The hard knot in her stomach eased. The jaarls Kolbeinn and Ketil probably wouldn’t even remember their father, but it was a plan of sorts. From the stories her father told about his former comrade-in-arms, she doubted if Kolbeinn bent his knee to anyone, let alone someone like Vargr who thrived on the intrigues at court, rather than on the battlefield.
‘You give up too easily, Ragn.’ Svana looped her arms about her knees. ‘Nissers are happier where there is a family. Mor-Mor told me that. He will want us to stay so he can have a really real family to look after.’
Ragn was very glad she had not mentioned the little carved man she’d found. There would have been no stopping Svana’s pronouncements and then there would have been a full-blown fit when she realised that they would have to leave despite her predictions. ‘The self-proclaimed expert on nissers must get her sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day. Sleep.’
Svana started to get up. ‘If I sit beside the porridge, I can catch him by his shirt tail and force him to make Gunnar fall for you. Mor-Mor said nissers must grant wishes if you catch their shirt tail.’
‘You talk an awful lot of nonsense.’ She placed a kiss on her sister’s forehead. ‘May your dreams be pleasant ones. Your eyes are closing.’
Svana stifled a yawn. ‘In the morning then, I’ll go looking. He is probably hiding from those pesky dogs.’
‘Only if you do the tasks I set first. We must show Gunnar that we are grateful for his kindness. And that means working hard while we remain on this island.’
‘When I catch the nisser, you will have to admit you were wrong.’
Ragn sighed. Admitting that she was wrong was something she spent far too much time doing lately. This journey had seemed like the right thing to do back in Kaupang, but had she dragged Svana halfway around the world for nothing? Another mistake to beg forgiveness for?
‘It is not our home.’
Svana snuggled down into the bedding. ‘This time, Sister, I am right.’
In the morning she’d find a reason to distract Svana and hopefully her brain would work better. There was no point in believing in things you couldn’t see as you set yourself up for disappointment. She’d learned that lesson the first year of her ill-fated marriage.
Hard work and a pragmatic attitude were what was required. She had managed to get them this far. No one, particularly not Gunnar Olafson and his arrogant attitude, was going to force her to give up. She simply needed to find a plan which would work.
A faint noise made Ragn glance up from where she lay next to the softly slumbering Svana. She knew she should sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flames which had nearly engulfed her and Svana. She’d vowed then to keep Svana safe and she would.
The bumping noise sounded again. As if something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Svana, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the noise and gave a soft snore.
‘Is something wrong?’ she called out and reached for her shawl. ‘Was I wrong to leave the fire banked?’
Gunnar stood looking at her from the doorway. The light from the hearth silhouetted him and the bundle he carried.
‘I’ve brought furs. It can be cold and damp at this time of year.’
Ragn scrambled to her feet, aware that all she wore was her under-gown. She contemplated reaching for her proper gown, but decided it was silly. The darkness obscured her form, not that there was much to see. She winced, recalling Hamthur’s jibes. ‘You brought furs? Whatever for?’
‘I can’t risk you or the girl getting sick. You will have to stay longer if you do.’ He dropped the furs on the ground beside the door. ‘Do what you like with them, but don’t go blaming me if you are uncomfortable or cold.’
‘Thank you for them. My sister will be appreciative.’
He stared at her a long time. ‘Thank you for the meal earlier. It has been a long time since anyone laid things out for me. The dogs appreciated it.’
Saying that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room before she said anything further.
Ragn rushed over to the bundle and withdrew several thick pelts. And there were so many that they could easily cover both Svana and herself. Gunnar made a show of being harsh, but underneath he had a kind heart. She needed to reach the man behind the rude mask, the one whose eyes had deepened to summer-sea-blue when he spoke of cloudberries. She shook her head—mooning over Gunnar’s eyes and the width of his shoulders would not solve her immediate problem.
She held the little figurine in her hand. There had to be a way of making him want to keep them there, just until she figured out somewhere safe for Svana, somewhere where Vargr and his followers would never think to look. Her actions had taken away so many things in that girl’s life, starting with their mother’s life and ending with Svana’s health.
She gave a half-smile as she recalled one of her grandmother’s sayings. Faint hearts never won anything except a cold. Acting now while she had her courage was better than regretting the missed opportunity in the morning.
Gunnar stirred the embers of the kitchen’s fire as the faint snuffling noises from the pair made sleep impossible. Not that sleep was ever easy. He worked himself to exhaustion to avoid the dreams.
In the morning, once the current was right, he’d take Ragnhild and her sister to Ile and when he returned, he’d be back to his peace. It was what he wanted. He cursed Eylir for his rashness in sending them and hated that he kept trying to guess why his friend sent Ragnhild and her sister when he recollected Eylir teasing him about buxom blondes. He should have no interest in unpicking her mysteries. He shouldn’t have enjoyed the aroma of her stew, clashing wits with her earlier, or even watching her mouth relax into a smile. But he had.
A rustle made him glance towards the door. Ragnhild hovered on the step. Her hair was unbound, but far shorter than he had previously thought. A woman of her quality should have long hair. He narrowed his eyes. In the firelight, the vivid scars on her feet and ankles were visible. They were at most a few weeks’ old. The woman had been through a fire and possibly a raid. That fire and the girl’s fear of dogs were related.
Rather than trying to get rid of her to pursue the cousin, had Eylir sent her to the one place where she’d be safe? Where he trusted his friend would look after her?
Gunnar ground his teeth. Speculation did no one any good. Keeping someone safe and marrying them were two separate things entirely. He intended to get Ragnhild and her sister to safety—away from here and out of his life.
‘Yes? Do you require more furs?’
‘I found this in the bedding. I assume it belongs to you and is not a gift from any stray nisser.’ She held out a small carved man with a smile.
Time and his breath stopped. Her lips softly parted as she leant towards him with it. Their fingers brushed, sending a warm pulse jolting through him. She jumped backwards, dropping the stone.
Even as he caught it in mid-air, he knew it would be his good-luck charm, the one he’d misplaced weeks ago and had spent days searching for. His temper had become so foul that even his dogs had avoided him. He’d finally given up all hope and had become resigned to its loss.
His fingers curled around the amulet, warm from her palm. The anguished part of his soul eased. His last tangible connection to his family had been regained.
‘You found it in the bedding?’ he