Hrafn seemed unconvinced. “Send him away until I am there.” She understood that her brother trusted no one anymore—but she wanted answers and would not wait until later in the morning.
Instead, she took a step back and stood at Arik’s side. “Arik Thorgrim will not harm me.” She turned to face the man. “Will you?”
He eyed her and then Hrafn before he shook his head. She guided Arik toward her home, thankful the dwelling rested on the outskirts of their settlement. It was still early, and only a few folk had arisen. “Come quickly,” she urged, not wanting anyone to see him. She led him inside the wooden longhouse, closing the door behind them.
Inside the dwelling, herthrall, Astrid, was preparing a hot porridge, along with oat cakes. The young slave’s eyes widened at the sight of Arik, but she was wise enough to hold her tongue.
“Stoke the fire hotter,” Katarina ordered, and the girl added wood to warm the space. Arik remained quiet, and there was only the sound of the oak log cracking as it caught fire. She lit an oil lamp near the far end of the dwelling and moved to stand by the curtain that divided the living space. Though there was no reason to be nervous, Katarina wasn’t quite certain how to begin. She wanted to know how he had arrived back at their shores, where the ship was now, and which men had traveled with him. And most of all, whether any of them were still alive.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, stalling while she gathered her thoughts. Without waiting for his answer, she retrieved a hot loaf of barley bread and gave it to him. “Here.”
Arik paused a moment before he took it, but he nodded his thanks. Then he spoke in a language she had never heard before, foreign words that made no sense at all.
Katarina frowned and shook her head. “I do not understand you.” A cold chill washed over her with the worry that something wasn’t right. Arik Thorgrim wasn’t acting like himself. Although it looked like him, could she have been wrong? Her instincts heightened, that something was amiss.
He ate the barley loaf and closed his eyes a moment, lost in his own thoughts.
“Is your name Arik?” she asked softly, not even knowing if he understood her words.
He gave a single nod but did not speak again.
“What happened to you?” She stood before him, studying his features intently. His brown eyes were the same, as was his dark hair, though it was cut shorter. She studied his face and saw that there was no longer a scar across his throat—his skin was smooth, unmarred. Her heartbeat quickened, as she wondered if he had been changed by the gods. What if hehaddied, but Freya had sent him back to her in a spirit form?
Katarina took a step backward, suddenly afraid of this man. She took a step toward herthralland reached for her blade. Discreetly, she unsheathed it and tucked it into a fold of her gown. It made her feel better to have the weapon, though she hoped she was wrong about Arik Thorgrim.
He walked toward the hearth fire and stood with his hands outstretched, welcoming the heat. His hair was still damp from the sea water, and his clothing was soaked. But when she studied him, she noticed that his garments were far different than those he had worn before. Instead of a belted woolen tunic and leggings, he wore a dark tunic closely fitted to his arms. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before.
He traveled to distant lands, she reminded herself. Perhaps it was clothing he had bought from a foreigner. But a strange tingling alerted her senses.
She moved closer and asked, “Do you remember who I am?”
He nodded again. “Katarina.”
At the sound of his voice, she let out a slow breath of air. So hecouldspeak. And if he remembered her name, then he might truly be Arik Thorgrim. No one else had told him her name—not even Hrafn.
But her doubts lingered. There were enough physical differences that made her question the truth of his return. Scars never disappeared—she knew that, all too well. It set her trust on edge, making her wonder if he was an outsider who only appeared similar to Arik.
He adjusted the sleeve of his tunic, which was soaked, and she understood that he wanted to get out of the wet clothing. Katarina motioned to Astrid. “Bring him dry clothing from my father’s belongings.”
A flutter of nerves passed over her, for she knew that Arik had other scars upon his chest. Were those gone, too? She pushed back her own uneasiness, gripping the blade in her hand. Her brother had been right. She shouldn’t have gone with this man without being certain he was Arik Thorgrim.
“Take your wet clothing off while Astrid fetches you something dry to wear.” She sat down on the other side of the longhouse, near the door. Arik didn’t move, not even when herthrallreturned with the clothes.
“Shall I help?” Astrid asked him, and he nodded. The slave tried to remove his tunic, but Katarina noticed that the edges were caught on small, round fasteners. When Astrid tried to pull the tunic apart, he stopped her, and slipped the circular object through a smaller hole. He continued unfastening the garment, and the dark blue outer tunic came off easily.
“Bring that to me,” Katarina ordered her slave. She took the tunic and studied it, noticing the quality of the foreign clothing. The stitching was hardly visible at all, making her realize that this was an expensive piece. The round fasteners were made of a strange metal, not gold, but they were so perfectly cast, and she saw the value in them.
Arik wore another layer beneath the tunic, also held together by the round fasteners. This time, he stared at her while he undressed. His dark gaze held hers, and she grew aware of the charged intimacy between them. He peeled off the second layer, but a third garment of linen remained soaked to his skin. It should have frightened her to see him so exposed. Instead, she could not tear her eyes from him.
He had lost some of his muscles, but this was not a weak man. His shoulders were honed, his body tight. She stared at the exposed part of his chest, wondering what it would be like to slide her fingertips over his skin. A sudden flood of heat warmed her, and she could not understand the reaction.
Arik’s brown eyes were watching her as if he wanted her hands upon him. His expression softened, and she jerked her attention away.It isn’t real.But even so, her instinctive response humiliated her. It was foolish, born of her own insecurities and idle dreams.
She was startled to see Arik removing the last garment, pulling the linen over his head. The sight of the man’s bare chest shocked her. The scars were all gone, leaving only smooth skin in their place. Instead of a ruthless fighter, he was sleek and toned.
Her heart pounded at the sight. He was still staring at her, and the sight of him unclothed made her breath seize in her lungs. But she could no longer deny the evidence before her. To Astrid she ordered quietly, “Go and fetch my brother.”
Then Katarina faced the stranger and revealed her blade. “I do not know what evil spirit you are. But you are not Arik Thorgrim.”
