“Aye, I am. A little bit.” She reached up, her fingers brushing his jaw. “But you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” His hand covered hers, warm and solid. “We’re all broken somewhere, Brynja. Every person who’s lived through anything hard. The question isn’t whether you’re broken. It’s whether you’re brave enough to keep living anyway.”
“And you think I am?”
“I know you are.” He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You got on a boat after seeing your friend attacked and left for dead. You came to a strange keep full of warriors. You learned to ride a warhorse. You wake up every morning and choose to keep going even when the nightmares make you want to hide. That’s not broken, Brynja. That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely, but one escaped, tracking down her cheek.
Hagen caught it with his thumb, gentle. “And if you need to ride out at midnight every night for the rest of your life, I’ll saddle your horse. If you need to keep a dagger under your pillow, I’ll sharpen it for you. If you need to curse men in Norse and imagine terrible fates for them, I’ll learn the words to help you do it.”
A laugh burst from her throat, watery but real. “You’d do that?”
“Aye.” His smile was crooked. “I might not be verra good at the pronunciation, but I’d try.”
She kissed him then, rising on her toes, her hands fisting in his tunic. He made a surprised sound against her mouth, then his arms came around her, pulling her close.
The kiss was salt and wind and promise. It was acceptance and understanding and something that felt dangerously like hope.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Hagen rested his forehead against hers.
“Stay,” he whispered. “Not because you’re healed or because you’ve dealt with your past or any of that. Stay because you want to. Because mayhap we could be broken together and still build something good.”
Brynja closed her eyes, breathing him in, leather and horse and something uniquely Hagen. Behind them, the sea crashed against the rocks, eternal and unchanging. Above them, stars lit up the winter sky.
She’d thought safety meant walls and weapons and keeping everyone at arm’s length. But mayhap it meant this too, someone who saw your scars and didn’t look away. Someone who kept your horse saddled in case you needed to run, and who ran with you when you asked.
“Aye,” she said, opening her eyes to meet his. “I’ll stay.”
His smile was like sunrise, slow and transforming. “I hoped you’d say that.”
They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the wind whipping around them. Then Hagen pressed a kiss to her temple and stepped back.
“Want to ride back? Or stay here a while longer?”
Brynja considered. The nightmare’s grip had loosened, replaced by this strange, fragile warmth in her chest. But the night was beautiful, and she wasn’t ready to return to stone walls just yet.
“Stay,” she decided. “Just a little longer.”
So they sat on the cliff edge, shoulders touching, watching the moon’s path across the water. Freya and Midnight Star grazed nearby, peaceful and patient.
“Tell me something,” Brynja said after a while. “Something true.”
Hagen was quiet for a moment. “I was afraid to talk to you at first. When you came to Duart. You looked so fierce, so… untouchable. I thought you’d see right through me. See that I’m just a third generation warrior trying to live up to a grandfather’s legend, with a sister who’s already chieftain of a clan.”
“You’re more than that,” Brynja said firmly.
“Am I?” He smiled ruefully. “Sometimes I don’t know. Everyone sees Alexander Grant when they look at me. Everyone expects me to be as powerful with a weapon as my father and grandfather…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Sorry. You didn’t ask for this.”
“I did.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Something true, I said.”
“All right then.” He took a breath. “I’m terrified I’ll never be as good as my father. Or Grandda. That I’ll fail somehow, and everyone will realize I’m not the warrior they thought I was.”
Brynja turned to face him fully. “Hagen Grant. You saddle a horse every night for a woman with nightmares. You teach her to ride without making her feel weak. You don’t try to fix her or change her or make her into something she’s not. You just… see her. And accept her.” She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “That’s what makes a good man. Not how well you swing a sword.”
His grip tightened on hers. “You see me too.”
“Aye. I do. Even though you’ve been overbearing before. And you growl at me sometimes.”
