it to his nose as if it might reveal something. Nothing. Only the faintest trace of her presence.

Where was she?

He spun around at the sound of movement behind him. His eyes met those of a woman standing in the doorway.

It was Thora's mother. Ragnar straightened his posture, forcing himself to mask his surprise.

Feeling the tension rising, he burst out—perhaps a little too annoyed and commanding—"Where is she?"

She appeared equally uncomfortable as him. "I haven't seen her." Can I make something to drink for my daughter? If there's anything you need..."

"Just take what you want," Ragnar answered, flustered.

He went through the cellar tunnel to her horse's stable.

One could usually find her here. But as he stepped into the dimly lit stable, only the dull stares of the steeds met him.

He sighed before heading back to the house, grabbing a goblet, pouring himself some ale, and stepping out into the morning sun.

The cool air prickled against his sweat-damp skin as he sat down. Leaning back, he let his gaze drift over the landscape.

The dog burst out behind him. He called for it to come back, but the animal had already darted into the forest. He swore under his breath and shrugged. The dog would return when it got hungry.

The silence didn't last long.

Leif stumbled out of the house, shattering the stillness of the morning.

Ragnar saw that something was wrong. His younger brother had always been thin, but now he looked skeletal.

The war had drained Leif, even though he had not taken part.

"How are you holding up?"

Leif stared into the distance. "I don't know."

"Want me to get you something?"

Leif shook his head.

"I'll get something, anyway."

When he returned, he set a cup down between them. "Perhaps talking about it might help you?"

Leif took a sip before gazing toward the horizon.

"It was a bloody massacre. I left before the worst of it. Your brother is a coward."

"You shouldn't have been there; it was my place."

Leif let out a heavy sigh. "Then you'd be dead too. And we wouldn't have been able to keep the farm going. That was what mattered most to Father."

Ragnar fell silent. His brother's words hit harder than he wanted to admit.

After a moment, he broke the quiet. "Do you know where Sigrid is?"

Leif raised an eyebrow. "She's probably still sleeping. It's early."

"Her dog was alone in her room."

Leif shrugged. "Then she's in the stable."

"I already checked."

Leif sighed and spread his arms. "Why don't you just get Balder? He'd find her in no time."

Ragnar rolled his eyes. "He bolted the moment I opened the door. Straight into the forest."

Leif smirked. "Then he knows where she is. I'd bet at the cliffs."

Of course. Ragnar shot to his feet. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Where are you going?" His eyes narrowed as he studied his brother. "Leave her be."

"I just need to talk to her."

"Ragnar. What are you doing? Weren't you supposed to marry Gerd?"

"Yes, but I need to find Sigrid. If that damned brother of hers or—"

"I saw how you looked at her when I arrived."

Ragnar took a deep breath. "Relax, Leif. Let me handle this. Sigurd kept her locked up while you were at war."

Leif flinched. "He did what?" His voice was a rasping whisper. He shot to his feet. "I promised Bjørn I'd look after her."

"And that's what I'm doing." Ragnar showed his brother back. "Sigrid has strict orders to stay inside and hidden."

He turned and walked away, his shoulders tense with frustration. He could not wait any longer. Not knowing where she was made him restless.

He was just stepping onto the path when something made him stop. A shadow between the trees. He froze.

His eyes narrowed as he saw who it was.

That damned brother of hers.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ragnar said, shoving Sigurd hard, forcing him deeper into the forest.

Sigurd laughed, leaning forward with a lazy smirk. "Formalities."

Ragnar cast a quick glance around. No one could see them together.

"Relax," Sigurd said, stepping closer. "Remember, I'm the one holding the power here."

Ragnar straightened, towering over him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I secured your victory. You owe me everything."

Sigurd smirked. "And you'll get your reward. You keep the land... and my sister." He shrugged. "I don't understand why you want her, but she's yours."

Ragnar felt the heat rise in his blood. "How dare you lay a finger on her?"

Sigurd raised an eyebrow, amused by his rage. "Calm yourself, or I'll make sure everyone knows you were the one who gave us all the information and strategy. Not tying the boats together—brilliant move. Even if Magnus had twice our ships and men."

The words hit like a punch. Ragnar froze. "Yeah… those idiots insisted on towing all the boats together," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes distant.

He then leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Thora? What happened to her?"

"Curious, aren't you? She's just a loose-lipped servant harlot."

Ragnar felt the fire burn in his chest. "I never would have agreed to any of this if I had known how sick you are!"

Sigurd grinned. "Maybe not, but you're worse. You betrayed your own family."

The words struck like a blow to the gut.

"I told you my father was to be spared." Ragnar tried to keep his voice steady, but it failed him.

Sigurd shrugged. "That couldn't happen. He and the knight were on Magnus's ship." He grinned, but his smile was anything but apologetic. "Sorry."

Ragnar stared at him, his hands trembling with fury. "Just give me the papers proving she's mine."

Sigurd laughed, pulled out a bundle of documents, and tossed them to the ground at Ragnar's feet. "Here they are. Now you can marry her and do whatever you want with her." He took a step back, irritation flickering in his eyes. "But I bet you've already had that little whore."

His laughter roared, an ugly, piercing sound that sent Ragnar's blood boiling. Everything became black.

Rage surged up, raw and uncontrollable. His body moved before his thoughts caught up.

His fists trembled, knuckles white from how tightly he clenched them.

Sigurd turned, still grinning.

Ragnar struck.

His fist hit Sigurd's back—not hard enough to hurt him, just enough to shove him forward.

But then he stumbled.

His foot caught on a root, balance lost.

Time slowed. Ragnar watched, as if in slow motion, as Sigurd tumbled forward.

His head struck the jagged rock with a sickening crack.

Then everything went still.

Ragnar stood, frozen.

"Sigurd?"
His voice was hoarse. Quiet.

No response.

His heart pounded as he dropped to his knees, grabbing his lifeless shoulder. He shook it.
Then harder.

"Sigurd, come on... I didn't mean to."

Sigurd's eyes stared blankly at the sky. A dark stain spread through the grass beneath his head.

Blood.
Red, sticky, seeping into the earth.

Ragnar remained motionless.
He had killed him.

He tried to breathe, but his lungs refused to fill. An icy claw tightened around his chest.

It was an accident. A mistake.
But still it's his fault.

Everything Sigurd had done—to Sigrid, to Thora. He had been a terrible man. He hadn't deserved to live.

He scrambled backward on all fours, as if he could escape what he had just done. A violent nausea churned in his stomach, and he vomited into the grass.

When he came to his senses, he shoved Sigurd's lifeless body down a slope, digging into the damp earth with his bare hands, covering the spot with moss and leaves. His fingers trembled, sweat dripped from his forehead, but he had no time to stop.

He had to find Sigrid.

●●●

The water lay still when he reached the shore. Only the embers of an extinguished fire hinted that someone had been there.

He frowned, stripped off his clothes, and dove in. The cold water cleared his head as he let himself float, breathing, grounding himself, before swimming back to shore and pulling his clothes back on.

On his way back to the farm, a shadow flickered in the window, catching his attention.

Sigrid.

His heart pounded. He should tell her about Sigurd. But what would she say? Would she hate him for it?

Impatiently, he pushed the door open.

Gerd's back was the first thing he saw. And disappointment struck his face.

"Here he is," Sigrid said as soon as she saw him.

He started toward her, but Gerd's gaze locked with his—and he knew he wouldn't escape that.

"Where have you been, Sigrid?" His voice came out sharper and more accusatory than he'd meant.

"Nowhere."

"What do you mean, nowhere? You were supposed to stay here!"

"I'm no prisoner, Ragnar." Her fists clenched, knuckles turning white. "But now, I think it's best if I give you two some time alone."

Something twisted in Ragnar's stomach. God, how he regretted proposing to Gerd. What had he been thinking?

"No," he said, grabbing Sigrid's wrist before she could leave. "I need to talk to you."

She stopped, but her gaze was cold. "Your fiancée is here. She came to speak with you.

"I've spent the entire day searching for you, Sigrid."

"You're engaged, Ragnar," she cut in, her sharp eyes piercing through him. She pulled her arm free and disappeared through the door.

He stood frozen, watching her go.

"Ragnar, why are you doing this to me?" Gerd looked like a lost puppy.

He exhaled. "Come," he said, leading her outside. He would handle it as gently as he could. Then, hopefully, he and Sigrid could pick up where they had left off, and he could almost not wait for that.

"I'm sorry I've been so distant," he began.

"It's all right. I know you've had a lot on your mind."

He gulped. "My father is dead. Bjørn too... Sigrid's fiancé."

Gerd's smile faded. "I'm so sorry, Ragnar."

"So am I." He took her hand.

"But that means Sigrid needs a man. And I intend to be there for her."

He turned to Gerd, realizing with a sigh that this would require patience and careful explanation.

His gaze lingered longingly on the house as he braced himself for a long evening.

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