Magnus's throat went dry. "Aye. I ken."
But he didn't move his hand away from hers. Neither did she.
They stirred together, their fingers overlapping on the worn wood, their bodies close in the firelight. The porridge began to thicken, bubbles breaking the surface with soft pops.
"Now the berries," Magnus said, his voice rougher than he'd intended.
Ada reached for them with her free hand, scattering the dried fruit into the pot. A few missed, bouncing off the rim. She laughed—bright and unguarded—and the sound did something strange to Magnus's chest.
"Yer aim is terrible," he said.
"Yer pot is too small."
"Me pot is perfectly sized. Ye just cannae throw."
"I'm a healer, nae a warrior." Ada added more berries, deliberately, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. "There. Better?"
"Aye. Much better."
The porridge was nearly done, thick and fragrant. Ada grabbed the small pitcher of cream she'd found and poured it in while Magnus stirred. The mixture turned pale and rich, exactly the way he remembered from childhood.
"Now we wait fer it to cool a bit," Ada said, finally releasing the spoon. She licked a drop of honey from her thumb absently, and Magnus had to look away before his thoughts wandered somewhere dangerous.
They portioned the porridge into two bowls, carried them to the worktable near the hearth. Sat across from each other in the warm glow of the fire, their knees almost touching beneath the scarred wood.
Magnus took a bite. The porridge was perfect—sweet and creamy and exactly right. He looked up to find Ada watching him, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
"Well?" she asked.
"It's good."
"Just good?"
"All right. It's perfect. Yer nurse's cream was the missin' piece." Magnus took another bite. "Dinnae let it go to yer head."
"Too late." Ada grinned, her eyes bright with victory. "I told ye me recipe would improve yers."
"Ye did nay such thing. Ye said—" Magnus stopped, shook his head. "Fine. Ye win this one."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Ada said, "Yer maither taught ye tae cook?"
"Aye. Before she died. I was—" Magnus paused, the memory catching him off guard. "I was eight, maybe nine. She said a man who couldnae feed himself was nae truly free. That dependin' on others fer every meal made ye weak."
"She sounds wise."
"She was. Strong too. Had tae be, married tae a Viking jarl." Magnus stared down at his bowl. "She died givin' birth tae me braither. He died three days later. After that, me faither—he was never the same."
Ada's hand moved across the table, her fingers brushing his. Just barely. Just enough.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Magnus turned his hand over, caught her fingers in his. "It was a long time ago."
"Grief daesnae care about time."
"Nay. I suppose it daesnae." Magnus looked up at her. "Yer nurse—the one who taught ye the porridge recipe. What happened tae her?"
"She left when I was twelve. Me faither sent her away after she tried tae stop him from—" Ada stopped. Her jaw tightened. "From bein' cruel tae me. He didnae like anyone questionin' his authority. Even someone who'd served our house fer twenty years."
