Hekla had returned from the steading an hour before the others. Had taken a long bath to try to clear her mind before channeling her nerves into another round of sparring practice. Thankfully, she hadn’t caught sight of any suspicious looking rodents.
Hekla accepted the horn and drank deeply.
Gunnar watched her carefully. “I also heard that kunta Thrand telling Konal you’re not fit for this job. That you’re a danger to yourself and to others.”
A brittle laugh fell from her lips. “Did he now?”
Gunnar grunted. “But Hakonsson...”
She whirled on Gunnar. “Did he join in? Tell them I threatened to rip the guts from his body?”
Gunnar frowned. “Hakonssondefendedyou. Said you were the only one to survive the mist. That you were an asset to the team, not a liability.”
Hekla’s throat worked on a hard swallow.
Gunnar’s gaze slid around her face, assessing. “Tell me you did not threaten to disembowel our new ally and leader, Rib Smasher.”
She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug.
Gunnar chortled. “Gods, but my girl is a violent one.”
Hekla’s gaze whipped toward him. “I’m notyour girl, Fire Fist.”
The wide smile within his black beard told her she’d just reacted precisely how he’d expected. “Not yet.”
She scowled. “In case you’ve had the wits knocked from your skull, let me speak plainly. I am not your girl, Gunnar, nor will I ever be.”
But the lout’s smile only deepened. “Think about it, Hek. We know how to work together. We can trust one another. We know each other’s history.” His voice thickened. “And we know we work well in bed?—”
Hekla shot him a look so scathing that Gunnar’s smile finally faltered. She opened her mouth to say it all—that she would never again be someone’sgirl, that no man would ever have such control over her again. But before she could speak, a hand fell upon her shoulder.
“What?” spat Hekla, whirling around.
There stood Hakonsson, his jaw firmly set as he stared down at her with those unnervingly beautiful eyes. She stared at the silver cuffs adorning his gleaming black locks, dumbstruck for a moment.
“Might I have a word?” Eyvind’s gaze slid to Gunnar. “Alone?”
Gunnar’s eyes met Hekla’s, and she nodded. Grumbling, Fire Fist pushed to his feet and ambled away. Eyvind slid onto the bench beside her, then drank deeply from his horn of ale. She scoffed to herself. The man was a pretender; she knew for a factthat he didn’t evenlikeale. But this near, Eyvind’s irritating scent invaded her senses, transporting her back to what she’d thought was a night of freedom—when she was thelynxand he was thefox.
She felt his gaze on her and forced herself to meet it. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, as though this job weighed on his mind. A part of Hekla was glad to see it.
“What is it between you?” asked Eyvind.
Hekla blinked. “I-what?”
“You and Gunnar,” said Eyvind, an unreadable expression upon his face. “What is it between you?”
“It is none of your concern.”
His expression shifted, like a cloud drifting across the sun. A dry laugh fell from Eyvind’s lips, and he soon took another long draught of ale. She ought to be angry—ought to remind him of their agreement to forget anything had ever happened between them.
But Hekla was reminded that Eyvind had stuck up for her in front of his men, which is why she quietly admitted, “I haven’t been with him in quite some time.”
Her words hung in the air, quiet and loud all at once. Just like that night on the riverbank, Hekla felt firmly planted in the here and now. Why did he have this effect on her?
Eyvind raked a hand through his hair, his gaze growing distant. “There are concerns,” he finally said, “about what happened at the farm today.”
She should be glad he’d brought them back toHeklaandEyvind. That he hadn’t shared a truth of his own. Because Hekla didn’t trust herself not to do something rash.
